Log Date: 2/21/99, 2/22/99 Log Cast: Xara, Shenner, Piper, Daggoth, Morrison, Ariani (NPC), Gavin, Emma (NPC), Athena Log Intro: The news has reached Plaxton City of the presence of an Imperial fleet in orbit around the planet -- and Shenner has received word from Major Gavin Hollister of the NR that he is seeking a way off the planet. Moreover, Hollister has surprised the young musician by offering to help her get off the planet, despite their prior clashes of personality. Troubled by the prospect of war coming to the place that has become her new homeworld, troubled by the possibility of losing people who have become dear to her all over again, Shenner heads to the Sandbar to turn to the solace of her music... ---------- You walk into Fountain Square. Fountain Square - Plaxton City The huge buildings in the background threaten to take over this small patch of green that is the center of Plaxton City. A stone fountain -still in place from another time- sits in the center of the square. It depicts a young woman looking into the sky. water flares around her and bursts into a star pattern ten feet above her head. The inscription at the base of the fountain is written in the aging language of a more romantic time. 'Farewell, for all journeyers that leave this place shall always return to call it home.' Wandering the square throughout the day are Caspar Marines; some off-duty and enjoying their downtime while on-duty commandos in full armor and uniform keep watch over the area. Despite the commandos' aggresive appearance, they are viewed with admiration and respect from most of the citizens, some of them even joking and talking with families. The night sky above is filled with puffy white clouds with snow falling quickly coating the area and forming drifts where it can collect. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Lando => Morrison => Blaze => Piper => Xara => Bochek => Tabby => IGNews Terminal - Caspar => Mail Terminal: Caspar -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- ndbar leads to The Sandbar. outh leads to South Mergansar Ave. - Plaxton City. ast leads to East Blake St. - Plaxton City. orth leads to North Mergansar Ave. - Plaxton City. est leads to West Blake St. - Plaxton City. Xara removes her hand from Blaze's back and pats her hands together. Her green eyes follow Blaze's gaze and rest on the Dark man. When she nears, the clouds of darkness filter from her gaze, giving way to that almost nervous and innocent look, although there is very little innocence about this woman, "Hi there, mr Calrissian.. I thought you'd be gone by now..." She poitns to his chest, "Um, "Sorry about the shirt." Shenner, moving along with the swiftest strides one can manage on slushy walkways, comes down from North Mergansar into the square. Aiming herself for the Sandbar, the young musician spares little attention for sentients on the streets past a sharp cursory glance to make sure they're neither in her immediate path nor doing anything actively hostile. Piper trods west, each foot crushing snow and sinking her down in it to at least her ankle, if not farther. Her hands stay in her pockets, but as the wind whips or the snow begins to gust in, her left hand comes out to run through her hair and brush it back. You enter the Sandbar. The Sandbar A large circular room creates the main part of Caspar's infamous SandBar. Dark wood paneled walls adorned with all sorts of paraphanalia set the relaxed athmosphere of the bar. Photographs and holovids are pinned randomly around, seemingly with no order at all. Posters from years past hang proudly, displaying obscure bits of Plaxton's recent history. Several windows made from a deep blue glass allow light in from outside, while still keeping the appearance of the bar rather dark. Along one curved wall a marble bar stands proudly, where Ariani busies herself making drinks and cleaning occational spots of the bar. There is an abundant amount of seating in here. You notice quite a few booths and tables, as well as a loft which protrudes out over the bar. A popular local band plays smooth jazz in the background. ----For help with tables, type "PLACE HELP" ----For help with drinks, type "BAR HELP" -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Daggoth => Ariani => Emma -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- leads to Fountain Square - Plaxton City. Daggoth is sitting at the bar sipping on a drink. Daggoth sits down at the bar. Daggoth looks at you for a moment. Shenner comes stumping into the place, looking brisk and businesslike, whipping off her coat the moment she's in out of the cold. Green eyes sweep a glance around the room, seeking out the locations of Ariani, Emma, and the band members on stage playing an instrumental number with a tense, edgy beat. Daggoth looks over at the newest arrival and nods with a smile in her direction. Daggoth Daggoth is a human male standing approx. 6' and appears to be in his early to mid-20's. He has an above average build and a slightly pale complexion. He has a blue eyes and short curly brown hair, cut short in a military fashion. Daggoth's facial features are young and often considered handsome. To off set his so called, "baby face," he wears his beard and moustache in a goatee. Daggoth is wearing a light brown leather jacket, over a dark blue sweatshirt with the CDU Navy Vector Apex adorning the left breast. He is also wearing a pair of black jeans, with a pair of nice black boots at his feet. Shenner, from the look of her, isn't particularly prone to smiling. She eyes the man at the bar for a moment as she strides over to claim a stool; her gaze is a measuring one. The reply she winds up giving, however, is a short curt nod just on the good side of polite, before she swings her attention to waving down the bartender. Morrison enters the Sandbar. Morrison has arrived. Morrison walks into the sand bar, he pauses to dust the snow from his shoulders and then makes his way toward the bar. He orders a drink and leans up against the bar, 'What a day,' he sighs and rubs his temples, "Ariani, do you have any pain killers?" Ariani doesn't take too long to get Shen her usual -- a shakla mug -- but both women seem possessed by a brisk and terse kind of mood. Once the musician is dealt with, the woman behind the bar turns her attention to Morrison and gives him a slight smile of sympathy, before reaching under the bar and tossing him a small container of headache remedy pills. Morrison nods at the young woman and opens the bottle, he pours four into his hand and then recaps the plasitc cylinder. He looks at Ariani and says, "Water and Lemon please..." He waits for her to prepare the simple drink and then takes each pill. He wipes his mouth with a trembleing hand then covers it as he coughs. He crosses his arms and draws his legs higher up on the shaft of the stool to conserve heat. He looks into the glass and disappears in thought. Daggoth nods to Morrison at the bar and returns to his drink. Once her shakla is downed, Shenner gets a bit more color into her face, a bit more cold chased out of her bones. "Thanks," she tells Ariani gruffly, then pushes off her stool, rises, and aims herself for the back storeroom, to fetch her guitar and join the others on the bar's little stage. Morrison doesn't really notice the man sitting down the bar or his nod. He rubs his eyes slowly and coughs again. He takes his water and slowly rises from his seat at the bar, he turns and balances himself with his right hand. He looks toward an open booth and makes his way toward it, its looking 'very' comfortable. Daggoth comlink beeps and he quickly finishes his drink then heads out. Daggoth walks away from the bar. Daggoth walks out of the Sandbar and the door closes automatically. Daggoth has left. When the band ends its current number, Shenner, emerged from the storeroom, guitar in hand, jumps up onto the stage to join them. A few minutes for the young guitarist to warm up... and then the full complement of six musicians starts in again, filling the Sandbar with a pounding, minor beat. Morrison reclines in the booth with his back against the wall, he coughs again and takes a sip of water. His head swims and he briefly looses himself in the music. Finding that the sounds of a guitar s strings can bleed away the pain in his body he closes his eyes and focuses on the music. Why didn't he pursue his first love. Why didn't he write verse and turn away from the gun.... Steele and maille and gilded crossbow Feather of the ancient windbird Wide as wonder, tall as starlight Lords of earth and lords of fire, life the love that they desire Lords of earth and lords of fire, life the love that they desire.... The strains of "Elf Glade" pound out of the six musicians' instruments, with Shenner's voice taking the lead and the voices of Rekkie, Aa'leet, and Loren providing the harmony. Tonight, all six of them sing with particular force, their instruments putting out sharply accented notes on each beat. Emotion turns in the pit of Morrison's stomach. 'So much death, so much death...' the words play in his mind despite the music. Her dry voice still echoing in his head as he held her dieing body in his armored arms. Young, childish dreams of glory burned on so many battle fields. He is a burned out hulk now, a living corpse. He rubs the tears forming in his eyes away with a gloved hand. He reaches to the hanging light above him and unscrews the light bulb. He listens to the music again. Fey, wild, and impassioned, the bridge of the song bucks and leaps like a wild creature charging through the wilderness. The six musicians, tonight, seem bent on pouring every ounce of energy they possess into the music they're making, perhaps to work off barely bottled emotions of their own. At their head, Shenner tears away at her guitar, slender fingers blurring over her strings, her eyes intent and blazing. The energy of the music seaps into Morrison slowly. He taps his foot against the booth slowly and looks from his booth at the stage. The guitar player is fabulous, perhaps he should bring his men here...if the place is still around next month. He sighs slightly and sips his water. The thoughts of a planetary bombardment makes him shudder slowly, hes seen it before, he doesn't want to see it here. Perhaps it's the threat of planetary bombardment that makes Shenner, Rekkie, and the rest of the musicians play for everything they're worth. And Shenner, especially, growls out her notes with clarion power, as the song tumbles along into its next verse: Come ye now (no I fear thee!) Did I say that I would lead thee? (We have walked too far this night, out beyond the firelight!) Leaning forward in his seat and looks out at the singer. He can feel their passion and he knows everyone is living like there will be no tomorrow, because, for millions there just may not be a tomorrow. He looks at the beauty of the woman singing from her heart, ignoring her words because he face tells the entire story of her heart. He takes another sip of his water and looks at the faces of the people gather listening, there is a silence in the crowd as humans and non-humans turn their attention to the band. Shenner's voice, clear and strong and ringing, blazes through the next lines of the song while her guitar, Rekkie's, and the drums and keyboards and horns thunder along behind her in accompaniment: Come ye now (no I fear thee!) Come with me, for I will take ye Dancing now with all my brothers-- I am real, and like the others! Yes they're real, no you told me Yes, I said, you should believe me Now we have you, wrapped in darkness Now we keep you, never leaving! Morrison stands from his booth and walks closer to the bar. He holds his drink in his right hand and elbows his way through the crowd to stand in front of the stage. He glances up at the singer searching her face and then he turns to the others. 'Truth,' he thinks, 'there is a truth in Music that nothing can stop'. He ponders the thought and sips his drink again. 'Not much of anythin has truth any more.' Shenner, belting out her song, seems tonight to be bent on singing to each and every person ringed round the stage, small though tonight's crowd might be. She meets everyone's gazes as she fiercely delivers the line that leads into the final chorus, her voice rising on the trailing syllable: Trade your life for not belieeeeee-ving! And then, the band gives full voice to the chorus, six massed voices belting out in wild harmony: Steele and maille and gilded crossbow Feather of the ancient windbird Wide as wonder, tall as starlight Lords of earth and lords of fire, life the love that they desire Lords of earth and lords of fire Life the love that they desii-iiiire! Morrison looks at you for a moment. Shenner(#3773POACF) This is a young human female, of about 5'6" in height, but of a delicate enough build that there barely seems to be any substance to her. Her skin is moon-pale, her already fine-boned features made pronounced by an utter lack of extraneous flesh anywhere on her face. In stark contrast with her white complexion, her hair blazes a dark red; her green eyes, large, luminous, and darkly limned by red-brown brows and lashes, look out at everything she encounters with a intelligent, haunted intensity. Those eyes, incongruous with her ethereal frame, and taken along with a walk, stance, accent, and mannerisms seemingly more suited for a brash young street tough, exemplify the contradiction that anyone who observes this girl long enough can soon discover: that for all her fragile appearance, this is no delicate flower. Rather, this young human is one that burns. She is clad in simple and unobtrusive garb, snug-fitting without being constricting: a forest-green shirt with full sleeves gathered at the wrists and a few small pleats near the buttons at the top; a vest of a similar green hue, lightweight yet made of a sturdy weather-resistant fabric, and sporting several pockets; and lastly, slate-blue breeches tucked into scuffed but serviceable cloud-grey suede boots. Around her waist is slung a light utility belt. Morrison glances up at the woman's green eyes for what seems an eternity and a fraction of a second. He closes his own eyes and absorbs the music, letting it wash through him. When he opens them again he is looking at Shenner's eyes...eyes like an angel. For a moment he looses himself and everything else. Time stals and the chorus sparks it again. And with that, with a tumult of guitar chords sharply punctuated by the rest of the instruments, "Elf Glade" whirls to its close. But the six musicians aren't silent for long. Perhaps the redheaded young woman has inspired the whole group to catch fire tonight, for without anyone prompting anyone else, they slide right into the opening bars of "Tomorrow We Leave for Mandalore". The song, normally slow and plaintive and subdued, is begun this night with full and rounded and resonant notes from everyone's instruments. And Shenner glances around for only a moment or two, getting her bearings, before she begins to sing again. Love me one more time Make this night last forever For on the morrow, we leave for Mandalore... Gazing up the band Morrison again becomes lost in the memmories of two weeks ago. 'She done her job...' he tells himself, 'she was there to protect you...and she did.' He closes his eyes again and rubs his index finger and thumb against the bridge of his nose. Cora took the Defel's blade, a blade ment for him. He killed the beast quickly after she had fallen takeing the weapon with her jammed in her ribs...He sighs as the pain clutches at his heart. He wants to pity himself, cry over his misery, but being a man is tough sometimes...a lot of times. I may survive And my heart will always fly with yours But come the morrow, we leave for Mandalore... And then the band joins in with Shenner's husky contralto, giving full harmony to the simple sung words. And if I die, just remember I love you And you'll always be mi-ine... Let us warm up this cold night together Come the morrow, we leave for Mandalore.... And with that, guitars and horns and keyboards slide into the multi-layered, intricate melodies of the bridge of the song, filling the place from wall to wall with poignant harmony. The song's simple words strike a cord in Morrison's already battered heart. He retreats back to the dark booth and slides in clutching his arms together. One of the most powerful men in the galaxy on the verge of breaking. 'I shouldn't have gotten so close...' he thinks...'shouldn't'...the scene plays out again in his mind. The once strong and fast woman in his arms, crimson blood traceing the lines on her face. She looked up at him with her deep blue eyes rimmed in reddened flesh. "Too much death Mor..." she said, "Too much death to stop." He tried to calm her over his tears. 'I love you Cora...' He said screaming curses at foes his men fought down the ship's corridor. Each note flows into place as naturally as water, given power and strength by the hands of the five humans and one Twi'lek producing them. It's Aa'leet's slender white fingers on her keyboards that carry the solo, while Rekkie and Shenner pluck out counterpoints on their guitars; the horns of Karm and Tethra lay down soft minor thirds, held in long drawn-out notes of accompaniment, and below it all, Loren on his drums keeps simple six-eight time. And at last, as the bridge ends, Shenner lifts her head and once more begins to sing, her voice starting at the low end of her range and beginning to climb up into its upper reaches as her compatriots' voices give her support: Until the morrow, let me love you forever For on the morrow, we leave for Mandalore And if I die, just remember I love you And you'll always be mii-iii-iiiine Let us warm up this cold night together Come the morrow, we leave for Mandalore.... The song rings home too much for Morrison to handle without something. He walks toward the bar and orders something hard before Shenner begins after the bridge. On his way back to his seat her words ring-out. He makes his way to his seat and begins to drink. He continues to reflect on the battle. He lost two dear friends, Tran and Cora. Both had been with him from the early days and now he was alone. 'Too much death to stop.' He thinks between drinks. He takes out a pack of cigarettes and lights one. Making an attempt to pull himself back together. Five of the six voices drop away, as well as five of the six instruments, leaving the young redhead to sing the final line and to play the soft chords beneath the words: Come the morrow, we leave....for Mandalore.... Morrison listens as the song ends and exhales a lung full of blue smoke. 'I guess I've had my momment of weakness.' He shifts back to his emotionless self. He looks down toward the stage once more. Back to a fast song, for the next number... this one martial, rhythmic, and clearly well-received by the audience, who belt out their own sung responses every time the band calls out in chorus, "How many of them can we make die?" And after "March of Tanaab" is concluded, the six musicians hurl out further songs, everything they can think of that fills the bar with rhythm and noise and power. They do their rendition of "Kessel Run", encouraging a few hardy souls to dance in what small room the Sandbar has for such things. And Rekkie and Shenner trade off singing the lead as the band trades off through their songs, the older woman answering the younger's energy with a more controlled delivery that nevertheless packs power all Rekkie's own. Morrison glances at the band again. He sips his whiskey slowly watching the lead singer. She's got skills...and talent... Morrison sighs and leans forward in the booth so that his legs hang over the edge of the seat and his back faces the wall. He smokes the cigarette to the butt as the song progresses and pours another whiskey. He glances toward the bar and then the stage. Hard to tell, actually, on general inspection, who leads this band. It might be the redheaded guitar player... and it might be the tall woman with fair hair and hazel eyes. They certainly seem to take turns -- though the majority of the songs since Shenner took the stage have been hers. Only after a solid hour of music, when the set comes to its close, does it become apparent that it's the fair-haired woman in charge, as Rekkie says over her neck mike, "Thank you, everyone; thank you for coming tonight and spending your time with us. Give us fifteen minutes... and we'll be back again." With that, as the bar's sound tech kicks in a tape to fill in background noise, the musicians take their bows and then trundle in ones and twos off the stage. By the time the set ends Morrison has drained half the bottle of whiskey. The ash tray contains five new butts and he leans against the wall looking at the band as they exit the stage. He watches for young red haired woman waiting to see where she leaves. Leaving, apparently, doesn't seem to be on Shen's mind. She can be seen to flash the Twi'lek keyboardist and Rekkie a slight lopsided grin, calling something to them about getting drinks for everyone from the bar; then, as the band claims their favorite table, most of them going to socialize with the patrons who'd been so fervently listening to their performance, Shenner aims herself bar-ward. Morrison notices her trek toward the bar and gets up slowly. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a piece of heavily flavored chewing gum and lets it burn away the smell of alcohol and smoke in his mouth. He walks toward the bar slowly trying to retain as much control as he can. He does quite good considering he's drained half the bottle. He steps up beside the songstiss and says, "Great set miss...That song about Mandalore was really touching." Shenner's not startled; she's been greeted this way many a night, ever since she joined Rekkie's band and started singing in the Sandbar. "Thanks," she says gruffly, turning her gaze around to find the speaker. Morrison extends his hand to the young woman, "My name's Morrison Van Sen. I won't bother you very long, i know you have to get back for another set. I was just wondering who writes your material. I know your band has been playing here for a long time, have you had your music published?" Shenner pauses, then, peering at the man, her gaze sweeping him measuringly up and down. "I think I've seen you before," she says in a neutral sort of tone, neither hostile nor exactly polite, but it's obvious the man has her attention. "Which stuff in particular you askin' about?" Morrison Morrison stands about 6'6" tall. He is powerfully built, hard and darkly tanned. He wears a thick blue-grey field jacket with multiple pockets and sometimes the hood us to shield his head from the cold. He wears black trousers with cargo pockets on the sides of the legs. Thick brown boots cover his feet. When he is not wearing his jacket he wears a T-shirt that hugs his thick chest and arms. The design on the white T-shirt shows a hollowed black sun with the words 1/3 Frontier Raiders at t the top and 3rd Frontier Division at the bottom. The words First to Fight areimposed behind the black sun. Around his waist is a black gun belt sporting two dl-44 blasters. One on his right hip and one on his left thigh. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Medpack => DataPad -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Silver Necklace Morrison reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card. He pulls a pen from the same pocket and writes on the back of the card. "Your band is excellent. It just so happens that my company is looking for up and comming artists such as yourself. We can also provide you with a signing bonus, just in case things go really bad on caspar you can contact me on Tyllin." No doubt about it, Shenner's attention is gotten; she takes the card, even though she nods her red head off in the direction of Rekkie and the others and points out, "It's Rekkie's band, actually; I just sing with 'em. They signed me on a few months back." Morrison leans on the bar, the booze really working him over now. "I..." He begins to say before pauseing to rephrase his statement. "It doesnt matter who runs the band. You guys are great, the best i've seen in a while. Your stuff seems really straight from the heart and freh." He looks to Arianai and mutters, "Coffee please." Pocketing the card, Shenner proffers the tall fellow a tiny lopsided smile. "We all take turns writin' stuff," she says, "but thanks. I'll pass it on to the others." Gavin enters the Sandbar. Gavin has arrived. Morrison nods and steps back, 'This lady needs some real lessons in social skills,' He thinks. With the convinceing smile of a star actor Morrison extends a parting hand, "It was good to meet you miss." He notes she didn't give him her name, a common aspect of Casparian life. He takes the paper/foam cup of hot coffee from Arianai and pays her with a large credit bill, "keep the change," he says. Everything about him says he's more then he appears. He walks toward the door without another word. Shenner takes and shakes the hand, nodding, before letting the man go. That charming smile at least manages to make the young singer eye Morrison measuringly, again, before he's out the door and out of sight. Looking like nothing special except some bedraggled dude in a soaked corduroy jacket, Gavin sidesteps Morrison and allows him to pass with a wane and forced smile. In fact, he just sort of lounges by the entrance and ends up enjoy the spot so much that he leans against the edge of the doorway, out of the direct passage of most comers and goers. Morrison walks out of the Sandbar and the door closes automatically. Morrison has left. With Morrison gone, Shenner frowns softly to herself, and then closes the remaining distance between herself and the bar. "Hey, Emma," she calls, waving down the waitress, "send a round back to Rekkie and everybody, will ya?" "Already on it!" caroles Emma, scampering back to the table where the band and several of the patrons are engaged in edgy conversation about anything and everything they can think of that _doesn't_ involve the ship in space overhead. Shen, in the meantime, her eyes distant, claims herself a stool, and waits for Ariani to finish shooting a couple of ales off to a tired-looking Rodian two stools down. Still hanging around by the doorway, Gavin seems content for the moment to drink up the ambiance and watch the goings on of the Sandbar. A cigarette finds its way between his lips and in no time whatsoever, the New Republic Major is enjoying a leisurely smoke that belies the tenseness that has gripped him in recent days. Background music is being played over a tape at the moment, since the band is between sets. And as somebody back at the band's table hauls out a sabacc deck, to cries of 'Hell yeah, let's play', Shenner finally catches Ariani's attention and flashes the older woman a lopsided, odd little smile. "Brandy, hey, 'Ani?" Ariani seems sympathetic to the young musician tonight -- perhaps due to the music the girl's been belting out -- and in short order, Shenner's got a shot glass of Corellian brandy in her hands. As she sips at it, her free hand absently reaches under her shirt collar, coming up with a small silver-and-brass pendant which she twirls back and forth between her slender fingers. Watching the events of the dimly bit bar for awhile, Gavin's focus of attention seems to be mostly on Shenner. He eyes the game of sabacc, almost wistfully, but finally begins to cross towards the young redheaded troublemaker, pain in the ass of a singer. His cigarette has mostly been consumed and a trail of smoke is left in his wake. Troublemaker; pain in the ass. Though she keeps this to herself, variants of that very theme cross back and forth along Shenner's mind. With the pendant dangling from one hand and the shot glass in the other, the musician closes her eyes for a moment, trying to get her mind in order. _Priorities, street rat. What are you gonna do? Try to think with your head for once...._ "Hi." Just the word. No name. No accusations. No malice. It's repeated, "Hi," as Gavin siddles up to you. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jacket and his lips are twisted around the end of the dwindling cigarette. Careful, cautious grey eyes watch your form and reaction, while his mind lightly touches upon your own as it often tends to do with people physically near him; just reading the vibes and emotions that pour from you. Shenner's green gaze lifts up, finding and alighting upon Hollister. Her lips twitch into something of a smile, though as seems to be so often the case with her, it's little more than a slight curling of its right side. "Hiya," she answers, just as succintly, her voice pitched low and soft, weary from an hour and a half of hard singing. Her thoughts, brushed, are perhaps rather surprisingly clear, at least on the surface; they're full of indecision and worry, of being torn between choices before her. "How's it going?" Gavin leans forward, as his jacket idly brushes your stool. He props his elbows on the bar and removes the cigarette from his mouth so as to snub it out in the ashtray. Glancing aside, so as to gaze upon your profile, he says, "You look beat." Grey eyes are wide, watchful. In profile, and in the dim light of the bar, the fine details of Shenner's features are softened; her profile, however, is distinct, from the strands of red hair fallen down over her brow, to the sweep of her nose, to the shape of her delicately pointed chin. In profile, too, the slightly curled side of her mouth is still visible. "Enh, long day," she says, "and it'll be a long night, but I guess that's kinda the case for everybody these days." She shifts position, then, turning around to better look at the man who's come up beside her. "Howsabout you?" Nodding to your words, Gavin pivots slightly so as to stare straight ahead. "I'm worried," he says frankly. "A lot is going down and I don't like what I see." Lowering his tone, somewhat, he continues, "I'm getting off Caspar. With Karita. You've got an open invite. But I need to know soon, lady." Not 'kid'. 'Lady'. His back arches a little as he peers towards a wall. A few small but subtle reactions flare across Shenner's face -- and across the outermost surface of her thoughts, almost as if written across her eyes; there's a bit of bafflement at 'Karita', and a sharp pang of indecision. Stay or go? And the third thing, a twinge of discomfort at 'lady'; oh, indeed, she noticed. But what she says, after she pulls in a breath and chases it down with a sip of her brandy, is "When are you and Calrissian goin'?" Twisting his head, so as to study you anew, Gavin says, "We haven't decided yet. I'm letting the Captain call the shots. I just need to make sure the Republic knows where I am as soon as possible." Bending his will inward upon you, the Jedi does what he does best -- read emotions and thoughts. There is no malice in his intent, but rather a concerned curioisity. Shenner's eyes drop closed, and her hand tightens slightly on the silver-and-brass pendant still dangling on its chain among her fingertips. A little furrow appears between her dark red eyebrows... while somewhere behind her eyes, it can be read with perhaps surprising clarity, the girl is indeed weary. And facing the imminent danger of invasion with a dark, dull resignation, without surprise that a new threat has arisen to endanger things she has begun to hold dear. Behind that, there is a hint of fright, something that moves her to cling to that pendant in her hand. "What's on your mind, Shenner? Talk to me." Gavin's words are quiet, calm. Sincere. And strong. Always strong. "You really treasure that pendant, don't you?" His own hand comes up to the small, girl's ring that is held around his neck by the golden chain. "Will you tell me about it?" What? Wasn't he saying something about the NR -- why the subject change? Just a touch disoriented, Shenner looks up, blinking, wondering if the brandy's going to her head harder than it usually does. Green eyes meet gray, before then dropping their gaze down to the object on its silver chain about her own neck. Her gaze turns odd, liquid, and a little startled; perhaps she's surprised that she's holding it? "Oh... this... somebody I... knew... gave it to me, a while back." "Tell me about it?" queries Gavin. His tone is more than polite, it is genuinely friendly. His grey eyes fix themselves on your face as his own hands wrap around the tiny ring in his grasp. Still concentrating on you, his 'senses' continue to touch upon your mind, seeking the answers to his own questions. Somebody she knew... an understatement and then some, if the feel of the thoughts behind her eyes is any indication. The ornate pendant in Shenner's hands seems tied with a hard knot of emotion, all swirled up together into a barely contained, barely restrained mass, ruthlessly shoved as far down into her psyche as she can push it. And even now, she turns visibly self-conscious, dropping the thing down behind her old silken shirt, wrapping both her hands around her shot glass. Somewhere along the line Ariani must have refilled it, and Shenner gulps down a sip of the stuff within, bracing herself. Off at the back of the bar, that sabacc game is in full swing; the horn players, Karm and Tethra, and the Twi'lek keyboardist return to the stage, but Loren and Rekkie are now headlong into the game and not about to leave. As the three musicians on stage start warming up again, Shenner turns and gives them an odd absent look before giving Gavin an even odder one. There's confusion in the young woman's face, but a dawning trust there, before she turns away again and fixes her attention on a safe spot on the shelves behind the bar. "Old boyfriend," she finally says, pronouncing the words with deliberate gruffness, not knowing why she's willing to tell Hollister the truth, but determined not to make a sob story out of it. "Last gift he gave me." "Oh." The word escapes Gavin's mouth with a surprising gentleness, considering the harsh and heated words he's exchanged with you in the past. "Sister's," he adds, for his own unspoken story as he drops his ring back against his chest, mimicing your actions. "Must be nice," he says quietly, as he gives your pendant a second glance. Shenner sets down her glass, and lifts her thumb and forefinger to rub at the bridge of her nose for a moment, eyes closed, the look of a girl with a slight headache. Then she fishes out her necklace again, holding it up to the light, its chain running in a slack silver line back down to her shirt. It's an ornate little thing indeed, looking like a heavy ring intended for a human male's finger, one half of its outer rim etched with leaves and the other half with letters. A ring within a ring, really -- and there's a little knob on one side, too. "It's gorgeous," Shenner murmurs, half to herself. "You loved him." Not a question. "It must be nice," repeats Gavin. "I think it helps you know you're alive. Feel some sort of real emotion. Love. Pain. Whatever. It's something." He raises a hand to his face, thoughtfully rubbing his fingers over his lips. "Haven't had the experience himself. I'm not whining about it; I just haven't had it. I've cared for women, yes. Loved them? Never. No one outside my family." He studies your ring as he smiles a bit, "And yes, it's gorgeous. I know it is." Shenner frowns again to herself as Gavin's repeated commentary sinks in, and she blinks a few times, wondering at the slight tightness somewhere within her skull. _Brandy's getting to me,_ she thinks. And part of her shies away in decided unease from the sudden changed topic of this conversation, even as the rest of her reports in bemusedly that she's got no reason to be alarmed here; this is Hollister. He seems like a reasonable guy. And he's only speaking the truth, isn't he? Shenner takes all this in, and says in a voice that without her habitual bluster makes her sound very young: "Yeah, I love... loved him. You're right." And as she speaks, there's a slight loosening of that hard knot of emotion in her, as if her lowly murmured words provide her with a sorely needed vent for something that's been roiling within her for far too long. "So cherish what you have and then look forward." Gavin fishes out his cigarettes from within his jacket, shaking one out of the pack. Offering to you, he murmurs, "Yes, I know it sounds cheesy and it's easier said than done. I don't know if /I/ could put it behind me. Probably not. Some people say that you can ever love once. For real. That there is just that one person out there for you in all the world. I suppose that scares me, but it scares me even more to think that there is /no one/ out there for me. I still haven't found anyone, so maybe I'm one of those unlucky son's of bitches. At least you had someone. Maybe you can still have him. I don't know your story, so I don't want to presume." Pursing his lips, as he takes a long, drawn breath, he contemplates his own words, before speaking again, "What I'm trying to say, Shenner, is that I think you're a good lady. You're skilled and you're smart. You're also hurting. I can see it clearly across your face. You don't need to be a Jedi to figure that out. And that is where it gets unhealthy. Feeling the pain is natural. Letting it fester and overwhelm you isn't. And it isn't fair to /you/. Or your friends. Or those who'd like to get to know you better. Don't raise the bar too high, lady." Shen blinks at the proferred cigarette, then accepts it after a moment, peering at the man beside her to see if he's going to follow this up with a lighter. She takes in all of what he says to her, her features and eyes flickering every so often on particular words; four or five sentences in, she's blushing, but her gaze is still up, her expression's still controlled, and her face and thoughts both radiate the air of someone who's being told nothing that is new to her, for all that what's being told is acutely unnerving. "I... thought I had a handle on it," she finally admits, meeting those inexplicably comforting grey eyes, but unable to keep the chagrin out of her voice. "I think it has been affecting you," replies Gavin with a faint smile. Pushing a cigarette between his own lips, he dumps the pack into a pocket and produces a silver lighter in its place. Snapping back the cap, he thumbs the ball of the lighter and a steady, fiery blue-orange flame shoots up. He leans forward and cupping his hands around flame and lighter, lights your own cigarette. "You're distant. You're defensive. When you really don't need to be." No accusations or anger in his voice, just more a statement of facts. Closing down the cap, he squelches the flame and redeposits the lighter as he says, "I look at you and see a bud. Ready to blossom into a rose. You've got all the thorns, already, but you haven't opened up yet. Truly." Shenner might not make a habit of smoking, but apparently she knows what to do with a cigarette, for once it's lit, she doesn't hesitate long over the matter of how to take a pull on the thing. Her eyes close again on the rose analogy; for a fleeting instant, there's a sharp pang in those emotions churning around on the surface of her thoughts. _Have you ever rubbed a rose petal between your fingers?_ Paul's gravelly baritone inquires in her memory. And all at once, between the brandy, the cigarette smoke now hitting her blood, the still-unseen but potent threat of Imperial ships of war in the stars overheard, the memory of a Corellian comparing her to rose petals, and above all this bizarre conversation, Shenner finds her eyes tearing over even as a hysterical little bark of laughter escapes her. "Funny," she croaks, "I was thinkin' more along the lines of last year's wilted bouquet..." "Oh Shenner..." Those words escape from Gavin's mouth in a soft, quiet sigh. A pained sigh, as your emotions hit upon his own. So strong. Too strong. He has his own issues and yours fills up his mind and heart, overflowing. The unlit cigarette falls from his hand to the bartop; he forgot to light his own cigarette. So much for the ever-watchful and methodical Jedi. Now free, he takes an instinct step forward. Just going on his own gut reactions, he lifts both of his worn and strong hands to your face. And cupping your cheeks in his grasp, he leans in dangerously close to place a soft kiss on your forhead. Warm, full lips press against soft, smooth skin. He smells of tobacco, and alcohol and Coruscant cologne. Other things, perhaps, as well. "I don't have anymore words to say, Shenner," he whispers as he pulls back, slowly. His hands have yet to leave your face. Grey eyes are full and large, thick with his own emotions. As Shenner's cheeks are cupped, as her brow is kissed, it seems as if her oddly open and readable mind goes blank with shock, those two small actions striking her outer thoughts with all the force of a turbolaser assault on a planetary shield. And then those same outer thoughts of hers crumple under a second assault, this time from within Shen herself. It's a wave of neediness, of a desperate craving for this exact kind of comfort, tasting both of a frightened child and a wary, edgy, fiery young woman. Her eyes are wet, lashes sticking together as tears well up to soak them, and the lit cigarette she holds has started shedding ashes on her pants. Thunderstruck by Hollister's altered countenace, not to mention his touch, the musician nevertheless can't make herself look away. "I can't kiss you." Those words suddenly escape from Gavin's mouth, as if unbidden. "I want to, though. But I can't. Because it wouldn't be fair to you or Karita." He just starts rambling, as if caught in his own mess. "I'm not in love with her, but I am with her. And you wouldn't want that." Still, he refuses to release your face from his tender hold. Then, out of the blue, he just says, "Let me kiss you. Once." Large grey eyes, so hard and steely, so unyielding most of the time, soften into grey mist as he stares into your own silky pools. Somewhere in the back of Shenner's brain random powerful reactions fire off all at the same time, but none of them manage to make it into the front of her consciousness. The cigarette falls out of her hand, to drop to the floor and leave a scar there as it burns down into a small glowing ember. Not noticing its escape, not noticing anything except the misty gray gaze that has pinned her and the touch of a pair of hands along her cheeks, the redheaded singer mentally and emotionally reels. But she finds herself nodding, giving a rasping voice to the single word, "Okay...." "Thank you." The words are said so solemnly, as if Gavin was being led to his own execution. But the passion in which he kisses you speaks differently; full, firm lips yield against your own as he almost hungrily drinks of your mouth. His hands slide down across your cheek, somewhat, so as to allow him to fully embrace you in the kiss. He tastes of alcohol, yes, and cigarettes and coffee. And many other bitter things. But there is such passion and fire in his kiss, a desperate, longing moment shared with you. He is so very alive in this moment. Words are exchanged between Gavin and Shenner. The former is standing beside the latter and his hands are on her face, for those who might be watching or paying attention. The latter seems to just be staring up from her perch on a stool. And then they kiss, or rather he presses his lips upon her for those who take an interest in the two. Athena waits until the door of the bar opened completely before she leads her hoverchair into the bar, directed to an empty table in the corner while she smiles at Ariani. Brandy, a touch of tobacco; that's Shenner's side of the kiss, at least as far as the physical taste of her is concerned. But as her lips are met, the contact jolts down through her system. And it sends even greater jolts through her thoughts; it's been some time since Shenneret Veery was kissed like this. As her mouth turns warm and yielding in response, her mind floods over with a flare of near-frantic need. Indeed, Shenner is kissed. And it would seem that Ariani, on her way to greeting Athena as the woman in the hoverchair comes in, notices, for the bartender openly gapes. The young musician, however, is entirely oblivious, as she lifts up a hand to the back of Gavin's bowed head, burying in his thick black hair. Unwilling to relinquish you or this moment, Gavin just keeps kissing you. His body is afire with desire and shock; he has lost himself entirely in the depths of your embrace. He touches you with his own mind, his heart opening to you in a split second of total candor. And then, then he breaks the kiss, lest it go on forever. His eyes never closed; he never stopped looking at you. Athena sees Ariani's gasp and quickly turns around her head expecting some drawn blaster or any other threat in the background of the bar, but not this.... Shenner is _kissing_ somebody?! This causes Athy to let her jaw drop as well as she looks unbelieving at the young musician and sighs slightly after a short moment of watching the couple, her sigh isn't meant sad or worried, just a little bit in a romantic mood. Athena turns back and smirks soft as Ariani saying, "Well keep an eye open and watch for her." she says as she turns to the exit again. It is definiely one hell of a kiss; spectators would probably start cheering or jeering, depending on their inclination if they paid attention. But it /is/ a bit difficult to ignore. Gavin's own hands run upwards, into Shenner's hair, as fingers claim the fiery redhead's tresses within his grasp. Ariani blinks seven or eight times, then finally manages to wrest her attention over to the woman in the hoverchair, as she blurts out, "Yeah... sure..." Managing to have forgotten that Athena probably wanted to order something, Ariani lets her turn about to go back the way she came if that's what she wishes. The bartender is too busy trying to figure out what the hell came over the band's youngest member. Athena walks out of the Sandbar and the door closes automatically. Athena has left. What came over her, indeed? As Gavin finally lifts his mouth from hers, it can be seen that Shenner's eyes have closed, her tear-soaked lashes making dark crescents just above her cheekbones. It seems unbelievably difficult for her to open her eyes again, as she reels both in body and mind. _What... why... how?_ The questions don't coalesece in her emotions and thoughts any more clearly than that. At last, though, she manages to look up, disturbed and shaken beyond coherent thought. So solemn, so somber, Gavin drops one hand from your cheek to your shoulder, as he places a firm hand on it. His other rises to brush away the tears under your eyes, before gently curling back locks of hair around your ears. "I still don't have any words, Shenner." His grey eyes refuse to turn away from your face. "I..." Singer though she might be, Shen seems hard-pressed to come up with something to say, herself. At the gently feathered contact along her cheeks, at the tuckings of her russet strands of hair out of her way, her left eye half-closes, giving her a strange lopsided look of surprise. She abruptly leans about two degrees on the stool, wondering where the ache behind her eyes came from, bubbling up out of the midst of a host of sensations reported in from everywhere Gavin Hollister's hands have touched her. "I..." "Please tell me what you're thinking, Shenner. I talk too much, anyway. I....damn. We need to go somewhere to talk. I mean, if you're willing." Gavin exhales through clenched teeth; confusion is written across his face. One hand slides back up as his fingers gently slide across your cheek in a gentle caress. His shoulders bunch together, tension and worry claiming hold of his body. Thinking. Right. She can do that. What is she thinking? Shenner blinks tearily up at the man before her, still keenly conscious of the touch of his hands, of his proximity, of his expression and the tone of his voice. "Talk," she echoes hoarsely, seizing upon the word as a way to try to get her brain functioning once again. Half of her starts to protest at the idea of leaving the bar before she rejoins the rest of the band, but the rest of her, still thunderstruck, automatically and unquestioningly accepts the suggestion. "Yeah... let's... let's go..." Grey eyes, large and full, drink up your countenance and response before Gavin himself nods to what you've said. Dropping his right hand down to your own left one, he intertwines fingers as he assists you out of the chair. Glancing down idly at the smoldering cigarette, he edges the toe of his boot upon it and crushes it out. "Uh, lead the way?" He seems to be almost as out of sorts as you do. "I... need my coat," Shenner mutters. Her hand is trembling ever so slightly, her grip uncertain; her voice comes out of her odd and distracted, as she heads around towards the door and the nook where assorted patrons and staff have been storing their winter garb. She doesn't look in Ariani's direction even aes she warbles out absently, "'Ani... cover for me, will ya...? I'll check back in later..." "Sure, Shen," the bartender answers, shooting Hollister a sharply considering stare, but kept polite by what she gleans out of the fact that he looks as shaken as the young bard. "Where you headed?" "I'll get it." Gavin's brain kicks in, at least enough to make tactical sense of the situation. ~Come on Jedi boy, get your head together~ he thinks to himself. ~If you're going to kiss the girl, do it, but don't keep your head in the clouds and become a walking target.~ He manages to pull himself together long enough to grab your coat from the nook. Slinging it over your shoulders, his fingers squeeze tightly at the delicate muscles around your neck for a moment in a reassuring and lingering embrace. Then his hands drop down and search out his own pockets, as if trying to find something to do. His gaze is on you, mostly, with only the subconscious mind processing any details around him. Forgetting the green-and-gray striped scarf that she usually wears round her neck, Shenner mumbles a thank-you, and can be seen to swallow at that squeeze to her neck. Her wide eyes linger on her companion's face for a moment, and only when his hands fall away does she focus on the task of sticking her own through their respective sleeves. Ariani clears her throat, waiting for the young singer's reply, and finally Shen blinks in her direction, blurting, "Um... back to Rekkie's place... I'll... y'all just comm me if anything comes up..." And with that, still looking shaken, she wanders out into the night. [To be continued...]