Log Date: 11/11/99 Log Cast: Chase, Han Solo, Trinket, Nyke/Morrison, Moira Log Intro: The problem: Gabrielle Veran has been kidnapped. The plan: Come to Nar Shaddaa and find her. Thus have Han Solo, Skeezix Calhoun, and Chewbacca jumped into the _Millennium Falcon_ and taken off with all due haste to the Smugglers' Moon, bound and determined to locate the woman Calhoun loves. For the two humans and the Wookiee the plan had started out easily enough... but as always seems to be the case with Han Solo and just about every plan in which he involves himself -- _especially_ on Nar Shaddaa -- the plan has gone awry. Not that Solo remembers this. Or leaping onto a swoop to chase a fleeing thug away from the site where Veran had been held. Or how the thug had lain in wait for him, choosing just the right moment when the reckless Corellian had come charging into an alley in his wake -- only to be slammed headlong off his vehicle and thrown hard into the ground when his attacker struck. He's awakened alone in that alley, has Solo, his head bleeding and his thoughts in disarray. With no memory of how he's been hurt. Or where he is. Or who.... ---------- Twi'lek District The Twi'lek District is one of the finest on Nar Shadda, not that would be saying much. But the Twi'lek's have a strong vested interest here, their own world not possessing the technology level to support spacefaring capabilities. This is their center of business, and they depend upon pirates, smugglers, and merchants to keep their economy thriving. Keeping their area controlled, respectable, and accessible has kept them in good stead with their much needed connections and support networks. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Galactic Lotto Machine -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- lidewalk leads to Central Platform 26. asino leads to The Royal Bounty - Twi'lek District. Han_Solo(#1491POUA) This tall, rangy man has apparently been recently injured, for there are bloodstains in his hair and all along his upper left shoulder and side, streaking in dried rivulets down his face to spatters along the top of his clothing. Where not streaked with crimson, his hair is a light golden brown, cut pragmatically short but thick and thoroughly disheveled. His features are ruggedly handsome despite their current bloodied state, sporting a bronzed tan that sets off his sandy hair. His eyes are sky blue, and their gaze alternates between sharply suspicious and oddly disoriented as he takes in his surroundings. His voice is a gravelly baritone that might normally be resonant, but which at the moment is cracked and husky. The source of his injury is obvious, a jagged gash across his brow over his left eye, and just as obvious is the way he moves like a man in pain. He is currently clad in a non-descript dark brown shirt of a coarse weave, held securely round his waist by a battered utility belt off which is slung a blaster holster at his thigh. His trousers are dark green, tucked into scuffed boots of a more or less medium brown hue, showing much wear. Over the shirt he sports a loose jacket of a slate green, sporting a collar turned up behind his neck and a number of pockets at the chest and along the sleeves. Chase steps off the Glidewalk. Chase has arrived. From the Glidewalk floats the figure of Chase MacKenzie, her dress swirling about her hips like a beacon against the cool lit backdrop of the Twi'lek District. She seems disinterested in her surroundings, eyes focused in front of her with little movement to anyone or anything she passes. Once in a while, however, they flicker from their destination and sparkle on something that catches her interest before fading back into the glacial cool that usually exudes from her demeanor. Chase She stares into the lingering past of her life with alacrity, outmaneuvered by an orb of cleverness that shines through a trampled spirit. The outsider adds little contribution to the song she sings, a windy storm that renounces what she has become, holding refuge in a diminutive alcove she holds safely at the back of her mind. Dark-lashed azure eyes watch the world with a crisp sarcastic gaze that displays both charm and disinterest set against the transparent-like teenage skin of her face. She is anything but a teenager. Exotic cherry lips delineate an affectionate pride in herself and contradict the innocence of her features. Within her demeanor lurks the sexual portrait of dazzling and poetic finesse that can be both delicate and crudely dashing. Skilled and professional she dances with the magnate irrespective of her secret insolvency. Soft platinum hair shines smartly over her smoothly elegant shoulders like a series of waves overlapping a lakeshore and it instinctively spirals at the sides so that if frames her majestic expression. Riding the lines of impetuousness and responsibility she follows little trend, acting with the colors of impulse and employing all of her resources with accuracy and prevarication. Interloping upon the memories and sustenance of others to keep her far from the dead and up near the mental plinth of her former self, she makes no appologies for who she is and what she will be. Embracing her form like her lover, she wears a short sleeveless red dress that falls just six inches above her knees. A thin strap extends from the shoulder blades of the outfit and ties around the back of her neck to reveal the open-backed 'V' of her ensemble that when followed travels just below the small of her back. Silver laced with jewels don her form in a matching set: necklace, earrings, bracelet and anklet all shimmering against any light that hits them. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Protective Vest => IR-5 Blaster Pistol In direct contrast to the elegant beauty making her way through the district, a man comes stumbling out of a nearby alley. His steps are unsteady, his rangy frame lurching first one way and then another; he has his right hand curled around the butt of a blaster, but the weapon is dangling unthreateningly in his grasp at the moment. His left hand is pressed to his brow, with blood staining his fingers and the slate green sleeve of his jacket. Blue eyes registering no recognition of his surroundings turn a gaze this way and that as he lurches out to the walkway and very nearly collides with a little alien passing by. The cloaked Kubaz chitters something indignant in his own language before hastening on its way, leaving the man swaying where he stands and belatedly mumbling hoarsely, "Sorry..." It is perhaps chance or misfortune that Chase would have to be here, at this moment, when the injured man stumbles from the alley and into her line of sight. At first she does nothing, her eyes simply wavering in his direction at first before she almost sighs inwardly and focuses more intently on the individual. She remains on the glidewalk until it comes to a position she feels comfortable exitting, her slim legs lifting and extending outward while her body follows closely behind. She stops on the duracrete plating of the district and simply watches the stumbling man, her expression rather mute at the moment with perhaps the exception of a lifted brow. She's not exactly the type to jump at helping someone... especially in a place like this. Trinket steps off the Glidewalk. Trinket has arrived. Amongst the ebb and flow of aliens, a tall, unimposing pale human figure weaves her way along the crowd's edge. Her blue eyes rest mostly on the ground before her, her hands tucked into her pockets, though occasionally her glance darts furtively up and to the side. She shuffles along unhurriedly, neither flinching nor frowning at the occasional jostle. Nyke steps off the Glidewalk. Nyke has arrived. The wounded man closes his eyes hard for a moment, apparently struggling to stay on his feet; from the way his features twist under the streaks of blood that coat the left side of his face, he must be fighting dizziness or nausea. It takes him several moments before he manages to look up again, and at last it dawns on him. Walkway. People. His confused gaze shifts warily this way and that, before dropping to the weapon he's carrying in his right hand. With trembling motions he shoves it into the holster at his thigh, but his expression is odd, still without recognition, as he does so. Only then does he venture out in more open view, looking to turn to the nearest sentient in sight and lowering his left hand off his wounded brow to lift it imploringly in Chase's direction. "'Scuse me," he calls out huskily, "sweetheart... hey? I... can you help me...?" The glimmer of a frown forms slowly on the lips of Chase, her chin tilting upward in mock prayer as she wonders just what she's done to deserve this. As she lowers her eyes back to Han's level they almost appear to effervesce of their own accord, a sparkle of something a little deeper within her shining to the surface before she pushes away the wisps of hair from her cheeks, any sign of emotion leaving her as the hand passes over her face. She moves forward toward Han, looking from side to side as if trying to determine if there is someone else that can help him. It isn't surprising that most people simply stay away. Still... the danger is intriguing to her. Most would be hastey in their approach but Chase lingers in her steps, an even glide that can best be compared to a serpent approaching prey. "Sweetheart..." She repeats softly, her fine-spun voice like silk on the tongue. "What can I do for you?" She asks, yet to relay any sympathy. Trinket pauses in mid-step, her book half perked off the ground, as her senses zero in on a particular sound nearby. She makes a soft little sound to herself, something like a trill, craning her neck to peek above the crowd. Her head tilts to the side, and she sniffs, very lightly. Nar Shaddaa is always busy, pirates, dealers, prostitues and other assorted scum provide the main-stay for the Hutt world's economy. Its also a place where information can be obtained through collection, purchase, or other means. The warrior walking tierdly down the darkened alley way knows this too well. Only an hour ago he was fighting for his life in the depths of the city. His contacts had been under fire and calling for help when he and his comrade arrived. Laying down fire with his grenade launcher the opposition quickly died or melted into the chaos of the continuous Nar Shaddaa night. He comes out of the alley way with the weapon slung over his shoulder. His armor is streaked with blood and grit from the brief battle. A medkit clings to his hip. "I... I seem to be a... little lost right now," the injured man rasps hoarsely, his sky-blue gaze resting now on Chase with no more recognition than he'd directed towards the street, any other passersby, or the gun he's just holstered at his side. For a moment his attention drifts down to the red stains along his left hand and sleeve, before he looks up again to add, "I think I need... a med-center. Can... ya show me one, honey?" Another sigh escapes Chase's lips, the evident displeasure at this situation leaving a dry taste in her mouth. It's still surprising, however, that she actually sticks around. Most people that know her would probably also peg her as someone that wouldn't give a damn what was happening to those around her unless she had a vested interest in them... perhaps there /is/ something deeper to her... or perhaps she's simply decided that this man may prove to be useful to her. Perhaps he is a vested interest. She moves foward, her hands reaching out to steady Han as she does so. When they touch, her dress is soiled by his blood, a wince nearly forming on her expression though the performer in her immediately seems to kick in. "Just relax..." She says with her usual silver voice, not a quiver of anxiety despite Han's condition. Still, she does take note of the man's blaster. She doesn't respond to his question, however, instead simply taking the time to ascertain his injuries the best she can at the moment. "What happened?" She asks. Trinket tilts her face away from the crowd, sidestepping in an almost bird-like fashion. She paddles through the crowd, pausing now and then as the voice she's focused in on stops and starts. Approaching Chase and Han, she peeks over again, another soft noise catching in the back of her throat as the big blue eyes widen in disbelief. Unfortunately, her attention so focused leaves her little in the way of wariness of what's around her, and a passing spacer sends her careening off with an oof and a scattering of clattering metallic objects suspiciously like panel fasteners. When someone sees an armored and armed man walking down the street they tend to give him plenty of room, but the same can't be said for the young lady he has just seen falling into a nearby pile of gear. As he approaches the young lady he notices the injured man and the woman with him. He stands nearly a meter from the pair when he recognizes the man...'it couldn't be,' he thinks. 'It is him, how ironic.' He slings the launcher over his left shoulder and reaches for his helmet fastener. "Excuse me madam...perhaps I could be of some assistance to your friend here," he says in a very deep, yet soft voice. Chase's question seems to confuse the wounded man more than it should. He looks oddly at her while she touches him, opening his mouth to answer -- but then starting visibly when Trinket's stumble into the panels and Nyke's approach distract him. He staggers slightly, but he does not fall, and the disorientation in his expression begins to shift back towards suspicion. "I just... need a... med-center," he insists, almost managing to sound casual. Despite the obvious big jagged gash just under his hairline and over his left eye, he manages a wraith of a lopsided smile. "Can ya... point me at one, pal?" "Yes yes... I know you need a med-center." She replies to him, though she doesn't seem to be taking the request with too much heart. She's still examining Han though one of her eyes lifts to gaze at Nyke as he approaches. She seems to shift her position slightly and doesn't answer Nyke's question just at first. "Just lean on me and relax... I'll get you to a med-center." She says to Han, wincing once again as she reaches down and tears a long strip of material from her dress. "I hope you can pay for this..." She mutters, using the strip of silk as a pressure device on the most prominent wound she sees. Holding the cloth to Han's head she turns to Nyke, "How convenient... a man is injured and you just so happen to be passing by with a medkit." She motions with her hands, "Bring it over here... He's lost a lot of blood. Do you know where the medcenter is?" She asks him. Nyke This warrior is tall, powerfully built and dressed in state of the art black armor. The armor has servos at the joints that snake across the flat black finish of the plating to resemble a gray spider web on black slate. The Warrior's helmet is as sleek looking as the rest of his equipment. A rectangular visor protects the wearer's eyes as well as providing image-enhancing capability. On the left side of the helmet one can see a small communications package including a stubby antenna. Around the chest and waist is a black leather combat harness. Two holsters can be seen, one strapped to its left hip and one across the massive form of its chest. Several pouches can be seen attached to the belt and bulging with equipment. There are no identifying marks on the warriors armor. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => DataPad 170-XKA-317 => Medpack => ZCF Grenade Launcher => Enhanced Armor -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => DataLink/Pad Trinket quickly scrambles to her feet, awkward and spindly despite the grace those long limbs should give her right to. She doesn't seem to notice the others once she catches sight of her target, her delicate features pulling down into a soft frown. She steps quickly towards him, her chin dipping and giving her a view of his eyes from beneath. They seem to trouble her, and she reaches out, tentatively, once more sniffing the air. "Lady I wouldn't give you a red credit for any meat shops on this forsaken rock." He looks at Han, his now helmet less head revealing a sharply featured lean face with deep raven black eyes. "Let me look at that gash on your head pal." He steps forward and glances at the man's head. While he inspects it he addresses the red dressed woman's comments. "Lady, you'd better know who you are talking to before you start giving orders." He reaches his gloved right hand to his hip and pops open his med-kit. "The nearest med-center tooled to deal well with humans is in the Corellian sector. Let me give you some stitches here my friend and this lady can get you there..." Scalp wounds bleed like nobody's business, and the wound on the injured man's brow is no exception. It is the unmistakable source of the red that's streaked down the left side of his tanned face, and moreover, the gash is surrounded by flesh that promises to be spectacularly bruised if it's not already beneath the blood. As Chase presses her strip of silk to his brow the man winces, but when his eyes open again, his gaze lands on Nyke. Dazed though he might appear, still there's wariness glimmering there in his azure stare. "Sure," he croaks after a moment, grasping Chase's nearest shoulder with his left hand... while the right one dangles not far from the butt of his blaster. Moira steps off the Glidewalk. Moira has arrived. Trinket's wince seems to empathically mirror Han's, and she chews at her lower lip. She sniffs again, gently patting her pockets down and withdrawing an old, small sealant bag from one pocket. Very gently, she steps forward and makes a move as to tuck the pouch into the hand that hovers near the blaster. Perhaps not the wisest thing to do, but the girl's face seems to hold familiarity as well as concern. Chase suddenly smiles at Nyke, her expression shifting from the glacial statue she normally exudes to a more sly and clever one. Perhaps if the armored man knew exactly who /he/ was talking to he would watch his own tongue. Still.. it is always intriguing to her how the brawn of men often make up for their lack of brains. She smirks more visibly, her eyes leaving Nyke with the kind of manifestation given to street scum... a snobbish response to someone who feels they are much too good to even be looking their way. She presses on the underside of both of Han's ribs, probing them for breaks of any sort. "Let the nice neanderthal help fix your head and we'll get you moving." She breathes softly into Han's ear... though she's sure to say it loud enough for those near to hear. Ignoreing the woman's snide comments he withdraws a small piece of gauze from his kit and swabs the blood from the man's head. Then he produces a small plastic box. The box has a slender stainless steel needle-like protrusion at one end. He quickly closes the wound with hands that are familiar with treating tramatic wounds. Once the man's head is stitched he turns to reply to the red-dressed woman's remarks once more. Returning his equipment to his pack he runs his right gloved hand down the back of her dress wipeing the blood and dirt on her. "The place is two blocks east of the Starport." He then turns and walks down the street reattaching his helmet as he walks. Moira sighs as she heads along, well at least she's changed, but her ribs hurt, and she moves with a slight limp, and that cut on her face isn't much better, but at least she's clean, and making her way towards the casino.." Maybe losing some hard earned credits will help..", smirking as she makes her way along slowlly, the limp from her gracefull depature from the swoop a bit more noticible wih each step, her steps slowlly as she passes the group on the street, looking over a tad curiously but keeping silent for now. "Thanks," the injured man croaks as his brow is efficiently attended. This leaves him with somewhat less crimson streaking his forehead, though there's still red down his cheek. Indeed, there are the beginnings of a truly magnificient bruise revealed as well, once that blood is dabbed away. The wounded man holds still long enough to let Morrison do what is needed... but right about then he feels the pouch being pressed into his right hand, and that little movement makes him jerk around to find Trinket. That mix of disorientation and suspicion wells up in his eyes again, and he demands hoarsely, "Wha... who're you?" And he staggers again, his balance threatened by the speed with which he's turned. Turning to watch Morrison leave, Chase smiles even broader. Bold... "Too bad..." She says softly, this time more than likely only loud enough for whoever is right beside her to hear. "Now that I'm so dirty I'm going to need a bath..." She looks at Han and winks, "Maybe they'll spunge bathe us together..." She grins, attempting to sling Han's arm over and around her shoulder so that she can support most of his weight and help him toward the Med-Center. Despite her rather delicate-looking physique she's much stronger than she appears. "Shall we?" Trinket Even the back of this young human woman's head might give some humans and human-sympathetics thought to pause and try to catch a glimpse of more. Fine, silky blonde hair so light in color it is almost white, falls a few inches past her waist on the rare times it is not held back in some way. Her skin is a smooth, creamy bisque ivory that reveals no flaws or marks. Large cerulean-blue eyes glance at the world with serenity, framed in thick light-colored lashes and delicately arched brows. Her lips are a light primrose, contrasting nicely with her pale skin. She stands an unassuming 5'10", her height made unintimidating by a gentle demeanor. Her frame is pleasantly proportionate, if a little on the thin side. She wears a dusty and grease-smudged jumper that's easily a size or two too large in girth, and a good three inches short in the legs and arms. Her hair is sloppy gathered back with a length of filthy fabric, her feet tucked into battered spacers boots, and her pockets seem to be frighteningly bulging. Trinket lets the bag fall, a muffled chinging audible as it hits the walkway. She withdraws hastily, the luminous and guileless eyes holding confusion and no small degree of hurt. She backs off, her lip pressed against her lower teeth, her eyes dropping to the bag, and then back to Han's. Very suddenly, she is aware and respectful of personal space, crouching down on the walkway, near the wall. Moira sighs as she watches the sight and simply shakes her head with a chuckle.." No.. definately wouldn't wanna call this rock home..", muttering as she moves off towards the Casino, tucking her hands casually into ehr pockets, keeping her eyes some what down cast. Momentarily seemingly oblivious to both Chase's efforts to support him and the playful innuendo of her words, the injured man stares uncertainly at Trinket. Her behavior is odd, and it aggravates the ache in his head -- one detail too many for him to try to assimilate at the moment. As the pouch lands, his first unthinking reaction is to try to crouch to pick it up and hand it back to her. This, however, is a bad idea, for the moment he starts to bend over the world tilts dangerously around him. A broken curse in the Twi'lek language bursts out of him, and once again, his left hand shoots to his head. Trinket scrapes forward, plucking the bag up with two fingers and palming it with surprising dexterity. She lifts it upwards to an easy height for the injured man to take, her eyes lowered from his. She mouths something, inaudible, but distinct to those who might be able to read her lips. Anger is controllable, just like everything else in his life. The red dressed woman's snide remarks and arrogant attitude don't get under his skin. He knows who she is, or was. He adjusts his helmet wondering why he didn't take Solo when he had the chance. The war is long since over, but that particular New Republic figure would fetch him a lot of fame and a lot of money back home. HE pauses thinking it over. He unslings his weapon and unloads the magazine, he reaches to his gear and recovers a magazine of non-leathal rounds. He turns to look at the pair when he notices the small filthy woman and the small pouch she has tried to put in Solo's hand. Intresting. He re-slings the weapon. He doesn't need Solo, or fame, or power..he has them all. He resumes his walk down the street heading toward the Corellian sector. Chase grips tighter on Han, holding him up as best she can. "Now now..." She says more sternly, waiting for Han to catch his balance. "You need to get out of here now... " She frowns at Trinket and waves a hand dismissively in her direction. "Can't you see the man is in need of help here? Take your bag and visit him in the hospital if you feel that strongly for him." Not exactly the friendliest person one could meet... but she's just had her dress soiled and ripped... and her hair is an absolute mess. She's not in the best of moods to begin with. "You know you remind me of someone..." She says softly, turning back in Han's direction. "Were you ever on Travdian IV about 5 years ago?" It's an obvious attempt to distract Han away from his pain, but at this point she has little options. Moira enters into the casino. Moira has left. Moira emerges from the casino. Moira has arrived. Helped more or less erect again, turned pale underneath his tan and the dried rivulets of blood that still mark some of his face, Solo lurches heavily against Chase's supporting arms. His left arm can be draped over her shoulders well enough. With an effort he drags his gaze away from the rumpled pale-haired girl who'd tried to give him the bag and back to the beauty addressing him. "I... don't... think so," he mumbles distantly. Moira steps onto the Glidewalk heading to the Central Core beneath Landing Pad 26. Moira has left. The sharp and petty words of the woman standing above Trinket fall on selectively deaf ears--for the moment the other might well not even exist in the flaxen-haired girl's world. She patiently waits for a few moments, hand still outstretched. Then quietly she withdraws, though she still keeps the pair in her peripheral vision. Morrison steps onto the Glidewalk heading to the Central Core beneath Landing Pad 26. Morrison has left. Trinket pages: BTW, if he was able to lip read, she'd have responded in Twi'lek, "No more hurt..." though it might not be anything at all with double vision. ;> Or a concussion. Similarily, the girl seems to be far from the thoughts of Chase, instead her thoughts invaded by the promise of a nice long hydro-spa treatment before this night is through. "Come on rough and tumble..." She says to Han, her usual habit of nick-naming seeping through her majestic resolve. "I'm sure you're anxious to get some rest and drugs in you." Moving slowly she begins to head toward the Med-Center, hoping Han will at least attempt to help her move him in some fashion. Right. Moving. He can do that. The wounded Corellian swallows hard, eyes pressed closed; then, with an effort, he opens them again. Two Chases swirl back and forth for a few seconds before resolving into one again, and he starts stumbling along with her assistance, more grateful than he'd like to admit for the steady pair of shoulders under his arm. "Rest," he echoes as if in a dream, tasting the word and finding it immensely compelling. "Yeah... maybe... after I find my ship." Guiding Han toward the Glidewalk, Chase moves close to it and then waits a moment to let Han get his bearings. "Alright... Just hold on to me and try to stay relaxed... This is gonna probably feel weird." She says slowly, making sure Han understands her. She shakes her head, processing Han's lasts words, "What the elements is it with men and their ships..." she mutters, stepping on to the Gildewalk. Chase steps onto the Glidewalk heading to the Central Core beneath Landing Pad 26. Chase has left. You step onto the Glidewalk heading to the Central Core beneath Landing Pad 26. Central Platform 26 The central glidewalk opens up into a massive nexus platform just below Landing Pad 26. Vendors hawk their wares to the incoming travelers, everything from food to guides, information to security guards. Anything and everything a seasoned traveler or a newcomer to Nar Shadda might need. From here you can reach a number of different locations - if you know which way to go. Some connecting glidewalks are clearly lit and marked, others bear no markings whatsoever and loom menacingly out of the darkness, bearing you to Maker knows where. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Chase -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- <4-G>lidewalk leads to Kubindi Province. <3-G>lidewalk leads to Corellian Sector. <2-G>lidewalk leads to Entrance Hall - The Jewel. <1-G>lidewalk leads to Twi'lek District. Landing Pad <26> leads to Landing Pad 26 - Nar Shaddaa. Chase's words are clear enough -- or at least they would be, if the wounded man she's helping along didn't find what she utters as well as the background noise of the sentients and vehicles and creatures they pass by blurring together in a wash of sound in his consciousness. He zooms in on "hold onto me", and does go with stubborn focus while the glidewalk's movement beneath his feet threatens to make him dizzy all over again. His eyes narrow till they almost close, but they do not shut entirely as he forces himself to peer blearily at his surroundings. "Corellian Sector?" he croaks. Chase nods to Han, her eyes scanning over him a moment before focussing back on her destination. "Just stay awake RT... We'll be there in a few minutes." She sighs again. .oO(I can't believe I ruined a good dress for this... Elements know I don't have very many good ones to my name these days...) She seems to get angered all of a sudden but it passes relatively quickly. The Glidewalk shifts toward the Corellian Sector. Chase steps onto the Glidewalk with a slight lurch, heading toward the Corellian Sector before disappearing out of sight. Chase has left. The glidewalk winds down and down, around and around endlessly. It is not particularly well lit, and in some areas, there is not lighting at all. A few glidewalks sprout off from one side or the other to lead to different cultural sectors of Nar Shadda. The farther down you venture, the more disreputable and dangerous the journey becomes. Eventually you find yourself in the Corellian Sector - one of the most popular and frequented districts in all of Nar Shadda. Corellian Sector(#7701RLXntFN) Those from or familiar with Corellia will start to recognize the architecture, the scents and smells, and the native signage. While not the finest of the districts, nor the safest, the Corellian Sector, with its reputation for good pilots and fast ships, has gained a certain degree of notoriety here on Nar Shadda that makes it both popular and prosperous. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Chase -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-

awnshop leads to Lekkuu's Pawns and Loans - Corellian Sector. woop Arena leads to Corridor -- Smugglers Haven Swoop Arena. lidewalk- leads to Central Platform 26.

  • nktube leads to NCI Corporate Headquarters - Corellian Sector. avern leads to The Smuggler's Rest - Corellian Sector. Chase's charge keeps moving with dogged determination, though he stumbles once he accompanies off the glidewalk, his legs threatening to turn to jelly as he has to make the transition to motionless ground. Unaware of her scrutiny, he's set his attention on putting one foot before the next until he reaches something that looks suitably med-center-like. His mouth has drawn into a tight stoic line, pulling at a faint scar along his chin; his eyes are uncannily blue, especially against his pallor and the dried bloodstains along his cheek. Grinning somewhat, Chase makes her way slowly but surely toward the Med-Center. People stare but she's not paying much attention to them at the moment. "You know you should have just asked me to help you personally..." She grins somewhat, that playful nature of the vixen becoming evident in her personality. "I would have been a much better nurse than you're going to get here." She says with wry tinge to her tone. "Your loss..." Despite the fact that she's more than likely just talking to herself, she still tries to keep Han pre-occupied with things other than his injuries. What might normally be a fetching crooked grin creeps into being across Han's haggard face, but it doesn't quite match somehow with his dazed eyes. "Wouldn't... wanna be any trouble, sweetheart," he answers, sounding oddly earnest. Approaching the Med-Center, Chase immediately begins to wave down one of the techs that move in and out of the doorway. It's probably not the most technologically advanced sight in the galaxy but it'll do for Han's injuries she's sure. A good few hours in a bacta tank does wonders for just about anyone... despite the aftertaste. "Trouble?" She asks distractedly, "Come to think of it you look like you'd be trouble... Wanna tell me what happened yet?" Blue eyes turn their gaze back to Chase's again, and for an instant, one might suspect he doesn't actually see her. "Accident," Solo mutters then, strangely absently. The half-grin creeps back into view. "Just... just a l'il accident, is all..." Chase nods somewhat, "Mmmhmmm..." is all she says, watching as some of the techs run over to help. She hands Han over to them, walking behind as they help bring him into the center. "What's your name RT?" She asks. The med-center isn't exactly up to galactic standards; this is, after all, Nar Shaddaa. And so the place Chase takes her charge is little more than a hole-in-the-wall joint wedged in between a shop selling dubious wares and a tiny restaurant whose fare is sending equally dubious odors out into the street. The first of the techs that meets the pair at the door is a harried-looking, wary-eyed Corellian woman with gray streaking the dark hair she's wearing behind her neck. She shoots a glance up and down Solo's unsteady frame, and seems to immediately register Chase as the person in possession of higher coherence here, demanding brusquely, "What's with him?" The other tech, a short but burly man, grabs hold of Solo's arm to help balance him. Solo himself, however, is still staring at the woman at his side. At her question, his face drains of what little color it had retained, and something like alarm flashes across those blue eyes. Finding his throat has gone dry, he wets his lips and at last whispers, "D... Draygo. Vykk... Draygo...?" Strange. It sounds almost like a question, not an answer. Chase looks sceptically at Han and then turns toward the Corellian woman, "He had an accident." She says simply, her appearance by this point not all that much better than Han's. "Can you take care of him or what?" She asks, her own rather confident and arrogant tone ready to overtake the others at any moment. She looks back at Han. "Well Mr. Draygo... since I saved your life I do plan on collecting at some point." She smiles widely, "Just so you know." The short male tech smirks, putting in, "Looks like he just staggered out of a brawl to me. Well, c'mere, big guy, let's have a look atcha." He guides Han over to a chair while pulling what appears to be a battered handheld medical scanner out of one grimy pocket. The scanner doesn't look much better than the tech himself does. As the fellow flips the device on and aims it at Solo's abused brow, the wounded man keeps most of his attention on Chase, a frown tugging at his mouth. "Saved my life?" he rasps, blankly. "Honey, I just... got a little... lost is all... I ain't dead." One hand starts fumbling at his jacket, in search of money. "How much you want then?" he finishes, his voice growing fainter, exhausted. "He speaks," drawls the female tech, an eyebrow quirked. Apparently unmoved by Chase's behavior, she nods shortly. "We'll handle him, honey. You wanna drop him off or wait around till we patch him up?" Chase looks over at one of the techs, "Not very appreciative is he..." She comments turning back to Han. "I don't want money darlin'... When I decide what I want I'll let you know." She smiles and then looks at the Corellian woman. "I'll leave him here." She says simply, deciding that there's nothing more she can do for him. "I have an appointment with a hydro-spa. When he's more coherent tell him Chase MacKenzie brought him here." It's obvious by this point that the Tech's don't seems to recognize her... it gets sad when a once very famous actress like Chase is no longer recognized. But Han... he might recognize her name at least. She turns away from the group and steps back a bit. "I'll pay for his care at the front desk." She says simply, assuming that in Han's condition he hasn't exactly a great deal of money with him. The male tech turns from his inspection of Solo's head as Chase introduces herself; a flash of recognition does light up his eyes for a moment, and he leers appreciatively at her as he tries to figure out exactly why that name is familiar to him. No doubt about it, that man is a Corellian. If Chase's identity makes any impact on the _female_ tech, however, she shows no sign of it. She merely nods laconically, jerking a thumb back at the Twi'lek who passes for a receptionist in this tiny establishment, who's been watching all of these proceedings with undisguised curiosity while pretending to file her nails. As for Han... Chase's name calls up no more recognition in his eyes than her face had done. He stares at her while the tech scans the back of his head, his hands paused over pockets that are coming up with no money... or for that matter, nothing else of use. "Thanks, sweetheart," he mumbles, unable to think of anything else he can say. And with that, he sags in his seat, submitting to the care of this pair of Corellians, leaving his savior free to go about her way and clean all the traces of his presence from her person. [And with the wounded stranger dropped off the med center, Chase does indeed go on her way, but the _other_ young woman who had followed Solo and his rescuer does not. To be continued...]