Log Date:
	6/18, 6/19, 6/20/99

Log Cast:
	Shenner, Webb

Log Intro:
	Infuriated at her sword teacher Jairen Windchaser for his leaving
her alone in the Fountain Square to deal with a horde of angry security 
guards, Shenner has had a vehement argument with him, letting him know in
no uncertain terms how she feels about someone who calls himself her friend 
abandoning her to the mercies of the local police. But Shen, in the midst
of this argument, has also horrified herself with her own unexpectant claim
that everyone she loves or trusts either leaves her or betrays her -- a
claim that, although she's unconsciously believed it for years now, she's
never found herself saying to anyone.
	Both aghast at herself for saying such a thing and despondent because
she does in fact believe it, Shenner has fled the Sandbar and Jairen, and
unthinkingly headed west to the beach and the bluffs that surround Plaxton
City, intent on hiding by herself for a while. However, her intended 
destination is somebody else's refuge today as well...

----------
The sheltered, hidden nook up on the bluff had been shown to Shenner by 
  Webb... and shown to Jairen by Shenner. Well aware that her self-appointed 
  teacher, her self-claimed cousin, tribesmate and clanmate, might know to 
  follow her up here, the redheaded musician hasn't mustered the strength to 
  care. Driven only by the desperate need to be alone, with nothing to 
  distract her from a ruthless, determined attempt to shove emotion she 
  thought long-buried into the back of her mind where she is determined it 
  belongs, she's left Blake Street and the main public stretch of Hideaway 
  Beach. Up she's climbed, up onto the bluffs, forcing herself to think of 
  nothing except safely making the ascent, until she reaches her destination. 
  Only when that is accomplished, only when she's huddled down with a pula 
  tree to her back for support, does Shenner permit herself to cry.

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. A few small scars dot his face, 
  though other than that his complexion is perfectly clear, though pale enough 
  to suit some corpses. The cold sterile image of the Imperial Nova has been 
  burned into the skin of his forehead, perhaps with a surgical laser.
Webb is presently attired in the blended slate green and black splotch 
  camouflage typical of the CDU Marines; a uniform which he was made to fill. 
  His body is covered fully by a one piece coverall of blaster resistant 
  material, thickened slightly about the thigh, shin, forearm, and in other 
  places that don't need the flexibility. The garnment is slightly baggy, 
  affording easy movement, and comes up to just beneath his chin. His torso is 
  further protected by a rigid, load bearing torso shell, fitted carefully to 
  the dimensions of his frame. This torso shell serves not only to protect him 
  from weapons fire, but also carries the vast bulk of the supplies that he 
  will need in combat. Ammunition, grenades, explosive charges, and other such 
  handy items are kept in easy reach in the chest pockets, while the larger 
  utility pockets about his waist and hips contain bulkier items like a 
  filtration canteen, a medical pack, and other survival gear. Boots, gloves, 
  and a full coverage helmet complete this outfit, with attachment points that 
  can be sealed to render the suit airtight for operating in hostile 
  environments. His helmet is fitted with an enhanced sensor visor sporting 
  three lenses which gaze out at the world unblinkingly.
He is armed. In a sheath that is slung over one shoulder he carries a long, 
  machete-like vibroblade. His sidearm is stowed in a tactical holster which 
  is strapped about her right thigh, in easy reach should he need it. His 
  rifle is a CDMC built KXE series bi-polar type blaster, in carbine format 
  for easy use in close quarters. An extended power unit is fitted beneath the 
  receiver, while atop the weapon rests a small electro-optical scope with a 
  laser rangefinder, fitted with a thin cable to relay the information to the 
  heads up display in his helmet.
                -=-=-=-=-=-=<<Carried Virtual Objects>>=-=-=-=-=-=-
=> E-11 Blaster Rifle 
=> Vibro-Blade 
=> Kylan-3 Heavy Blaster Pistol 
=> Protective Vest 
=> Field Armor 

Tucked into the shadows, well shielded from the rest of the world sits about 
  the only other person who would just be up in this part of the bluffs. His 
  helmet and armored torso shell have been removed for reasons of comfort, and 
  sit beneath a collection of pack and gear. He's slowly peeling off the 
  artificial skin patch that he often uses to cover his tattoo, and has the 
  appearance of one only just being roused from gazing off into eternity. 
  Faint darkness beneath his eyes indicates less than 'normal' levels of 
  sleep, and a distant expression indicates much on his mind. A hint of mild 
  surprise is added to the mixture, like a blotch of paint suddenly cast 
  across an already colour-laden canvas.

Under any other circumstances, Shenner would have immediately noticed that 
  this hideaway nook up on the bluff, sheltered from wind and sea and sun, is 
  already occupied. These, however, are not normal circumstances. As she sags 
  against that tree trunk, halfway into curling up into a tiny ball, she at 
  last catches sight of the Ranger stripping out of his uniform. Shen freezes, 
  hot and teary gaze fixing on Jonathan Webb with the sort of look you'd 
  normally expect someone to show only after they've been shot. Then, with 
  that strange look still achingly clear in her expression, she laboriously 
  hauls herself to her feet again. "Sorry," she croaks out. "Didn't know you 
  were up here. 'Scuse me..." Dazed, stricken, she turns to stumble back the 
  way she'd come.

<OOC> Webb says, "Uh. Webb has removed his helmet, vest, and any 
  ordnance/packs. That's not exactly stripping out of his uniform, silly. ;)"
<OOC> Shenner giggles. Sorry, a trifle distracted by the rumble in my other 
  window. Let's say, uh, I dunno, stripping off the gear he'd been carrying, 
  then. :)

Webb pushes aside his rifle from where it had been resting accross his lap, 
  habitually pausing to check the fire selector to insure that it is set to 
  safe. Your reaction to his presence brings perhaps a second or two of 
  faintly stunned silence, before he dares to speak, "No!" he pauses abruptly, 
  trying to banish the urgency and tension that slipped into his voice, "Uh... 
  you can stay."

Flight instincts still in high gear, Shenner staggers backward a step. If it 
  had been anyone else but Webb here in this place, she'd have whirled around 
  and left without another word. Since it _is_ Webb, she struggles to get back 
  enough composure to rasp out hoarsely, "I'm... I ain't good for company 
  right now, pal, I... don't wanna rain on your parade or nothin', I'm... I'm 
  just..." _I'm just babbling,_ she thinks wildly, but to her extreme 
  embarrassment, she can't seem to make herself stop. Heat floods cheeks 
  already reddened from the exertion of the climb, and the young musician 
  shoots a panicky glance around the little nook, as if considering bolting 
  and not particular about the route of her escape.

Webb looks away for a moment as he rises to his feet, taking in his 
  surroundings, and confirming that at the moment you are the only other 
  person among them. With a steady, cautious pace he advances towards you, 
  holding out his open hands for a moment in a gesture that seems to be an 
  attempt to demonstrate that he's relatively harmless. Concern edges into his 
  voice, "Stay... Please?"

She'd needed to be alone. Shen _wants_ to be alone. Somebody up here on the 
  bluff -- even if that somebody -is- Webb -- means the tears she's 
  unsuccessfully fighting can be witnessed. The shame of that thought only 
  makes Shenner's eyes brim over all the more, and she blurts out in a tone 
  that might be called frantic if it had any volume or strength to it, 
  "N-not... not a good idea. Really karkin' lousy company right now. I 
  can't... I can't..." She doesn't, however, flee; if anything, she's starting 
  to resemble a frightened wild creature caught in a trap.

Webb asks what might be considered by many to be a silly or rhetorical 
  question, "What's the worst that could happen? Hmm?" Except when Webb says 
  it, he's serious, and curious as to what kind of threat he could pose to you 
  right now, "You think you need to pretend you're indestructible as long as 
  I'm around?" He takes a few more steps forwards, each one hesitant. And yes, 
  doubtlessly your tears are being witnessed, for his gaze is focussed 
  straight into your eyes.

In the argument she'd just left, Shenner, in the grip of a stark, 
  uncompromising honesty, had blurted out words she'd never uttered to another 
  sentient being. Now, in the grip of not only that honesty but her own terror 
  at what she'd inadvertantly discovered about herself, the redheaded musician 
  gazes mournfully up at the soldier as he makes his way closer. "Y-you're 
  gonna see me cry," she says in a tiny, ashamed little voice.

"And?" comes Webb's response, in a tone that's almost a whisper, "What do you 
  think I'm going to do?" He's close enough to touch you, quite easily, and in 
  fact does, reaching up to touch your cheek, brushing a hint of a tear from 
  the corner of your eye with a certain feather-lightness that he might use 
  for attempting to remove an armed land mine. "How am I going to hurt you, 
  hmm?"

"_Don't!_" Shenner wails desperately, whirling away from that unthreatening 
  touch, every muscle in her slim form -- and she's developed a few more of 
  them as of late, training with Jairen -- primed for fleeing. "Not you too. 
  Can't stand it. D-don't do that...!"

Webb's hand retreats abruptly, as if Webb had allowed it to stray too close to 
  an open flame. Slowly he lowers his hand again, letting it take its place at 
  his side, "Right. I won't touch you then. But what's running away going to 
  do? Hmm?" His gaze deviates slightly, so that he's now looking just over the 
  top of your head, gazing off into the distance at the horizon.

Shenner sways and catches herself against that pula tree that had supported 
  her before. Her back to the Marine, her shoulders shaking, she chokes out, 
  "It'll... get me away. To get a hold o' myself... "

Webb answers dryly, "Uh huh..." as he gives a faint nod, "And? What difference 
  do you think it'll really make? You think that if you don't do it in front 
  of me, I won't know that your hurt? You think you'll look tougher if you run 
  away?" He sighs faintly, though not in a manner which implies aggravation.

Shenner can't summon the strength to carry out another argument. Not now. Not 
  so soon. Nor can she find the energy to make the descent to Hideaway Beach, 
  not with the way her entire body is shaking and the way her vision remains 
  drenched by tears. Flight is not an option; neither is fighting. So she 
  simply sinks down to the sandy, gravelly earth, wrapping her arms around one 
  leg, bowing her head till it touches her knee. The ornate silver clasp that 
  she picked up at the end of the Battle of Plaxton City glints at the end of 
  her braid. "Yeah," she agrees hollowly, dully. "That's me. Tough gal 
  Shenner. Right..." Her voice dies away, from whisper into a muted sound that 
  can only be a strangled little gasp as her tears start pouring down to wet 
  her pants.

Webb moves around behind you and whispers over your shoulder into your ear, 
  "You think this makes you weak?" He shakes his head slowly and moves around 
  to your other side, "You really think you're that much alone?" He gazes at 
  you from just at the edge of your peripheral vision, leaning in slightly so 
  that he can see into the corner of your eye, in spite of the fact that you 
  almost seem to be attempting to hide your face.

Shenner's eyes are closed now, though, tears leaking out from their taut 
  corners, each one feeling hot and scalding to her as it escapes to trickle 
  down her face. "Yeah," she replies in brutal simplicity, the only reply she 
  can manage.

"Yeah?" he murmurs to you softly, and reaches out to place one of his arms 
  about your shoulders, then reaches out with the other and brushes his 
  fingers into your hair, "I think it just means that you're not as dead 
  inside as some of us are," he whispers, not caring to specify just who 'some 
  of us' might be. Not long after he says this, it becomes apparent that he's 
  actually trembling - it's faint, but it's there, in spite of his apparent 
  distant calm.

The contact to Shenner's hair and shoulders makes her go rigid. But instead of 
  jerking out of the way, instead of trying to shoot to her feet, the young 
  musician curls into a tighter little ball, able now to think only of hiding 
  as a way to evade the Marine's attempted touch. "Don't," she pleads, but 
  weakly, and only because she manages to catch enough breath between barely 
  audible sobs to utter that one little syllable.

Webb asks softly, "Why?" not in protest, for there is clearly no such edge in 
  his tone. In fact, his tone of voice is almost theraputic, though he's 
  trying not to be excessive... "Are you... scared of me?" That question 
  sounds almost timid. His arm remains wrapped about your shoulder, though the 
  movement of his finger through your hair has halted, even though he hasn't 
  taken his hand away.

The last time she'd cried in front of anyone, Shenner had become hysterical, 
  losing so much control over herself that she'd felt almost ill afterwards. 
  That had been before the war that had swept over the planet, and this young 
  woman has had to do much to survive, growing and changing in ways she hasn't 
  even realized since she'd fallen apart in the embrace of Gavin Hollister. 
  Acutely ashamed by that memory, she battles with herself now, tears 
  squeezing only sluggishly at best out from behind her tightly closed 
  eyelids. At that uneasily voiced question, she starts to vehemently shake 
  her head... and then she nods... and then her head shakes again. It's not 
  much of a reply, though, and as if realizing this, Shen then groans out, her 
  words having almost as much difficulty escaping her as her tears, "Don't... 
  know. I don't know..."

Webb sighs soflty and shakes his head a little as he gazes out upon the 
  rolling waves. In ways it seems almost as if he's trying to shield you, 
  rather then embrace you. Each gesture seems to carry with it a certain 
  amount of deliberate caution, and he shows no sign of being about to do 
  anything other than what he's already doing, for your apprehensions would 
  suggest that you've had bad experiences with the support of friends in the 
  past. Silence follows your last statement, until he finally murmurs in 
  response, "Good... in a way. Getting too close is usually... unfortunate." 
  His distant, sombre tone implies that he doesn't mean unfortunate in a sense 
  of heartbreak, such as you've alluded (while under certain influences) to 
  suffering at the hands of roguish Corellians.

Agreement? Stunned, Shenner goes still for a moment. A muffled sniffle sounds 
  from beneath her bowed head. Then she croaks, "Yeah. 'Cause e... every time 
  I care 'bout somebody... goes wrong... don't wanna screw you up too. 
  Couldn't stand it. Just couldn't stand it..." As she blurts out those last 
  few words, a tremor courses along her slender frame.

Webb experiences what is almost a reflex to draw you closer at that tremble, 
  but quickly supresses it, not allowing it to be completed, even though it 
  crosses his mind that such a thing could be nice. He nods slowly, still 
  gazing off at the ocean, "Yeah, I don't want anything to happen to you 
  either..." he murmurs in a tone which hints a little past sombre, straying 
  into the mournful end of the spectrum.

Something in those plaintively murmured words makes Shenner turn her head and 
  uncurl her body, just enough to peer up over her shoulder. Wet green eyes 
  come into view behind strands of russet hair that have escaped her braid in 
  her hike up the bluff. "I'll be okay," she rasps, unsure whether it's in 
  claiming she's fighting off whatever's driven her up here in tears... 
  whether Webb need not worry about her welfare... or both.

With the faintest of movements, Webb nods as he murmurs, "Yeah, I know," 
  although his eyes narrow into a squint which seems to betray pain of some 
  sort. His fingers start to brush through your hair again, pushing back the 
  stray locks away from your face. He reasserts, "I know," as he peeks down at 
  your eyes for a moment.

Slowly, stiffly, the musician begins to sit up, half-turning towards the young 
  man behind her. And then she pauses, his arm around her shoulders, his hand 
  in her hair, the thought crossing her mind that both of these things feel 
  very good... and that letting herself linger to yield to their proferred 
  comfort is extremely unwise. "Oughtta go," comes her hoarse observation, 
  though she makes no move to do so. Those pained blue-gray eyes are met by 
  her dampened, bleak green ones, and she adds roughly, "_You_ okay?"

A lengthy pause seems to indicate some form of inability to answer that 
  question, before he slowly shakes his head, and allows a faint smirk to slip 
  into his expression for a moment, though now a cheerful one, as he mutters, 
  "I really don't know." Likewise, he will acknowledge in his thoughts that 
  something about the present situation does feel rather pleasant.

New unease trickles in through the bleak, cold despair that had been 
  blanketing Shenner's thoughts. As upset as she'd been bolting out of the 
  Sandbar and scrambling half-blindly up the bluff trail, seeing this friend 
  of hers visibly uncomfortable is enough to begin to distract her. Her eyes 
  are still quite wet, puffy and reddened, her face showing all the painful 
  results of her interior battle; there are several things Shenneret Veery 
  does gracefully, but crying is not one of them. Nor is there much grace in 
  the motion of her hand as she lifts it up to find and grip the one that had 
  gone round her shoulders. "Be okay," she pleads, rough and awkward.

Two quick, faint nods of his head demonstrate that he is at least trying to 
  'be okay'. But, his apparent present state of distress would suffice to 
  explain why he was already hiding up here when you arrived. It would also 
  explain the strain which adds to Webb's apparent age when you gaze upon his 
  face. Slowly, he leans forward, until his forehead touches against your 
  hand, which rests atop his, which rests upon your shoulder.

_Ohhh shiisa._ Both bizarrely relieved and deeply disturbed that there is in 
  fact someone else in distress here in this hidden nook on the cliffside, 
  Shenner blows out a shaky breath. Half of her still shouts for her to run, 
  but the rest, rather quieter, drawing on a strength of resolve that had seen 
  its birthing in the war that changed so many lives all over the system, 
  advises that she cannot leave her friend in pain. Her other arm comes up, 
  settling around the Ranger's broader shoulders. She says nothing, though. 
  She can't think of anything to say -- and besides, the still-frantic half of 
  her mind insists, if she speaks, she'll jinx it.

Webb seems content to let his head lay there for a rather lengthy span of 
  time. There is something oddly serene about him, in spite of the fact that 
  he's hinted at his torment. In fact, if anything, the embrace seems to be 
  relaxing him further, thougb the look in his eyes when he finally does look 
  up would seem to give the impression that he's probably only really this 
  serene because he's rather heavily engrossed in thoughts which aren't quite 
  related to sitting here holding you.

Still, Shen does not speak; nor does she let herself think too heavily about 
  the fact that having someone here to hold, and who is willing to hold _her_, 
  is beginning to dissolve those tight, hard knot of tension in her chest and 
  her throat. It's not a particularly pleasant sensation, as hot little 
  tremors seem to her to sweep out from within those parts of her, making her 
  hands shake. And that arm around Webb's shoulders, too. Finally, though, she 
  does make herself speak: "Oughtta go." Her voice is still low and 
  choked-sounding, her tear-streaked face strained and indecisive.

Webb sighs softly and sits up a little straighter, so that he's now looking 
  across the rather short distance between your face and his. "Hmm..." he 
  remarks after a while, and reaches up to delicately dab at any tears which 
  still cling to your face. Quietly he comments, "These are... strange times, 
  aren't they?" with reference to what has to be more than just this present 
  situation, "What happened to you anyways?"

Strange isn't the half of it. Shenner doesn't say that, though she thinks it, 
  fleetingly. She gives an unsteady bob of her tousled head, eyes fluttering 
  shut at the gentle touches to her face. "Had a fight with Jairen," she 
  mumbles.

Webb ahs softly and nods slowly in understanding as he wipes away another 
  wayward tear and inquires, "That would have something to do with the other 
  night?" obviously speaking of the last time he ran into you, when you were 
  being questioned by the security officers.

The singer swallows hard, her throat rippling with the effort of it. "Yeah," 
  she croaks without elaboration. Her arm remains loosely about her companion; 
  although she's not letting herself think about it, she's unwilling to 
  release him just yet. "Howsabout you?"

"Oh..." Webb murmurs as he brushes a stray russet lock away from your face, 
  "Been trying to fix that little problem... what with our military being 
  effectively incapacitated by internal strife. Trying to keep in touch with 
  which faction is trying to get what out of the present situation." He sighs 
  faintly and shakes his head, "It's... very different."

Internal strife in the Caspar military. Even if Shen hadn't already heard 
  rumors of such things from the Marines that frequent the Sandbar, not to 
  mention from Loren, still working on finishing out the rest of his volunteer 
  time with the groundpounders at Trinumvira, the simple fact that Admiral 
  Taylor has been assassinated would have been enough to clue her in that all 
  is far from right among Caspar's defenders. _Get a grip, street rat,_ she 
  orders herself harshly. Her own personal problems rather pale in comparison 
  to the fact that a man has died because of the squabbling factions in the 
  CDU armed forces. With an effort reflected in the way her face begins to 
  close off, go still and stoic, she rasps out, "Still don't envy you your 
  job. Came up here to get a breather?"

Webb nods ever so faintly, seemingly still engrossed in intercepting any tears 
  and brushing your hair back from your face. Generally, he limits the extent 
  of any touches to just that, but at one point it almost seems that he 
  bestows a gratuitous caress along your cheek, "Yeah, well we're kinda 
  without leadership. Near as I can tell there's only about... 15 percent of 
  our officers beyond the rank of Commander who are still trustworthy. The 
  rest are pushing one faction or another, or have just dropped off of the 
  scene altogether. Not exactly a good recipe for morale."

Shenner's breathing slows and eases at that tender attention to her face; at 
  that one possibly suspicious touch, though, her breath halts altogether. 
  Those light contacts provoke a few fresh tears out from beneath her 
  still-closed eyes, and she is a little hard-pressed to keep her attention 
  upon the Marine's voice and words. "Loren was sayin' his unit's just tryin' 
  to keep all their heads down," she whispers.

Webb nods his head faintly and murmurs, "Yeah, that seems to be a pretty 
  common reaction to the present situation. We kinda saw the imps doing the 
  same thing once we took away their command, control and communications 
  capabilities." At the detection of the pause in your breathing, the touches 
  halt momentarily, before he steadily starts the process over, chasing the 
  fresh tears, though much more cautiously.

"Karkin' pack of idiots," Shenner mutters, her voice gaining a little strength 
  and volume. "If any of the Imps had half a clue, they'd take one look at all 
  this, bring in another fleet, and take the damned planet all over again. If 
  our forces are all over each other like rabid kretch, they could do it, too. 
  Ain't any of them realizing the danger there?" She shakes her head, brows 
  winging down over her eyes, as the thought of the forces responsible for 
  defending her adopted homeworld turning on one another makes her sick at 
  heart all over again. Her eyes come open, dark and bleak and resigned, and 
  she asks huskily, "You think they'll get their act together... or are we 
  screwed?"

Webb smirks faintly, indicating the various derisive thoughts that go swirling 
  through his head, "Imps seem to be having a bit of internal difficulties... 
  difficult to say what, but most of their forces have been... busy. Besides, 
  Laarken, Taylor, Huntington... Batraad. They're all convinced that we won 
  decisively... I'm not so sure. Another possibility is that we've entered 
  into some kind of... deal, which would explain why peace broke out all of 
  the sudden." He shrugs his shoulders and says, "I think there's plenty of 
  people who see the danger to this situation, but they're not the one's 
  sitting at the top of the pyramid. I'm beginning to think that in order for 
  us to pull out of this mess, we're either going to have to wait for one side 
  to win and secure its power, or the lower ranks are going to have to remove 
  the high command." That's not a thought to be taken lightly.

Hearing the name 'Laarken' makes Shenner go very still. Then, slowly, her arm 
  slips off the Marine's shoulders and her gaze turns distant in her pale and 
  haggard face. For several seconds, she is quiet; at last, though, she says 
  only, "This sounds like you're gettin' into another one of those areas you 
  probably shouldn't be talkin' to a civvie about, pal."

Webb shakes his head faintly and says, "No. Actually, I probably shouldn't 
  even be thinking it. That's kinda what brought me up here." Sensing that 
  he's made you uncomfortable with his inclusion of Avy as a part of the 
  problem in this situation, he slowly draws back the arm that he was holding 
  you with.

"You including Miz Laarken among those the... 'lower ranks' might have to punt 
  out?" the young singer then asks, her gaze turning away.

Webb shrugs his shoulders faintly and says, "No. Well, I really don't know. I 
  need much more information, really. Thus far the only strike that she has 
  against her is a refusal to exercise any leadership in the situation. Might 
  not have to remove her, but we might have to act in spite of her." He sighs 
  faintly and shakes his head, "I might not like everything she does, and the 
  lot of us might get screwed over something fierce for leaving her there, but 
  it's better than going the route of dictatorship like Taylor was headed 
  towards."

Shenner rises, then, her face so still and grim now it might be etched in 
  stone. "If there are moves against her," she says, her voice going toneless 
  and flat and hollow, "I'll do everything in my power to keep her safe, and 
  then I am outta here faster than you can say greased womprat, because if 
  this karking planet has no appreciation for the way that woman's busted her 
  backside for it, I don't wanna live here anymore. Figures -- I get attached 
  to a place, that gets screwed over just like when I get attached to people, 
  too. Try not to do anything too stupid, like getting yourself killed, 'kay?" 
  And with that, the redheaded musician turns to go.

Webb shakes his head slowly and tilts his head back to look up at you as you 
  start to turn away, "Yeah, she's done a lot... in the past. That's why I'd 
  rather not see her removed. But I have a lot more things to consider than 
  the continuation of her political career, because right now, our situation 
  is /very/ bleak. She might be good, but she's not on top of this situation, 
  and frankly, this isn't the first time."

Not at all wanting to have this conversation, _especially_ right now, Shenner 
  pauses long enough to pin Webb with a stare that exactly conveys how alone 
  she'd earlier claimed she felt. "Then if you're ever plannin' on helpin' 
  work against her, I'll say goodbye right now. That woman's the main reason 
  I'm not still goin' crazy on Calamari or pickin' pockets on Tatooine, and 
  anybody who wants to step all over her rather than helping her _be_ 'on top' 
  of this situation can, as far as I'm concerned, go fling themselves out an 
  airlock." She turns again, and starts stalking away, heading back out to the 
  path that leads down off the bluff.

Webb sighs faintly as he watches you turn to head back down the path. Slowly, 
  he picks himself up from where he sits and moves as if to dust off his 
  fatigues, before he realises that he's kind of dusty all over, and forgoes 
  any superficial attempts to remove the dust. As he turns to pick up his 
  rifle and to don the rest of his gear, he remarks to no audience in 
  particular, "Times like this, I bloody well hate this job."

And Shenner, who'd run up onto the bluff in the hopes of crying in private, 
  who'd almost let herself find comfort in the presence of a friend, starts 
  down the bluff with her spirits no lighter than they'd been at her ascent. 
  Halfway down, her throat tightens up again. By the time she reaches the 
  beach, her chest has done the same. But only when she makes it back to her 
  apartment and out of the sight of the planet at large does she let herself 
  once more cry.

[End log.]