Log Date: 11/1, 11/2, 11/4/98 Log Cast: Rul, Ariana, Han Solo, Rhansen (NPC), Shizznet Log Intro: During their continued presence in the Caspar system, the personnel of the New Republic have caught wind of a number of disturbing events that have taken place either on Kichnar Station or on the planet's surface. One of these has been the shooting of the Imperial ambassador Morganna Tazecks; another has been the wounding and disappearance of former NRI agent Ariana Millikin, recently known to be the paramour of Talon Karrde... and who has been in the hands of none other than Valak. Now, though, Ariana has -- or so she hopes -- shaken off Valak's influence. Disturbed by what the man has done to her, despondent at the falling apart of her relationship with Karrde, Ariana decides to take what steps she can to return to the New Republic and try to put her life back together. And her first step in doing this is calling on a man with whom she's frequently had clashes of temper, but at whose side she has fought, a thing that means something to both of them: Han Solo. Because of their old association, Han is willing enough to meet with Ariana when she calls... ---------- You head down off the entry ramp of the _Falcon_. Landing Pad - Union Starport Slightly sunken down into the rocky ground, the paved flightline that is the landing pad is crammed with ships of a variety of types. Eight towering, oddly-shaped structures encircle the tarmac, serving as light towers and static dissipaters, but their markings and carvings in their metallic skin hint at a different original purpose. The dense forest crowds in on the rim of the clearing, and some foliage creeps over the stoney edge and hangs down like drapes. A row of hangers lie agape under the windows of the Starport Complex, and techs on hoversleds constantly push ships in and out of them. Near the exit which leads into the city, a sign is secured to one wall, separated from the rest of the notices placed in the area. OOC Note1: Type INSPECT NOTICE to read the Immigration Notice. OOC Note2: Type RECALL SHUTTLE to call the insystem shuttle to this location. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Economic Presence -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => STARFIGHTER: Corellian YT-1300 -- Millennium Falcon => Ariana => Rul => SHUTTLE: CSS Olumekar => STARFIGHTER: Ghtroc Class 720 Freighter -- Avenger => STARFIGHTER: Sardakh Class 750 Freighter -- CCS Loki => STARFIGHTER: SubPro Wanderer Mk II -- CCS Ceylon => STARFIGHTER: SubPro Ilyrian Gnat -- Tycoon => STARFIGHTER: Corellian YT-1300 -- Fortune => STARFIGHTER: Corellian YT-1300 -- Triton => STARFIGHTER: SubPro Ilyrian Gnat -- Quasar Bolt => CAPITAL: Corellian Action VI -- Wild Karrde => STARFIGHTER: SubPro Ilyrian Gnat -- Crimson Dusk => STARFIGHTER: Corellian YT-1300 -- Typhos => STARFIGHTER: Sienar Lambda Class Shuttle -- Hope => STARFIGHTER: Incom A-24 Sleuth -- The Soul Edge => STARFIGHTER: Sienar Lambda Class Shuttle -- Intrepid => CAPITAL: AEC Modular -- Windrunner(#7311LXz) => STARFIGHTER: Sardakh Class 750 Freighter -- CCS Anglesey => STARFIGHTER: Ghtroc Class 720 Freighter -- Makeshift Gizmo => STARFIGHTER: Incom T-65B X-wing -- Jedi One => STARFIGHTER: SubPro Ilyrian Gnat -- CFS Frunze => STARFIGHTER: SubPro Wanderer Mk II -- Flight of Fancy => STARFIGHTER: Yacht Lady Luck => STARFIGHTER: Corellian YT-1300 -- The Stray Cat => STARFIGHTER: Sardakh Kale-1 -- Firedancer => STARFIGHTER: Sienar Lambda Class Shuttle -- CFS Armistice => SQUAD: Caspar Guards - 6799 => STARFIGHTER: SubPro Ilyrian Gnat -- CFS Kalinin => starport computer => Transport Panel -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- est leads to Concourse - Union Starport. Rul stands against the landing ramp of another YT-1300, he glances at the Freshly arrived Craft. Ariana's head is aimed skyward in anticipation, her foot making a few soft tappities as she awaits the disreputable YT-1300 that settles down on the landing pad with nary a ruffle of dust. Inhaling deeply, she picks her way toward it in a businesslike fashion, her flint-hued eyes darkening like blue-glazed steel. The battered old YT-1300 makes its landing with a deftness that belies its ancient appearance; shortly thereafter, its ramp creaks down, and a pair of human males makes their way into view. The first is a rangy man with dark hair, clad in a khaki shirt and a pair of blue trousers with red stripes down the sides; the second is a younger man, in an NR uniform, the insignia of a private at his collar. The older of the two sweeps a hazel gaze around the starport as soon as he's free of the ramp. Another deeply intaken breath, then Ariana strides toward the lowered ramp, her expression impassive. When she addresses the taller of the men, her tonality is carefully smoothed to the politely. "General," is all she says initially, though her eyes travel toward the private with just the barest uplifting of an eyebrow. Ariana Of medium height and reed-thin, she initially gives the impression of being almost insubstantial until one realizes that what flesh is on her frame is sinewy and toned, like a dancer or athlete. Her pale blonde hair, streaked gold by sun, is growing into a softer, wavier, coiffure nearly to her shoulders, framing a pert, youthfully appealing face. Her eyes, sparkling and watchful, are a healthy compromise between blue and grey. Of late her complexion has been wan, her eyes bearing a hollow, distant expression within smudges of darkness. Still, she has a hint of cosmetics on her features now, and her color is augmented by a flowing, stylish dress in blood red, the alluringly clingy, lowcut bodice giving way to a full, asymmetrical skirt. Her blonde hair is drawn back in a ponytail, hanging loosely behind her against her neck. No jewelry is in evidence. Rul glances at the man from the freighter, he scoffs then turns to examine part of his vessel. Shizznet heads in from the flightline. Shizznet has arrived. The taller, older of the two men who have just emerged from the Corellian freighter turns as Ariana approaches. As she does, Solo straightens up to his full height, his weathered countenance blandly unrevealing, though he inclines his dark head to the woman, replying in low and calm tones, "Miss Millikin." The young man behind him, not knowing what else to do by way of a greeting, salutes the lady, while Solo gestures at him and adds, "This is Private Rhansen. He's with me." "I'm not..." Ariana begins before lamely discontinuing her response. Nodding to the private and bending her lips into the formality of a smile, she tells Han in a tonality not unlike his own, "Thank you for coming." "You're welcome," is the Corellian general's reply, as Private Rhansen smiles sheepishly to Ariana. Solo continues, his voice still pitched conversationally low, "Old times' sake, if nothing else. You got a particular place you'd like to talk?" Shizznet walks in from the concourse Ariana's distrusting gaze travels the course of the landing area before she responds, oddly - for her - agreeable. "Wherever you feel comfortable, Solo, but somewhere private. Very." Shizznet notices the popular face of Han Solo and his jaw promptly drops to the floor Shizznet says, "Greetings General Solo", in Corellian. Solo's hazel gaze, as well as the boyish but alert regard of the Private, swings round to Shizznet's approaching figure. Shizznet Before you stands a tall Corellian man. He stands roughly 6'7" tall. As you look at him you notice his well defined muscles, flowing black hair and emerald green eyes. His attire is that of a rich businessman and goes as follows: On his feet he wears leather shoes which are navy blue in colour, he wears neatly pressed and steamed navy blue cotton pants held up with a black leather belt. On his body is a white silk dress shirt with black buttons and platinum cuff-links, over his silk shirt is worn a navy blue vest with a small pocket on the left side. About his body he wears a neatly pressed navy blue cotton blazer with a platinum viper lapel pin, clipped to the inside pocket of his blazer is a small black comlink. Around his neck is worn a silver herringbone necklace with a platinum viper charm. As you look closer it seems he notices you and his emerald green eyes meet yours and you are forced to turn away. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Jorge Shizznet bows deeply as the General turns to his direction If Solo is moved either negatively or positively by the tall man who's drawn near, he doesn't give any sign of it. Rhansen, on the other hand, straightens up attentively, trying to look as tall as possible. But as he's bowed to, Solo's mouth curls in the slightest hint of mistrust even as he says gruffly, "Evening. Do I know you?" Shizznet shakes his head and replys, "No Sir, I dont believe we've met, My name is Frank, Frank Lloyd" Lips pressing together, Ariana reaches behind her to her lightweight cloak's voluminous hood, and as Solo addresses the new arrival she casually draws the hood atop her head and there awaits, patient in appearance alone. Rul stands at his ship, occasionally glancing in the dirrection of the others. Solo's dark eyebrows slowly climb towards his hairline. "Can I help you?" he inquires of Shizznet, with the faintest sign of a drawl in his voice. It _sounds_ polite enough, though diplomacy is hardly in keeping with the reputation of this man. But the polite words are nevertheless delivered with that hint of a drawl, and the hazel gaze is pointedly expectant. Shizznet shakes his head then frowns, "No Sir, I dont need anything, I was just being friendly, Sorry to trouble you." Shizznet frowns again and says, "I can see I obviously interupted something here, I will be going, again, I am reeally sorry to bother you, please accept my humble apology." Perhaps Han Solo finds being bowed to worthy of wariness; perhaps the man's just naturally sarcastic. Regardless, the General looks the figure of the man who's introduced himself as Lloyd up and down, before drawling, "Don't mention it." With the cool assurance, albeit weary, of a born and bred Alderaanian Ariana says to Shizznet, "It was no interruption; we'd just had prior business...did we not, General?" Shizznet's head drops low as he heads back to the concourse Shizznet heads into one of the openings towards the concourse of the starport. Shizznet has left. Solo eyes the drooping figure of Lloyd as he makes his way off; Rhansen does his best to look impassive, though the boy can't quite pull it off with the same aplomb as his commanding officer. With a shrug in his eyes even if it doesn't make it to his shoulders, the General turns round to Ariana again, and gestures to the _Falcon_. "This suit you for private?" For a long, long moment Ariana regards the _Falcon_'s individualized lines and shapes, a glimmer in her eyes that is infrequently, if not rarely, seen, then she nods once. "Yes, thank you," she murmurs. To that, Solo nods, and turns to gesture the private and the woman they've come to meet up onto the freighter. Han_Solo enters in a code and enters STARFIGHTER: Corellian YT-1300 -- Millennium Falcon Main Ring Corridor (Starboard)(#678RntJ) A circular passageway that runs the circumference of the ship, this corridor provides access to all the major areas of the _Millennium Falcon_. The walls are lined with dirty, off-white, upholstered padding interspersed with bulkheads and the occasional control panel; the illumination is faintly greenish. -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- ft leads to Bunk Room.

ort leads to Cargo Hold. ore leads to Cockpit. tarboard leads to Landing Pad - Union Starport. Han_Solo enters Main Ring Corridor (Starboard) Ariana has arrived. Ariana enters Main Ring Corridor (Starboard) Though the _Falcon_, legendary as it is, has not the most appealing of interiors, Ariana cannot resist smiling softly as she quits the ramp and enters the main ring. "Oh, my," she murmurs, placing her hand on one spare segment of metal. "It's been a very long time." Rhansen steps through the ship as if he's a little afraid to breathe on anything; Solo, though, stops a moment and gives Ariana the slightest of smiles, gesturing her towards the forward hold. "Yeah, it has. This way," he says, with a bit more amiability now that he is out of public view. You follow the curving corridor to the forward hold. Cargo Hold(#6365Rnt) One of the largest rooms on the _Falcon_, this hold is clearly a center of activity of the vessel. Along the aft wall, close to the starboard ring corridor, sits the huge console controlling the hyperdrive and navigation functions; along the starboard wall, a curved, upholstered arc of couch surrounds a holo-chess board, and provides support for a single sleeping bunk. Towards the fore is open space for cargo, and just about all the remaining wall space is taken up with bulkheads, access panels, and circuits. A hatchway in the ceiling, and a larger one in the floor, allow more access to the innards of the ship. Towards the port side of the hold is visible the entrance into the other half of the ring corridor. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => 22T4 Hold-Out Blaster => M44 Blaster Pistol -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Cargo Computer: Millenium Falcon -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- tarboard leads to Main Ring Corridor (Starboard). Han_Solo enters Cargo Hold Ariana comes in from the starboard corridor. Ariana has arrived. Ariana enters Cargo Hold Ariana's hand moves away the hood as she studies the area in general, letting her finger slide across the holo-chess board before she regards the Corellian through a veil of lashes. "Is the escort necessary?" she finds herself asking, though her voice is decidedly absent of the terseness often evidenced when communicating with Han. Solo turns, considering Rhansen, and tells the younger man, "Dismissed, private. I'll holler if I need you." "Sir," replies the private briskly, saluting. He discreetly withdraws, leaving the General to turn round and consider the woman he's brought onto his ship. "I don't come down here without a guard," he says mildly. "Promised my wife." "The princess," Ariana nods in confirmation, as if she felt Solo didn't know Ariana was earlier aware of Han's spouse. Her feet shuffle on the _Falcon_'s deck, her hands briefly play in a fold of her blood-red attire, and for the moment she prefers disquieted silence to further illumination on why she wished to see him. "Wanna have a seat?" Solo asks, gesturing towards the bunk half-encircling the chessboard. Ariana shakes her head once and reports in wry earnest, "I'm too nervous to sit, thank you. Please don't let me keep you on your feet, however." The tension and formality of her phrasings give her cause to roll her eyes at herself, rueful and disparaging. "Sure thing," says Solo. The drawl's left his voice, but the alertness hasn't left his hazel eyes. He settles his lanky frame down on one end of the half-circle bunk, his attention never leaving the Alderaanian woman before him. "Take your time. I got a while." Ariana takes a half-step in Han's direction, hesitation its hallmark, and there waits before completing the stride. "I wish I knew what to say, Solo. Except...I'm sorry." The Corellian shifts position, enough to turn his upper body to Ariana, lifting his hazel gaze up to study her face and frame. His visage relaxes slightly, even though confusion tinges his eyes, and he asks gruffly, "What for?" Contrition comes uncomfortably to Ariana; she shifts her feet again and angles herself toward something of feigned interest on the bulkhead to avoid that hazel gaze. "Everything, Han. I'm oftimes an ass, and I'm just acutely aware of it lately." That might well be sympathy flickering across Han's gaze, though it hasn't much lessened the confusion there. "I know the feeling," he delivers in softly gravelly tones. He doesn't _say_ it, but the question 'did you ask me down here to tell me this?' is nevertheless readable in his expression. And Ariana knows Solo's face well enough, having seen it in various places and situations for years during the Rebellion. The question, unvoiced or no, is easily discerned. "Is there a place in the Republic for someone like me, Han?" "There was one for you before," points out Han, his brown eyebrows arching. "You changed all that significantly since I last checked?" If he has an opinion on the matter, that can't be read in his expression, not yet; all that's there now in his eyes and voice is curiosity. "Before," Ariana blandly answers as she sits gingerly on the edge of a seat, "I was not the former head of NRI's Active Intelligence who left to become Talon Karrde's intimate and who spent days in the Emperor's grasp and command." Han shifts position again to follow Ariana's settling into the other side of the bunk with his gaze. "Maybe I'm missin' something here," he muses, "but I can't exactly comment on your relationship with Karrde. Don't know a thing about it, past that it exists. I could say the same for the Empire getting hold of you." Ariana corrects faintly, "It existED, and ... and... oh, damn it all, my only point was that if I were still NRI, I would trust someone like me about as far as I could throw him or her." Han doesn't shift his position, still sitting there half-slouched on the bunk, far more the smuggler than the General in his posture; in his eyes, though, he seems to be neither. The hazel regard has turned surprisingly mild, as he repeats, "Someone 'like you'? Meaning...?" Letting out a sigh, fingers pressing briefly against her temples, Ariana explains, "I left the Republic for Karrde, a known smuggler. I brought with me a plethora of Republic secrets I did not give him, by the by, but you've only my word on that. I was with Valak and his goons for weeks, under his influence, thinking he was ... " She lets out a long, difficult breath, and shakes her head twice, angrily. "In any event, I've not proven myself trustworthy." Han listens to all of this, a few different expressions momentarily flickering across his rugged visage, though they don't significantly alter his casual calm: there's surprise there, and expectance, and perhaps, just perhaps, another glimmer of sympathy. When his visitor finishes, the Corellian sits up, propping his elbows on his knees and leaving his big deft hands hanging between them, fingers lightly interlaced. He takes a moment, clearly consciously pondering his words, before he says seriously, "Well, I'll tell ya. As far as the second half of that goes, hells, Luke was in Valak's hands for a while, too." There's the slightest of pauses before he goes on, "And another Dark Lord type had a hold of _me_. Seems to me the only difference between Luke, me, and you here is that we lucked out and you didn't." "But you're Han Solo, and he's Luke Skywalker, and people -trust- you all," says Ariana darkly, fingers sliding through the fringe of bangs remaining. "I'm still not entirely certain I've shaken off Valak's influence, and there's the matter of people disbelieving I left...that I'm no longer with Talon. And I want to go home, Han. I just," she says with uncharacteristic softness, "want to go home." This wouldn't be the first time a woman has lowered her guard to Han on the _Millennium Falcon_, but the Corellian is far more used to such things having romantic contexts. Here and now, as he listens to Ariana, his brows knit over his hazel eyes, and his features crinkle up ever so slightly into an awkward expression at that shift in the woman's voice. _Aaaaah...,_ he thinks sheepishly, before rallying himself. He rises, lightly pointing a forefinger at Ariana while advising, "Hold that thought." And he gets to his feet. Ariana smirks just a bit - her age and upbringing seem to harken back to Han's spouse in reception of this request, and follows his motion with somber greyish blue eyes. "I'm not going anywhere," she drawls softly. Han crosses the hold in a few quick strides, crouches down to rummage into a storage locker, and when he straightens up again, it's with a half-empty bottle of Corellian brandy in one hand and two shot glasses in the other. He then lopes back to his previous seat, sits, and pours out a shot of the amber liquid into each gaze. "My turn to give you brandy," he says gruffly, nudging one of the shots towards his visitor. A bit of Ariana's tension eases, and with a chuckle she takes the proffered glass and knocks its contents back; as expected, a grimace results and she coughs once, then pokes out the glass again for a refill. "This," she observes with a laugh, "is what I've wanted to do since I was dumped. Thank you." Han flashes forth a lopsided grin, and obliges with a second shot of the brandy before picking up his own, sipping at it without so much as a blink, much less a cough. "I'd say 'tell Papa Han all about it,' but I think you'd deck me," he observes blandly. Ariana counters after the second shot goes down more smoothly, "Not if I got to sit on your lap, but I think the princess'd dislike that amply enough." She places the glass near Han's hand, indicating a third drink is desired but not with the immediacy of the first two. "Han, we haven't known each other as well the past few years, since Endor, that's true, but you know I don't complain. I'm not a weepy sort of person. But since Talon and I called it quits..." A point of pain for her, apparently, for she appears to flinch, "I haven't had anywhere to go. I'm a liability to everyone. If you have a suggestion, I'm open to it." Han fills up the third glass, though he hasn't polished off his own yet. He listens, the slight awkwardness leaving his face, as Ariana seems to shift back towards more familiar territory, the comrade-in-arms, the officer he remembers. "Well," he replies, "aside from getting yourself plastered on my brandy, first thing I can think of is that if you're not sure about the state of your head, talk to Luke." He pauses again, then finishes off his own glass, and leans back on his side of the bunk again before adding brusquely, "I had to. Or he had to talk to me, anyway." Ariana waves her hand and wisely leaves the glass where it lies, lest the conversation end before it truly begins. "Luke is the last person I can talk to, Han. He's..." She grasps for words, chewing mildly on her lip and wrestling with vocabularly before offering lamely, "He's got better things to do than worry about me. I mean...so do you, but...." The Corellian's hazel regard doesn't waver; the brandy bottle stays where it is, now, sitting quietly atop the quiescent chessboard. Solo Strategy #2 for the handling of problems might be 'throw alcohol at it and see if it goes away', but it would seem that Han's employing that strategy, at least for the moment, only in moderation. One corner of his mouth curls up, though his eyes remain grave. "Sweetheart, you and Junior might usually have barely three words to say to one another," he says steadily, "but there's two things that say you should talk to him. One--" And the Corellian holds up a leanly muscled hand, sticking out his thumb by way of punctuation. "--if you wanna come back to us in anything resembling official capacity, you and I both know you're gonna have to be checked out. If not by Luke, then maybe by Jessalyn Valios, and if not the Jedi, then they'll probably punt ya to the med droids." A bit of a smirk curls his mouth then, perhaps a signal of which option he himself would prefer. His forefinger comes up then to join his thumb, and he goes on, "Two--like I said, the Kid's gone head to head with Valak himself. Not like I know a damned thing about the Force... but seems to me that if you don't trust yourself, Luke's your best bet for finding out if the man's still got an in in your head." Rising, fingers plucking the brandy from its resting spot, Ariana paces a few feet away and presents her back to the Corellian general, disquieted and dismayed in general. She sips her third shot, settles the glass on the chessboard, and folds her arms across her chest while staring at, and likely through, the metallic hull of Han's precious freighter. "I'm too ashamed to speak to Luke, all right?" she eventually murmurs. Unruffled, Han answers quietly, "That's your call." Unseen, the General pauses again, then goes on over the top of an exhalation of breath, "If it helps, sweetheart, I kinda know what you must mean, I was too... ashamed to ask the Kid for help when I was havin' nightmares. If Sabbath had actually decided to play smashball with my head instead of letting his pet creature beat me up, I guess I'd be even more in your shoes." Ariana, intrigued, glances over her shoulder at Han and studies him for a long moment, lips pursed in question. "What happened?" she queries, leaving the topic of herself behind to hear more of Han's ordeal. The Corellian steadily meets Ariana's returning gaze, though his own turns a trifle introspective. "Well, the one-credit-or-less version," he says, shifting his attention around to the brandy bottle although he doesn't actually pick it up, "is that Chewie and I were on Etti IV. The Espos tried to grab Chewie; I let 'em get me instead so he could get away. The whole thing went wrong, as I'm sure you musta heard. Half our fleet showed up in Authority space looking for me, I'm told. But Sabbath snuck in under our noses and talked VicePrex Drake into handing me over to him." Nodding, Ariana gives him the brunt of her attention, her head cocked sideways while she peers at him. "Nightmares then?" she murmurs. Han looks up, smirking a little, though mildly. "Well, not immediately. That two-bit Vader wannabe didn't try to lay a hand on me, though I'll be damned if I know why -- nah, he just let his pet... whatever the hells it was.... try to knock me to the Rim and back. I still have scars here." He taps his chest, just under the undone buttons at his throat. "Stuck a knife in my foot, poured fuel all over it." As he speaks, his voice goes a touch more distant, a touch more quiet. "Stormtrooper medic got me outta there, and we got to Palanhi. The nightmares started up about then, I think. I was... a little out of it." Ariana sits again, this time on a bench near Han, her cheeks blanching at the descriptive nature of his tale and in specific his injuries. In a voice as pale as her complexion she murmurs, "You're fortunate to be alive, aren't you?" Han's attention remains on the woman before him, then, his gaze clear and unshadowed, though his lean countenance remains somber. "Yeah," he rasps simply, abandoning bravado for once. "Then after I got snatched off Palanhi, and the Kid and Winter and Lando had to come track me down, I was... out of it a little longer. Didn't help that the Authority still had my ship" -- he waves a hand around, indicating the freighter -- "and we had no idea where Chewie was, either." Ariana nods appreciatively for his ordeal and states quietly, fingers tracing the glassy rim of her drink, "I'm glad you're all right now, Han. It doesn't sound like much fun at all." "That'll make two of us, sweetheart, and no, it wasn't." Han doesn't smile, though his expression does lighten a little. "Guess what I'm tryin' to say here is, if the Empire's new three-bit Palpatine wannabe was playing smashball with _your_ head, I don't think it's exactly your fault. But anyway." And he sits up again, studying Ariana levelly. "As for you leavin' the NR to go be..." He trails off for a moment, and then continues with adroitness suggesting that he's not entirely without diplomatic skills, "... with Karrde, well. _I_ punted my commission after the Battle of Endor, and that didn't stop 'em from askin' me to be a General again." Ariana remarks with a touch of asperity, "Yes, well, you married Leia Organa, didn't you? I was off with someone routinely investigated by the Republic and who calls Valak by his first name." She puts her face in her hands, breathing out expansively, then gets to her feet. "I should go. Thank you, General." Han doesn't stop his visitor from rising; he stands up as well, and his gaze upon Ariana hasn't lost any of its sympathy. "Yeah, I married Leia Organa, and you shoulda seen the fits that what was left of Alderaan's nobility threw when we announced their precious Princess was gonna marry a scoundrel and a smuggler." He gives forth another of his lopsided grins, his eyes sparkling a bit before he goes on more earnestly, "Sweetheart, half the people I know still do business in Imperial space, and with Imperials. It don't make 'em evil, but it does make 'em... cautious. Think about that, huh?" Ariana nods as she beholds the remnants of her brandy and lifts it, quaffing it without further ado. "Thinking gives me headaches right now," she confesses hesitantly. "Maybe a little more brandy will help...and a lot more companionship will help more?" The Corellian looks down at the fair-haired former officer, that hint of awkwardness lurking again in his features, but only for a moment or two. "Brandy I've got," he says easily. The hazel gaze is still steady and serious, though. "Companionship... well. We won't be staying in this system too much longer. I can arrange to bring you with us -- if you want." He doesn't ask the obvious question; he doesn't need to. Han's level regard asks it for him. "Good luck." Ariana's voice is pitched toward the dubious, the skeptical, the pesimistic. "I really don't think I'm much wanted around here, and your wife isn't the person I want to approach. Saris isn't, either." Han's dark eyebrows go up. "Have you _asked_ anybody about whether you might be wanted back?" he inquires, lightly crossing his khaki-clad arms. Ariana smirks. "No, not precisely. Whom should I ask, General?" "Askin' _anybody_ is better than just making assumptions off the cuff, sweetheart," Solo drawls. Then his expression goes serious again and he goes on without hesitation, "But, look. Regardless of whether we could take you back officially -- if you want off this planet, I'll take you. For old times' sake, if nothing else... for Endor." Ariana nods and, brushing down the colorful folds of her uncharacteristically bright dress, glances toward the _Falcon_'s exit. "I'll see what I can find to pack, then, and meet you back here later. And..." She smiles quirkily, as though not comforted by the next words. "Thanks, Han. Sorry things ... were uneasy between us for a while. I'm an ass sometimes." To this, Han grins, that familiar, habitual crooked grin of his. "That'll make two of us again, or at least that's what Chewie tells me. Okay. I'll keep the _Falcon_ here to wait for you." "Don't worry about waiting around, unless you've changed the hatch's code," Ariana calls over her shoulder, a touch of her usual humor resonant again in her voice. A spluttering noise escapes the Corellian -- his visitor, it seems, has surprised him. But he lets her go willingly enough, stepping out of the hold along with her, and stopping the startled Rhansen; the private salutes the woman, snapping back to attention out in the corridor as she passes. And Han, glancing after Ariana as she goes, chuckles to himself... and heads straight for the _Falcon_'s cockpit to change the boarding codes. [End log.]