Log Date: 4/11/97 Log Cast: Han Solo, Grathix, Vox ---------- Prelude: Imprisonment hadn't gotten any better as a general principle the third time around... but this time, at least, the accommodations had improved, Han Solo had to admit. Given a choice of cells to rot in, he'd definitely pick the luxurious hotel suite over the bare little rooms in which the CSA -- and then the Imperials -- had incarcerated him over the past several weeks. He couldn't fault this set of captors' room service, either; he'd been given clean clothes, regular food and water. But a prison was still a prison, no matter how posh its trappings, and Han had grown sick and tired of being a prisoner several months ago. The problem was, he was still sick and tired, literally. The goons who'd hauled him here had beaten him seven ways to the Rim and back again, and although that battering had been strictly amateur compared to the torture he'd received from the Noghri, it'd still hurt. A lot. And given that he'd still been reeling from the Noghri's ministrations, that second beating _still_ hurt, even now. His body was taking its own sweet time getting its strength back, what with the stunningly large collection of injuries he'd sustained, both the old ones and the new.... and therefore assuring that at least for a while longer, he'd be no more able to escape this third jail than he'd been when in haler condition from the first two. A mind returned to active restlessness added insult to injury; for all that he yearned to hand out two or three good punches to his guards, or better still to introduce them to the business end of a blaster, he was all too keenly aware that he'd most likely earn himself nothing except a third beating. Infuriated as it made him, he could do nothing except submit to the enforced inactivity, wait for either enough of his health to return that he could trust his own reflexes or for his captors to inform him of what he wanted... and rest. Or at least try to rest... He didn't want to think about the dreams. ---------- Luxury Suite -- Twin Suns(#5452RLntJ) Opulence. That word could only describe this sweeping room, a chamber of treasures on a world otherwise devoid of such beautious things. Wthin this single vaulted chamber there lies more creature comfort than a starliner's suite: silks drape the walls, sheer gold melting into the soft chestnut beneath them. Adorning the same rich panels are paintings of obvious value -- a Kash'rith original, a few examples of the more breathtaking sites in the galaxy by the great Ithorian painter Hrrjabal -- all framed in sumptuous ebon-toned lyrnwood and set with the shining red-gold of virgin arenite. Tables of the same rich wood seem to merely flow from a floor spread wide with glorious Burleen rugs; the swirling earthtones of those broad carpets supporting the weight of a ridiculously ornate canopy bed sheathed with veils the same shining gossamer tone as the silks that adorn the walls. Every other affair that festoons the place -- vases, brushes, even the very knob of the door -- is of the same sunset-toned arenite that gilds the paintings. Sumptuous decadence in every effect, this place....and in its execution the grandeur of a palace. Such is what envelops you. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Vox => Grathix -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- ut - leads to Lobby -- Twin Suns. Vox comes in behind Grathix his eyes glancing about taking in his surroundings but for some reason not appreciating them. Grathix Before you stands the figure of a 6'2" being. He wears a light brown, long-sleeved shirt tucked neatly into a loose fitting pair of black pants. On his feet, he wears a pair of well-kept and polished black boots. His attire is one of precision and neatness. His hair is combed back; his long, flowing black hair braided in the back. The braid rests on his right shoulder, reaching down towards his abdomen. He is dark skinned. His skin appears tough, as if conditioned by harsh climates. He is a handsome individual. His clothing does little to hide the well-toned and built physique that lays underneath. He has a pair of reptilian-looking crimson eyes that casually peruse his environment, each eye moving indepently from the other, as he takes in the sights before him. He walks and stands with the grace, calmness and confidence of someone who is always in complete control of any situation. He speaks with a pleasant, deep tone, rich with sincerity and with a slight edge of authority. On his left hand, he holds a large black case which he carries with ease. In his right hand, he holds a black leather duster neatly folded and drapped over his forearm. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Staff => Sword => Primitive Armor => Primitive Armor => Field Armor => Field Armor -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Large Black Briefcase (closed) Vox The figure you observe is an average looking figure for a human. His face has a generally jovial expression about it. His eyes tell a different story, they show a nervousness matched by the constant fiddling of his hands. His tunic is a plain off-white with some dirt and fluid stains ground in permanently. His jacket is a scuffed leather of some sort colored black. His pants are patched up in several places and held up by his utility belt which holds common repair tools. Han_Solo(#1491POAx) This tall, rangy man moves with the loose and confident motions of a fighter, someone accustomed to getting into tight situations... and getting quickly right back out of them. His brown hair is cut pragmatically short, but is thick enough to hold a hint of a wave, framing a set of ruggedly handsome features that have finally lost the last traces of youthfulness and are solidly into weathered maturity. A long scar crooks across his chin, adding another touch of ruggedness to his face. Sharp-gazed hazel eyes, prone to shift tint depending on his clothing, miss very little that crosses their line of sight, and he typically speaks in a lazy almost-drawl. He is clad in a simple white shirt, of a loose cut to accommodate the heat of Tatooine, and black pants; his feet are bare, and his left, should anyone chance to look at it, is heavily scarred. He looks a trifle gaunt and pale, as though he might be recovering from some illness or injury -- and if the fading bruises and healing scrapes along the right side of his face are any indication, maybe both. He walks with a slight limp. Han_Solo lies on the canopy bed, his face towards the door, apparently asleep; he doesn't show any sign of stirring as the two men come in, but he slits his eyes open a fraction and cranes his hearing towards the two new arrivals. Vox stands silently near the doorway watching the famous smuggler and rebel curiously. Grathix nods to the guards at the door and says to them. The famous smuggler and Rebel, to all intents and purposes, appears to be convalescing from illness... or perhaps injury as well, if the fading bruises along the right side of his face are any sign. He's wearing what clean clothes have been provided him, though his feet are bare, and his left is heavily scarred with what is clearly recent scar tissue. Solo's eyes stay almost closed, his breathing deep and even. Vox looks at you for a moment. Grathix says, "ardnzi jax lomyniya. mil nelaj esor lomyniya fuar ardnzi mozminic disenn fuar nelaj steggun", in Mandalorian. Grathix walks over towards the bedside. Vox glances to the guards identifying their appearance and commiting it to memory... Grathix stand by and says in a loud voice. "Well now, if it isn't my favorite "guest". This is your wake up call Solo." Vox watches Grathix move easily and moves over to the table perching precariously on the edge... The Corellian on the bed indicates that he did indeed notice the incoming men simply by virtue of slowly rolling over onto his back. Solo opens his eyes, equally slowly, and stares warily up at his captor. He smirks, and says blandly, "Checkout time already? And here I ain't even left a tip for the cleaning droids." Grathix says, "No need. This time, our stay here is on the house. But perhaps when next you visit us, I'll remind about it." Grathix grins slightly. "This mean," inquires Solo, bland voice at odds with the sharp glint in his eyes, "you got my bill?" Grathix says, "Not yet, but soon....very soon." Vox watches over the banter quietly. Grathix says, "Actually, I just wanted you to meet your new consierge." Grathix motions for Vox to approach, "Vox, this is Han Solo...I'm sure you'ver heard about him. Everyone on Tatooin has." Vox hops off the table and walks up smiling,"I'd offer my hand but if you're more comfortable just sitting..." Han_Solo's gaze flicks to the other man; his expression remains alertly neutral, measuring. "Charmed," he drawls, "I'm sure." He makes no effort to offer either hand to shake; his left arm is draped across his prone form, and his right is flung out beside him on the bed. Grathix says, "At any rate, he's here to get you what you need...I'd love to stay and talk with you, but I have people to meet and tend to." Vox shrugs and glances to Grathix,"So is my job to make sure he lives or make sure he recovers?" Grathix says, "Just make sure he recovers and doesn't do anything harmful to his health, like try to leave." "Don't let me keep yah from your business," Solo says nastily, voice pitched low, as though he might not quite have sufficient strength to speak any more loudly. Grathix turns slightly to answer Solo as he walks out. He says wiht a slight smirk, "Oh, you are my business." Vox nods,"Understood I guess." He retreats slightly to the table perching on it again,"Well Mr. Solo it looks like we'll be together for a while. How can I help you?" Grathix has left. Vox continues to display his somewhat forced smile. There's nothing forced about Solo's returning smile, though there's nothing very friendly about it, either. The Corellian replies promptly, if hoarsely, "Don't suppose a jaunt out is included in this little tour package?" Vox shakes his head smiling,"If I can't go out niether can you Mr. Solo. Although if you like I can take a look at those wounds and see about patching them up..." Han_Solo tells you, tone amiable, gaze hard, "What, Grath fire the med droid?" Vox nods,"Alright bad attempt at conversation. Would you care to hear me rub your ego by asking if you're really the best pilot in the galaxy?" The man on the bed stares at you, consideringly, again; perhaps the fact that one of his guards appears to actually be _talking_ to him lets you keep his attention. One side of Solo's mouth quirks up in something that's _almost_ a smile, but more a smirk. Sounding just short of amused, he drawls, "You a guard, or a reporter for the newsgrids?" Vox shrugs glancing at the guards curiously,"I'm just a pilot myself. Rumors about you are as prolific as opinions." "I'm a real gossip-inspirin' guy," drawls Solo, gaze still alertly on you for all that he hasn't moved much where he lies, and that he speaks as though lacking strength. Vox tosses his gaze about the room his smile slipping to a neutral almost sad look,"Well you certainly made waves with your friends when Jabba died. But beyond that do you mind if I ask how you were captured again?" Han_Solo eyes you; if he senses that he's somehow disappointed you by his attitude, he gives you no sign of it. "Mostly," he tells you curtly, "it involved your boss's goons knocking me into next week." Vox nods again still looking about the room,"Well since I obviously can't help you out at all do you think you could help me?" Vox pauses to bring his gaze back to you,"I have a friend who is involved with a woman. I was thinking you might be able to help me identify her with your famous contacts. She looks here." Vox finishes up slowly and seems to be intently interested in the subject he has brought up. Solo's hazel eyes widen -- you've clearly startled him. He barks out a short burst of laughter, then says gruffly, "Let me get this straight, kid -- you, the cap-_tor_, want me, the cap-_tee_, to _help_ you?" Vox shrugs nochalantly,"You certainly don't have anything better to do." Han_Solo smirks, then rolls over slightly towards the door again, resettling his head on the pillows beneath him. "Why don't you make that your first concierge duty, kid? The entertainment stinks in here, Cheerful and Sunny over there" -- he flicks a hand at the guards manning the door -- "ain't got nothin' on a good holovid." His eyes close, his face looking drained for a moment. "'Sides -- I ain't got any idea who you're talkin' about." Vox shrugs rising,"I think I can look into that. Any particular type of holovid?" Han_Solo flicks open his eyes again, and says brightly, "I've always been real partial to action vids. Shootouts, high-speed interstellar chases... escapes. That kinda thing." Vox nods and speaks in something other than basic. Vox says, "retals ked obm.", in Mandalorian. Vox turns to the door and walks off. As this new guard leaves, Solo's position on the bed doesn't change. But his expression holds just the barest glint of intent interest as the door closes off behind you. Vox has left. [End log.]