Log Date: 9/12/98, 9/13/98 Log Cast: Ressec, Chamracca, Han Solo, Canon, Rabid, Corporal Vaskez (NPC), Private Rhansen (NPC), NPC Caspian guards, Chewbacca Log Intro: Still in the company of NR forces in orbit over the planet Caspar, Han has received deeply alarming news from Lieutenant Bec Ga'lec of NR StarOps: Leia has been attacked in the Fountain Square of Plaxton City down on the planet. Attacked, specifically, by Valak, the same Dark Side Force-user who had deprived Luke of his own ability to access the Force... and who is apparently now leading the Empire. Moreover, a Rodian bounty hunter -- possibly the same one who had attacked Han himself on Kichnar Station -- tried to carry Leia off once Valak had left the scene. Now, frantic with worry, Han grabs the two young GroundOps soldiers who have been serving as his guards and storms down to the planet... ---------- 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Ressec => STARFIGHTER: SubPro Ilyrian Gnat -- CFS Frunze => STARFIGHTER: SubPro Ilyrian Gnat -- CCS Caledonia => STARFIGHTER: SubPro Ilyrian Gnat -- Steadfast => STARFIGHTER: Ghtroc Class 720 Freighter -- Makeshift Gizmo => STARFIGHTER: Sardakh Kale-1 -- Banshee => CAPITAL: Corellian Action VI -- Wild Karrde => STARFIGHTER: Corellian YT-1300 -- Millennium Falcon => STARFIGHTER: SubPro Wanderer Mk II -- Flight of Fancy => STARFIGHTER: Sienar Lambda Class Shuttle -- Starshine => STARFIGHTER: Sienar Lambda Class Shuttle -- CFS Acasta => STARFIGHTER: Corellian YT-1300 -- Sable Fox => Artoo => STARFIGHTER: Yacht Lady Luck => STARFIGHTER: Corellian YT-1300 -- The Stray Cat => STARFIGHTER: Sardakh Kale-1 -- Firedancer => STARFIGHTER: Corellian YT-1300 -- Typhos => 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. The Olumekar comes in for a landing and powers down it's engines. Ressec looks at you for a moment. Chamracca walks down the ramp of the Olumekar. Chamracca has arrived. Artoo bleeps. His gaze positively livid with undisguised fury, and flanked by a pair of rather shaken-looking younger humans in the uniform of the New Republic Army, Han Solo comes down the ramp of the _Falcon_ at a positively murderous pace. The Corellian immediately storms eastward, his two guards racing to keep up with him. [And not too long afterwards, Han reaches the site where his wife had been attacked....] You walk towards Fountain Square. Fountain Square - Plaxton City The huge buildings in the background threaten to take over this small patch of green. A stone fountain--left over from another time--sits in the center of the square. It depicts a young woman looking into the sky. Water flares around her and bursts into a star pattern ten feet above her head. The inscription at the base of the fountain is written in the aging language of a more romantic time. 'Fare well, for all journeys that leave from this place shall always return to call it home.' The dusk sky above is cloudy with patches of clear spots allowing you to see the sky behind them. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Canon => Webb => Laryssa => D2-P15(Toopee) => IGNews Terminal - Caspar => Mail Terminal: Caspar -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- ndbar leads to The Sandbar. outh leads to South Mergansar Ave. - Plaxton City. ast leads to East Blake St. - Plaxton City. orth leads to North Mergansar Ave. - Plaxton City. est leads to West Blake St. - Plaxton City. Chamracca enters the square from the south. Chamracca has arrived. Chamracca heads down West Blake St. Chamracca has left. Canon strolls along the square, he pauses at the mail terminal turning away after a moment with a soft sigh. SWOOP: Mobquet Flare-S -- Super Taj enters the square from the north. SWOOP: Mobquet Flare-S -- Super Taj has arrived. SWOOP: Mobquet Flare-S -- Super Taj hovers into the area. His hazel gaze positively murderous, Han Solo comes at as fast a breakneck speed as a man can attain walking. Two young soldiers of the New Republic Ground Operations forces are scurrying along in his wake, trying to keep up with the Corellian, and more importantly, trying to keep him from snapping something in half. SWOOP: Mobquet Flare-S -- Super Taj heads down West Blake St. SWOOP: Mobquet Flare-S -- Super Taj has left. Canon looks at you for a moment. One glance at the decerated insane man and Canon quickly slips off in the direction farthest from where Han's headed. A vehement curse can be heard sizzling under the breath of Han Solo, as he snaps his gaze around in all directions; the words are in Corellian, something about 'med center', and his two young escorts quickly whisper amongst themselves as they try to ascertain their proper course before their commanding officer's temper boils over even further. Rabid enters the square from the south. Rabid has arrived. You walk down Blake St. to the east. East Blake St. - Plaxton City Lined with meticulously groomed Vilnias Shade Trees, Blake Street unrolls through the heart of the city. Park-style benches sit under the trees, making this area seem like an ongoing extension of Fountain Square. The historic storefronts of the old city are mixed with refurbished, modern buildings giving the downtown district a pleasing aura. The heritage wins out in most cases, with the old buildings' forms remaining irreplaceable. Large, mass-transit hovercraft drift slowly down the street, but most citizens take the opportunity to walk through this peaceful district. The dusk sky above is cloudy that drift along slowly, changing shapes has they go. -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- ast leads to Government Plaza - Plaxton City. orth leads to Dr. Tarquin Memorial Hospital. est leads to Fountain Square - Plaxton City. You turn north from the street and walk along a path made of blue stones towards the Medical Centr, as you approch the gleaming double doors the slide away to reveal the interior. Dr. Tarquin Memorial Hospital Overwhelmingly modern and clean-cut, a spacious room spreads out around you. The main lobby is on a tiled, broad walkway, and all the important rooms are arranged around it, branching off of it, separated by heavy, lightly tinted glass. A nurse's station sits in the middle of the building at the end of the walkway, acting as a registration and processing point. Each treatment room, or wing, is unique, and one in particular is full of observed bacta tanks. The clean look of polished stainless steel is everywhere, complimented by tiles of matte green and soft blue, interspaced with a pleasant off-white. Currently, Impereal is being played on the stereo. The lighting is currently at 100%. The room feels a bit chilly. For a list of room commands, type PLACE HELP. -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- ut leads to East Blake St. - Plaxton City. ice leads to the Head Doctor's Office <101> leads to Room 101 <103> leads to Room 103 ta leads to the Bacta Tanks Room. leads to the Medical Laboratory. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Mandelbrot => Leia => Zen'rah => Jase's room -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => HoloTerm <03-00-05> Han_Solo enters the Waiting Area. "Where the *(*(@#@!!?! is my wife?!" The words herald Han Solo's arrival into the medical center even before the Corellian himself is visible, but it doesn't take more a few moments before the General bursts into the lobby, flanked by a pair of extremely anxious looking young Ground Operations soldiers. In vain are Corporal Vaskez and Private Rhansen trying to encourage their commanding officer to a more sedate pace; indeed, they appear to be doing their best to get hapless citizenry out of the way before the storm that is Han Solo's passage knocks them over. At the entrance of the hospital sits a receptionist who, accustomed to a respectable, pacific atmosphere, is startled from her work by the general's boistrous appearance and vocal demands. Forcing down her initial reaction, she inquires with the clinical politeness of hospital administration, "Who might that be, sir?" Toward the emergency facility's hallway, more clueful individuals espy Solo and his companions and approach, the taller of them, in the guise of a Caspian army sergeant, clears his throat and murmurs helpfully, "She's this way, sir." About two microseconds from leaping over the receptionist's desk, grabbing her throat, and bellowing, "Princess! Leia! ORGANA! SOLO!", Han is mercifully distracted as Vaskez dares to grab his khaki-clad arm. "General, sir, that way, sir," she mutters urgently at him. Han blinks a few times, the words getting through the rage that seems to be gripping him, and after a moment he growls a low acknowledgement and diverts his course for the Caspian sergeant. "Show me!" he barks. Nodding eagerly and trying not to seem guilty that this happened on his planet, the sergeant guides the three Ground Ops personnel down the hall to a room surrounded by a pair of Caspian guards speaking in subdued, earnest terms with a doctor, who raises his head to frown in Han's direction. His expression is plain: there are sick people here, whoever you are, so keep it quiet. "Where's my wife?" snarls the Corellian at the doctor, in absolutely no mood to be lectured by anybody, or reminded of the bounds of proper diplomatic behavior, or in fact detained in any way from reaching the side of the Princess. Vaskez and Rhansen, their weapons properly sheathed, fix anxious and apologetic expressions on the physician and the Caspians present, mutely asking forgiveness for their General's temper. Surprisingly, once the doctor realizes to whom he is speaking, his attitude shifts into a more sympathetic, compassionate mode of interaction. "General Solo, then? She's resting now; we took her out of the bacta tank a half-hour ago." The medic, earnest and probably too young in appearance for Han's comfort, adds helpfully, "She's out of danger now." "Where is she?" Han repeats, oblivious at least for the time being to the medic's youthful countenance as he snaps his hazel gaze up and down the corridor. Smiling faintly but indulgently, the young medic leads Han to a room directly across from the critical care unit's monitoring station. The room's door is open, and nestled within the white coverlets of its only bed is a small, still figure in white hospital attire, fresh plastiskin attached to spots on her bloodless features. Her eyes are closed, her breathing normal; she seems comfortable and resting well. Only now, with Leia in sight, does Han's rage... and the panic beneath it, begin to subside. The Corellian stops at the door, an anguished look slicing across his features, before he practically teleports to the bedside, not bothering to grab a chair. At the door, Corporal Vaskez takes the liberty of murmuring to the medic, "Thank you, sir..." The guards remain outside the room while Han approaches Leia's bed, vigilant and grimly determined to keep this situation from worsening. Under the covers and disturbingly fragile in her condition, the princess appears small, vulnerable, and possessive of a tenuous hold at best on the here and now despite the medic's reassurances. Whatever happened was catastrophic. Canon walks into the room as the front doors swish open to allow him entry. Canon has arrived. Canon enters the Waiting Area. Now oblivious to both his two guards and the Caspian personnel in the corridor, oblivious to the medic, and oblivious to the open door behind him, Solo goes down on one knee by the Princess's bed. His heart in his mouth, the Corellian reaches to stroke Leia's brow. Corporal Vaskez and Private Rhansen, in the meantime, take up positions of vigil across from the Caspian guards, willing to allow them their jurisdiction but unwilling to abandon their General. Leia -is- breathing and alive despite appearances to the contrary, though Han's touch evokes no especial reaction from her. Hair still damp from the bacta treatment, skin cool to the touch, she is more antiseptic than animated, an unsettling thing for this usually vibrant lady. She's alive. She's alive. With Leia's eyes closed, and his back to the others in the corridor behind him, Han can allow his control on his expression to slip. Pained and tender and panicked all at once, the General doesn't seem to register anything or anyone else now. Just out in the corridor, Private Rhansen frowns anxiously into the room, and leans over to murmur plaintively at the medic, "Can't we get the General a chair?" "The General," answers the medic gently, "can have what he wants. Right now, I'd say that's quiet. Excuse me, gentlemen." He peers into the room a final time, scribes a mental notation, and returns to his other patients. Under her pale eyelids, Leia's eyes shift a fragment of a millimeter, her lips part, and a feathery breath escapes with a sound not unlike a sigh. On the next exhalation she moans faintly and involuntarily, foretelling of consciousness soon to come. Well, hrmph. Private Rhansen peers with wide and young and worried eyes into the room, considering whether it is a breach of military protocol to invade the sanctum of the place long enough to get his commanding officer a chair. But Solo stands. He doesn't take his eyes off Leia for a second as he stumbles backward and hooks a boot toe around a chair, dragging it then back to the bed. He sits down upon it, and takes up one of Leia's slack hands, scrutinizing her face as she stirs. Leia's eyes open a fraction of an inch to blearily regard the clinically white light without comprehension, without focus. Disorientation follows, evidenced by panic stealing into the royal visage. Light footsteps come from the hallway as Zeth(Canon) finally finds his way into the hallway where the entrance to the room is kept. His lips twist upward as he spots the guards, a clear sign of victory. Vaskez, older than Rhansen, has a somewhat better grip on her composure. Still, the dusky-skinned Corporal can't quite resist the urge to peek into the Princess's room, though she does a better job of pretending she isn't than her squadmate. She also spots Canon coming down the hallway, though, and she nudges Rhansen, who straightens up with a more professional bearing slipping over his young features. And in the meantime, seeing that fear rising in his wife's expression, Han leans in close to rumble huskily to Leia, "I'm here, Princess... I'm here..." Canon disaplines his expression as he continues forward to the guards, "Is this the room of Le-la? La-le? Something like that anyway." The effects of Han's presence are instantaneous and illustrated in tension draining from her muscles and features. Eyes lidding once more, she murmurs her husband's name with relief coloring even those three lonely letters. The Caspian and NR guards alike fix gimlet gazes upon the newcomer, and Vaskez, the ranking one of the NR soldiers, says in stiffly gruff politeness, "This is the room of Councillor and Princess Leia Organa-Solo." And the ranking Caspian guard puts in with the same sort of military precision, "Please go about your business, citizen." Inside the room, Han keeps Leia in one of his own, while stroking her brow with the other. "Take it easy, Your Worship," he whispers to her, his gaze far more clearly reflecting his frantic worry -- and a fair measure of guilt besides -- than his rumbling voice, dropped into a far lower register than is usual for him. Canon nods to both answering soilders. "Which is exactly why I am here. On bussiness for the New Republic." [The guards at the door, however, very politely repeat their position that the business of the New Republic is not the business of a wounded Princess at this moment in time, especially when her frantic husband has only just now reached her side. And inside the room...] Clinging to the soothing familiarity of Han's voice, Leia lies silent long enough to assess the flooding memories that assail her awareness. Once the more essential thoughts come to the forefront, she blurts burblingly, "Han...Valak...he's here...." Oblivious to the brief exchange out in the corridor, and equally oblivious to one of the guards moving to discreetly close the door to the room to give the couple within better privacy, Han murmurs roughly to the Princess, "I know, sweetheart... I know." The anxiety pinching her words and clouding that alarmingly pale complexion dissipates once more, and exhaling slowly to compose herself, she whispers, "Thank the Maker. I was worried word wouldn't get to the military." "I got the word from Ga'lec," Han rasps. Inwardly, he's thinking he owes Lieutenant Ga'lec at the very least a well-deserved drink -- and probably also a promotion, never mind that he has absolutely no jurisdiction over the young naval officer. And at the same time, the Corellian can't help but mentally flagellate himself. _It shoulda been -me- here, why the -hells- did I let her wander off...?!_ Why, why, why, echoing back and forth in his consciousness, and none of it making it into his voice, save for that hoarse edge to his words. Han and Leia have known each other for years. They have been in love, and married, for a substantial portion of that time. If Leia has learned anything during the period she has known this Corellian, it is his admirable, if misplaced, notions of protecting the ones he loves. Offhandedly she has suspected Chewbacca's influence has donated that aspect to his sense of honor; whatever its source, she gleans it from the changing color of his eyes and the insubstantial clench of his jaw. "Han...don't blame yourself. Please." He shifts ever so slightly where he sits, now cradling Leia's hand between both of his own, and he begins to look uncomfortable. Indeed, those mutable eyes of his have shifted towards a shadowed brown, and only the fact that he can't bear to take his gaze off his beloved's face at the moment keeps him looking at her. "Don't worry about that," he hoarsely entreats her. "Of course I worry about that." Even feebled as her voice has become thanks to her ordeal, Leia contrives to convey a certain dry humor toward her husband. "If I don't worry about what you do, you'll do all sorts of insane things and ruin your name and, consequently, my own." The Corellian's dark brows draw together, and all he says is a low and plaintive, "All I'm gonna do right now, Princess, is stay right here until you're ready to move." A frown creases Leia's features; she wants to use her unoccupied hand to touch his face, to assure him with the gentlest caress that she's here, she's fine, and they're together as always, but the assault has reduced her to a helpless puddle of tissue and bone, and her arm, despite her inward imploring, refuses to budge. "If I'd known this is what I'd need to keep you with me...I'd have done it long ago." This does not appear to be amusing to Han, though one corner of his mouth does curl up in weak apprecation and approval of the Princess's attempt to be strong for him. "I didn't need this kinda kick in the pants, sweetheart," he croaks. Smirking, though the expression loses much of its normal wryness, Leia whispers, "You have ample need for other kicks, scoundrel, trust me." Then, eyes fluttering shut, she swallows and allows herself a tiny rest period: it's been a long day. "You can kick me when you're up again," Han promises, low and soft and rough. He keeps cradling that small hand between his two large ones, and brings it to his mouth, to kiss her slack fingers. Without meaning to do so, without giving it forethought, Leia murmurs without opening her eyes again, "I'm sorry, Han. I didn't mean this to happen. I'm sorry." "It's not your fault," Han breathes softly, lifting up the hand he clasps to hold it against his cheek; there's stubble there, testimony to the fact that the Corellian has paid not the slightest bit of attention to such niceties as a proper military appearance in the last several hours. "It's not your fault." Leia explains imploringly, begging forgiveness even if he protests none are needed, "I should have run from him. I knew who he was, what he was. If Luke couldn't defeat him, I had no business approaching. And..." Again silence, again the inelegant swallowing against her dry, harsh throat. Not even wishing to consider how hard Luke must be punishing himself for this -- in fact, it only occurs to Han -now- that he hadn't even thought to -tell- Luke -- Han closes his eyes for a moment, features tautening in pained lines. "Try not to think about it," he advises huskily. "You need to rest, sweetheart." Leia gives her head a furtive shake and, mustering the remaining shreds of her not-inconsequential fortitude, insists weakly, "All I could think about was that Valak was going to kill me and I'd never see you again. Just before I fainted, I kept seeing your face when they told you I was dead...I hated myself for doing that to you, and just look at you now...just look....." "I'm okay, Your Highnessness," is the Corellian's staunch reply. Her point apparently unclear, the princess falls silent while agigation harshens her breathing and worry lines groove her usually smooth visage. Her hand, however, clings to Han's insofar as she has strength to grip. "Don't worry about me," Han murmurs, gently leaning forward, tenderly brushing his lips across Leia's pale brow. "Rest, honey. You rest." There is a small disturbance at the door, a guard's voice raised in question, a doctor's voice raised in refusal. Both are silenced by a loud and firm roar, surprising in its restraint for the Wookiee. Chewbacca must have some compassion for the other patients of the establishment. There is a soft moment of conference before the door slides open, the Wookiee ducking as he steps through the low archway, well used to the inconveniences in human facilities. Despite the rage and panic in which he came, Chewbacca seems to sense that what Leia needs more than anything else is quiet and calm support. Before his furry muzzle raises up to look at the pair of his honor family, he has banished the rage from his pale blue eyes, bringing a befanged grin to his lips. "Leia," he wrowls simply in greeting and relief. Leia, nearly asleep, stirs at the decidedly individualistic arrival of her husband's best friend and the most trusted being outside of her immediate family. Immediate family....to her, the Wookiee -is- family, and, with eyes opening to bare slits, she greets him as she would a well-loved kinsman. "I'm fine, Chewie...I'm fine." Only a small number of things could distract Han's gaze from the visage of his wife, and Chewbacca is one of them. The Corellian looks up, his own earlier tempestuous fury having subsided into an aching expression that is in all probability far more readable than he'd like to admit. He doesn't get up, though, nor does he release his hold on Leia's hand, and his only greeting to his partner is a wan upturning of one corner of his mouth. From behind the Corellian comes a thin-voiced suggestion, dry and barely audible: "Han, on the other hand, could use a drink..." Snorffling in disbelief, the Wookiee ambles over to the diminutive princess, looking even more pale and fragile against the large bed and the white sheets. He slaps Han's arm, harder than needed, perhaps as a small release of his own tension. To Leia, however, he offers the gentlest of hair ruffles with his giant paw. "Uh huh," he grfnarls softly, "you just had a team of Bantha's parade over you." He urf urfs softly before adding, "I told the doctor that what you needed was just some good durable Wookiee blood in you. He declined my offer to be a transfusion donor. Can you believe it?" Han snorts at Leia's whisper, not even bothering to answer the teasing remark -- a sign of how agitated the man truly is. And he watches Chewie hunker down by the bed, only now allowing a flicker of relief into his hazel eyes, slightly comforted to have his best friend and comrade in crime here to help him keep watch over the woman he loves. "I expect it's that we frail, inconsequential humans can't tolerate really strong, honor-laden stuff like Wookiee blood..." Leia takes a cautious inhalation, lets it slip away, and, in the midst of contemplating her next statement, finds herself seduced by tendrils of exhaustion that twine about her consciousness and lure her into an unexpectedly abrupt sleep. Raising his gaze to Han and then back to Leia, Chewbacca gently tucks the blankets around her with a deep dark sigh. He can't help but feel a strong streak of guilt ... after all, he should have been with her. He would have torn Valak's head right off and gleefully eaten it. One thing is for certain ... he will not be leaving Leia again. Han has his new duties, and so does the Wookiee now it seems. Han's gaze is intent and piercing enough to bore holes in the far wall -- save that as it rests on Leia's features, it holds much of the same guilt lurking in the mind of the Wookiee. The Corellian watches Leia drift off into slumbr, and gazes at her in anguish for several long moments before he finally whispers to his friend, "I... shoulda been with her, Chewie." Growling softly, Chewbacca reaches over to lay a paw that is both comforting and contradicting upon Han's arm. "_You_ should have been with her? No, you have your duties ... I'm the one who's been sitting around on his hairy rump since we've gotten here, whurrfling about what to do ... I was the one that should have been there." The Wookiee manages to keep his tone low, but such an effort does not allow the Wookiee to keep his other emotional concealments in place, fangs baring and pupils heating. Han looks up again, his expression controlled and taut, but in contradiction to the palpable grief in his eyes. "We came down here for... our anniversary, pal," he rasps out. "I shouldn'ta let her wander off, see?" Eyes narrowing Chewbacca's paw shakes Han sharply. "Is she a child? Do you have to hand feed her? Can she not talk the hide off of a Gondark??" Shaking his maned head, the Wookiee stops himself before barking, cutting it off in midbreath to a low shnarl, "No ... she's a grown woman who is fully capable of taking care of herself, and as you might recall, us to on occasions. Of course we wish we were with her. That's a given. But we weren't. And we can't always be there." Taking a breath, the Wookiee looks away for a moment, down at Leia, drawing his temper together. "For one thing, she'd probably strangle us both if we tried ... we'd drive her nuts." Han grimaces at that shaking to his shoulder, his eyes narrowing... but he doesn't argue with Chewbacca, not one word in protest or dissent. His gaze drops back to the Princess's silent face, and he's still clinging to her hand, limp between both of his own. All he says by way of reply is a hoarsely murmured, "Yeah." Releasing his partner, Chewbacca turns, pulling up one of the chairs before stopping. It's a useless thing, designed for a human's narrow butt. Grffing he shoves it aside, drawing up a table instead. Seating himself upon it, he lays his furry arms on the bed, touching Leia's side. His muzzle resting utop, he closes his eyes, lips moving fractionally as he rumbles out a low set of sylables, his voice deep and indistinct as he yyyrrrnns and yarls something strange and archaic. Leia stirs at the new touch, though its reverberations do not rouse her from her slumber. Still, though she is already drowsing, further relaxation buoys her body, erasing some of the pain and memories of the day. On the other side of the bed, not about to leave his post regardless of what Chewie might decide he wants to do with the furniture, Han peers over at the Wookiee. He's fluently familiar with the Wookiee language, but some things in it are beyond him, and he blurts, "What's that, pal?" Cracking one eye open fractionally, the blue orb piercing as he gazes back, he mmmrfs, "I'm shifting my energies .... giving them to Leia so she can heal faster." The Wookiee hasn't indulged in these private traditional Wookiee practices since he's been smaller than Han. He had decided a long time ago that the religious life wasn't for him. But occasionally, just sometimes, he realizes that he believes .... if for no other reason than it gives him something to do when there -is- nothing to do. It can't hurt, and if the dimming faith at his core is well-founded, then it actually helps. The eye shuts again, the soft sonorous nnneeearls commencing once again. Han's brows crinkle at these unexpected words coming out of his partner's mouth; for Han, religion and spirituality have never been friendly subjects. To anyone else, at any other time, he'd produce a scoffing remark. But this is Chewie, and this is his wife lying prone in the bed between them. Thus, although his lean face takes on a look that may well be translated to 'I feel stupid even thinking about this', Han mumbles an acknowledgement at his partner. And he holds Leia's hand once more to his cheek, closes his eyes, and sheepishly muses on how you might... 'shift your energies' into someone else. The blue eye cracks open again, a small play of a smile curling the Wookiee's muzzle as he watches his partner join him. But there is work to be done. Chewie's voice raises a touch, a soft and melodical pattern that repeats over and over again as he gathers each breath and gifts it to the diminutive princess before him. For a Wookiee, who as a whole race are not in the wildest of imaginations "singers", the sounds that emit, slow and sure, ancient and wild, are surprisingly beautiful and respelendent. [And, with Chewie's soft -- comparatively soft, for his kind -- singing providing one half of it and Han's stoic, stubborn determination providing the rest, a regular vigil commences over the healing Princess. End log.]