Log Date: 7/13/99, 7/14/99, 7/15/99, 7/16/99, 7/17/99 Log Cast: Shenner, Webb, JimClevall, Mark_Arac, Enb'zik, Donald, Lon Log Intro: A significant change has taken place in the lives of Shenneret Veery and Jonathan Webb as of late. A vehement argument between Shenner and her sword-teacher Jairen and a second argument between Shen and Webb has led to the singer and the soldier discovering to their mutual amazement that they are powerfully drawn to one another. This attraction has grown with Webb's following up on a long-standing promise to teach Shenner how to swim, a date that's had the two engaged in an evening that's included a great deal of conversation, a great deal of companionship... and eventually, returning to Shenner's apartment and making love. Perhaps most shocking for Shen, however, has been Webb's assertion that he loves her. Unable to keep from remembering the disastrous end of her relationship with Paul, the young singer has been gripped with a surge of fright at such a declaration -- but it hasn't stopped her thoughts from being dominated by the fair-haired Marine. Jonathan Webb has continued to haunt her for days after their night together, and as it happens, the feeling has been quite mutual... ---------- 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.' Newly planted, lush trees now dominate the square, shading the area from the afternoon sky above is clear. Dark bushy leaves cover the branches, offering shade for the ground below. Patches of well maintained grass surround the base of the trees, allowing space for visitors to relax or picnic. The central, most famous area of Plaxton City, seems to become more and more park-like with the frequent additions and maintnence. A pair of Marines quietly watch over the area. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Webb => Kadgie => 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. Shade and a clear sky. With enticements like that, what self-respecting redheaded bard wouldn't be out and about looking for a good place in the city in which to jam, perhaps under a nice tree somewhere? Her usual satchel slung off her shoulder, a couple of her more portable instruments stashed within, Shenner makes her way down from Mergansar Avenue and enters the wide green expanse of Fountain Square. Webb strolls his way slowly through the square, following the general course of one of the pedestrian walking areas which ring the square. Occasionally he pauses to gaze reflectively at the changes which have happened to the square during the rebuilding, particularly the various memorials which have sprung up, but some of the features which catch his eye are far less prominent - a tree which didn't used to be there, or simply a flat spot which used to hold some feature now long gone. Near a little stand of some of those new trees -- fast-growing leafy things, they are -- Shenner claims herself a little spot of grassy turf, drops down contentedly onto the ground, and fishes her flute out of her satchel. This is her wooden one, the one with which she's frequently busked before she took on the job that let her start calling herself a professional musician. Today, she's not busking; today, she's simply playing for the pleasure of flutesong in the open air. Her flute starts adding its earthy soft voice to the overall noise of the square, blown whole notes proceeding up a scale. JimClevall has arrived. JimClevall heads down West Blake St. JimClevall has left. JimClevall enters the square from the west. JimClevall has arrived. JimClevall walks down East Blake St. JimClevall has left. JimClevall walks into the square from the east. JimClevall has arrived. JimClevall leaves the square to the north. JimClevall has left. Music, particularly flute music played by a certain russet-haired musician, is the sort of thing which Webb is bound to detect eventually as he makes his way through the square. True, the constant flurry of activity which seems to pervade this part of town does a bit to mask the sound, but it does indeed register in his conciousness. Of course, even before then, he has already adjusted his course through the crowd, drawn in that direction by some unexplainable instinct. Mark_Arac enters the square from the south. Mark_Arac has arrived. There under that tree in the midst of the Square, Shenner keeps up her flute playing. The melody segues out of the chipper piece in 3/4 time to something sweeter and softer and more flowing, but still quite obviously in a major key. Nothing minor or plaintive today, not for this particular flute-packing redheaded bard. Webb, who has been wandering his way slowly along one of the pedestrian pathways until now, and who has recently become aware of the sounds of flute music, and has begun to home in upon the source of said music even before he become conciously aware that there was such music being played, now draws near enough to the source to spy the musician who is producing the enchanting sounds. A hint of a smirk spreads across his face, as if some suspicion of his was just confirmed by the sight of the flautist. As that spot of shade seems to be roomy enough for more than one person, he proceeds straight over, and without saying anything to interrupt the flow of the music, lowers himself down to sit upon the ground next to the musician. Webb You see before you a human male who you would guess to be approximately in his mid-twenties. He stands just a touch under six feet tall, with a rather wirey build. His eyes are grey in colour, with just a hint of blue. His hair is of a shade somewhere between blond and brown, and could appear to be either depending upon the light of the room. But if you'd met him on the street right now, it'd probably be quite difficult to coax yourself to focus upon him for long enough to determine that much, for his appearance is that unremarkable. He is dressed rather casually at the moment, wearing a simple green long-sleeve sport-shirt, khaki coloured pants, and combat boots. A pair of sunglasses with small, rounded lenses rest upon his nose, and occasionally slide down far enough for his eyes to be seen behind them. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => E-11 Blaster Rifle => Vibro-Blade => Kylan-3 Heavy Blaster Pistol => Field Armor Shen is hard to distract when she's in the middle of a song -- so although she does, in fact, register Webb's arrival (and her eyes grow noticeably brighter over the top of the flute's mouthhole), she doesn't miss a note. The young musician does, on the other hand, shift a bit to redirect her gaze more or less in his direction, and in between modulating her way up a key, she flicks a smile of greeting at him. Webb shrugs a backpack off of his shoulders, and places it upon the ground beside him where he can easily access its contents. After opening the clasps which keep the pack shut, he draws forth a thick pad of paper and several pencils from within. Offering Shenner a conspiratory smile, he places the in his lap, and rests the pencil against the page as he takes a moment to observe the flautist. Well, okay, _most_ things can't distract Shenner from playing a song. But then again, "most things" in her experience have not included someone taking actions that suggest she might be about to be drawn some time in the immediate future. Her gaze flicks from Webb's face to his paper and back again, and he might perhaps include in his observations that her green eyes go a little wide as she plays. She does, however, gamely keep up the segue into which she's sliding, moving from "Gently" into "Drowsy Maelie" without dropping a note. Her tempo begins to pick up. Mark_Arac wanders past the impromptu street music, bouncing his head from side to side in time with a counterrythm that doesn't really exist. He even manages to put words to Shenner's music, and they go something like this: "Dooooo doo doooooo deeeeee dee deeeeee... Laaaaaaaaa bom booooom bom booooom....." He peers curiously over the woman's shoulder, "You know, you could really do with something with a little more oomf to it, this a rather melancholy." And off he goes, that, apparently, being all he has to say. Okay, okay, so having a guy come up behind her (good trick, given that she's parked under a tree) in a way that pretty much assures she won't see him coming also qualifies as a way to distract Shenner in song. Her flute makes a strange little splutter noise as she jumps ever so slightly, and she shoots a mildly irate look at Arac's departing back. She also, however, promptly changes tunes and goes right into "The Dark Lord Lurks Tonight", that little Rebellion ditty that goes "On the Death Star, the mighty Death Star / The Dark Lord lurks tonight". Can't get too much more upbeat than that, unless you do it with Shen's entire band. Webb's head turns slowly to track the source of the noise just uttered by Arac, as if he were looking for an insect which just buzzed past his ear. Webb then mutters something in a tone quiet enough that it won't interfere with Shenner's playing. That's a pretty good thing too, because the words that he just muttered would be utterly unfit for the ears of some of the younger passers-by. Mark_Arac doesn't hear or doesn't /care/ about Webb's lively description, but he /does/ seem a bit happier about the music, he does a little dance as he walks, he looks a bit silly. He curses more rapidly and more obscenely and cerainly more /loudly/ than Webb when his comlink goes off, too. Hrmph. Everybody's a critic! Determinedly, Shen plays through all three verses of "The Dark Lord Lurks Tonight" (the concluding verse, of course, being 'In our X-Wings, our X- and Y-Wings, we'll blow them up tonight'), and segues her way into "The Last of Grand Moff Tarkin's Crew". She manages, however, to hide her smile when Arac's little impromptu jig is interrupted. There are reasons she doesn't usually carry a comlink. Mark_Arac walks to the south. Mark_Arac has left. Webb seems not at all dissappointed by Mark Arac's departure, and turns his gaze up to the sky for a moment to thank whatever fleet officer may have summoned the insufferable pilot, before his gaze returns to you. A few more moments pass before the pencil that he holds in his hand starts to move across the page, starting his sketch with graceful, sweeping lines to form the basic shapes of his subject. _He's... drawing me? He's drawing -me-..._ The thought rather bemuses Shen, and even as she plays out the rest of "Grand Moff Tarkin's Crew", her gaze comes sneaking curiously over to Webb and what he's doing, trying to peek. When you next peek, Webb appears to have formed a very basic outline in the shape of your face, and is now adding outlines for various features, trying to develop just the right shape for the outline of the eyes, before he begins to draw the first outlines of the lips, taking into account the position of the flute which you hold in your hand. Enb'Zik enters the square from the north. Enb'Zik has arrived. Enb'Zik walks through, just as earlier, except this time he takes a detour and walks into the Sandbar. Enb'Zik enters the Sandbar. Enb'Zik has left. Donald enters the square from the south. Donald has arrived. Donald walks to the south. Donald has left. As her own image takes shape on Webb's page, Shenner blushes, just a touch, entirely unused to someone taking such an effort with her as the subject. This can be noted in the way her stance subtly alters, too, giving her a slightly nervous air she never gets on stage. The flute, in the meantime, still held up in her slender hands, obediently produces soft tones under her fingers, but the song drifts into a new one again while she tries to pretend she's looking casual. Lon enters the square from the south. Lon has arrived. Lon glides into the Fountain Square, glideing do to his sleek steps and overall stealthy entrance. His emerald green eyes gaze from the darkness of his hood, raised over his head and hideing the few blonde strands of hairs. His posture indicates one of no particular purpose, however his strides take him to the New Terminal without second thought or deviation. Not a single thing stealthy about the young woman parked under a tree, playing a flute. Shenner keeps it up, her song of the moment being "Heather on the Hill", as she glances sidelong at the man working over a pad of paper beside her. Webb's smile takes on a cetain touch of serenity to it as he continues to sketch his subject, implying that either this activity, or Shenner's music, or both are somehow acting as some form of reliever of stresses. The lips have taken shape upon the picture that Webb draws of Shenner, curved faintly upwards into a smile behind the flute. With substantially less effort, perhaps because they aren't moving so much, the nose and ears are shaped out, making the face seem somewhat more readily recognizable, but still decidedly sparse in details of any form. Shenner discovers that, when she's trying to sit still and being very conscious that she is being studied, she seems to develop countless little itches all over that are demanding her attention. Not to mention that the presence of the fair-haired soldier beside her is having a rather interesting effect on her ability to play to begin with. But in the interests of giving him something to properly draw for as long as -- how long does it take him to draw, anyway? -- well, as long as he needs it, Shen applies herself towards beginning one of the more complicated classical pieces for flute that she knows. Consider it a return on the investment, perhaps, Webb. You draw art to look at, she makes art to hear. Finally, having observed how your attempts to remain in place are steadily degrading the 'natural' quality of his subject, Webb comments with a soft chuckle, "You can move, silly..." as his pencil outlines the form of your hair, "Blinking is alright too. I'm used to drawing subjects as they go about their business." Shenner does, in fact, blink to that. "Oh," she mumbles, in between trying to navigate her way through a fairly complicated little run of sixteenth notes that climbs clear up into the upper range this flute of hers can reach (which is to say, the upper octave and a half or so). She redoes that last measure, and from then on in tries to simply focus on what she's playing -- the piece does need some practice, after all. Still, though, she's blushing. It's obvious no one's ever drawn her before, at least not to her knowledge. Mark_Arac enters the square from the south. Mark_Arac has arrived. Webb's grin spreads a little wider, perhaps moderately amused, but he does continue to draw, indicating that even with various movements among his subject, he can still produce an artistic representation... though the picture might not be you at any particular moment. Rather, it is an image that he is constructing in the spirit of the scene, with the assistance of having you sitting in front of him. He's gotten to the point where he's begun to add detail and surface texture now, starting with the area around your mouth, delicately applying pencil to paper as he translates the texture of your lips to your likeness, using subtle shading. Mark_Arac enters the Sandbar. Mark_Arac has left. Don't look, Shenner advises herself, though her curiosity is mounting. Focus on the music; can you make up to the very upper octave? No? Damn. Tighten up the embouchure a bit and get a purer tone when you come back around again on the coda.... With all this in mind, Shenner begins to relax some, the nervousness draining out of her stance as she's able to focus on what she knows and loves: her music. Shadowing about the cheeks comes next, then the nose and forehead, as well as your chin. Subtle little details begin to come out in the picture at this point... the faint dusting of freckles upon the bridge of Shenner's nose, and the tiny dent in her chin. Such details seem to draw careful attention from Webb, and he frequently compares the ones in the likeness he is drawing to the ones upon the real Shenner. And the young musician, still acutely aware of Webb's periodic studying as well as the small scratches of his penciles on the page, does her best to relax. To play. To let her flute's voice take wing through the square, rich and resonant and full in the lower ranges, sweet and clear in the upper. Her gaze goes skyward as she sets her visual attention on the few wisps of clouds overhead, and the darkening hues of sunset. The hair comes next... while Webb lacks colours in which to render the striking shade upon his pad, he is able to capture the sheen and texture more than adequately, using a few skillfull tricks to create an incredibly realistic, though monochrome impression - even though he has hardly taken the time to draw every single hair he has certainly created the impression of it. Now he pauses to peer up at you for a rather lengthy moment, before he begins to work upon the eyes, and upon this feature he spends significantly more time than any other, attempting to adequately capture their expressiveness and sparkle. It is this work that will bring life to the picture, and capture the subject's essence upon paper. With a flute, you can't do chords. But this doesn't stop Shenner, once she reaches the high point of the lengthy piece which she's been practicing, from creating a complex stream of notes that need no accompaniment and no harmony, and which demonstrate by their clarion purity exactly why the flute has remained this young woman's instrument of choice for the expression of her innermost self. Eventually, after obsessing over capturing just the right touch of emotion within your eyes, and making them by far the most detailed feature in the picture, and hence making them the most attention-drawing feature, Webb announces casually, "Done..." and tilts the pad slightly in your direction, and there you are, flute held up to your lips, smiling ever so slightly, wind lightly ruffling your hair, and a faint sparkle glinting in your eyes. Shen lets her flute's voice subside off to a whisper and then into silence, bringing the song to an ending point before she lowers the instrument at last to turn her gaze back to you and the pad in your hand. And with that, she stops, her expression turning bemused and marvelling; that crooked smile of hers starts tentatively curling her lips. "Damn," she murmurs, touched. Only one time in recent memory -- for that matter, only one time anywhere in her memory -- has she been presented with an image captured of her, and the previous time was photographs. So this, then, is another first. Webb looks around, peering up at the skies that have first tinted orange, then steadily darkened to the point where save for an orange flare of Solusar's light on the horizon, not much really remains, and one by one the streetlights are now coming on. "I uh... didn't keep you sitting here too long, did I?" Webb asks, as he's not entirely aware of just how long it took him to draw that picture. Sheepishly, but readily, Shenner flashes you another smile. "It's okay," she assures. "Night off again. You caught me at a good time." Her gaze drifts to the picture again, and the smile softens a trifle as it occurs to her that there are two distinct and equally pleasant interpretations to that last comment of hers. She pauses, then adds gruffly, "You, uh, draw real nice, pal..." One of Webb's eyebrows arches faintly as he considers the possible interpretations for that statement, particularly as he considers your expression, "Really?" as he conjures forth a faint smile, before he says, "Me too." That too could have the same twin meanings. "Funny how that works." Shenner laughs a little, throatily, as she runs her fingertips along her flute's dappled and dark wooden surface. It's a fairly big flute -- it has to be, to put out out the deep rich tones it does -- and bound in green cord at certain points along its length. She holds it with as much if not more familiarity and tenderness than she's shown with her blade or her blaster; one might surmise she and this flute have been acquainted for a while. Most of Shennner's active attention, though, is on the picture and on you, and her gaze flashes back and forth between those two particular locations. "See, I, uh, usually sing five nights a week with the band, and, um, last time you saw me I was off, and, so, it's swung around again... y'know?" Webb bites hit lower lip momentarily, as he is often prone to do when pondering (including certain specific subject matter), then offers forth helpfully, "We, uh... could try watching that holo-movie again." One corner of his mouth curls up slightly as he looks up from the sketch pad and settles his gaze directly upon your eyes. His faintly hopeful tone which slips into his attempt to sound casual hints at a not-so-hidden message behind the words. "We, um... do seem to have a problem with that, don't we?" Shenner murmurs wryly, her gaze lifting to meet with your own. "Dunno if it's my choice in holos or what..." Webb nods his head as he remarks, "We do," as he unzips a pocket on his backpack to put his pencils away, offering a slightly sheepish grin before he slowly starts to close the pad, "Although I thought the one about the space slug sounded like it showed lots of promise." [And with that, the singer and the soldier set off northward out of Fountain Square, making their way for Shenner's apartment. And soon...] Walking to her apartment with you from Fountain Square, Shen has found herself amazingly aware of every little detail of her surroundings, from the skimmers that pass her on the street to the occasional spray of misty rain on the top of her head. All of it, though, is merely a background for the man at her side. Although you're no longer drawing her, still she's still vividly aware that you've done so, and the looks she keeps giving you are both shy and infinitely pleased. She starts to talk five or six times on the way to her place, grinning sheepishly each time and laughing when she can't quite seem to find words sufficient to the overall feeling of well-being she's experiencing. Only when you both finally reach her front door and enter the little apartment does she manage to find her voice again, at which point she asks you ruefully, "You hungry...?" Ah, yes... rain... seemingly ever-present upon Caspar... and romantic. Initially the rain goes un-noticed, but as the weather system rolls in, the volume of water falling from the sky begins to grow, spreading puddles across any paved surfaces, creating a soft, steady patter which most would find soothing, except of course that it gets one incredibly damp very quickly. Of course /certain/ people who walk home hand in hand, might be in a sufficiently irrepressably pleasant mood that getting damp isn't sufficient to make them immediately run for cover. Hence, Webb now stands in front of you absurdly dripping shedding droplets of water from his generally rather soaked clothing. "Uh... towels might be a higher priority." This, as it happens, provokes a gruff little chuckle out of the singer. "Towels," she repeats, flashing a grin at you as she sets down her satchel by the couch, and steps towards the narrow closet near her fresher room's door. "I got a couple of those." True to this statement, she takes a moment to ferret into the aforementioned closet and come up with a couple of slightly straggly-edged but nevertheless quite serviceable large, fluffy towels. Returning to you, she proffers one up to you, and can't help another grin. "If it rained any more here, we'd hafta grow gills, y'know..." Webb sets down his pack, which is thankfully quite water resistant (which is a lucky thing, otherwise your picture would be mush) eagerly accepts the towel, and shrugs off his jacket which didn't really prove sufficient to keep him all that dry. "Yeah, that could be one option... uh... thanks," he says with a slightly lopsided grin which quickly dissappears behind the towel as he dries off his face. "Or we could carry around breathers," Shenner surmises, "but that'd make it hell to sing..." Her hair currently caught up in her usual braid, she merely needs to pat it dry, and so she can still watch you as she runs her towel over lower portions of herself. A spark of mirth lights her eyes, and she adlibs a rather warbling, watery version of her usual singing voice: "Tell him young ladies, go and tell him fo-o-o-or me-e-e-ee..." Webb lowers the towel from his face, still generally overly damp because most everything he's wearing has soaked up a certain amount of water, which doesn't readily dry with just the application of thfe towel. A short burst of laughter erupts from within Webb's throat as he approaches to wrap his arms about you. This, of course, throroughly hampers all efforts to dry yourself. "You're bizzare," he whispers to you, as if it were a term of high endearment. Perhaps it is... Well, when delivered that way, Shenner will happily take it as a compliment though her mouth quirks wryly regardless. "Thanks, I think," she answers back, hanging onto her own towel but moving readily into the circle of your embrace. Looking up at you with those vivid green eyes of hers, she stays that way for a moment before casting an amused glance down at herself and appending, "I'm, um, also kinda damp..." Webb follows your glance downwards, taking in your soggy form as his hands migrate down from the small of your back to grasp the tail of your shift, and wrings what amounts to no small quantity of water out of it, and offers forth his own assessment, "You uh... don't say." Shen's own hands begin to venture tentatively up towards your shoulderblades, and she looks up again to the general vicinity of your throat and chest, just before her. "I do," she murmurs, "and furthermore, you look pretty damp too, pal... we could catch our deaths of cold, y'know... we should do somethin' about this." Her delivery's casual enough, but she can't entirely hide the way her voice has gone just a trifle husky, just a trifle shy. "I could make up some shakla..." "Shakla would be good," answers Webb with a nod of confirmation as his hands now slip up beneath your shirt, once again seeking out the small of your back, finding your tank top before he says, "Hmm... soaked to the bone... we /really/ need to get dried off and warmed up," he pauses, taking on a momentary thoughtful expression, before he adds, "And a blanket..." Shenner pulls a trifle closer to you, her eyes rising back up to meet yours. "This means I'm gonna hafta move," she murmurs, her expression deliberately guilelessly. Her still-damp head bobs towards the kitchen area at the back of the main room as she points out, "The shakla's that way..." And another bob, towards her bedroom. This, though, brings out a hint of a blush in her cheeks. "Blanket's that way..." Webb grins and slowly releases you from this embrace, "Right... I'll get the blanket, you get the Shakla, before he trudges off into the bedroom, with which he is already quite familiar, and begins to inspect the blankets, pondering which one and how many are required. Given the generally damp, chilled conditions, he selects the fluffiest blanket that he can find, and returns to the living-room, "We are going to /try/ to watch the movie this time, right?" as he starts to head towards the couch. In the little kitchen area, Shenner quickly brings out what she needs to make a decent cup of shakla: milk to heat in the little heating unit on the counter, and chocolate syrup. Then she pauses before beginning to get what at least for her is the other ingredient, hand on the front of one of her cabinets. "Er, Webb," she calls, "do you want a shot of brandy in yours, or you want it straight?" She considers and then adds, "I think I got some strawberry liqueur, too..." As you reappear, she adds less loudly, grinning a crooked grin, "Well, I wanna see the Space Slug from Ardon-K'ar eventually..." Webb considers that for a rather lengthy moment, before he states as he watches you move about the kitchen, "I umm... don't have to go to work tomorrow. I think I can handle a bit of brandy in mine." A same assumption, seeing as he's endured substances of far greater toxicity in his system. Still, he must be pretty convinced that he's not going to be called away in the near future, as even one drink will degrade one's edge. The blanket ends up draped across one end of the couch for now, at least until you finish preparing the shakla... a process which seems to intently interest him. Of course, it's also entirely possible that he's interested in this process because you're involved in it. Well, making shakla is fairly easy. Get mugs and spoons out of the cabinets. Heat the milk to the proper temperature, stir in the chocolate syrup, fetch the small bottle of Corellian brandy (Shen replenished her stash, you know) out of the cabinet and measure out a small shot into each mug. She considers, then adds a dollop of strawberry liqueur to both of the mugs as well, and at last, pads over to the couch to offer you one. "I decided I like it better with the strawberry in it," she says, smiling lopsidedly. "You're still damp," assesses Webb with a mischeivous grin, while he reaches out to accept the mug that you've brought for him, "Sounds adventurous..." He seems to be about to take a sip, except he pauses when he realises that the mere presence of the mug helps to dispel the chill of rain-soaked clothing. He does venture forth a sip after a few seconds of savouring the vapours. Some things are best not rushed... Shenner sets her own mug down, and as she pulls off her boots and pads sockfootedly over to the shelf where her holo-player resides, she asks wryly, "So, what'll it be, the battle flick or the space slug?" She holds up the two discs in question, while reaching to turn on the player. "And yes," she drawls, "I'm still damp." Webb sets his mug down upon the coffee table, and takes a moment to remove his combat boots, and then his socks, since socks which have been in damp combat boots aren't particularly pleasant to keep on your feet afterwards, regardless of whatever insulative value it may have. "Hmm..." he considers, "Space slug... definitely." "Space slug of Ardon K'ar it is," Shenner affirms cheerily, feeding the disc into the player and then coming over to join you on the couch. As the unit comes alive with a silent rezzing of its projection, currently aimed out into the room, she settles down beside you. Her own socks come off, and then, after a moment, her outer shirt as well. The small silver-and-brass pendant as well as the shell-shaped ocarina are brought into view then, and she pulls her feet up underneath her to get comfortable. Then she scoops up her own mug and smiles at you. "Ready?" Webb doesn't answer immediately... it seems that the needs a moment to get the blanket in place, spreading it out across the couch so that it covers the both of you all of the way up to both of your necks, before he slips one arm out from beneath the blanket to reach for his mug, "Now I'm ready," he states over the rim of his mug. With this, Shenner scoots a bit closer to you, finding the entire notion of curling up under a blanket with a hot mug of shakla, a holo to watch, and your presence at her side inordinately delightful. "Play," she orders the holo-unit, and it obediently starts the movie, the usual warnings at the beginning in Basic about unauthorized reproduction of the film being against most galactic laws. The same warning is followed in six other languages, three projected out at once, and then the film actually begins with a flourish of... well, _some_ kind of keyboard-related instrument produced that sound, one can guess. From the sound of it, the musical score of this thing, at any rate, promises to be cheesy. And Shen can tell. She starts to splutter softly into her mug, murmuring, "Oh boy." "Classical entertainment," asserts Webb as he scoots over closer to you upon couch. Of course, there's something to be said about watching a downright cheesy movie... they can be amusing and entertaining in ways never intended by the writers. Of course, at least part of the entertainment value comes from the company. Lowering his voice to a near whisper so as to not interfere with what will doubtlessly be scintillating opening dialogue, "You're still damp," before he takes to shrugging off his shirt which is bound to be particularly uncomfortable by now. As it happens, this particular holo-movie's writer -- or, more specifically, writer_s_, plural, according to the opening credits that run in both Basic and an alien script presumably that of the filmmakers' homeworld -- weren't apparently targeting humanoid audiences. This is blatantly obvious when the attempt at haunting opening music is juxtaposed with those credits running in bright, vibrant, sunny colors, the sort you'd expect to see in a credits list for a beach musical and not an alleged horror/monster movie. "Ohmigods," Shenner giggles, "can you read that script? I've never seen those characters before..." And after she takes down a sip of her shakla, feeling the shot of brandy soak pleasantly through her system along with the chocolate, she adds gruffly, "Oh... well... I guess I ought to get out of the rest of these, uh, wet clothes, huh?" "I... uh..." Webb furrows his brow as he attempts to read the script, "Uh... it /kinda/ looks like... umm," his tone takes on a tone of confused disbelief, "Verpine... but not quite..." he shrugs his shoulders faintly and says, "And I'm not that good with Verpine to begin with..." as if to answer your /other/ question, somewhere beneath tbe blanket you feel his hands begin to migrate towards your tank-top so as to offer assistance in that matter. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but eventually, the two of you get her tanktop off of her, and Shen is left with nothing on her upper torso but the pendant and the ocarina on their cords around her neck. And it might be noted that while she is not a battle-hardened Marine, she still has a few small scars -- one on her arm, where she'd been wounded in that first battle she fought at your side, and another one between her shoulderblades, slightly tilted towards her left one. At last, she settles back against you under the blanket, movie getting underway and her mug cupped between her hands. The shakla's kindling a gentle warmth inside her, to go along with the warmth of the shoulder against which she's curled. "Mmm," she murmurs in approval. But this transmutes into another throaty little giggle as she gets a look at what her holo-player is projecting forth. If the credits hadn't been enough to assure the viewer that this movie wasn't intended for humanoid audiences, one look at the first few cast members introduced on screen clinches it. The main characters aren't Verpine, but they're definitely insectoid. At least, one supposes. Bearing a resemblance to overgrown ladybugs, complete with bright red wings with black polka dots folded against the backs of their bodies, sporting six large dewy eyes apiece, these creatures are apparently the ones running the doomed mining colony. Which, in keeping with the color scheme of the opening credits, is decorated in hues so perky they make Shen's eyes hurt. "Oh... migods," she mumbles, twitching with mirth. Webb's attention is, for the moment, somewhat more focussed upon the movie than it is upon you... this is partly due to the various giggles that you keep issuing forth, and the outlandish holo-imagery that the player issues forth. With this distraction, and of course, the fact that you're mostly covered by the blanket, the fact that you are now bare from the waist up does pass un-noticed to him as his hands blindly attempt to help help you shed any uncomfortably damp garnments from your lower half now. One has to wonder whether this holo has had its dialogue dubbed in, for surely the voices the... er... ladybugs are producing sound a bit too normal-human for believability, given the lack of any humanoid mouths on the creatures. The voices of the various characters, however, are delivering perfectly intelligible Basic, with two notable exceptions: every character sounds like a human would sound after having inhaled a large quantity of helium, and _then_ having had their dialogue sped up by about ten percent over normal speaking rate. The apparently 'evil' ladybug, who seems distinguishable from her fellows by having wings only slightly less perky and pastel than anyone else, is in particular having a difficult time sounding anywhere near creepy with her lines all sounding as though they'd have been just as easily delivered by a hyperactive Ewok. Once the first accident occurs and something large and unseen is glimpsed burrowing through the lowermost corridors of the mining complex, _everyone_ starts sounding like hyperactive Ewoks. And Shenner, snickering every time one of those cheesy ominous chords sounds in the midst of the alleged 'music', eventually wriggles out of her pants with your assistance. At last, wearing nothing but her undergarments (still dry), she curls up against you to finish off the remaining half of her shakla and soak in the warmth of your frame. Webb's eyebrows have stayed more or less frozen in that arched position that lends a certain astonished quality to his expression. "This," he states, "Is the /creepiest/ thing I've ever seen," as a grin widens upon his face, which is of course tinted somewhat with the glow of the gaudy colours being displayed. Soon, he too has shed everything but his undergarnments, and as the state of astonishment finally begins to wear off, he readily curls up with you, making sure that the blanket is tucked quite snugly about the both of you. At right about this point in the movie, the hero ladybug -- one can tell that he is the hero due to the particularly vivid and jaunty shade of flight-suit orange often seen worn by humanoid fighter pilots during the Rebellion -- is trying to convince all of the miner ladybugs that they are all in terrible, terrible danger and that they must evacuate the colony. Unfortunately, only a scattered handful of his fellow insectoids seem to be taking him seriously despite his obviously heroic shade of wings, and also possibly due to the fact that the 'evil' ladybug in charge of making sure the mining colony is as secure and profitable as possible is doing a better job at sounding like a hyperactive Ewok than he is. Only when the unseen Large Thing squashes and then inhales a few hapless workers (accompanied by suitably dramatic multi-layered chords) does the hero bug seem to gain some credibility... and the race is on to protect the colony against the thing harassing it. Shenner, apparently, is mightily enjoying herself. Now pleasantly warm without and within, she sips contentedly at her hot drink and all the while watches the images in the air before her with all the sort of fascinated interest with which someone might observe a skimmer collision. "I'm glad I'm sober," she giggles. "I'm scared to think of what this'd be like if I were drunk...!" Webb takes a moment to peer speculatively beneath the blanket as he considers this situation of being so close to the russet haired woman who has been the focus of so much of his thoughts lately, before he delicately moves the blanket back into place so that you can't get a chill. In spite of the fact that he seems quite focussed upon mapping out the form of your body beneath the blanket with one of his roaming hands, he's still obviously paying attention though, as he is offering forth a stream of various remarks in the vein of, "You know, I think I've already seen this movie before, except instead of these bug things, it had Sullustans." "You're kiddin' me," Shenner marvels, though whether it's at the notion of you having actually seen another movie before or at someone having made this particular one _twice_, she doesn't specify. As the hero ladybug critter is almost ambushed by three larger ladybugs apparently in the employ of the villain-bug, she shifts around a bit to glance up at you, eyebrows arched. Right about then she becomes aware of exactly where your hand has situated itself, and she involuntarily catches her breath, mouth parting slightly, no other words emerging. Webb shakes his head and whispers into your ear after kissing you lightly upon the cheek, "I think someone once made this movie with Quarrens too." He places another kiss softly upon your temple before he murmurs, "They've really remade a classic." Beneath the blanket, his hand continues to move in a fashion that would be utterly undetectable if you weren't actually under that blanket with him, and certain sensitive portions of your anatomy weren't on the receiving end of that hand. Tsk, tsk. Doesn't he know you're trying to watch this riveting movie? Movie... right... movie. Shenner swallows, feeling her throat go dry at those subtle little movements down there, and for a moment, her eyes drop shut in reaction. "So you... know how it ends?" she asks, her voice sounding a bit huskier than normal in her ears. "Monster eats villain. Hero vanquishes monster by luring it into a clever trap of molten something or other, or acid, or ummm... in this case, I'm guessing there's going to be a lot of salt involved." This softly spoken explanation does not for a moment prevent Webb from continuing his thorough caresses, which seem to grow more pleasureable as time goes on. "Damn," Shenner murmurs, "I was hoping... mmmm... to slay you with the rapier wit of this upstanding example of alien cinematography..." A little shudder runs through her shoulders, and her head arches back against your shoulder for a moment. Then she appends distractedly, eyes drifting closed again as she turns her head only to find herself breathing in the scent of your skin, "'Mtryin' to watch the movie..." Webb murmurs a soft, faintly mischeivous sounding apology, "Sorry." "Mrmmm," is Shenner's throaty reply, as with a little bit of effort she manages to pull her attention from the side of your neck. She is still, however, quite securely nestled against you, and now all the more aware of your presence next to her. Her right hand slips around till it rests against your leg, and her breathing is still slightly overswift even as she peers out to see what the hero-bug is doing. At this point, however, it appears that the heroine-bug is being menaced by the Large Thing From Below -- the Space Slug of Ardon K'ar. Like everything else in the movie, the thing is criminally cute, shimmering in rainbow shades all up and down its body, and even somehow managing to make cute Space Slug noises. Webb emits a soft, barely audible, but still easily detectable chuckle at the latest plot developments, then ventures forth the guess, "You're rooting for the slug, aren't you?" His hand remains firmly ensconced upon your body beneath the blanket - it has just mercifully (assuming one is seriously trying to watch the movie) stopped its sensuous caresses... momentarily. "Mm-hmm," Shenner murmurs. "Eat the whole cast... mrmmmmm...." It would seem, however, that her attention on the holo is beginning to waver. Her head rubs against your shoulder, and she turns ever so slightly to you, bringing her other hand up to loosely grasp the arm you've got around her. Webb's other arm (the one that's wrapped about you just below your shoulder-blades) can be felt to tighten ever so slightly about you as you nuzzle against him. With the faint, sweet scent of shakla hanging upon his breath, he plants a tender kiss upon your forehead, then a second upon the tip of your nose, progessing towards your lips, "Maybe this is one of the ones where the slug wins... as a parody or something." "How... many are there?" Shenner whispers. Very rapidly, her various senses are reporting in that the movie can wait; she has here a warm, enticing Webb, and the shock and pleasure of her last encounter with you still hasn't entirely worn off. A second sampling is beginning to play havoc with her system, and her slender frame shivers up and down both with the feel of you against her... but also the nervous, giddy realization that she'd been comfortable enough with you to cuddle up practically clotheless with you here on her couch, under the security of this blanket. It feels good, very, very good, and she begins to try to shift herself around into a better position to lay both hands upon you. This is something of a challenge, given how she's nestled mostly with her back against you... and that feels very good, in and of itself. Perhaps detecting some intent to turn about to face him, which could potentially lead to even warmer, cozier, and perhaps rather more passionate embraces, Webb's arm does loosen just a bit, so as to perhaps encourage you to try. Indeed, something about this does strike him as faintly strange... but pleasantly so, for in all of the time that the two of you have just been friends, he would have found it hard to imagine being this close to you, this comfortable, and with so little between you and him. "Several," finally comes Webb's answer, though he has perhaps forgotten what the original question was about. It can be so hard to concentrate... Given free license to turn about in your arms, Shenner draws one of her own up around your neck once it is in range. And she winds up once more pressed up against you, but this time face to face. Increasingly oblivious as a horde of brightly colored ladybugs scatter before the rampages of the rainbow-hued Space Slug, she runs a hand down the side of your face, ever so slight pressure from her fingertips requesting you turn it her way. Webb's arm which was wrapped about your body, is now positioned so that his hand slides its way down your back, pulling you gently into his lap, which seems to be one of the more comfortable ways that the two of you could position yourself. Slug? What slug? Well, not quite 0 for 3 -- the two of you did, after all, make it through a good chunk of this movie! But it as well as much of the rest of her existence fades into a delightful background haze as Shenner drinks in your kiss, settling herself into your lap as though she'd been poured there. The blanket shifts without her really noticing it, though its movement, unlike the poor harried holographic ladybugs that are in fact getting squashed by the holographic slug, provokes a subtle reaction out of her: pressing herself just a little closer to you to soak in your warmth. Once she pulls away from that fusing of your mouth to her own, her eyes focus on you, dark and shy and full. "Thought about you," she whispers. "Last five days... practically every time I turned around..." Webb's eyes, just centimetres from yours, drink in every single detail that he can discern from the depths of those vividly green orbs. Though blue and grey are not typically considered to be warm colours, somehow, when mixed together in those eyes which gaze back at you, warmth dominates. He nods faintly in acknowledgement, not allowing his gaze to drift in the slightest, "I could see you... every time I closed my eyes." "Do... do you know how badly I-I've needed..." In song, she is unhesitant and eloquent in expressing every subtle shade of feeling known to humanity, but here and now in your arms, she grows awkward trying to put voice to those words. She brings a hand up to trace the line of your cheek, and her fingers quiver delicately at the contact. [What happens next is pretty much inevitable. Shenner and Jonathan, far more enamored of one another's company than they are by the holo playing before them, lose themselves in each other and don't surface again for some time. When they finally do...] For long, long moments, Shenner is incapable of doing anything save lying there with her eyes closed and her pulse still racing. Residual sparks of sensation still fire through her system; she can feel her own sweat beginning to cool on her body, too, adding little chills along her flushed skin. Her muscles have all begun to report in that they are not only relaxed, they feel as though they've been liquified, and she can think of very little else except the scent of your skin being drawn in with each of her unsteady breaths. After a time she mumbles, her voice higher than normal and ever so slightly slurred, "'Mnot sure I can move..." "Then don't," comes Webb's answer, as if he's more than content to have you lay atop him for a good while longer, savouring the lingering sensations that course through both of you. He doesn't seem inclined to move much either, except to grasp the blanket which was invariably displaced during the exertions, and tug it back into place to cover your body. A few more seconds tick by, and you feel him slip his hand between the two of you for a moment, before he draws out the ocarina that you wear about your neck, and murmurs, "So that's what was poking me..." Shenner makes a small contented purring noise in the back of her throat as the blanket is pulled up closer to her shoulders. Her head shifts about to snuggle down against one of your shoulders, and her fingers curl loosely atop the other. But when your hand delves down to come up with the dainty little shell-shaped ocarina, she makes another little noise of query, peering up. "Oh," she murmurs. "I'm sorry... I guess I forgot to take it off. The pendant, too..." With that, though, she trails off, her gaze settling on the tiny instrument. Her free hand lifts to touch its surface, delicately swirled in hues of pearlescent pinks and peaches, like a seashell. Webb emits a soft, contented sigh as he gazes down at your face, studying it through slightly heavy-lidded eyes. A gentle, tired smile spreads across his face as he peers at the instrument, and reaches down again to pull the pendant out, not really examining it too thoroughly at first... just repositioning it so that you're not laying atop it, thus making things significantly more comfortable for all parties. "It's okay," he murmurs softly, "After all, you were kinda distracted." The seashell ocarina hangs on a silken cord round Shen's neck, but the pendant, a small, ornate little thing no bigger than a man's ring might be, has a silver chain to itself. As that item is also drawn out to lie there glittering against your chest the singer touches that as well, for just a moment; in that moment, her expression goes odd and wistful. Then, she reaches to take both the silken cord and the silver chain off, asking you gruffly, "Put these over there with my clasp, will ya?" Now Webb does take it upon himself to examine the pendant in a little more detail, as it dangles next to the ocarina in his grasp. Indeed, it does seem to be of rather fascinating design, but at the moment, the only comment that Webb can muster forth is a soft, happy sounding "Mmm..." which probably has more to do with the comfort of the present situation, before he reaches out to carefully place the two items next to the clasp upon the coffee table. A leaf design and tiny alien characters might be noticed as part of the ring-pendant's design, as well as its having been constructed from silver and brass. Shenner tracks the motion of your hand, and gazes for a moment at those three objects lying there before peering up into the air -- and realizing that the holo-movie's closing credits are rolling, to the tune of a melody that, if at all possible, sounds even cheesier and perkier than the ditty that had been playing when the movie began. A slight chuckle vibrates through her, and she mumbles, "Er... I think we missed the end of the movie...!" Webb's eyebrows arch up at the realisation that the movie is still playing, and he tilts his head slightly, lifting it off of the couch as he studies the image for a moment, before his neck muscles go slack again at the prompting of the present wondrous situation. Finally, he is able to offer forth, "Think you're right... we are pretty crazy," before a decidedly pleased grin crosses his face. A soft little chuckle ripples through Shen as she glances up at you, though she's at something of a difficult angle to see your face. A number of strange little reactions, both pleasurable and unnerving, are still swirling around inside her, and it is with the sort of hushed voice that a child might use speaking to a friend in the middle of a thunderstorm that she asks you, "Do you care...?" "Hmm," murmurs Webb as his chest rises beneath you as he inhales deeply, before he decides that the answer to that question is, "Yeah. I do... and to tell you the /honest/ truth, I /like/ being crazy with you, Shen Veery." His head lifts again, as somehow he figures that this might be a good time for eye contact, even if nearly every other kind of contact is being made, "You... add a lot to my life... make me feel a lot more... human." Feeling you shift again, Shenner raises her head from your shoulder, thinking it's easier for her to look up than it is for you to try to crane your neck around to see her eyes. This answer isn't quite what she'd expected -- which had been something along the lines of 'no, do you? -- and so as she hears these words of yours, her expression alters. Her eyes go a little liquid, and her mouth quirks into a sort of crumpled, awkward little line. "I... don't know if anybody's ever told me that before," she mumbles. Seeing your face, Webb's next action is to immediately reach up to bring his fingertips to graze lightly along your cheek, before trailing them upwards into your hair as he studies your expression, then asks softly, "What do you think?" Tough question, that. With your gentled blue-gray gaze on her Shenner swallows, looking young and vulnerable with her hair unbound and falling in tousled curls and waves around her face and shoulders and back. "I... I think," she begins huskily, and then catches herself as she realizes she isn't sure, exactly, what is now occupying her mind and heart. It takes her a few moments, before she finally murmurs in rough, small tones, "I-I think I'm a little scared and nervous, but, um... not _too_ scared, if that makes sense...?" Webb emits a soft 'mmm', which sounds like it's meant to express some kind of comprehension of what you just said. "Intimacy is hard," he ventures, hoping that he's at least venturing somewhere down the same train of thought, "And anyone who isn't a little bit scared and nervous going into it probably just isn't aware of what they're doing." That provokes a weak little bark of laughter out of the singer. "I ain't gonna go so far as to say I have a clue about what I'm doin' here but a-at least I know I ain't got a clue..." Her gaze skitters off, and her head lowers again to the refuge of your shoulder; her breathing speeds up just a trifle, in silent hint that trying to put words to what has engulfed you both is beginning to make her palpably nervous. Webb too slumps back against the couch, weighed down by physical comfort, and a general lack of desire to move out from underneath the warmth of your body anytime soon. His hand slowly trails its way through your hair, until it emerges onto your back, somewhere around your shoulder-blades where it begins to move along your back in what could be considered a rather soothing motion as he inquires, "Whatcha thinking?" For a distinct pause, Shenner is silent, as she wavers between yielding to the stroking of that hand and the nervousness called up in her by the way this conversation is going. When she at last manages to figure out an answer, her voice comes out of her weak and strained, more or less addressed to your breastbone. "I... ain't... exactly an expert on... this kinda thing, y'know? Rekkie and I, we, uh, sorta kinda talked about it when I was..." Her voice is already hesitant, but when she gets to this point, it audibly catches a little, as if needing to squeeze past an obstruction in her throat... or perhaps old memory. "A-anyway, she kinda helped smack some sense into me, and... it's just that... don't be surprised if I..." And with her final words, her voice grows even smaller, embarrassed: "Get... wigged out. I... ain't good with..." Webb is soon to join you in experiencing one of those moments where it requires considerable effort to string together a coherent thought. Maybe it would help if the two of you hadn't gotten each other all tired out beforehand. Or, maybe this is one of those discussions best experienced in environs that verge upon feeling... secure (now there is a scary thought). "All things considered," Webb finally begins to speak, "I think we're doing pretty good..." Of course, the experiences that he has to compare you with are what proved to be an utterly hopeless relationship with an Imperial officer, a lengthy but troubled relationship with a former empress with a lot of mental scars (and not to mention, a lot of troublesome former 'interests'), and... well, let's just say that he's experienced a few difficulties of his own when dealing with relationships. Shen gives another of those unsteady little chuckles. "Doing... something," she mumbles throatily. "I-I dunno what's happened to us. Could always talk to you, but now, I..." Webb takes on one of those vaguely hopeful expressions as you utter those words, "Could always talk to you"... of course, this expression might not be readily apparent to someone resting lazily upon his chest. "Mmm... you could. And yeah... so much of this..." Webb sighs, and apruptly tightens his arms around you - not in a crushing sense, but rather in the sense where he wants to make absolutely certain that you're close. "So much of this I'd never even been capable of dreaming of when I first laid eyes upon you. In some ways, it caught me offguard. In other ways, the evolution to... this... just seemed so... /natural/." This conversation was already ranking on the list of Things That Make Shenner Nervous, but now, with your arms enfolding her, her throat begins to close up further and dampness begins to trickle up in her eyes. "Funny," she babbles out hoarsely, "here I was just wonderin' w-who mighta smacked us upside the head with hormone sticks..." That dampness drips off her lashes to your chest, even as she adds on a rasping giggle. Webb's arms loosen somewhat now, as if he's just reminded himself that you're probably not about to bolt on him. This does perhaps lend itself a little more to the sort of comfortable, languid sprawl that the two of you were so readily enjoying earlier. "Think there's more at work than merely hormones..." his voice trails off towards the end, in a fashion which could leave one wondering if he just made a statement or asked a question. A pause. And then, tinily, timidly, Shenner murmurs, "I... yeah..." "Thought so," answers Webb in a soft, gentle murmur, "Although they certainly seem to be helping us along..." After all, he's still feeling faintly dizzy from the earlier decidedly searing encounter. Indeed, Shenner is spent, perhaps fortunately; the exhaustion of her body somewhat dulls the roiling of her thoughts and emotions. Another hoarse little giggle escapes her, as she turns her face away from your chest just enough to let her lift up a hand to scrub across her eyes. Then that same hand steals back down to curl around you, shyly. "I... like you... a lot," she murmurs, though a little shiver of alarm courses through her at putting that into actual words. That is about the only emotion she can pick out clearly from the thick tangle of sentiments occupying her mind and heart, and so she opts to put such things at bay for now, as long as you are here. Still, though, she feels the need to ask one last thing, one small plea for reassurance, a sign that for all that Shenneret Veery might be usually presenting a brash and confident face to the world, something in her is still vulnerable and child-like: "Will you... hold me tonight, Jonathan?" Webb's head lifts a little again to peer down at you after you emit those two telling comments. "Yeah Shen, I will," he answers softly, with unquestionable sincerity of the sort that reminds you that in spite of the hardened, cold, occasionally downright scary demeanor that he often presents to the universe, he is not without chinks in his armour. Of course, he'd never call the fact that he's here with you a weakness, even if this side of his personality isn't one that he demonstrates readily. And for a moment, his own voice takes on a touch of shyness and general nervousness, "And I like you too... a lot." Only one of Shen's eyes is visible, but she peers with it back up at you as she feels you move. She returns your regard liquidly, before she ducks her face more out of sight against your shoulder -- perhaps afraid of relaying too much with that expressive leaf-hued gaze of hers. But that arm she'd slipped around you squeezes you in silent acknowledgement of those words, even if she can't quite seem to give a more obvious reply. And that's all the reply you get out of her before her voice utters one final murmured word: "G'night..." With that, Webb lays his head back once more, finally allowing his eyes to drift shut as he gives one last tug at the blanket to draw if up to cover your neck. "Sleep well," he murmurs over the sound of your breathing and the whisper of rain against the windows. Lulled by the warmth and the peacefullness of these surroundings, sleep comes readily to him. [End log.]