"Wartime Proposal"

Log Date:
	5/27, 5/29, 5/30, 6/4/00

Log Cast:
	Shenner, Webb

Log Intro:
	The mood on Caspar has been tense indeed, a reflection of the tense 
mood spreading across the galaxy. The threat of war is hanging over everyone's
heads, all too sharp and clear--for on the galactic scale of things, it still
has not been all that long since the Battle of Endor. No one has forgotten
what it felt like to have a Death Star on the loose through civilized systems.
	Closer to home, President Avalyshaar Laarken has been threatened by an
assassination attempt--leaving Shenner, her fellow bandmates, Ariani, and 
Emma unable to go anywhere near their employer. Shenner's fellow students at
the University of Caspar have been gathering together to hold anti-war 
rallies. And Shenner herself, caught up in the last mad rush of her freshman
year finals, has found herself frantic with worry about what this all might
mean for her future with Jonathan Webb. 
	Because when it's wartime and you are a fiery red-headed bard, all
sorts of passionate declarations can surge up inside you and leave you about
to explode....

----------
It hasn't exactly been life as usual at the University of Caspar as of late -- 
  or, for that matter, at the Sandbar each night -- since the news of the new 
  Death Star broke across the galaxy. And for added depression value, there's 
  been the assassination attempt on the president. Shenner's classmates as 
  well as the patrons of the Sandbar have in the last couple of weeks been 
  alternately engaged in near-desperate arguments with one another as to the 
  safety of the system, especially with Avalyshaar Laarken proven vulnerable 
  to attack -- and creeping about their daily business in a nervous, depressed 
  kind of quiet, as if afraid that saying the wrong thing might somehow cause 
  obliteration to fall down from the skies upon their heads.
In the midst of it all, the Womprats have noticed a distinct sharp drop in the 
  morale of their nightly audiences -- and Shenner herself has been seized 
  with a frantic restlessness she's been barely able to keep under control. 
  The President's security forces have denied her and the rest of the 
  Sandbar's staff any direct access to her as she recovers. Her sleep has 
  turned restless again, flavored with old fears from childhood she'd thought 
  banished when the Rebellion had at last blown the second Death Star out of 
  the stars. It hasn't helped in the slightest that Jonathan Webb hasn't set 
  foot in her flat for the last several days, ever since the news broke to the 
  civilian population of Plaxton City.
And thus, nervous, desperately restless, Shen has tried her best to get 
  through the last few weeks of her freshman year. Finals are coming up. But 
  her studying hasn't gone well at all, and despite the large quantities of 
  coffee she's been consuming, she's still horrendously tired. Tonight she 
  sits slumped on the couch, surrounded by her datadiscs and books, and unable 
  to keep herself from wondering if she shouldn't just head right to 
  Trinumvira Base and satisfy her anxious mind and heart.

Amid all of this, Webb has once again taken his rightful place among the 
  Marines, hence his absense as the Marines once again took him back to the 
  stars. And now, he's coming back to you. After giving his keycard a quick 
  slide through the reader, the door opens to admit him, and he stands there, 
  chewing on his lower lip for a second or so as the door patiently waits for 
  him to step through.

Shen isn't a trained soldier -- but still, her reflexes are good, and honed 
  about as sharp as they get with the aid of copious amounts of caffeine. The 
  noise of the door sliding open has her jerking her head up and on her feet 
  even before it's fully open. With a small hoarse cry of "Jon!" she's 
  charging towards you, oblivious to what you might be wearing or carrying, 
  oblivious to your physical state or anything else except the fact that you 
  are Here. In moments Shen's arms are around you, squeezing you with all the 
  ferocity her slender frame can muster.

He's here, dressed in his duty uniform (suggesting that he's just recently 
  come off-duty). He's alright. He's in one piece. That much can be readily 
  assessed, for the instant you make contact with him, his strong arms are 
  about you, and he's squeezing you back. He wobbles just a little from the 
  intensity of the embrace, and the inertia of your body, but still stands 
  strong. His eyes squeeze tightly shut for a moment as he holds you, and 
  manages to coax you back inside the apartment so that the door might close. 
  "Miss me?" he finally speaks in a gentle little tone that starkly contrasts 
  your excited cry.

Shen lets herself be moved, but she doesn't slacken her hold on you even as 
  she lifts up her head to drink in the sight of your face. Her eyes are 
  tired, hollowed and dark about their edges; her hair is disheveled, her 
  usual braid looser than it ought to be and unraveled in places, loose 
  strands escaping to cling to her brow or her shoulders. "Just a little," she 
  croaks, one corner of her mouth turning up.

Webb's eyes open slowly to gaze into yours as he pivots about, lifting you off 
  of your feet by an inch or so. His are tired too, which probably isn't 
  surprising. Marine officers might technically be 'passengers' (in Navy talk) 
  on an assault ship, but they hardly have time to lounge about. "Missed you 
  too," he murmurs tenderly, before angling his face downwards so that he 
  might brush his lips against the tip of your nose.

Shen willingly allows this, and counters with shifting her own lips just 
  enough to brush your own. "I couldn't get any word on where you've been," 
  she rasps. "Didn't even get a 'Dear Miss Veery, Lieutenant Webb's 
  whereabouts are currently classified' comm message this time -- I-I had to 
  call the base, and they wouldn't tell me a damned thing...!" Is that a 
  tremor in her voice, weariness and relief making her tones rougher?

Your feet touch ground again, and Webb's arms loosen just a little, though 
  he's still pressed close to you. It feels like his fingers are toying with 
  your somewhat frazzled braid as your lips brush against his. He whispers 
  back to you, "Had to keep the game plan secret 'til the mission was over. We 
  just brought back the real Salonika Batrad." The way Webb says it, he makes 
  it sound like it was as simple of a matter as making a run down to the 
  market for fresh vegetables. And his lips - they brush against yours several 
  times even as he's talking to you. Then you feel your hair abruptly freed 
  from its braid, and he holds up the clip that normally holds it in place. 
  One might get the idea that he's a little pleased with himself at having 
  accomplished that (the hair thing... the Sar Admiral is now most certainly 
  low on his list of priorities).

"The real -- so he _is_ still alive, huh?" Shenner fleetingly grins at that 
  display of the hair clip Jairen bequeathed her, then lets her eyes drift 
  shut and her head loll for a moment against your hand. "He's okay?" She 
  looks up again, the casual question offset by the worry that's etched 
  hollows around her eyes. "Figured they had to have scarfed you off for 
  somethin' like that...!"

"Last I heard," murmurs Webb as his hand slides up to rest against the side of 
  your face, cradling it and caressing it as his lips ominously manuever to 
  yours again. "They're doing a bunch of genetic testing and the like, just to 
  make sure this one is the real thing, but no word yet," he murmurs. His 
  voice has been taking on new tones as he holds you - not just tender, but 
  soothed, even relieved, as he is finally given the opportunity to wind down. 
  "At any rate, I'm a real Marine again," is the last thing he says before his 
  lips are upon yours, and quite inclined to linger.

"Real--?" That's all Shen's got time to utter before she's being well and 
  thoroughly kissed, and her failure to finish her sentence may well be 
  gracefully excused under these circumstances. Days of pent-up worry finally 
  given an outlet let her dive headlong into answering that kiss quite 
  ardently, and by the time she lets herself break for air her voice is rather 
  breathless. Even now, she only pulls back by about a centimeter or so. 
  "What, you been an imaginary Marine or somethin'...?"

"Got my command back," he explains after drawing in a few breaths to 
  compensate for those forfeited during the process of kissing you, "As 
  opposed to being stuck grooming a whiney brat to be an officer on the 
  clone's whim." Convenient that his lips only linger a centimetre from yours, 
  for once those words are out of his mouth, and his breath is well regained, 
  his lips gravitate to yours once more. They meet softly with your mouth to 
  continue the sensuous caress where it was left off, even deepening as his 
  lips slowly part. All this while, he delicately brushes stray locks of hair 
  away from your face with his fingertips.

Oh, yes, _that_. However, the proto-officer and her questionable temperament 
  shoot right down to the bottom of Shenner's list of immediate priorities as 
  she indulges herself in her half of this second kiss. Her body molds itself 
  against your own, a tremor shooting through it that brings the steadiness of 
  her knees into question. Something that sounds suspiciously like a whimper 
  escapes her, though it's a little hard to tell when breath and sound are 
  being kissed right out of her. Her second breakaway is at an even lesser 
  distance, then, as she groans tinily, "I've been... worried, Jon..."

Webb's answer comes in the form of a soft 'Mmm' sound as he nuzzles softly 
  against your cheek, then lightly kisses your earlobe. That little sound 
  carries sympathetic intonations to it, as if such feelings are to be 
  expected, and are indeed perfectly justified.

"Do you think the Empire'll be coming back here?" The question's delivered 
  calmly enough, though there's a lurking near-childlike anxiety in her eyes 
  as the young musician looks up at you once again, one arm curled about your 
  waist, the other's hand between your shoulder blades. "How screwed are 
  we...?"

"I think," murmurs Webb after a lengthy moment of concentration, "It's 
  supposed to do that. It's not really there to blow up worlds... it's there 
  to scare people. Maybe they will be coming back... but realistically... 
  Death Star or not, they're a hell of a lot weaker now than they were last 
  time, and we're a lot stronger."

One of Shen's hands, the one that has been resting firmly against your 
  shoulderblades, slides back around and up to cup against your cheek. Meeting 
  your gaze with her own, the singer gruffly notes, "I've been thinkin' about 
  signing on with the Reserves as soon as finals are done."

Webb furrows his brow in a moment of contemplation as he embraces you, then 
  murmurs back to you, "You realize that given the circumstances, that'd 
  probably be a lot like joining up for real. Might even fire you off to a 
  line unit."

"Our planet might be in danger, Jon," is Shenner's immediate, steady reply. 
  Frustration flashes across her face, the delicate lines of her features 
  crinkling. "I mean... hell, if the Emperor gets the bug up his nose to bring 
  this new toy of his into this system, I don't see too much use for ground 
  troops. It was Rebel StarOps that took out the first two, I know. But..." 
  With that, then, her other hand comes up to join the first, cradling your 
  weathered face between them. "I'm gettin' sick to my stomach thinkin' about 
  not doin' _anything_, when the planet might get shot out from under me...!"

Webb is silent for a moment as he gazes down at you, before he murmurs 
  gravely, "It's not going to be the same next time. Death Star or no Death 
  Star... any dispute we have with the Empire is not going to be settled by a 
  single blast." His voice lowers to a near whisper, "And there's no way in 
  hell that the Marines will be sitting on the defensive..."

"It's _not_ the same," Shenner swiftly agrees, her voice strained and hoarse, 
  her eyes glimmering with a barely controlled desperation -- but neither of 
  these is changing the resolute steadiness of her gaze, or the determined set 
  of her jaw. "Last time I was too little to know what was goin' on and I 
  didn't have anybody I love probably going to be putting his life on the 
  line...!"

Webb opens his mouth as if he's about to say something, but all that really 
  comes out is the word, "I..." before his voice simply trails off into 
  stunned silence. And he finds himself standing there, near-paralyzed except 
  for the impulse to blink every once in a while. Yeah, he's heard you allude 
  to your feelings towards him before, but this seems like something else 
  altogether.

As if she's not entirely aware that she seems to have lobbed a figurative 
  thermal detonator onto your head, Shenner shoots on with barely a pause, 
  "And if you're out there puttin' _your_ life on the line -- I just can't sit 
  tight here goin' crazy, worryin' if you're not gonna come back, Jon, y'know? 
  I-I mean, kark it, maneuvers and combat exercises are one thing, but if the 
  Empire's got a frekkin' _Death Star_ again, this is _war_...!" Her voice 
  doesn't crack. But it does rasp as though she's trying to speak past a lump 
  of plascrete in her throat, and there's a suspicious brightness in those 
  emerald eyes that may well be the prelude to tears.

Webb could point out that whatever state of peace might have existed is 
  illusory at best, and cite every single time he's led Marines in combat 
  after the formal cessation of hostilities with the Empire. That, of course, 
  probably wouldn't help matters, particularly the one where you worry about 
  whether or not he's ever coming back. And this forms the crux of a dilemna 
  that balances in Webb's mind about what exactly to say. "Hon," he finally 
  murmurs, "There's nothing going on out there that wasn't going on a year 
  ago, or ten, or a hundred, or ten thousand..."

Shenner doesn't even blink. "A year ago there wasn't a third Death Star," she 
  promptly replies, "and ten years ago I was a snot-nosed grubby little street 
  rat on Belsavis. I didn't know _you_ yet." To further punctuate her point, 
  she brings her arms down again to embrace you tightly, as if by her own 
  physical strength she must crush you against her as closely as possible to 
  guarantee your safety. And now her voice _does_ crack, exhaustion and 
  emotional turmoil beginning to break through her resolve, as she whispers, 
  "D'you know how crazy I-I'll get if you don't come back to me...?"

Webb swallows hard as his arms tighten about you. It's tempting to point our, 
  that Death Star or not, his job is still the same, perhaps with discrete 
  changes in equipment and strategy, but still reminiscent of what it's always 
  been. But of course, that leads down the path to the conclusion that one is 
  just as dead if he buys it in a 'police action' as if it happens in a 
  declared war. It occurs to him that maybe, what Shenner is thinking and 
  feeling is overdue. But she hasn't asked him to stay home. It almost sounds 
  non-sequiter when he murmurs, "I always think of you..."

To this, Shenner's initial answer is to bury her tousled head against your 
  shoulder; then she murmurs into your neck, her slight form shuddering ever 
  so slightly in your embrace, "And I just can't... I just can't stand the 
  thought of you off on a ship somewhere and the damn planet getting blown up 
  and me gettin' atomized and not bein' able to ever see you again or the 
  other way around, too, if that damned overgrown space station takes _you_ 
  out..." Then, her head shoots up again as she concludes in desperation, "I 
  karkin' know you could get shot or catch a bomb or somethin' but karkin' 
  _hells_ it's a _Death Star_ and I'm just so scared I'll lose you without me 
  bein' able to tell you how much I love you--!"

Once again, Webb is silenced for a rather lengthy pause. But it's not a 
  startled or stunned expression that greets your remark. Oh, his eyebrows 
  arch upwards, and he seems to forget to blink for a somewhat longer than 
  normal margin. If anything, some of the past shock of prior comments seems 
  to fade. His grip upon you loosens, becoming suddenly delicate. One of his 
  hands comes up to the side of your face, gentle fingertips delicately 
  touching your skin and following the contours of the structure beneath. As 
  his index finger brushes lightly against your lower lip, he speaks again, 
  "Sounds like you're talking about a bit more than joining up."

At the touch of your finger, Shenner's wide, expressive mouth curls into a 
  tremulous crooked grin. "Sorry," she croaks sheepishly, "but I kinda felt 
  like I was gonna explode if I didn't say that... not exactly... connected 
  subjects, I know...!" Her voice, hoarse though it already is, softens some 
  now.

Webb angles his head forward a bit as his finger reverses direction, and 
  crosses back along the curve of your upper lip. "Yeah, I'll give you 
  that..." he murmurs softly in response to that little explanation. One 
  corner of his mouth curls upwards as he adds, "So what are we gonna do about 
  it?"

Do...? Wait a minute. Shen hadn't thought past the blazing need to get those 
  words out of her, those emotions still roiling through her expressed, and 
  now that the desperate burden they've been making upon her mind and heart is 
  eased somewhat, a jolt of confusion shoots in to offset it. What she's said 
  requires something to be _done_? Her green eyes blink once, and then go 
  wide. The singer herself goes still, her expression dazed, as though 
  someone's just smacked her upside the head with a hydrospanner. "It would... 
  kinda karkin' stink, y'know," she murmurs almost distractedly, "if the 
  planet blew up. I mean... I couldn't graduate, and _we_ couldn't... get that 
  house, for starters..."

Webb's fingers stray from your lips, and trace a path over your cheek, then up 
  across your temple and into your hair as he affirms, "Point taken," and 
  kisses you lightly just above one of your eyes.

Shenner's lashes flutter for a moment, that slight motion just barely 
  detectable against your chin. "Get the house," she whispers, and then in an 
  even tinier voice she adds, "Get, um, hitched..."

My, now there's an ominous suggestion. A few days ago, that'd have been 
  considered odd enough to merit a double-take. To Webb's credit, he manages 
  quite well, though his heart skips a beat as his lips move lower upon your 
  face, brushing your eyelid as it closes, then moving onwards down your face 
  to the corner of your mouth. "You uh... think we can safely wait 'til 
  morning?" The remark is slightly tinged with levity, but at any rate, seems 
  to be suggesting that he might be willing to go along with that last 
  suggestion.

Shenner just... stops, for a few moments, each muscle in her slender young 
  frame seeming to lock up, along with breath and even thought. Then, her eyes 
  seem to come back into focus. The beginnings of a crooked smile begin 
  curving her mouth, and then she stares at you wonderingly, as if somehow 
  your countenance has suddenly magically altered itself. "We could," she 
  blurts. "I mean -- we _could_!"

Indeed, Webb's countenance has changed slightly. Now he gazes down at you with 
  that oh-so-innocent expression, managing to look just a little wide-eyed 
  himself. "Aye, we could..." he answers softly, then adds as his eyelids 
  become heavier, and his expression slyer, "So how about it?"

One can almost gauge the level to which this startling concept settles itself 
  in to Shenner's brain. Her gaze gets progressively brighter, and her arms 
  grow tighter around you. "I... sure. Sure!" Arguably the galaxy's most 
  laid-back proposal and acceptance of same -- but then again, this _is_ Shen. 
  "Do you know -- I mean... what'll we hafta do...? I gotta tell Jairen...!" 
  The young singer's voice starts brightening now as well.

Maybe it's so laid back because this particular state was arrived at de facto 
  a good while ago. You have, after all, quite conclusively stolen Webb's 
  heart. His expression grows progressively warmer. A grin has spread across 
  his lips. "First things first," murmurs Webb once the realisation of what 
  has just transpired begins to sink in a little deeper. With the delicate 
  touch of his fingertips beneath your chin, he guides you to tilt your face 
  up to an appropriate angle. He bites his lower lip for an instant, then 
  quite conclusively plants his lips upon yours in a manner than implies an 
  intent to stay there for a good duration.

[End log.]