Log Date: 1/14/99, 1/16/99 Log Cast: Webb, Rekkie (NPC), Shenner, Karm (NPC), Tethra (NPC), Ariani (NPC), Mirol, Elise, Cutor Marad Log Intro: It's official... Shenner's going to help perform music at an upcoming Imperial ball. And the prospect bothers the young musician more than anything has bothered her in months, between the notion of having to set foot in the Imperial embassy, the repeated attempts at apparent good will from Chantinelle Thistleborn, and the mere fact that she's going to have to wear a formal dress -- something she hasn't done since long before she parted company with a certain Corellian. Her uneasiness over this entire situation has colored the opening days of her very first term at the University of Caspar. She's been busy enough that she hasn't been able to keep tabs lately on some of her friends, though, and so she is unversed on current events that could drive these friends to drink. Friends like Jonathan Webb, the Marine... ---------- You enter the Sandbar. The Sandbar A large circular room creates the main part of Caspar's infamous SandBar. Dark wood paneled walls adorned with all sorts of paraphanalia set the relaxed athmosphere of the bar. Photographs and holovids are pinned randomly around, seemingly with no order at all. Posters from years past hang proudly, displaying obscure bits of Plaxton's recent history. Several windows made from a deep blue glass allow light in from outside, while still keeping the appearance of the bar rather dark. Along one curved wall a marble bar stands proudly, where Ariani busies herself making drinks and cleaning occational spots of the bar. There is an abundant amount of seating in here. You notice quite a few booths and tables, as well as a loft which protrudes out over the bar. A popular local band plays smooth jazz in the background. ----For help with tables, type "PLACE HELP" ----For help with drinks, type "BAR HELP" -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Webb => Ariani => Emma -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- leads to Fountain Square - Plaxton City. Webb sits up at the bar, gazing down into a glass of something which certainly isn't his usual tea, in fact the amber hued liquid might even be recognizable as being quite alcoholic to those who would consume such a thing. Still, the drink has barely been touched, and Webb seems inclined to stare at it more than sip it. Even in the middle of winter, sometimes one just needs to get out of the bar for a breath of fresh air. And thus, Rekkie Sheldon, the lead singer of the Sandbar's troop of musicians, comes back in from the break she'd scarfed for herself between the second and third sets of the evening; when she re-enters the bar, though, she's got Shenner with her. The redheaded guitar player hadn't been on stage tonight, but this apparently part of the plan, for the older woman simply cheerfully points the younger at the bar and kindly orders her to get herself a drink before she moves off and rejoins Karm and Tethra on the stage. Shenner, accordingly, aims herself for the bar, and patiently waits for Ariani to get a moment to spy her rather than calling her name out over the background noises of conversation and music that fill the room. While she waits, she starts ridding herself of her winter clothing, and it's in the middle of unwinding her green-and-gray-striped scarf that she catches sight of the familiar Marine only a few stools down. Webb, she doesn't mind hailing. "Hey pal!" comes her call. Webb sighs quietly and takes a sip of the drink, indicating that he's actually consuming it rather than pouring it onto accumulated wounds or doing something else odd yet characteristically Webb-like. With a quiet thump he slumps over against the bar... drawing a hint of amusement from Ariani who pats his shoulder sympathetically. At the sound of your voice he turns his head slightly, and looks over at you out of the corner of his eye, then raises one hand in a wave, "Hey." Shenner blinkblinks, peering first at the woman behind the bar and then at the sergeant. Plopping down on the stool next to him, she asks straightfacedly, "Is it a special occasion? That don't look like no tea you're drinkin' there." Webb nods his head slowly, without lifting it from the bar, "Mmmhmm. Corellian Brandy... excellent quality too. Haven't had any in quite a while." His gaze shifts from you back to the glass for a moment as he says, "I'm on leave," in a gruff tone which makes him sound none too pleased with the situation. The musician's dark red eyebrows arch over her green eyes, and her expressive, slim-lipped mouth curls up on one end. Now that she's out of her coat ande scarf, the garments carelessly tossed on the floor by her stool's base, she slouches against the bar and considers Jonathan Webb wryly. Trusting the man's capable of pacing himself with the drinking of his liquor, she confines her teasing to a drawled, "How's this a bad thing?" On the stage, due to the lateness of the hour and the thinning crowds in the bar, Rekkie and the two horn players strike up a soft instrumental. It'd seem that the musicians, too, are starting to wind down for the night. Webb's eyebrows quirk slightly, and his lips tighten into a faint smirk, "I've been ordered to take leave. Medical reasons. And I've been ordered to 'take it easy'..." He lets out a quiet sigh and reaches for the glass, moving it slightly so that he's now looking at you through its contents, "Most bored I've been since I left /Corulag/." A not so faint hint of distaste slips into his voice as he mentions the name of that particular planet. This makes Shen blink again, and her eyes go a bit wide in her face, emphasizing their size... and for once, her still relative youth. The first thought that flashes through her mind is _Is he okay?_; the second, _Where the kark is Corulag?_ Then she narrows her eyes again, studying the soldier. "I ain't gonna ask if you got an issue with these orders; that's pretty karkin' plain," she observes straightforwardly. "Any way I can help ya out?" Mirol enters the Sandbar. Mirol has arrived. Mirol strolls into the bar, and after a quick glance around, heads for a back table. Up on the stage, the Sandbar's lead singer and her two horn players are putting out a quiet little jazz trio piece for the consumption of what smattering of patrons are still in the bar at this hour. By the bar itself, the Sandbar's younger guitar player, Shenner, might be spotted in conversation with Webb, her green gaze searchingly considering her companion. Mirol dissapears among the patrons. Webb emits a faint displeased 'hrrrrm' at Shen's first comment, then allows his smirk to re-emerge as he lifts his head up from the bar and takes a sip of his beverage, "Med-leave is the pits, especially when the doc perscribes only light activity. At first it's okay. Catch up on sack-time, read, etc... get poked with needles daily. But after a while you get to climbing the walls." 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. He is dressed rather casually at the moment, wearing a heavy sweater of forest green with a pair of khaki pants. He also wears a pair of winter boots which are sufficiently insulating to protect his feet from the cold, yet are lightweight enough to not hinder movement appreciably. When outside on the snowy streets of Caspar, a hooded winter jacket with a substantial amount of large cargo-pockets upon nearly every reachable surface is worn, as is a pair of black leather gloves and a black toque and scarf, and occasionally his mirror-lensed sunglasses to protect his eyes from snow-blindness. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Kylan-3 Heavy Blaster Pistol => Knife => Combat Armor => E-11 Blaster Rifle Green eyes sweep Webb's seated figure up and down; Shen's brows furrow at the notion of his being poked with needles on a daily basis. Curiosity clamors loudly for her to ask him exactly why this doctor is poking these needles in him; not quite sure whether her friend would appreciate the question, she opts to keep discreet for now. Instead, Shenner huhs. "Weeeellll, if you're totally bored" -- and she flashes forth another lopsided grin -- "I could always get ya to quiz me on my homework. That probably better wait till after you're done communin' with that brandy though, pal." Webb takes another sip of his brandy and seems to perk up more than slightly at this offer, and asks in an intrigued tone of voice, "Which course would you like help with?" Yes, it seems as if that'd certainly superior to his present state of affairs as far as he is concerned. Shenner grins a bit more broadly, inwardly pleased at the immediate improvement of Webb's bearing. Well, good, he's just bored and not drunk, then; bored she can fix a lot more easily than drunk. "I got a few to pick and choose from. Casparian Biology, Casparian History, Calculus, Old Republic History, Advanced Musical Theory, Horansi 101 and Corellian 101." She concludes straightfacedly, "And Fencing, but I ain't got any tests in that coming up yet." Webb hrmms faintly as he considers his choices, "Wellll..." He scratches his chin thoughtfully and says, "I know a bit about Casparian Biology. History's always a good subject for me. I speak Corellian with native-level fluency... I can get by speaking Horansi. But I'll be of no help in Calculus or the music course. And I'll have to face Dr. Brouillard's wrath if she finds out I've been fencing." "It's the languages I got the tests coming up in," Shen says steadily. "Vocab tests. Week after that's the test in Casparian history." Webb umms at his choices and says, "Hmmm. Casparian History. That's probably where I'll be most helpful." "Whaddya know about the frozen clock?" the musician promptly inquires. Webb smirks faintly and casts his gaze upwards as if thinking deeply, "Wellll... I know that it was stopped one hour before Liberation, and the arrival of Blake's fleet. It was never repaired, and intead it was left as a monument, marking the creation of the CDU as an independant entity." "Oh, well, heck, the holodiscs say _that_," Shen says, grinning. "But was it stopped on purpose or shot up or what?" Webb smirks faintly and says, "I'm not really certain, actually. The Imperials left an understrength garrison on this planet when they pulled out the bulk of their forces. That time that it shows does coincide with the start of the final battle. It really was over in less than an hour, but Blake was hesitant to declare victory after the remaining garrison surrendered. The next day I just noticed that the clock was still showing that time. No one in my unit knew how it got stopped either." Shenner considers this, and supposes, "It was an attack, right... maybe its power source got fried?" Now that Webb's showing a bit more animation, the girl in turn relaxes a bit more, getting caught up in the conversation. A lively, intense interest sparks her features. Elise has arrived. Elise walks and takes a seat on the far end of the bar. She smiles at Emma and says "The Usual" and begins a lively conversation with the old friend Conversation, indeed, is about all that's left happening in the Sandbar at this hour. Three of the place's musicians are still onstage; Rekkie Sheldon, lead singer, and Karm and Tethra, horn players, are continuing with their jazz improvisations in the background. Guitar player Shenner, however, is parked at the bar conversing intently with Webb. Webb shrugs his shoulders faintly and says, "Could've been. After all you still see blast damage in that part of town from the Liberation. Go back a couple of years and it'd have been even more noticeable. And there was a generator destroyed in the area that powered fixed defenses... but I always figured it was independant from the local power grid. Shenner nods thoughtfully. "Huh. Maybe I'll find out what did it, then -- I could use an idea for my first paper in that class. It ain't due yet, I got some time, but hey." And she grins. "But I'm open for ideas, y'know." Webb takes a sip of Corellian brandy, letting the potent beverage trickle down his throat, "Mm. Yeah, if you write about it, I'd be interested in reading it. It was kind of a mystery to a lot of us for a while, but I guess I'd kinda forgotten about it. Cutor_Marad looks at you for a moment. Cutor_Marad walks in the door, attention focused on his data pad. He still manages to weave in and out of obsicles as he heads for the bar. Cutor_Marad sits down at the bar. Webb takes a sip of Corellian brandy, letting the potent beverage trickle down his throat, "Mm. Yeah, if you write about it, I'd be interested in reading it. It was kind of a mystery to a lot of us for a while, but I guess I'd kinda forgotten about it. Shenner grins, briefly but broadly. "You got a deal. Assuming I can beat the paper into shape, I ain't much for writing yet unless there's music involved." Her gaze remains on the soldier, but if she finds anything noteworthy in his continued communion with the brandy, it shows neither in her face nor her voice. It should be noted that in the duration of this conversation, Webb has worked his way through a significant portion of one Corellian brandy at a pace which makes it clear that he's not of any significant Corellian descent. As he takes another sip, he reaches out across the bar for one of the bowls of pretzels that Ariani has set out (along with other complimentary snacks guaranteed to parch the palate) and pops a few of them into his mouth to munch upon. After he swallows he says, "I'll proofread it for you then. There's probably better writers around here than me, but it usually helps to have second set of eyes scrutinize what you've written." Shenner more smiles than grins, at this. "Thanks," she says, pleased, just a touch sheepishly; perhaps this young musician is less confident with the weriting of essays than she is with the writing of songs. "In the meantime, I guess I just gotta get through those language tests." She, too, scarfs a handful of pretzels, popping them into her mouth one at a time, quickly nibbling down each one before taking the next. Webb nods faintly and says, "Corellian is pretty easy to learn, because of its relationship to Basic. I picked it fairly quickly, even though I didn't have much occasion to use it in day to day life. Around here... you seem to hear it much more often. I'm guessing you need more help with Horansi than Corellian?" "Yeah." Shenner gives a little bark of a laugh. "I been bangin' away on Corellian since before I came here. I guess I really oughtta get a Horansi to help me out with that tongue, though... mostly it's just tryin' to sound like a felinoid, gettin' the pronunication right, y'know?" Webb nods his head faintly and says, "Yeah. I know what you mean. The cats always look at me funny when I try to speak their language. Always makes me wonder if I just inadvertently insulted their mother or something." To this, Shenner actually laughs a little. "Yeah, somethin' like that. Maybe I can ask..." She pauses, then continues, more or less casually, "... Sinjon. If he shows up again." Webb gives a faint nod and says, "Yeah. I might know a few other Horansi around these parts who could be kinda helpful. From what I've heard though, Sinjon is probably a natural teacher." Shenner gives a smaller version of her crooked grin. "Yeah," she says gruffly, succintly. Then she seems to shake herself a little, and peer intently at Webb once more. "So. I just about wrung out this source of conversational wit, pal. You wanna take a stab at the next topic or should I wrack my brains again?" Webb plucks another pretzel from the bowl and says, "You seen many Imp uniforms in here lately? There seems to be a lot of them about town lately... for some function at their embassy or something." A rather pronounced smirk appears upon his face before he pops the pretzel into his mouth. Shenner abruptly cringes. "Oh," she croaks, "yeah. That." Webb mms and gives a sympathetic nod as he notes your cringe and mutters, "Yeah, my thoughts exactly. Still, it seems like everyone in the sector is gonna be there. Should be kinda intriguing... Last one of their functions I went to, they had Imperial Army cadets serving the drinks and playing waiter." With one last sip he finally finishes his brandy and sets it aside, "I knew there was a reason they didn't just replace the lot of them with droids..." Shenner mumbles, "Miz Laarken wants us to go play for 'em." Webb mms faintly and nods, "I'm probably being roped into going too... The PM and President Laarken probably want me there even if the docs say I'm not up to security detail yet. Though I imagine I will be by then." "I gotta wear a _dress_," Shenner mutters, fine-boned features twisting into a grimace. But as soon as she's bemoaned her impending attire, she peers at Webb again, her expression an odd mix between relief and alarm. "And I don't wanna hear word one from _you_ about it, either, if you're gonna be there." Webb arches one eyebrow faintly as his gaze settles upon you for a moment, and you can tell that he's quite obviously trying to picture such a thing in his mind (Shen Veery + dress = ???). Obviously some form of logical paradox is quickly realised by the Marine, as his thoughtful expression quickly collapses, "Gotcha. I'll just suffer silently right along with you." "Hrmph," Shenner grunts, in something that might be reluctant acknowledgement. "I'm glad to know somebody's gonna be there I can talk to anyway. That ambassador's been all over me about comin'. Gave me sheet music to give to Rekkie for us to play... the Imperial March and everything." Webb emits and faint, "Urgh," sound as his features wrinkle in disgust at the mention of the Imperial March, and he mutters, "Always get faintly nauseous whenever I hear that song." "Well, >I< gotta play it," Shenner grumbles. At the thought, she abruptly whirls on her stool and waves at Ariani. "Hey, gimme one of what you just gave him, huh?" she requests. The bartender's eyebrows go up, but she does, at least, give the young musician a modest shot of the Corellian liquor. Shenner, upon receiving it, downs it in three swift gulps. Webb hrms and observes the liquor's rapid disappearance, "Yeah. At least you won't be expected to mingle with their snot-nosed, ass-kissing military types who invariably want to 'swap war stories' or talk about the military superiority of their illustrious 'New Order'." Shenner clears her throat, once, and then visibly relaxes, the only sign of the moment when the brandy hits her system. "Thank your favorite gods for small favors," she drawls. "But I bet that wouldn't be half as bad as any of 'em gettin' bright ideas about wantin' to dance when I ain't on stage." Webb hrmms and smirks, "Well, if any of them do that, I'll come drive em off for you if I can." He emits a faint chuckle and says, "Or you could always come and dance with me." "Hah!" Shenner snorts. "For all you know, pal, I might dance like a drunken Bantha with five left feet." Webb emits a faint smirk and says, "Oh well. I don't damage easily. I'm willing to risk it a time or two of you are. Just as an escape measure of course." "Oh, of course," drawls Shenner. Then she eyes her companion askance. "Will your girlfriend get cranky if you dance with anybody else?" Webb appears to ponder that question quite seriously for a moment, as it is generally quite unpleasant to get that particular girlfriend cranky, "Probably not. After all, I imagine she'll end up dancing with at least a few old aquaintances..." Shen gives another of her little grunts of acknowledgement, and turns around on her stool again, slouching back against the bar. "Okay," she says gruffly. Then she pauses a beat and adds, "If I can make it through the thing without havin' to sing anything in praise of the Empire and keep Loren from ogling me or makin' cracks about my dress, or havin' to dance with anybody who wants to pretend I'm some kinda lady... I'll call the damn thing a success." Webb smirks faintly and eyes his chronometre for a moment, "Suppose I'll see you there, then." He casually tosses a few credits onto the bar to cover his drinks and says, "I'll declare victory if I manage to avoid reminding any Imperial Generals that last time we met, I destroyed his arm, leg, XO, whatever." He sighs faintly and says, "I gotta be going. Thanks for keeping me company." Shenner smiles, a lopsided sort of smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Hey, no problem," she assures. "Anytime." Webb raises one hand in a wave as he slips off of the barstool, and makes his way towards the doors of the establishment. Webb has left. [End log.]