"Unlikely Gathering, Unlikely Gift"

Log Date:
	1/7, 1/12/00

Log Cast:
	Shenner, Luke, Poguala, Zenani, Webb, Atarkin

Log Intro:
	It's not often that Shenner gets a chance to go off Caspar these days 
-- and so she's leapt at the opportunity to take her band offworld when the 
Womprats are asked to come perform for a corporate party, on no less a 
world than the jewel of the New Republic, Coruscant. And since she's been able 
to coax Webb and a couple of his Marine friends on the journey along with her 
and her fellow musicians, the entire affair has turned into a vacation for 
everyone. It's all to Shenner's liking, even when her compatriots leave her 
alone for a rare moment of privacy, the lot of them making mysterious 
mutterings about activities she is not allowed to witness. Smelling a potential 
gift hunt in progress, touched and embarrassed though trying to seem 
nonchalant, the young singer is happy enough to explore the spaceport on her 
own... especially when it provides her with an opportunity to be reunited with 
someone she's been rather hoping to see ever since she set foot upon the 
planet...

----------
Spaceport -- Imperial City
        The Imperial City spaceport is one of a countless number of spaceports 
  that litter the surface of Coruscant like craters on a moon. This particular 
  spaceport, the largest, is a multistory complex built atop a triad of towers 
  which loom over all adjacent buildings like a mythological giant. Of the 
  spaceports myriad of hangars and areas, none is more pivotal than the 
  CUSTOMS and Immigration area near the gated exit. Of all the other 
  connecting accessways, most link the main spaceport with smaller, private 
  hangars or storage areas. New Republic soldiers stand at each of these 
  accessways, friendly and congenial, but always on the alert.
                 -=-=-=-=-=-=<<Real Objects>>=-=-=-=-=-=-
=> Luke
=> STARFIGHTER: Incom T-65B X-wing -- Rogue 4
=> STARFIGHTER: Corellian YT-1300 -- Cats Whisker
=> STARFIGHTER: Sienar Lambda Class Shuttle -- Hope
=> STARFIGHTER: Sienar Lambda Class Shuttle -- Intrepid
=> STARFIGHTER: Incom T-65B X-wing -- Jedi One
=> STARFIGHTER: Sienar Lambda Class Shuttle -- Divine Intervention
=> STARFIGHTER: CEC YT-2400 -- Tiamant
=> STARFIGHTER: Sardakh Inter-system Customs Vessel -- KISV Hephaestus
=> STARFIGHTER: AEC Micro-Cruiser -- Angela
=> STARFIGHTER: Sardakh Z-95A Headhunter II -- Firebomb
=> STARFIGHTER: SubPro Wanderer Mk II -- Flight of Fancy
=> Shuttle Call - Coruscant
=> STARFIGHTER: Sienar Lambda Class Shuttle -- Tydirium
                  -=-=-=-=-=<<Visible exits>>=-=-=-=-=-
 <W>est leads to East Republic Ave -- Imperial City.

_Jair,_ Shen tells herself sagely, _would go nuts on this planet._ Fresh 
  though the air might be on Coruscant -- at least at its uppermost levels -- 
  the lack of any wild areas would soon drive the Jaer swordsman to 
  distraction, she's sure. And the young musician has to admit, as she comes 
  wandering down the ramp of the _Flight of Fancy_, that she kind of agrees 
  with him. Oh, sure, Coruscant's nice and all, and the sheer historical and 
  political importance of the planet is by no means lost on her... but still. 
  It'd be nice, she muses as she sweeps a green gaze around the landing area, 
  to have a beach to go work out on!

"I haven't been able to contact him in two days, and no one can tell me why!" 
It's a rare occasion when Luke Skywalker gets frustrated enough to lose his 
  temper, but even this mild outburst disgusts him, and he shakes his head, 
  visibly calming himself as he turns his gaze back to the young Republican 
  officer beside him. They stand near the customs line, amid a milling crowd 
  of late afternoon pedestrians and spacegoers. The boy almost quakes before 
  the Jedi Master. "I'm sorry. It's not your fault," Luke says much more 
  gently. "But it's urgent that I speak with General D'Agor as soon as 
  possible."
The officer clicks his heels and gives a quick salute, still looking 
  uncertain. "Of course, Master Skywalker, I'll make certain we get through to 
  him somehow." 
The boy departs, and Luke shakes his head and rubs his forehead. It's taken 
  him a long time to get his own mind straightened out, but ever since his 
  return, it's been one disaster after another. And where the hell is Leia, 
  anyway....

That loud cry from Luke Skywalker does not escape Shen Veery's sharp ears -- 
  and it sends a jolt of startlement winging through her, followed by a surge 
  of hopeful pleasure. She pivots on her heels, breaking into a ground-eating 
  stride and calling out, "Luke? _Luke_?!"

The Jedi blinks and looks up, startled out of his thoughts. Then he becomes 
  aware of the familiar presence rushing toward him, shouting his name. 
  "Shenner!" he calls out, his troubles forgotten in the excitement of seeing 
  an old friend, and he holds out his arms. "What are you doing here?"

Grinning broadly, looking positively delighted, the redheaded singer throws 
  her own arms around the fair-haired, slender young man she's hailed as soon 
  as she's within proper distance. "Vacationing!" she pipes in happy tones. 
  "The Womprats got a pretty swank gig to play here, and we decided to hang 
  out for a while after till the next term kicks in back home and I gotta get 
  back for classes. I'm so happy to see ya, pal!"

"I'm so happy to see you, too," Luke grins back, ruffling her hair as if she 
  were the adolescent runaway he took in years ago. He wryly notes she's no 
  girl anymore, but a young woman who's grown as lovely as she is feisty, and 
  he's pleased with the growth and energy and enthusiasm he senses in her. 
  "You're the last person I thought I would see here. I hope I can come to see 
  your show!"

"Well, it was a one-shot, but hey, if you wanna hear us play I'd be happy to 
  drag everybody and our instruments wherever you say." Shen steps back, 
  looking Luke up and down, still grinning. "Jon's here too -- did I ever 
  introduce you to Jon? I forget! How _are_ ya? And hey..." Her grin turns a 
  little skewed, eyes a trifle anxious, as she tilts her russet head sideways. 
  "What's the word on Jessalyn, didja find her? Never got to ask ya when you 
  were on Caspar before...!"

Too many questions at once, so Luke merely mouths the word, "Jon?" as Shenner 
  blurts out the barrage, but the last question sobers him, and he glances 
  down, gripping Shenner's shoulders tightly. "No, I didn't find her," he says 
  in a low voice. "But I wish..." He shakes his head and brushes it off. "So 
  you're here with your band, huh?"

Shenner's enthusiasm dims down noticeably, and she lifts up a somewhat awkward 
  hand to grip the Jedi's -- his living one, though she doesn't consciously 
  consider which of them she touches. "I'm sorry," she says gruffly. Her 
  smile's dwindled down to a little crooked grin, as she goes on, "Yeah, it's 
  me and the band, and Jon. Lieutenant Jonathan Webb, Caspar Marines. He and I 
  are, um, well..." And she abruptly flushes pink.

Even more surprised, Luke arches his brows and tilts his head, leaning a 
  little closer. "You're what, Shen?" he grins, unable to keep from teasing 
  her just a tiny bit.

"We're, um..." Shenner's voice turns huskier, even as her grin turns sheepish. 
  "Involved."

Putting his arm around her shoulder, Luke gives Shenner a tight squeeze as he 
  laughs. "I'm glad you're so happy," he chuckles. "Where are you headed? Back 
  into the city?"

"Well, I was just kinda gonna wander around for a bit -- Jon took off with the 
  others, and the karkin' mookla muggers wouldn't let me come along, they're 
  all bein' 'mysterious.'" Shenner tosses a nod off in the direction she'd 
  originally been headed, apparently oblivious to the double-takes and stares 
  she's getting from New Republic personnel passing by who can't figure out 
  who this redheaded stranger is and why the Jedi Master Luke Skywalker seems 
  so familiar with her.

"Mysterious," he repeats, taking particular interest in the word. "Well, do 
  you mind if I walk with you for awhile? I could walk off a little stress 
  myself." He begins to walk away from the starport, keeping Shenner close to 
  him as he eases his way through the small crowd on the walkways.

"I'd like that," Shen answers readily, a bit shyly. "I mean, I kinda knew you 
  and your, um, friends live here and all that, and kinda hoped I'd see ya..!" 
  The singer tosses a questioning gesture off in the aforementioned route 
  she'd been going to take, to see if that meets with Luke's approval. At the 
  same time she peers at him, brows knitting over her big emerald eyes. 
  "What's up? Anything you can talk about?"

Luke notes Shenner's preference in direction, and he gives a small nod to 
  indicate he's agreeable. Keeping his arm around her shoulder almost 
  protectively, he walks along beside her, a small frown twisting his lips. 
  "I... I just have a lot on my mind. What with Jessa missing, and now Han..."

The redheaded bard and xenomusicologist -- or at least, xenomusciologist-to-be 
  -- visibly starts even as she and her companion settle into absent strides 
  across the landing bay. "Wha -- wait, General Solo's _missing_?" _Again?_ 
  blurts the back of her mind, though she keeps that firmly tamped down, along 
  with _Geez, can't you people keep better track of that man?_ But somewhere 
  in the last year and a half Shenner's learned a measure of tact -- and not 
  to mention that she still carries a hefty amount of respect for the infamous 
  Corellian ex-smuggler. And so she adds in genuine concern, "What's up with 
  _that_?"

It's hard for Luke to keep a lump from forming in his throat, and he looks 
  away, searching the city's horizon, hoping that the expanse of brilliantly 
  lit sky will distract him from the lack of anything living and green on this 
  world. "I don't know," he chokes. "I haven't been able to get a hold of 
  Leia, either, and I'm worried. Very worried. I know he's... he's in pain, 
  wherever he is." He swallows hard, and keeps himself from looking at Shenner 
  for a long moment, but when he finally does, the blue depths of his eyes are 
  brimming with that very pain.

Oh kark. Shenner doesn't like crying. She hates it when she feels tears 
  welling up in her own eyes, hates the feeling of vulnerability it gives her 
  when she is caught in a fit of sobbing she can't suppress. Now, seeing the 
  piercing anxiety in the blue gaze turned her way, the young singer can't 
  help but abruptly wonder whether a worried Jedi has the luxury of tears. 
  Impulsively clasping both his shoulders, she studies Luke's face in mounting 
  worry. "You wanna go somewhere quiet and talk about this?" she asks in 
  rough, anxious tones. "We can get a drink or somethin'--" And she pauses 
  again, not at all sure whether Jedi even drink.

The Jedi Master has enough self-control to keep from letting his emotions get 
  the best of him at such an inopportune moment. "Sure, let's go have a 
  drink," he agrees, blinking several times as he gives Shenner a quick hug. 
  "Know a good place?"

There's something purely Corellian in the big crooked grin that curls 
  Shenner's mouth, and the hint of mischief that glints across her eyes. "I 
  been scopin' out the places around," she answers wryly, "but the place where 
  the band sang ain't far from here." She's a bit surprised that it's _she_ 
  and not _Luke_ taking on the role of guide -- but then again, hey, he's a 
  Jedi, right? Bars don't seem their thing, so far as she knows. And so she 
  gestures off towards the west, altering their course somewhat. "It's the 
  White Knight. Pretty swank joint on the whole."

[Shen and Luke head off down Republic Avenue, and soon enough they reach 
 their destination...]

You enter the club lounge.
White Knight VIP Nightclub
--- First Floor: Lounge 
  --------------------------------------------------------
       The lounge is the entrance point to this elegant yet futuristic looking 
  nightclub. The atmosphere here can be described in one word: rich. Soft 
  light comes from invisible light fixtures, located in no place where they 
  can be seen. The floor is covered with soft carpet of a dark color that can 
  not be identified because of the lighting. The walls of the club are lines 
  with fluorescent light fixtures shaped into different shapes and lines. 
  Plush furniture pieces are placed around the area offering those a chance to 
  accept a moment of leisure. Server waitresses are present to take drink 
  orders, and several hostesses direct guests to the anti-grav tubes that lead 
  to the second and third floors.
        Instead of the usual array of furniture the first floor lounge is 
  rearranged to accommodate a large reception party. Luxurious buffet tables 
  form an enticing line of Corusca delicacies, uniformed servers stand ready 
  behind the feasting contraption ready to serve their assigned duties. Floral 
  arrangements of deep maroon, white, brilliant silver and gold are scattered 
  about the room in strategic locations. The atmosphere of the lounge is 
  modest and professional, several White Knight security personnel roam 
  through the area indiscriminately.
Location Contents: D2-P44 Cigar Case DAG-357 Modesitt 
Locations Avalible: Lounge Bar Dance_Floor 
Floors Avalible: First Second Third
Main Exit: <O>ut
<OOC: Type '+clubhelp' for local help>

Shenner walks into the lounge from the outside.

Luke has arrived.
Luke walks into the lounge from the outside.

It doesn't take long for Shenner to guide Luke down along Republic Avenue to 
  the White Knight -- and quite the elegant place it is, too, not at all the 
  sort of place you'd expect a rough and tumble girl like Shenner to be found. 
  But it's easily located, it has lots of space and private areas where 
  conversations can be held, and best of all, it serves drinks. As she 
  saunters into the place she describes the layout to the Jedi at her side, 
  suggesting, "We can prob'ly find somewhere to sit at the bar, pal, c'mon..."

Swank indeed. Luke blinks in surprise at the decor of this lounge, and he 
  brushes some of the dust off his cloak. "Your band played here? Nice." He 
  follows her to the bar and takes a seat, still turning his head so he can 
  get a good look at the place. "How did you get that gig?"

"Ain't it a kick in the head?" Shenner grins widely, in obvious satisfaction 
  at this particular coup on the part of the Womprats, as she slings herself 
  into a side at Skywalker's side and waits for someone to come take their 
  orders. "Seems like we're gettin' a rep or something. This big corporation 
  had a business party here a few weeks back, see, and they sent a couple of 
  their reps into the Sandbar of all places to ask _us_ if we'd come sing for 
  'em. We weren't the only ones they got, but we all figured, even if we're 
  just one group in the lineup the publicity couldn't hurt. 'Cause hey, 
  Coruscant!" The expected bartender isn't long in coming, either, and the 
  young woman pronounces succintly by way of order, "Gimme a Corellian brandy, 
  will ya? Howsabout you, Luke?"

The drink sounds familiar, and when Luke realizes where he's heard it before, 
  he gives a small, bitter smile. "That sounds appropriate," he muses wryly, 
  digging around in a pocket for some credit chips which he places on the 
  table. "Make it two Corellian brandys."

Perhaps the bartender is one of the few people on Coruscant who doesn't seem 
  apt to recognize Luke Skywalker on sight -- or perhaps the slender alien 
  woman just doesn't _care_ if she gets an illustrious customer in here. The 
  Corellian brandies are duly provided, while Shenner waits for the 'tender to 
  move off before speaking again, studying Luke's eyes while she does. Once 
  privacy seems reasonably assured, Shen takes up her glass and drinks from 
  it, then asks earnestly, "So what's goin' on with General Solo?"

Luke stares into the brandy glass blankly, only his lips moving as he replies 
  in a low voice, "When I arrived two days ago I was informed that General 
  Solo is missing." He inhales a short breath, then takes a small swig of the 
  brandy, letting it swirl on his tongue before it burns its way down his 
  throat. "I've tried to get in touch with Leia, but I haven't had any luck. 
  And now my student is returning my messages."

Shenner considers this, racking her brains for something appropriate to say. 
  Student? Like, a Jedi student, right? _Nah, idiot, what do you think Luke 
  Skywalker's gonna teach somebody, bare-backed bantha riding?_ Can't find 
  your sister? Gosh, that's rough... Um. Right. "Well... missing, like, how? 
  When? I mean, he didn't go and get himself captured by the CSA again, did 
  he?"

His helplessness and lack of knowledge get the better of him, and he fixes a 
  disappointed gaze on Shenner. "I have no idea, no one has told me anything. 
  I don't know who he could have gotten into trouble with this time."

Shen is sure there are things in the galaxy more unnerving than being given 
  the full force of a helpless gaze by a Jedi Master, even if he _is_ as 
  youthful and unintimidating-looking as Luke. At the moment, though, she 
  can't think of a single one. Oddly enough, though, it instills in her a 
  sense of something almost like... equality. He gets torn up about things, 
  too, she realizes abruptly. He worries about his friends. He's human. Her 
  mouth opens, then closes, and finally she finds the words to ask, "But you, 
  um... said he's in pain?"

"That's ... something I sensed," he murmurs, unable to look away from 
  Shenner's young, trusting gaze. "I wish I could tell Leia, but I'm afraid of 
  frightening her. There's no sense in doing that when it won't help 
  anything." He wets his finger in the brandy and rubs the pad of his finger 
  over the crystal rim of his glass until it sings. The muscles around his 
  eyes wince ever so slightly. "That's what it feels like."

Shenner's ears, attuned after long years of practice to musical tones of 
  countless kinds despite her relative youth, seize up the sound and turn it 
  over in her mind. "Right there on the edge of your head?" she abruptly 
  hazards, not quite trusting this glimmer of insight, yet pursuing it 
  nonetheless. "You just, um, know it? It's a Force thing?" A little grin 
  flickers momentarily across her mouth. "Like, um, I know you just made a D 
  sharp?"

A smile can't help but quirk the corners of Luke's lips. He continues to 
  circle the rim for a moment more until the pitch hurts his ears, and he 
  stops. "Yeah, that's right. It feels like it's piercing right on the edge of 
  my head, and I can read it the same way you can read it musically." 
  Impressed with her insight, he studies her face carefully, taking a sip from 
  the glass.

"But it's just one note in the melody line and you ain't got clue one about 
  what song you're hearin', huh?" Shenner concludes. Satisfied that her 
  guess appears to have been well-founded, she straightens up a bit on her 
  stool -- and gives Luke a better look at the confidence settling into 
  place behind her eyes. She's definitely matured; this is not the same young 
  woman who'd once gasped out a strained story of traumatic danger on 
  Mandalore, of a hole in her memory. If she retains any nervousness over 
  matters of the Force since that experience of hers, she's giving absolutely 
  no sign of it.

At least one thing has turned out all right, Luke muses to himself as he notes 
  the confidence and demeanor of the young woman Shenner has become. And he's 
  relieved that her reservations about the Force seem to have disappeared, 
  only to be replaced by healthy curiosity. He spares a thought for the lad 
  Shenner has snagged, and silently promises himself to make sure he's worthy 
  of the young musician. "Yeah, and right now... I'm not hearing anything that 
  sounds like Jessalyn."

Making decent although not overly hasty inroads on her brandy, Shenner nods 
  gravely in between swallows. "But it does sound like General Solo," she 
  answers, not quite a question. Then her head quirks, and yes, that's 
  definitely curiosity along with the palpable concern in her expression, 
  there. "If ya don't mind my askin'... _how_ does it feel like him? I 
  mean..." Her russet brows knit in thought, and then she continues on with 
  her musical analogy, hoping that if it's worked a time or two already it'll 
  keep workin'. "I could pick out, oh, say, any one of the band's voices when 
  we're all singin' together. Same deal?"

Poguala has arrived.
Poguala walks into the lounge from the outside.

The Jedi tilts his head to the side and squints a little, considering. 
  "Something like that. There's definitely something about the particular 
  person's presence that distinguishes it from everyone else's." His voice is 
  a little softer, a little more slurred than usual. But his eyes are vivid 
  and alert, even if still weary of the burdens he carries.

Shenner frowns thoughtfully to herself, trying to reason this through, as of 
  yet not noticing the ever so slight blurring of Luke's voice; her brandy, to 
  be sure, hasn't seemed to make the slightest of dents in her constitution. 
  One may well argue that that, too, is rather Corellian of her. "Well, okay. 
  So we know the General's out there somewhere and in pain, right? So where 
  can we go from there? You got any idea where he might have gone or been when 
  he went missin'?"

Poguala walks into the bar, slowly. She seems surprisingly thoughtful, even 
  a little dazed and distant. Her ears perk visibly: it is likely that she is 
  distinguishing sounds with her amazing attention to detail. Or perhaps, she 
  has an itch, as she scratches behind her ear. Scaningthe bar, she does not 
  yet seem to notice the two peopel talking, though her gaze comes very close 
  to being directly on the Jedi Master. It is as though she had a near-miss.

Luke's voice rises a little as he sets his glass on the bar and slowly shakes 
  his head. He keeps his fingers wrapped tightly around the stem. "I've been 
  out of commission for a while, Shen," he says slowly. "I haven't been aware 
  of anything that has happened for several months, and I can't seem to get a 
  hold of anyone who has. So until then, I have nothing to go on." He doesn't 
  seem to have taken notice of Poguala's entrance.

Seeing Luke so disconsolate, Shenner swallows, this time without even any 
  brandy in her mouth. She sets her glass down and tentatively pats the young 
  Jedi's shoulder, offering, "Well... I'm real surprised you can't reach 
  Princess Leia, hells, she's your sister, right? But maybe she's lookin' for 
  the General?" Again, Shenner frowns in thought, and starts pulling names out 
  of her memory of dealing with New Republic personnel. "Howsabout... um, 
  Captain Calrissian? Or Chewbacca? Or Winter? Or... General Calhoun?"

The names must have gotten Poguala's attention. She is passing by the bar, not 
  quite wandering, but close enough, giving polite greetings and salutations 
  to everyone who recognizes her, and in this establish, with all its senators 
  and civil servants, quite a few do. She stops, inclines her head, then 
  coughs lightly into her throat at Shenner, the woman whose voice she heard 
  once she approached the table closer. She hover about it, not wanting to 
  interrupt, still not certain of the topic of conversation.

When it rains it pours, or so it seems. Luke runs his fingers back through his 
  hair, leaning his elbow on the bar. "I haven't been able to contact any of 
  them. And for that matter, I don't have time to. As soon as a team is 
  prepared, there's a very important mission I must go on, that takes 
  precedence over any of these others."

Shenner is about to answer Luke, a bit of annoyance flaring up within her on 
  his behalf -- the man's _friend_ is missing, and although she can hardly 
  claim to have ever been on friendly terms with Han Solo, still, it's obvious 
  to anybody with half a brain that Luke's in some serious depression here. 
  Who the kark would have the gall to send him off on some other mission
  when the man's friend is missing? Annoyance, too, at whoever might dare 
  to interrupt her conversation wings through her at Poguala's cough, and 
  she looks up with a sharp green glance only slightly reined in when she sees 
  the tall dark woman standing not far away. "Wha? Oh... um, hiya... can we 
  help you?" The singer's expression takes on a tinge of consternation; she 
  recognizes the woman, after all she'd been kind enough to show her and 
  Webb around the city, but right now she can't remember her title for the life 
  of her. Or her name.

Poguala watches Shenner's expression. She hears the indecision in the young 
  woman's voice ever-so-clearly. Her repsonse is kind. "Poguala 
  Waaris-Dawntreader, and I apologize for the interruption." Luke is given a 
  brief bow,which causes her unfettered dark hair to fall into her face. When 
  it s flipped back, she continues, "Forgive me, I had overheard your 
  conversation, Miss....Veery, was it? and I thought offer assurances in 
  regard to your conversation. If my hearing of it is correct." Her hands fold 
  in front of her. She looks so naturally prim. "I can leave, if it suits you 
  both..."

"Lady Dawntreader," Luke says, straightening in his seat. Seeing her attempts 
  to get their attention, he tries to smooth his expression and offers a 
  smile. "It's a pleasure to see you again, please join us." He almost seems 
  like the Princess' brother for once in his graciousness. Maybe someone as 
  collected and dignified as Poguala brings out any royal bearings in his 
  blood. "I take it you've met Shenner?" he adds, gesturing to his young 
  friend.

Zenani has arrived.
Zenani walks into the lounge from the outside.

"Yeah, that's right," the redheaded singer answers Poguala. For a fraction of 
  an instant she looks vaguely disappointed, as if this sudden interruption of 
  her conversation with the fair-haired Jedi isn't entirely welcome... but 
  she's either too polite to protest, or perhaps considers herself ranking 
  fairly low on the scale of Things Important to Luke Skywalker. "Shenneret 
  Veery. Shen. She, um, showed me and Jon around the city a week or two ago, 
  Luke." The green gaze squints consideringly up to Poguala, and the singer 
  jabs a thumb inquiringly at her seated companion for the other woman's 
  benefit. "Looking for him?"

Poguala purses her lips in a pleased expression. She turns to bow to Shenner, 
  whilst explaining to Luke, "Yes, I had. I had the pleasure of giving she and 
  her companion a tour of some of the more...unusual sights of Coruscant, as 
  she mentioned. It was delightful." She offers her hand to Shenner now, 
  gracious and well-poised as she had been during the tour. Then answers. "No, 
  not in particular. I was actually...called over by your mention of a number 
  of names and talk of missions. I thought it fitting to try to answer any 
  questions, if you or the Jedi Master had them."

"I do," Luke says immediately. He lays a comforting grip on Shenner's shoulder 
  as if he senses her uneasiness. "Do you have any news about General Solo? I 
  haven't been able to get in touch with Leia. I admit I'm... worried about 
  her."

Just in time, Shenner stops herself from blurting out 'Yeah, as long as you 
  mention it, do -you- know anything about what the deal is with General 
  Solo?' Instead she defers to Skywalker -- Solo's his friend, not hers, after 
  all -- while taking and shaking Poguala's hand in a grip firm and callused 
  from not only handling her instruments... but also her weaponry. But the 
  touch from Luke seems to relax her a bit, even so.

Poguala's expression turns subtly grim. She glances between Luke and Shenner, 
  her hand removed and placed folded in couple with the other in front of her. 
  Something catches her eyes, a small thing, a detail, as she is noted to look 
  for, but it seems to break her attention, just enough where she seems 
  pleased. She continues. "Princess Leia has resigned to her duties, instead 
  allowing a team to search for the General. You can imagine her state is less 
  than perfect, given the disappearance of her consort. I /do/ know that 
  General Calhoun is amongst those vested in returning him. We all of course 
  hope it shall be soon."
Something nags in Poguala's eye, a crease of worry. There is more to it, but 
  it is let be for the moment.

The quest for knowledge.. and the lack of success in her search.. drives 
  Zenani to the White Knight for a little music, alcohol and whatever else she 
  can get her hands on without being caught. The cat eyed woman moves through 
  the crowds towards the bar, leaning against it and tapping her hand on the 
  surface impatietly as she waits for service. The buzz of activity assaults 
  her senses, saturating the air around her with thoughts and emotions so 
  thick that no individual thoughts are distinct. As she is waiting for her drink, 
  Zenani withdraws a cigara from a small case and draws it to her lips. The tip 
  glows for a moment as she lights it and takes a puff.

Webb has arrived.
Webb walks into the lounge from the outside.

A sigh of relief leaves Luke's lips. At least something is being done, even if 
  he's not part of it. "Can you let Leia know that I want to see her?" he asks 
  Poguala, even as his eyes begin to drift down the bar as if scouting out a 
  hunch. He sees Zenani puffing on her cigarra, the familiar dark aura 
  shimmering around her. His muscles tense with readiness, but he otherwise 
  does nothing to betray his sense of alertness. His hand stays gentle but 
  firmly clasped to Shenner's shoulder, sensing the somewhat volatile state of 
  her emotions, and wanting to help ease her mind as best he can.

Atarkin has arrived.
Atarkin walks into the lounge from the outside.

Perhaps because of Luke's touch to her shoulder, it doesn't seem to take much 
  to put Shenner back onto an even keel. Her consternation ebbs away to a 
  steady, quiet relief as she settles herself to polishing off the rest of her 
  brandy. Oh good. Somebody's looking for Solo, then, and maybe this time the 
  man won't come >this< close to causing a war. Or, rather, exacerberating one 
  already happening. Somehow, knowing Solo even as distantly as she does 
  (knowing ten or eleven rather colorful ditties about the man _has_ broadened 
  her acquaintance with his reputation), she suspects this won't be the 
  case... but hey, Shenneret Veery is nothing if not optimistic.

Poguala reaches out to lightly touch the Jedi Master's shoulder. She assures 
  him in her soft, tenor tone, "I will sir. It has been difficult even for me 
  to see her, but I understand your need, and will my able best to make 
  certain she holds an audience." Her tongue clicks at the term: it seems 
  silly for relative to need such a thing, but forces of habit are hard to 
  break. Her handis on Luke when he tenses. it causes her to note the 
  direction of his look, then trace it with her own. Her tongue clicks again, 
  this time with a slight hint of consternation. It's /her/ again. She sighs, 
  "I would be very pleased if I may join you? I feel a need to sit down after 
  such an eventful day."

A rather toxic looking drink is placed before Zenani and as she pulls some 
  credits from a pouch to pay, she pauses. The cat eyed woman rubs the back of 
  her neck as she feels a pair of eyes cutting through the muddle and looking 
  right at her. Something powerful. The barkeep's insistance that he be paid 
  for the drink snaps Zenani back to the here and now. She tosses the credits 
  on the bar and takes her drink one one hand as she attempts to filter out 
  some of the 'noise' around her, her other hand raises the lit cigara to her 
  lips and she spies the group. The singer.. the jedi.. and the diplomat. 
  Curious as to what a group might be discussing, Zenani moves in the general 
  direction of a table near the trio.

Atarkin moves his way into the club, a sigh at the long trip he's had, 
  wondering why he was sent here. Of course, he lives here, so it's not that 
  big of a deal, but he's a pilot, not a messenger. Speaking of which, he 
  wasn't even given an assignment. Another sigh can be heard by those closeby 
  as he leans rather absent-mindedly against the wall of the longue, hands 
  folded behind his head, the yound pilot in his ground uniform sticking out 
  rather well in the club.

As Webb strides into the club, he is greeted by two of White Knight's security 
  people, albeit discretely. One of them sweeps some kind of hand-held scanner 
  across the space in front of him, zeroing it in on a spot just beneath his 
  left arm. Webb quirks a faintly lopsided smirk as the two guards, who look 
  as if they could have been spawned from the same clone tank, glare at him 
  humourlessly. Slowly, Webb opens the front of his jacket, and reaches into 
  it to produce the compact, matte black composite frame of an XiX blaster 
  pistol. After checking the safety, he ejects the charge cartridge, and 
  passes both to the guard, muttering, "Now this is familiar."

The Jedi Master gestures at a nearby stool for Poguala to join them. "Yes, her 
  again," he murmurs, keeping his voice pitched low enough not to carry. Not 
  particularly wanting to dwell on the subject of Leia at the moment, he adds, 
  "There is something very familiar about her, but I cannot pinpoint who or 
  where I've sensed it before." He frowns, allowing himself one last glimpse 
  at the odd who has taken a position closer to them.

Poguala slips thankfully into the offered stool, a picture of elegance and 
  poise...and a tiny reflection of mental and emotional weariness. That passes 
  with her straightening. She leans to the Jedi Master, and mumurs, "I know. I 
  know what she is....and I believe I have seen her before. Where is what 
  surprises me."She sits p then, lifting her hand to a passing serviceman, 
  "Please, a glass of Dantooinn tea, with honey, and a slice of Tanaab lemon." 
  Another murmur out of the corner of her mouth, "She knows I....see her."

Shenner can be seen to blink at the discussion between Luke and Poguala, and 
  she peers narrow-eyedly at both of them. Without looking, she pitches her 
  voice down to the best sort of private mumble, inquiring with an arched 
  brow, "Should I ask?" As of yet she hasn't spotted the Marine who's come in 
  the front door, from her place there at the bar. Her attention seems to be 
  fairly solidly upon her companions.

Zenani grasps the back of a chair and pulls it towards her. She sits herself 
  down and leans back, yes.. she can tell Poguala is looking at her, but 
  Poguala's little presence is nothing compared to the absolutely dazzling 
  presence of the Jedi Master. Zenani takes a long drink from her glowing brew 
  and catches herself stating at Skywalker, for some reason hatred begins to 
  bubble within her veins. She finds herself jealous at his power and 
  instilled with a strong desire to try to kill the man. Upon deciding that 
  these homicidal urges are not healthy in this situation, Zenani turns away 
  to converse with her drink.. but she can't sut the presence out of her mind.

Drawing a soft breath, Luke explains to Shenner in a whisper, "Both Poguala 
  and I have... suspicions about her character." It's hard to explain that 
  kind of assumption, especially one based on little to no evidence, but 
  nothing can distract Luke from that dark aura he sees whenever he looks at 
  her. What seems even more disturbing as the woman does nothing to shield it, 
  or her thoughts. Has she no training, or no desire to follow it? "Just call 
  it a hunch. Kind of like what we were talking about earlier, Shen," he grins 
  at the girl, but it fades almost instantly, and some sudden thought or 
  sensation makes his spine go rigid and his face almost expressionless.

Atarkin sighs softly, a step or two taken towards the bar, before deciding 
  against a drink. Bright green orbs dart about the club with surprising 
  awareness for one so young and- let's face it- naive. Of course he notices 
  the slight whispers of apprehension, and the shifting of the spotted one, 
  but makes no action to signal it, instead looking upwards to stretch out his 
  neck, finally settling on a seat somewhere between the two tables in 
  question, resisting the urge to watch either party to this strained 
  observance.

"Got it," is Shenner's grinning reply. She's no Jedi -- but she understands 
  the value of a hunch. If nothing else, eight years of running the streets of 
  Belsavis _and_ Tatooine taught her that. But as she's looking at Luke she 
  can read that shift in his expression, and so she impulsively sits up, 
  grinning a bit more broadly at Luke and Poguala. If what's-her-name over 
  there wants to eavesdrop, then by gods, Shenner'll give 'er an earful. "What 
  say you two let me buy the next round, hey? Maybe they'll do me a Corellian 
  Suicide here."

When Luke goes rigid, Poguala's hand is on his shoulder again, quickly, 
  smoothly, and subtly enough to seem casual. Only the Jedi Master need know 
  better. She says very pleasantly to Shenner, "An admirable aim, Miss Veery. 
  I would be willing to place it on the Diplomatic Corps' tab, if you 
  like....?" Her prompting is teasing, though the offer is honest. It takes 
  her a good deal of control to seem as pleasant as she does: it attests to 
  the strength of her mind....and her resolve. The 'noise' she hears is for 
  the ears of the few, but it rings in hers like so much of Shenner's...less 
  calm musical opi.

Webb casually pockets the power unit from his pistol, as if nothing had just 
  happened, then turns to trudge his way over in the direction of the bar. His 
  pace is best described as 'wolf-like'... at some moments, gliding through 
  the crowds as effortlessly as water would flow through a seive, while at 
  some moments slowing to a near-halt for no other reason than to liesurely 
  survey the situation. Through gaps in the crowd which might not be readily 
  apparent to most, he catches glimpse of Shenner, Poguala, and that Rebel 
  pilot who is probably famous for something or another, but continues towards 
  the bar after doing no more than noting their presence. Moving up to briefly 
  occupy a spot at the bar, he calls out his choice of beverages to the 
  bartender, "Ithorian thyma juice."

The cat eyed woman tries to hide her dark aura, perhaps subconciously. it 
  fades and grows, depending on how much anger bubbles to the surface. 
  Concentrate. Focus on one point, one thing.. that's how you shut the world 
  out.. Zenani closes her eyes and puffs on her cigara. She tries to 
  concentrate on the smoke which curls towards the cieling.. all the dark 
  woman wants is some peace and quiet, to drink her drink in peace and then go 
  home. She almost reaches a plateau of calm, the cat eyed woman has had some 
  training but it appears that her control is very weak. Even the smallest 
  stray thought can snap her out of her meditation and she sighs, growling. If 
  he wasn't here he could do this, and so, the anger bubbles to the surface 
  once more.

Despite the situation, a boyish grin appears on the famous Rebel pilot's face. 
  "Are you sure you're up for a Corellian Suicide, Shen?" he teases. "Or is 
  that some kind of challenge?" A wave to the bartender brings the concoction 
  over, and Luke downs what's left of his own brandy. The sense of anger 
  directed specifically at him seems to ebb away, and then come back just as 
  strong, and he notes it as a Dark-bent mind struggling for control of the 
  Force. A dangerous combination. Since they seem to be in no immediate 
  danger, he gives Shenner a nudge. "If you don't, I will."

Atarkin watches the looks and can sense the tension in the air, hoping that 
  this won't erupt. Of course, he recognizes Skywalker- how could he not? But 
  this is neither the time nor the place to go running off to meet heroes of 
  the Rebellion.

Luke isn't the only one distracted by things on the edge of his consciousness. 
  Her earlier claims about the sensitivity of her ears not at all unfounded, 
  Shenner catches the timbre of Webb's call to the bartender just on the edge 
  of her hearing, and is in fact swiveling her head in the soldier's direction 
  in search of him. Jon, here? But before she can quite pick him out in the 
  bar, Luke's distracted her back. The abrupt shift in his projected demeanor 
  brings an answering grin to her, and she promptly and audibly snorts. "Hey, 
  look, pal, I put down four of those things on a regular basis every time my 
  drummer starts shooting off his mouth about his feeble-minded notion he can 
  actually outdrink me," she declares in ringing tones. "I ain't got a problem 
  with puttin' one down now!"

Something between relief and self-admonishment paints the young 
  Representative's expression. Her hand slips away, to rest politely in her 
  lap. Silly of her to consider a touch worth some sort of comfort. Best not 
  to deal in things so beyond her comprehension. Still...her gaze lingers, 
  between the Jedi Master and the Sith Student, long enough to be noticeable. 
  Shenner's shriek snaps her attention back to the matter at hand. She offers, 
  feebly compared to Luke's and Shenner's banter, "I have been known, despite 
  appearances, to have some....tolerance of the stuff--I should be horribly 
  curious to see how well you and Master Luke might do with it." She offers a 
  prim smile of personal challenge.

The sithling, having decent hearing as well, picks up the challenge of a 
  drinking contest and decides to cut her losses and rise to her feet. As Zen 
  approaches the table, she tries to leave her chill behind, albeit 
  unsucessfully, "Look, I know we got off onm the wrong foot, but I hear a 
  challenge here. I bet I can drink you all under the table.." she glances at 
  Luke and jerks a thumb towards him, "Except maybe him.. I've seen some of 
  them farmboys on Tatooine." A wry grin crosses Zenani's face as she tries to 
  be at least a little bit friendly. Sure, the dark path is lonely.. but it 
  doesn't mean you can't socialize every once in a while. The prospect of 
  having a drinking contest with Luke seems to amuse her incredibly, for some 
  reason.

Easily readable to Luke's Jedi senses, Shenner's emotions flare up like a 
  clarion beacon. There's awe there, not unlike the awe practically everyone 
  who crosses Skywalker's path seems prone to display. But there's also a 
  delight at this unexpected gesture of camaraderie of his, and a sudden sense 
  that someone, on some level, the girl's begun to see him as almost... a 
  buddy. An equal. Just as palpable is the singer's disgruntlement at Zenani's 
  interruption. But hardly any of this gets out to her expression, which 
  settles into a big, broad, wicked grin. She fixes a stare on Zenani that 
  suggests she's not prepared to be impressed yet, while she drawls, "I've put 
  Marines under the table, sister. What kinda money you wanna put where your 
  mouth is?"

Almost as an afterthought, the bartender adds one of those frilly paper 
  umbrella-shaped decorations to faintly bubbling glass of thyma juice, 
  prompting Webb to furrow his brow in a rather obvious sign of disproval. 
  "Bloody travesty," he mutters, as he fishes the decoration out of the 
  beverage, mangles it suitably, and flicks it across the bar, then turns to 
  start down the bar's length toward Shenner and the others.

"I see. It is a bet now, is it not." Poguala rises from her stool, six feet of 
  understated, ebony and mahogany elegance. She lifts her chin. She /almost/ 
  sounds formal when she says, quietly, mostly to Zenani, but certainly 
  sparing her challenge for Shenner as well, "I am in, so to speak. I will 
  also add to the winnings to double them, for whomever triumphs." She lifts a 
  finger,"/And/, I have an unsual....item, or set of them, rather, for the 
  victor."

The young pilot's eyes widen as he watches the scene, not really sure where 
  the tension came from or what caused it, but having a terrbile feeling as to 
  what may happen next. Still, he can't suppress a grin at the comical sight, 
  the stalker now turning to a desired companion. A light shake of his head 
  sends his hair tumbling about, as green eyes watch now.

For some reason, Luke allows the situation to shift as the two women seem 
  intent on proving themselves, and he moves a little closer to Poguala. He's 
  genuinely surprised at Shenner's reaction -- his first thought was to 
  politely ask the alien woman to leave, but for some reason this situation 
  intrigues him. When Poguala throws her hat into the ring, it's all he can do 
  to keep his jaw from dropping on the floor. He summons up his inner 
  strength, his ability to manipulate and control body systems and their 
  reactions to environmental factors such as alcohol, and reaches for the 
  first glass of Corellian Suicide. "I can't -wait- to see what our fine Lady 
  Dawntreader is going to give to the winner," he drawls, almost sounding like 
  a close Corellian friend of his. He winks at the statuesque woman, lifts the 
  glass in a salute to Shenner and Zenani, and upends the elixir.

Zenani grins, showing off her white teeth, the cat eyed woman reaches for a 
  drink and raises it in the air as a form of cheers. Her grin fades as she 
  feels a distinct shiver from Luke, the cat eyed woman growls and spins to 
  face him, "It's cheating if you use the force, skywalker.." she hisses and 
  watches the jedi master down his first drink. Ha! fancy such a dark woman as 
  herself accusing someone of cheating. Nonetheless, the cat eyed woman drains 
  the drink in a single gulp and drops the glass to the table. She shivers, 
  but otherwise appears unfazed.

Poguala reaches forward in a smooth motion to take up a Suicide. Surely it 
  against two women with what have to be impressive constutions. Rather than 
  be surprised by Zenani's otuburst, she says calmly, "Master Skywalker has 
  not placed a bet." She exhales, looking into the deadly drink....then downs 
  it like water. It is liquid in a glass, therefore it is water. Her eyes 
  close. She pauses to allow the 'water' into her body without protest, as 
  much as her body wants to. Then she opens her eyes, to turn, and smile 
  softly at Luke. She winks back. Even diplomats can loosen up, and Poguala is 
  no exception. What you would do if the jedi master winked at you?

Oh, so THAT was it- the lady knew the Force. Atarkin nods softly to himself as 
  he watches the drinking match, in fact rather shocked he was able to here 
  that claim, a conscious shutting off of his distanced hearing to keep from 
  getting into too much trouble.

It takes one wallop of an alcoholic punch to knock a Corellian for a loop -- 
  and so, not for nothing is the drink known as Corellian Suicide thusly 
  named. An eye-watering, throat-burning combination of two kinds of brandy 
  and one kind of ale from that particular system, mixed in with just a 
  _touch_ of fruit juice as if in mocking, ironic promise to make drinking it 
  down just a tad easier, the stuff is potent even on the first swallow. "Keep 
  'em comin', sister," Shenner calls over to the alien bartender who's been 
  serving them, waving her over for a third drink for herself. And at Zenani's 
  comment, she abruptly frowns at the woman -- but she's got a drink coming 
  now. And furthermore, she's got a Marine! "Jon!" she abruptly hollers, 
  waving Lieutenant Webb over nearer with a surge of what can only be radiant 
  affection abruptly offsetting some of her other emotions -- so far as the 
  Jedi at her side is concerned. Shenner keeps waving, even as she belts back 
  her shot glass's contents without even blinking.

Webb takes a sip of his Ithorian thyma juice on the way over. It's an 
  under-appreciated beverage... quite refreshing... loaded with all form of 
  nutrients, but its taste can lean a bit onto the sour side, hence those of 
  weaker palates tend to dilute it heavily. Now, judging from the paleness of 
  Webb's beverage, it's apparently been diluted quite heavily, probably in 
  some form of soda water, and judging from Webb's expression, this sits as 
  less than perfect, but tolerable.
"Getting the locals into trouble again, are you?" inquires Webb as he slides 
  up alongside of Shenner, offering a faintly lopsided grin to the bard's 
  companions as he sweeps the lot of them with his gaze. "Miss Dawntreader..." 
  greets Webb as he turns to Poguala, before casting his gaze on Zenani and 
  Luke.

Luke doesn't deign to answer Zenani's challenge at first, though he gives her 
  a sour look. Instead he watches all three women down their drinks, and 
  prepares to take his second. Poguala's sense of control is impressive, so 
  it's all the more meaningful to see her loosen up at last, and when she 
  winks at him, he has to turn his head and cough into his hand to keep his 
  complexion from undergoing a color change. He's grateful when Webb's 
  approach distracts him, he smiles. "Good afternoon Lieutenant Webb. Are you 
  going to join us? I think Shenner is on a roll."

The bar is being lined up rather prettily with Corellian Suicides by now. Two 
  are in front of Poguala, who chooses the drink on the left. She is pleasant 
  when she comments, "It is after Drink Two that a Daavrixian woman would sing 
  'How Dry I am.' This causes much amusement for desert-dwellers, as you can 
  imagine." She sips more delicately this time, having accepted the fact that 
  the drink shant be processed any better quickly--not with her constitution. 
  She may as well look dignified in the process of being completely, utterly, 
  and irrevocably knackered. She half-glances at Lukefor approval, then 
  Shenner more meaningfully. She of course knows the wilder musician wanted to 
  see this.
Poguala does, by the way, have a pleasant tenor voice when she sings "How Dry 
  I am," right on cue, following the second drink.

The Corellian Suicide is chased with that toxic, glowing drink that Zenani had 
  originally ordered. Those with knowledge of nasty drinks would know that the 
  glowing atrocity is an Arconan Blaster, which really shouldn';t be mixed 
  with anything. Zenany drains the glowing liquis and licks any stray glowing 
  droplets from her mouth. While she doesn't have the fine control over her 
  system that Poguala has, Zenani has years of experience with drinking.. and 
  other stuff. She hammers a hand on the table, the alcohol slowly beginning 
  to take effect, "More!" She whoops and reaches for her third drink, another 
  Corellian suicide. A pleasent chime begins to beep somewhere on her belt.

"We're just engagin' in a little bit of four-way Corellian Suicide," Shenner 
  reaches out with her free arm to slide it around Webb's trim middle, 
  grinning devilishly up at him in a manner that looks rather more at home on 
  her face now that she's finally grown into her adult features. "Showin' 
  these fine folks how drinkin' get done on Caspar--" And she cuts herself 
  abruptly as Poguala begins her warbling, trying to stifle a burst of 
  appreciative laughter for the woman's sense of the comic as she adds to the 
  Lieutenant, "Yeah, you _are_ gonna hang around, aint'cha? After a few of 
  these I'll be in the mood for some quality time, y'know..." And although she 
  leers up at him in apparently pure bravado, Webb knows her well enough by 
  now to translate this as meaning 'After four or five Corellian Suicides, I 
  may need you to carry me back to the ship'.

By the time his second drink has hit his brain, Luke's beginning to wonder why 
  he thought this was a good idea. At least, he reminds himself, the enemy is 
  getting as smashed as you are. He manages to locate and lift the third glass 
  just as Poguala breaks into his song, and he's so taken aback that he stares 
  at her in a kind of amused shock. Seeing this is enough inspiration for more 
  intoxicants. He takes a breath, and swallows the Suicide. "Bring another 
  drink for the Lieutenant," he calls to the bartender, shakily setting down 
  the empty goblet.

Webb arches an eyebrow faintly at having been invited to a drinking contest by 
  none other than that Skywalker kid. For a moment, he seems about to answer, 
  but instead his jaw just hangs there for a moment, as a somewhat stunned 
  expression graces his features. Now, casual observation just /might/ lead 
  one to the conclusion that this has something to do with Shenner's recent 
  comment. For a couple of seconds, he doesn't seem to notice that his 
  precariously full beverage is angled just a few degrees more than it should 
  be, and that he's spilling his beverage in a steady trickle directly onto 
  Zenani. "Uh..." mutters Webb as he abruptly snaps out of his trance and 
  rights the beverage.

The chiming goes ignored just long enough for Zenani to drain her third drink, 
  allowing the firely liquid to cut down her throat. At Poguala's singing, 
  Zenani snorts, "Aw man, don't tell me you sing too.. get enough of her 
  singing.." The dark, yet tipsy, woman, points lopsidedly at Shenner, perhaps 
  the blaster was not such a good iddea The chiming continues and Zen curses, 
  "Well.. I gotta go.. I'd love to stay, but I have to hit the hyperlanes and 
  go somewhere..." Speaking of hit, as Webb spills the drink onto her, the cat 
  eyed woman growls and motions with her hand, the glass that Webb is holding 
  develops a crack, and Zen stumbles back.. "Um... He did it.." she says, 
  pointing to Luke and then beginning to stumble towards the entrance, "Damn.. 
  formal.. parties.." she mumbles.

Atarkin rubs a hand over his head, brushing his hair back, extremely confused 
  as to what's gone on here, not really sure how he's supposed to respond, but 
  watching still with extreme interest. A laugh almost comes out at the 
  stumbling, but even he knows better- usually.

Now, mind you, Shen had a straight Corellian brandy in her already, to 
  mix it up with the Suicide she's just downed. And thus a roseate tinge has 
  begun to flush her cheeks, the curse of her possessing such a fair 
  complexion. But she is otherwise so far seemingly undaunted by the alcohol 
  she's put down so far, even as she lets out a husky little giggle at Webb's 
  agog stare and reaches for her next shot. "Luke," she drawls, "I didn't know 
  you had it in ya." Then she stares hard at Zenani in the midst of draining 
  her glass. This woman's heard her sing? When? Though her gaze is as of 
  yet undimmed, the young singer takes a bit more care than usual to study 
  the cat-eyed woman, trying to figure out if she's seen her before.

"I sing when the time allows it, I sing when the voices within and without run 
  harmonious through ears." How Poguala manages to sound poetic and 
  matter-of-fact when well on her way to total inebriation is anyone's guess. 
  She waves her hand, a glass is brought to her....just as Webb manages to 
  foul up Zenani's clothing. Not that it was worth much anyway, the 
  obviously-wealthy woman thinks to herself. Her clothes, of course, are 
  extremely fine, despite their simplicity. When the glass cracks, Poguala 
  frowns. "Oh must you do that, woman! The blip you make is so incredibly 
  aesthetically unpleasing!"
Poguala calmly downs her third drink.

Shenner's hand pauses in mid-drink, and her frown deepens. A strange little 
  look crosses her eyes and for no apparent reason, she seems to shiver. Then, 
  quite abruptly, the redheaded bard clears her glass.

Zenani and Shenner's comments both ring a bell in Luke's mind, but he makes no 
  comment on it yet. He gives the cat-eyed woman a simple nod of his head, 
  even as he tries to stifle a laugh over Webb's blunder. But a moment later 
  he pauses in his thoughts to check on the conditions of the ladies who 
  accompanied him tonight. For all intents and purposes they seem all right -- 
  Poguala still stately and serene even when she's becoming incoherent. He 
  sighs, closes his eyes, and tosses back the last drink he knows he should 
  have.

Zenani has left.
Zenani walks out of the club.

Atarkin is highly confsed. "Wow, talk about wierd..." Another sigh as his eyes 
  close a moment, blinking away the dryness as he no longer feels the urge to 
  peer rudely at anyone.

Webb takes in a breath as he manages a grasp upon some form of composure 
  despite the overtures of a certain russet-haired bard. "Fascinating," he 
  murmurs dryly as he peers at the newly formed crack in the glass, then peers 
  at the retreating form of Zenani. "Uh, I think I ought to pass," comments 
  Webb with regards to the offered Corellian Suicide, as he sets his cracked 
  glass upon the bar. "One of us is going to have to be sober enough to find 
  the ship," he murmurs as he turns his head to peer down at Shenner for 
  emphasis as he slides his arm about her waist.

Poguala clicks her tongue, nose wrinkling at her lack of decorum--at least for 
  her. She apologizes to the table at large, waving her half-empty Suicide a 
  little uncertainly. "Forgive me, if I was too harsh with the woman. I did 
  not think it would compel her to leave." Oh, 'aesthetically unpleasing' must 
  have been a HUGE insult or somesuch. She sits back, catching herself as she 
  remembers she is on a stool, sans a back. Nice relfexes. She mutters, "good 
  riddance, all the same," into her glass. And finishes up.

Shenner's condition: all right, to be sure, even though a considerable 
  quantity of alcohol is now surging its way through her system. The singer 
  squints one eye shut, considering Webb's cracked glass, and then pronounces 
  to Luke and Poguala in blunt terms of finality, "I say she just forfeited. 
  Good riddance, anyhow, she gives me the creeps, whoever she is." She flashes 
  another big lopsided smile up at Webb and drawls, "Aww, darn... hey, you, 
  you want her share of the drinks?" This last is called to Atarkin, as she 
  espies that particular individual looking vaguely perplexed. Has HE been 
  eavesdropping, too?

Actually, the young pilot has only been watching, though he did catch a 
  snippet or two he probably shouldn't have, and most likely would've been 
  could gaping widely more than one. But no, he's not rude enough to 
  eavesdrop. Still, he does know when he's being spoken to. "No, thank you. I 
  try not to drink things known to kill people..." comes the reply, his bright 
  greens peering over the crowd with a bit of amusement.

The Jedi is satisfied that his younger friend is in good hands with the 
  lieutenant, so takes it more upon himself to help steady the Lady Poguala 
  who, despite being observant and frankly hilarious, is a little unaware of 
  her surroundings. He helps her straighten when she nearly slides off the 
  back of the stool. "I agree, Shen. That woman forfeited. I hope we don't 
  hear anymore from her while we're here."

Poguala blinks at the Jedi Master. Her eyes, normally green, rush from the 
  edges like oil paint to total black. It takes a moment for her to steady: 
  she is concentrating a good deal on doing so. For some reason, when she is 
  satisfied she will look dignified, she gently tugs at the neck of her dress, 
  to make sure it is properly placed. She frowns, murmuring, "I require a 
  courier. Service droid to Seat 15, please!" She smiles to Luke now, "I am 
  well, but thank you Master Luke. If you would order another drink for me?"
When the droid arrives, she gives it a number of instructions, and directs him 
  to her quarters, from the sound of it. gads, she LIVES in the Palace?

Having been to many a world where alcohol is decidedly safer to drink than the 
  local water supply, Webb arches an eyebrow as he peers at Atarkin out of the 
  corners of his eyes, as if some comment that he were keeping to himself just 
  crossed through his mind. Of course, seeing as he's not drinking either, 
  Webb is hardly one to be vocalizing that particular thought. "To be honest," 
  states Webb dryly as he peers back at Luke and Poguala, "I almost never 
  touch the stuff... doesn't take much of any sort of the stuff to degrade 
  awareness..." As he points at Shenner with his free hand, he adds, "And 
  that's what I have her for."

"Yeah, I'm a regular expert," the redheaded singer snickers. She inclines her 
  head with a careful grace towards Atarkin -- in fact, a grace just a shade 
  _too_ careful, as though she's begun to realize that her reactions are 
  getting blurred by the stuff she's belting down. Then she swings a 
  mischievous gaze back to her other companions, to whom she drawls playfully, 
  "SoooOOOOoooo... we're good to go a little longer?"

Atarkin simply sits there looking rather innocent- at least he hopes so, 
  considering he isn't doing anything at all, much less anything wrong, and 
  doesn't plan on it, either.

Figuring that if he's not the responsible one, no one will be, Luke shakes his 
  head at Shenner. His eyelids are a little too heavy, and he certainly has 
  trouble focusing on one thing at a time, but for all intents and purposes, 
  he's in the best shape of any of them. "I think... we've had enough. Come 
  on, let's get ourselves home." He offers Poguala his hand to try to persuade 
  her off the stool, as he makes his first attempt at standing himself.

"Oh absolutely," Poguala quips. Her voice is so pleasant, without its entirely 
  formal edge. Normally, her accent sounds Alderaani, distinctively so, but 
  now...there is a marvelously foreign lilt to her speech, a match to her dark 
  skin, her strange now-black eyes that do not look entirely human. Nor 
  entirely sharp at this very moment, one might add. "I have dispatched a 
  courier to my quarters, to fetch that little incentive I had decide to dole 
  out." She laughs, in a deep, sensual chuckle, entirely pleased with whatever 
  this 'little something' may be. She cocks her head at the object of 
  Shenner's brief attentions now. "Are you certain you wish no spirits.....?" 
  She can be ratehr come-hither this one, and as her inhibitions wane...so 
  does the decorum that pervaded her words. She sounds earthy and appealing 
  now. Her lok to Luke is reproachful. "I made a promise. Wager. I must keep 
  it."

Hey, now, sister, that's _her_ Marine you're ogling. Shenner is beginning to 
  feel quite pleasantly mellow as her share of the alcohol makes it down to 
  her belly and starts sending out a numbing, delightful warmth through her 
  limbs. Tugging Webb closer to her, Shenner crows huskily to him, "I win," 
  even as she glances over fascinatedly at the blond Jedi. And there's an 
  almost childlike delight in her voice as she stage-whispers to the Marine, 
  "I think Luke's drunk."

Webb grins lopsidedly as Shenner tugs him closer, and peers towards her in a 
  vaguely sidelong fashion as he answers, "Really? You don't say," in a murmur 
  which doesn't exactly pass for much of an attempt at secrecy.

Atarkin nods softly to the lady, a light smile as he recognizes the change in 
  tone from before, his own voice sounding distinctly Alderaani- at least 
  slightly- as he calls back "I am most certain, ma'am," the respect in his 
  own tone apparent. He really should never have come in here, except it 
  killed some time, and the entertainment value was priceless.

"Come on, my Lady, we really should call it a night. I'm sure you're already 
  quite drunk, aren't you?" Her tone of voice has him a little worried, even 
  if it is dangerously appealing. He reaches for his cloak, hoping a show of 
  leaving will motivate the others, but then Shenner's whisper makes him turn 
  on his heel, and he grandly places his fingers on his chest. "A Jedi," he 
  intones in a loud, slurred voice, "-never- gets drunk." With that he crosses 
  his arms over his chest and nods sagely.

The droid Poguala had sent off some fifteen to twenty minutes before returns. 
  In its hands is a small, delicately-carved wooden box, its sheen a rich 
  red-black. Poguala smiles softly to herself, in her intoxicated haze, when 
  she sees it. "Ahh, I see it has arrived," she drawls in that relaxed, 
  foreign accent. "Seeing there is little need to judge for the victor, I 
  should of course present this gift of mine with chivalry per my mothers 
  before me, as well as that little sum of money I shall lose." She smiles 
  BRILLIANTLY then, terribly pleased by whatever is in the box that is 
  delivered to her hands, and heedless of the fact that she did lose a few 
  credits too many for a drinking contest. She looks like a woman with money: 
  the sum is probably of no concern to her. The elegant diplomat places the 
  box on the table, in front of the red-headed musician. She turns to Luke, 
  only slightly put-off, "Yes, I am, and that is why I shall cease--NOT 
  without making good on my wager." She gestures to Shenner. "Open it."

There's absolutely no doubt about it: something, some crucial barrier, has 
  been breached. Now Shenner looks upon Luke with an open friendliness that a 
  small handful of people thus far generally get from her, like her bandmates 
  or, well, this rangy soldier keeping her company. She actually giggles aloud 
  at Luke's little pronouncement before Poguala's object's arrival distracts 
  her. "Hey, wait, wha..." Clearly, the girl didn't expect to get anything out 
  of this besides maybe a few free drinks. She blinks owlishly in the older 
  woman's direction, then down at the box. "Uh... okay..." And with the same 
  careful precision with which she'd done her graceful nodding, the young 
  singer cautiously opens the box.

Within the box is a set of five violet jewels, extremely finely wrought. They 
  seem brighter than say, your typical amethyst. They are of a gradient of 
  different sizes: one is perhaps two inches, and round, the others are 
  smaller, to one inch at the smallest. They are flat, like lenses, but faceted.
But all Shen really registers is... gems.

Luke, being drunk as he is, ends up being a little more moved by Poguala's 
  generous gesture than he thought he would be, especially when he sees and 
  senses the reaction Shenner has to it, and the friendships blossoming before 
  them. He grins a little lopsidedly and looks between the two ladies, then 
  leans over to get a better look at whatever is revealed in the little box.

Poguala's smile is more reserved now, the result of a quiet pride. She 
  murmurs, as the box is being opened, "I made them myself. As well as the 
  box. I am a gemist, originally, by trade, as my mothers had been before me." 
  She sighs softly, now allowing the support Luke had been trying to drag her 
  out on. She continues, "This was from a series of these I worked on: the 
  color was all wrong for its purpose. I do not know if you need them...but 
  perhaps, someday you will." She shrugs. "They just...seemed to be something 
  you would want."

Atarkin's eyes blink, his gaze unable to catch the prize, and not really 
  concerned, the deepest worry flitting through his brain is that he'll be 
  left all alone in here once the four of them leave- no floorshow or 
  anything. If that happens, what in the galaxy is he supposed to do, go to 
  sleep? That's no fun...

Why the kark would she want... gems? Shenner blinks down at the faceted violet 
  jewels within the fine wooden box, and then blurts, "Huh? I mean, they're 
  pretty and all, but I ain't exactly the gem-wearin' type... you sure about 
  this?" The singer, as far as she is concerned, would be fine with the 
  diplomat paying her tab and calling it a night... but still, Shen has enough 
  grace to accept a gift, even a weird one, if the giver seems to think it's 
  the right thing to do. Bemused, she peers at Poguala a little harder.

Poguala's murmur is a touch defensive as she watches Shenner's reaction. She 
  waves a hand, "Well, better you get them than Miss Abotu."

The Jedi Master inhales softly when Shenner finally opens the box and he gets 
  a look inside. He leans closer as if to make a better inspection, then turns 
  his shocked blue gaze to Poguala. He's not angry in the least, but the 
  surprised expression on his face is unmistakable, and his eyes ask an 
  unspoken question.

Nor is Shenner quite so drunk that she's insensitive, either. She summons up a 
  crooked even if slightly confused grin, and promises earnestly, "I'll take 
  good care of 'em. They're real pretty, Representative... uh, thanks." Who 
  knows, maybe she can make a really nifty instrument with 'em? That little 
  one at the end of the box would look stunning on the top end of a flute. 
  Gingerly, as if she's a little afraid she'll break the lovely baubles if she 
  breathes on them too hard, she closes the box again and turns to hold it up 
  to Webb. "Jon, will you hang onto this till we get back?" she murmurs to 
  him. She doesn't clarify why, but then again, the Lieutenant can read her 
  expressions well enough by now to translate again: she's a bit too loopy to 
  be carrying something so lovely on her right now.

Poguala's expression is serene. Placid. Glazed over. Of course she knows the 
  look Luke is giving her. From the smirk developing at the corner of her lip, 
  she seems to have fully expected it. She speaks to him with a clear sort of 
  patience that flies in the face of her intoxication. Her voice, all 
  Daavrixian now, is somber. "Always, always give to the soul whose purpose is 
  pure, who understands the gifts in suffering." She touches his shoulder. She 
  says, "It is so very nice to to be amongst the genuine, that such a small 
  thing was easy to give." She does add, sadly, "Tarroc's were better."

No, there's no arched eyebrow from Webb, nor any casual expression of 
  surprise, and certainly not anything resembing flabbergasted shock... not 
  this time. In fact, his demeanor seems almost eerily unfazed by the nature 
  of this particular gift. In fact, until Shenner speaks to him, all he does 
  is gaze down into that box almost serenely. At the sound of Shen's voice, 
  his gaze travels up to her face as he accepts the box from her with one 
  hand, and tosses a casual gesture reminiscent of a military salute with the 
  other, "Yeah, I think I can handle that," before he turns his eyes towards 
  Poguala.

Into the strange silence that follows, Luke clears his throat a little, 
  blinking hard at the Lady Dawntreader when she sees his reaction. "What a 
  lovely gift," he says simply, trying hard not to show his shock. "You do 
  fine work, my Lady."

In the midst of trying to parse her way through Poguala's unexpectedly 
  eloquent drunken utterings, Shenner manages to seize only upon one word 
  towards the end. "Tarroc?" she blurts. "Hey, you know Tarroc too?" She 
  blinks several times more. Apparently, being drunk makes her do that.

Poguala seems appropriately humbled. Chewing on her lip, she nods, and falls 
  a little too far over. "Tha--oh dear." Her hand flashes out to stready herself 
  on the bar. She admits, hardly glum, "I am entirely soused. Oh, Tarroc? Yes, 
  the general and I are acquainted. I consider him a friend." She smiles, a 
  little sadly, at Shenner down the bar. "I have been blessed, apparently. And 
  so have you, young lady."
Apparently, with her defenses down, the Lady Dawntreader is not only a 
  passable singer, but a strange sort of sybil. At least, she tries. It makes 
  her chuckle. "Enough. Master Luke--you are quite certain that I've talked 
  enough. Forgive me?"

Two years ago Shenner would have taken issue with the notion of her being 
  'blessed'. Now, though -- well, hey. She's got talent, she's got a small but 
  loyal core of friends, she's got a blossoming musical career, and she's got 
  her studies, at least when she manages to wrangle her way through her 
  lessons and not tork off too many of her professors. And she's got Jonathan 
  Webb, too. She grins quirkily to him even as she lifts herself carefully to 
  her feet, murmuring sheepishly, "Yeah, well... tell Tarroc I said hi, huh? 
  Dunno if he'll remember me or not. And Luke..." She swallows hard, her eyes 
  abruptly turning a little liquid. "Will ya tell me if ya hear anything? 
  About... well, either of 'em." She doesn't specify who 'either of them' are, 
  but she probably doesn't need to, to Skywalker. "Ain't got too many friends 
  offa Caspar, and I don't hardly hear nothin' about you guys anymore..." 
  Whoops, there goes her grammar. Poguala might get more expressive as she 
  gets intoxicated; Shenner's vocal patterns, however, start heading right 
  back to the streets of her childhood.

Webb is likewise peering at Shenner's face at mention of the word 'blessed', 
  though it's a different sort of look, as if all of that had somehow occurred 
  to him well before now, and some great truth were suddenly resurfacing 
  before him. His expression shifts slightly, taking on a look of concern as 
  Shenner's eyes start to brim with liquid.

Standing, the young officer looks around quietly, fighting down an idea or 
  two. No, he thinks to himself, mom definitely would not like a visit from 
  her little boy this early in the morning. And yes, the Orowood IS off limits 
  this time of night. So, what's a Coruscani native to do now, climb up one of 
  the towers and watch the sunrise? No, that's definitely a horrible idea; he 
  hasn't been climbing in years. A soft sigh is emitted as, well, he hasn't 
  got anyone to debate this with. But such iss his life, and long hours in the 
  cockpit and holo-sims give him plenty of time to talk to himself. At least 
  he hasn't developed any spare personalities. That would be a little too 
  interesting.

"I forgive you," Luke replies to Poguala in as serence a voice as he can. 
  "Here, hold on to my arm." To Shenner, he turns and squeezes her shoulder. 
  "I promise you'll hear from me. We'll find them, I promise. Take care of 
  her, Lieutenant. You're a lucky man." With that, he begins his attempt to 
  heard Poguala toward the door.

Poguala's eyelids flutter. She is tired, no doubt, but at least the major 
  effects of the alcohol are starting to lose thior potency. She looks a 
  little wistful now, sad, thoughtful. Apparently, the gift, the reactions, 
  the scene, all affect her. "I find it ironic," she says meekly, "that I can 
  see far more clearly through a drunken haze than in front of my gemmaker's 
  lens. How....biting that is." She doesn't seem bitter. She does recognize 
  that something mournful resonates in her. "I should go home. It was a 
  distinct pleasure to see all of you--many thanks. I believe I desperately 
  needed this." She rises, with Luke's help, and gives the most gracious wave 
  as she led out of the doorway. "Enjoy it, Shenner! Remember it!"
"And you too, Mister Webb! And you too, young Lieu--oh, stop /talking, for the 
  Worm's turn!"

Shenner impulsively returns that shoulder-clasp of Luke's, and then bemusedly 
  answers Poguala as she is carefully assisted out the door, "Yeah... I will!" 
  Still, consternation is her expression of the moment, and at last she turns 
  back to Webb at her side, murmuring to him confusedly, "What a night..."

Luke has left.
Luke walks out of the club.

Poguala has left.
Poguala walks out of the club.

Webb makes a faint, sympathetic 'hrm' sound as he gazes down to study 
  Shenner's expression. The hand that isn't occupied with holding the case 
  slides up to touch Shen's face, then brush a few stray locks of 
  rust-coloured hair back from her face. "Somehow I get the feeling that I 
  don't even know half of it..."

Shenner, for several moments, seems to be unsure whether to smile or frown. 
  Then she curls an arm around Webb's, murmuring, "I... I'll tell ya back at 
  the ship. Jon, I think I need to go sit down somewhere..."

Atarkin sighs quietly, realizing that no matter what his plans wind up being, 
  they're not going to take place here. So he turns on his heel, almost 
  militarily, and scampers out the door like a little kid.
Atarkin has left.
Atarkin walks out of the club.

The box, it would seem, is just small enough to fit into one of the cargo 
  pockets of Webb's jacket, thus leaving him with both hands free once more. 
  After snapping shut the pocket for security, he places the now freed hand 
  lightly upon yours for a moment, "I was just about to suggest the same 
  thing."

"I'm just a _little_ drunk," Shenner murmurs slurrily, in imitation of Luke's 
  earlier grand gesture. But she quite readily allows her companion to guide 
  her out of the bar nevertheless.

[Shen had come in with a Jedi -- but she leaves with a Marine. And soon
 enough Webb has guided her without incident back to the ship...]

Cargo Hold - Flight of Fancy
        The cargo hold is a very large area. There are panels leading to the 
  ship's many systems such as main engines, shield generator, and hyperdrive 
  to allow quick access for repairs. Near the foreward bulkhead, a pair of 
  bunks have been installed, along with a small hygiene center and a very 
  minute galley. A single acceleration couch is affixed to the wall, facing a 
  tiny holoprojector. The air smells quite fresh and pure, and the generators 
  make a quiet, rythmic humming.
                 -=-=-=-=-=-=<<Real Objects>>=-=-=-=-=-=-
=> Holonet Terminal
=> Cargo Computer: Flight of Fancy
                  -=-=-=-=-=<<Visible exits>>=-=-=-=-=-
 <F>ore leads to Cockpit - Flight of Fancy.
 <OUT> leads to Spaceport -- Imperial City.

Shenner enters Cargo Hold - Flight of Fancy

Webb has arrived.
Webb enters Cargo Hold - Flight of Fancy

The outside air braces Shen a bit, but by the time she reaches the _Fancy_, 
  it's clear that the singer's feeling the effects of the alcohol she's put 
  down. She entrusts your steadier hands to entering in the access code to 
  board the vessel, and as she steps slowly and gingerly into the hold along 
  with you, she blinks owlishly about her. "Where's everybody at?"

"Band still had havoc to raise, apparently," murmurs Webb as he peers about, 
  "Flight crew is probably up in the forward section of the ship, if they're 
  not out on the town." Another shrug of his shoulder, "Most of my people are 
  probably out with the band, 'cept Fields. She took watch tonight..." Avy's 
  ship is, after all, a fairly important asset, and these Marines did bring 
  with them a certain amount of ordnance, stowed safely in the vessel's belly, 
  "Makes for a pretty quiet ship."

"Good," murmurs Shenner roughly, rubbing a hand across her eyes. Now that 
  she's alone with you, she lets herself drop a bit of her careful facade, 
  showing that she is, in fact, rather drunk by now. "Wouldn't wanna hafta 
  deal with Loren right now... gods, Jon... Luke says General Solo's missing! 
  Again! Can't that man stay put?" Worriedly, she shoves a hand through her 
  hair.

Webb peers at you for a moment, then grasps you by the hand to lead you back 
  to the quarters that the two of you have staked out, for the sake of 
  privacy. His free hand quickly keys in the door code to admit the two of you 
  into what has become your private refuge within the occasionally bustling 
  ship. Once the door as closed behind the two of you, he turns back to you 
  and says, "Missing..." in a half-inquiring tone.

Shenner swallows down a lump in her throat as she remembers the profound 
  pained gaze with which the young Jedi had regarded her. "Yeah... and the 
  kick in the head is, Luke ain't got clue one where he is, but he said... he 
  said he sensed the General's... in pain." She lifts her liquid gaze up to 
  you, uncomfortable with the idea of knowing that a close friend, someone you 
  care for like a sibling, is somewhere in pain -- and you don't know what to 
  do about it. "And this is on top of Jessalyn still bein' missin', too..."

Often, when Webb is contemplating serious matters, his eyes get a distant, 
  tired look to them. This, as much as Webb's rigorous lifestyle, tends to 
  near-perpetually lend him the appearance of having 'sleepy eyes'. For a 
  moment, he gazes at you like that, pondering just what to do about the 
  missing General, and what to do about the feelings that are weighing heavy 
  upon your heart. Eventually, he just reaches out to take you into his arms, 
  as draws you to him, tightly and securely.

Shenner closes her eyes against a threat of tears, sucking in a breath in an 
  effort to keep herself under control, to take air deep down into her belly 
  and keep her muzzied head as clear as possible. But none of these keep her 
  from cuddling up close in your embrace, her eyes still promising impending 
  dampness because of that steady, quiet comfort. "Ah, hells," she croaks. 
  "Jessa was one of my very first friends, Jon..."

With one arm, he clutches you against the warmth of his body, while with 
  Webb's other hand rubs slowly up and down your back. He wonders as he gazes 
  down to you, exactly why he's doing that... will it actually help to sooth 
  the anxiety? Maybe... maybe it'll barely help, but if it'll do something, it 
  feels right. Finally, he emits a soft sigh, and angles his head so that he 
  can kiss you on the cheek, and murmurs to you, "I... I really don't know 
  what to say. Well, not about everything, not as the man who loves you..."

That touch does indeed seem to help drain some of Shenner's tension from her 
  body, as she shudders against your chest. Then she lifts up her face to 
  yours, grinning weakly up at you with unshed tears brightening her eyes. "No 
  fair broadsidin' me like that when I'm drunk," she mock-complains, in a tiny 
  but slightly lighter-sounding voice.

Webb allows a faint smile to flicker across his face as you look up to him, 
  and touches his lips lightly against yours for an instant. "How's the old 
  cliche go? All's fair in love and war, or something like that?" He doesn't 
  chuckle, though one corner of his mouth rises slightly as he looks down at 
  you, "For what it's worth, I've got a hunch that the General is coming back. 
  The guy might be near-certifiable, but he has good instincts."

"I got that idea, yeah, when I got to meet him," Shenner acknowledges 
  sheepishly. "That was a while ago, but... damn, still... the man looked like 
  he'd been through hell, and then Grath turned around and nabbed him, and... 
  ah hell..." The singer shivers again, lifting a hand to scrub it across her 
  eyes, though she doesn't move from against your chest. "Damn," she mumbles 
  then, "sorry. Palanhi was, um..."

Webb arches an eyebrow faintly during the story, but doesn't interject until 
  your voice trails away, "Grath?" Meanwhile, his fingers are busily working 
  at the clasp in your braid, attempting to release your hair from its 
  restraints.

"Mmmmmm," is Shenner's initial response to those fingertips in her hair, and 
  for a moment she just stands there swaying slightly, a bit too scattered of 
  thought to yield to those attentions and speak at the same time. Then she 
  finally gruffly answers, "Grathix. Guy I used to work for. Turned out to be 
  a first-class slimeball."

"Slimeball, eh?" inquires Webb as he opens the clasp, allowing your braid to 
  begin to unravel. His tone of voice softens as his fingers twine into your 
  hair, "Mercenary type? Bounty hunter, maybe? Works for the Imps?" He places 
  your clasp upon the table beside the bed.

"V'ez-tcha," Shen mumbles, running her hand back and forth across your chest, 
  laying her head upon your shoulder. "Gave me my guitar. Picked me up off the 
  streets in Mos Eisley... but he also grabbed Solo, Luke said so... screwed 
  me and Paul over on Mandalore, too..." With that, she trails off, abruptly 
  taken aback. Those words have come out of Shenner almost offhandedly, and 
  the realization of this flows right through her drunken thoughts to hit her 
  square behind the eyes.

Webb nods his head slowly as his fingers push through your hair, "Former 
  V'ez... it's a dead outfit. Most of their former membership isn't exactly 
  breathing much anymore. The handfull that are left... well..." he shrugs a 
  shoulder faintly, "Nar Shaddaa draws them like rotten meat attracts flies."

Shenner nods against your shoulder, sounding unsurprised as she mutters, 
  "Yeah, we had to go get some of 'em off Tatooine, me and P--" And then she 
  cuts herself quite abruptly off, apparently not wanting to complete _that_ 
  particular sentence. Instead, she keeps rubbing her hand lightly along the 
  muscles of your chest, saying a trifle dazedly, "What a weird night it's 
  been, Jon... didn't think I'd really get to see Luke, and then that... woman 
  with the cat eyes showed up, and what the _kark_ was up with that 
  Representative forkin' over the jewels?"

Webb's chin angles downwards as his gaze focusses upon your hand. With your 
  hand where it is, every exhalation and inhalation is apparent. His 
  breathing, though slow and mostly smooth, occasionally seems to catch, 
  particularly when concern edges into his eyes, "Y'know what I prescribe?" He 
  allows a pause of one breath to pass, as he smiles in a vaguely lopsided 
  fashion, "Backrub... As for these stones..." Webb gestures over to the case 
  and shrugs, "Y'know what's strange? These things... I think their a weapon 
  component of some sort... old beam weapons used something similar, but 
  that's like dawn of the Old Republic... older maybe."

"Backrub for me or you?" Shenner parries, blinking owlishly over her own 
  returning grin. Then she makes a bemused face. "Gems? In weapons? I'll take 
  your word for it... me, I'm strictly a point-and-shoot kinda gal, when it 
  comes to newfangled weapon parts. Or old-fangled weapon parts." Several more 
  blinks follow the first one as she tries to fathom what you've just told 
  her. Then she concludes in solemn, sage tones, "Yeah, I'm drunk."

Webb raises one hand and points it in a definitely bedwards direction. "No 
  offense intended to your constitution, but after a battery of Corellian 
  Suicides, I think you're most qualified as the recipient." He quirks a faint 
  grin and suggests, "Lie down..."

By way of reply to _that_, Shenner issues an indelicate snort, along with a 
  jaunty and not exactly precise sort of salute. "Sir!" she mock-barks, and 
  then ruins her own attempt at looking soldierly by giggling. She does, 
  however, also manage to remember that lying down is generally done on a 
  _bunk_ and not on a deck, when one is on a ship. And so she turns to wobble 
  over in that direction, babbling in puzzlement as she does, "I mean, geez, 
  what would I do with _weapon_ gems? And didja see 'er, Jon? She made a big 
  production number out of it an' everything. Sent th' droid all the way to 
  th' Palace. Five of 'em in there, I figure they must be pretty pricey, huh? 
  And all that over a drinkin' contest?"

Webb follows behind you, placing his hands upon your shoulders so as to guide 
  you, and insure that you stay pointed in the proper direction, "The good 
  Lady Dawntreader is uh..." Webb pauses, "One weird, weird chick when she's 
  tanked. She made it seem like there's something special about them though. 
  That much is certain... although I'd guess that if you took them in to your 
  average gem dealer, they might not appraise for much..."

Shenner appears to be slowly turning to water, if the pliability of her slim 
  form is any indication. She melts obediently face-down onto the bunk... but 
  this little operation is a bit maneuvered by her apparent determination to 
  wrap herself around you. "Damned if I can figure it out. And ain't it a kick 
  in the head. Former street rat gets her own horde of gems just by beltin' 
  down enough Suicides! And it ain't even like I had _four_--!" She holds up 
  three fingers, peers at them, and then lifts another one by way of 
  punctuation.

"Stay," murmurs Webb with a light-hearted grin as he nimbly slips away for a 
  moment, despite your apparent determination to cuddle with him. He takes a 
  moment to slip off his boots, then trudges across the room to get bottle of 
  bath oil, as would be suitable for rubbing across your back, were it 
  unclothed.

To that gentle order Shenner's only reply is a vague murmur of protest at
  your sudden moving out of her reach -- and an equally vague murmur of
  pleasure as you come back. The bunk is beginning to feel awfully 
  comfortable to her hazy senses, moving her entire evening to the back
  of her consciousness. Part of her still wants to wrestle with the oddity
  of the jewels she's been given. Part of her still wants to fret over Luke
  and his missing friends -- one of whom is her friend, too. But the rest
  of her, especially when deft hands coax her out of her shirt and begin
  to work that oil into her shoulders, has an entirely different idea. 
  _Tomorrow,_ she thinks muzzily, _worry more about it all tomorrow._
And with that, she yields to the attentions to her back... and soon enough
  thereafter, sleep.

[End log.]