Log Date: 8/18/99, 8/19/99 Log Cast: Han Solo, Leia Organa-Solo Log Intro: Almost invariably, every time Han sets foot in one of the more dangerous corners of the galaxy, he gets himself in trouble. This has been the case ever since he was a gangly youth just beginning his smuggling career, and arguably ever since he walked the streets of Corellia as a child; now, though, with his checkered past grudgingly giving way to a more or less well-behaved present, the kind of trouble he can get himself into in the galaxy's seedier sectors has only increased. He can barely show his face on Tatooine or Nar Shaddaa without causing brawls or firefights -- and his last jaunt to the Smugglers' Moon, accompanying Lando Calrissian on a search for illicit transponder parts, has been no exception. He's come back to the _Deliverance_ with bruised ribs and a concussion, setting off yet another battle of wills between himself and the NR's medical personnel as to when he will be allowed on his feet. And in the meantime, his wife's duties, blithely unaffected by the battered state of her husband, have continued unabated. Leia sorely craves her husband's input on what to do about the developing crisis in the Lruk system -- and for that matter, truth be told, she craves her husband. She doesn't need much more excuse than that to come find him on the _Millennium Falcon_.... ---------- Cockpit The cockpit of the _Falcon_ is reasonably spacious as freighter cockpits go, able to seat four with ease, and some space left over between the two rear seats and the aft hatch. Countless control panels, including the hyperdrive, steering, and power systems, a link to the navcomputer in the forward hold, and access to the weapons systems, cast assorted winks, blinks, and tiny, steady glows across this room; before the pilot's chair on the port side is a computer screen, for navigational data and other information brought up off the ship's computers. Looking towards the fore casts one's view out through the cockpit's dome window, wide and sectioned off by sturdy metal arc and line segments bracing the thick glass. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Han_Solo => Threepio => Transponder Database => NavComp -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- ft leads to Main Ring Corridor (Starboard). Leia The human woman before you embodies a nobility of rare quality in this galaxy. Though small of stature her regal aire draws the attention of all in her presence. A figure of classic perfection moves with an inherent grace. Fine-boned hands mesmerize as they gesture in concert with her rich, ginger-toned speech. Chestnut tresses have remained uncut since adolescence, indicative of her Alderaanian heritage. Today she wears her hair in a thick braid which circles the crown of her well-shaped head, though some wisps escape to softly frame her oval face. Bow-shaped lips of coral curve softly. Above them is her pert nose whose mischief threatens her dignity at times. A tinge of shell-pink washes her fair cheeks. Large eyes of deepest brown sparkle with flecks of cinnamon, reflecting the soul of a good and true heart. Leia rarely fails to dress with exact appropriateness and today she has selected a practical jumpsuit. A well tailored garment that hugs her form perfectly without being revealing or tight. It has several pockets and is belted at the waist with a woven belt of a deeper tan. A vest is worn as well, quilted and of a warm tan corduroy. The legs of the suit tuck into comfortable dark brown leather boots that rise to just above her ankles. Han This tall, rangy man moves with the loose and confident motions of a fighter, someone accustomed to getting into tight situations... and getting quickly right back out of them. His brown hair is cut pragmatically short, but is thick enough to hold a hint of a wave, framing a set of ruggedly handsome features that have finally lost the last traces of youthfulness and are solidly into weathered maturity. A long scar crooks across his chin, adding another touch of ruggedness to his face. Sharp-gazed hazel eyes, prone to shift tint depending on his clothing, miss very little that crosses their line of sight, and he typically speaks in a lazy almost-drawl. He is currently clad in a khaki-colored uniform shirt, tucked into navy blue pants notable by the single red stripe that runs down the side of each of his legs, and military-issue boots. The shirt sports, pinned to each side of his collar, small insignia designating him as a General of the New Republic; the boots are mostly shiny, with only a little scuffing. Around his waist is slung a blaster belt, tilted down slightly at an angle towards the holster riding on his right thigh. At last. There aren't any junior officers clamoring for his attention. There aren't any cadets who're just looking for excuses to bump into him in the corridors. Somebody, thank whatever flavor of deity you might happen to like, has turned off Threepio. And with Chewie off checking on the whereabouts of the Wookiee cadet to which he'd been alerted, Han has that rarest of commodities for those who were once heroes of the Rebellion: free time. In such fortuitous times, there's only one thing a man can do -- and that is, of course, take the cockpit of his ship apart. Whistling tunelessly, surrounded by an alarming number of what may or may not be actual usable parts and components spread out on the deck at his feet, his clothes streaked all over with assorted vital fluids the _Falcon_ has a way of leaking all over him, Han Solo is currently about as content as it's possible to be. Time without duties, time to find solace are rare for the Councilor as well. Too rare. In fact, she had to literally sneak away, slipping out of a rather dull briefing by the Commodore on the upcoming Caspian visit. Why they thought she needed to attend she's still not sure. It seems that no one can offically sneeze without alerting Leia Organa Solo when she is on board a Fleet ship. Hearing that her husband had not been seen about decks for several hours, she followed a sneaking hunch. It payed off with a certainty that Lando wouldn't even bother to lay odds on. Once on board the sound of a certain ships guts being dismantled leads the Princess through the main ring like a homing beacon. Placing her hands on either side of the entrance to the cockpit, Leia leans inward. Seeing Han in his element causes her to smile. With a husky, wry tone, Leia breaks the Corellian's blessed solitude. "Are you sure this surgery was necessary, Dr. Solo?" From the look of him, you'd think Han was eight years old and playing with his favorite toys, rather than rebuilding his beloved old freighter's cockpit from scratch -- but then again, aside from the fact that Han's not eight, that's not far off. He's got a pair of battered goggles pulled down over his eyes, and he's wielding a sparking multitool that seems to be prone to make little 'zzzt' noises every two or three seconds. Without so much as blinking, the General replies straightfacedly and in deliberate understatement, "Crucial. Old girl's got a flutter in a few of her systems." Eyes of burnished umber flash slightly. Han's words, and his general manly tool-wielding aura, work a bit of a magic on the normaly cold Princess. So embroiled in the building of a new government, she has repressed her own needs for the usual lengthy stint. When finally she does have time to feel, to be a wife and lover, she tends to spurt out her passions in a manner not unlike the way the sparking multitool emits it's own electric flame. Gently, Leia bites her lower lip. Without thinking, she utters almost to herself, "I've got a flutter of my own..." But then, even though she is a grown, married woman, she blushes slightly and clear her throat, standing a bit straighter. Her hands come down and behind her, and she leans coyly against the hatch frame. "Well...do you think she'll pull through?" she asks, trying to continue the medical ruse she began. Every so often, at just the right moment, Han seems to have preternatural hearing. At the Princess's murmur, he glances up, raising the goggles just enough to reveal hazel eyes whose amused glint is entirely at odds with his deliberately guileless expression. "It's a touch and go job," he pronounces solemnly. "If I cross the wrong wires, I could blow myself sky-high." Quite to her consternation, Leia finds her throat to be suddenly dry as she finds herself looking into those famous hazel eyes. To moisten it she swallows with a bit of difficult. "Well, maybe I'd better leave you alone, so the deck crew doesn't have to clean up the mess." She salvages a bit of control and regains her teasing smile. To further illustrate, she pushes off the bulkhead and takes a step back into the ring. Only her lingering gaze indicates she's really only teasing. Han's brows go up behind the goggles, and he settles back onto his heels to pretend to consider. "We-e-ll," he drawls by way of reply, his eyes meeting his wife's and staying there, "some doctors _do_ work better with suitable distraction on hand, y'know." Now, he might have gotten himself utterly filthy -- and how in the world does the man manage to get glooped in coolant fluid, when he's taking apart the cockpit systems? -- but other than that, Han _does_ look rather better than when he stumbled home from Nar Shaddaa. His hair's back to its normal shade, he's wearing his own clothes and not the tattered remnants of Lando's borrowed finery, and a few consecutive nights of solid sleep have gotten him well over the lingering effects of the blow he'd taken to the head. And if the increased glitter of his eyes is any indication, the _Falcon_'s not the only thing around here benefitting from an overhaul. Leia has noticed how good he looks. Indeed, it's nearly driving her crazy while at the same time she thanks all things good for bring him home safe. Well, not really home, though recently the Falcon is as close as they've gotten to a ground zero in their lives. Lifting one of her own clean hands to brush a stray wisp of chestnut hair behind her ear, she halts her retreat. "Oh really? Do I qualify as a 'suitable distraction'?" she asks with seeming innocence. To this, then, Han merely rises with an ease that shows no sign of the fact that he'd had four cracked ribs when he'd set foot on the _Deliverance_ a few nights ago, coming up from his crouch on the deck to unfold himself to his full just-over-six-foot height. Not once moving his gaze away from the Princess's, he rasps in velvet tones, "Guess this depends on how good you've gotten at preventive maintenance, Your Worship." "Well, I've always subscribed to the old addage, 'An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of...well, I forget it," she ends the banter abruptly. _What are you waiting for, sister?_ she chastises herself. With uncharacteristic impulsiveness, Leia lurches forward, grasping the front of Han's shirt and effectively bringing them close, face to face. For a breathless second she pauses, tuning her senses only to the sound of their destined heartbeats beating in mutual rhythm. Taking the aggressive stance, she brings her soft lips up to meet his in a long overdue kiss, exchanging her stiff political demeanor for a more feminine pliability. Far be it from Han to turn down a gesture like _that_. Flicking off the multitool with one deft motion of his thumb, tossing it backwards without looking -- and not needing to, for it lands on the pilot's chair -- the General wraps his arms around the woman he loves, lowers his mouth down to meet hers, and willingly demonstrates his overall approval of this particular form of distraction. When he comes up for air again, only just far enough to get a good look at the Princess's delicate visage, a palpable heat has kindled behind those hazel eyes. "Hello to you too," he rumbles. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder. It also means a couple has to re-acquaint themselves with each all over again. The joy of rediscovery makes the kinds of seperation Leia and Han must suffer as close to bearable as possible. Still, Leia is reminded of how she has to get used to this kind of intimacy anew everytime. Thus, even now she blushes over her actions and the fire of her own heart Han's nearness brings. For the moment, she only smiles and rests her head against the comfort of his chest. Closing her dark brown eyes, she holds him tightly as if she had never done so before. After a time, Leia stirs and tilts her face up to smile again at Han. "And to think I'd only come here seeking my military advisor." Solo wouldn't ever admit to anybody, even the dainty woman he now embraces, exactly what sort of warmth the feeling of Leia's head resting right there against his chest sets off within him. But with Leia, he does occasionally skirt close. Lifting up a hand to rub his thumb along the delicate royal chin, he puts on his best wicked grin and murmurs, "Your military advisor advises a bit more development to this campaign." With a sigh, Leia screws up her lovely features in the closest imitation to a silent whine she ever gets and she reluctantly moves away just a little. Just enough to be more able to speak directly to Han. Her duty to the Republic gnaws at her, leaving her little choice but to address the issues weighing on her mind. No matter what thoughts of better distractions the rugged Corellian's presence drives between the walls of her better judgement, the emensity of her commitment to expanding the peace of the galaxy pulls her away even now. "Oh...I wish I could Han, I truly do. But I'm afraid I can't. Lives may be at stake and an entire world is waiting on my decision." Pursing her coral lips in a pleading grimace, her expression emplore indulgence from those heavenly hazel eyes of his. The change in the Princess's expression and demeanor -- not to mention her physical proximity -- are more than readable to the man who loves her. Han's brows wing down in consternation as he makes himself rein in his ardor. Concern comes in to damp down the heat in his eyes, lifting his voice up a trifle from the velvet depths as he speaks. "I thought somethin' was in the works when I got back -- you were even busier'n' usual." If there's any fretfulness in him over the lack of a Princess at his bedside when he'd awakened in the medbay, Han gives absolutely no sign of it. "What's goin' on?" A tinge of regret at the shift she's made tugs at a private place deep within Leia's heart, but she presses on inspite of it, sharing the situation that nags at her thoughts. Thought that have kept her awake for a few nights now, searching for precedence and formulating her decisions and the arguments she has presented via transmission to Mon Mothman daily. "A few things...but this recent applicant system...this could be something very good, or very bad. I can't figure it out yet, but either way I've got a feeling it's going to be big, in terms of defining the New Republic's role in the galaxy." Taking a pacing step, followed by a few more out into the ring slightly, the Councilor reforms the explanations she has repeated many times in the last few days. Turning back to Han, she concisely lays out days of meetings within the course of a few phrases. "There is this world, called Lruk. It's so isolated it still thought the old Republic existed. They had a civil war apparently. Their own rebellion. The natives got restless and wiped out their alledgedly oppressive aristocracy. All except one, a fellow by the name of Orbryce Koor. Apparently this rogue nobel is a clever fellow. He left and they fear he'll return and attempt to rule them by force. But in the mean time they've established their own government, of the people, under the guidence of the rebellion's leader, Aroon Felk. They've made two requests of the New Republic. First, they've asked for membership and I've already decided to send a delegation to meet with Felk and review Lruk's application. That's not what's worrying me." Leia pauses, almost seeming to look inward in that spooky sort of way she has when she lapses into concentration. Thoughtful contemplation, when she forces herself to do it, is one of the few abilities her brother was able to teach her to any effect. "They asked us to help defend them, should this Koor come back with any kind of force. I'm just not sure it's our place to interfere within an unknown world's civil disputes." Looking as helpless as no one but Han would ever be allowed to see, Leia shrugs slightly, her weariness finally showing through big, dark eyes. To all of this, Han listens with the patience he shows to no one else in the galaxy, with the exception of the Wookiee who so often functions as his surrogate conscience. Stepping out into the ring to follow you, casually leaning against the side of the hatchway, the Corellian lets himself shift to a more business-like mode -- tempered only by the fact that this is his wife before him. "What kind of a leader is this Koor? They think he has the resources to come back and cause them trouble?" he asks. As he speaks, his voice taking on that directness with which he deals with his officers, his eyes retain a touch of dark, clear, affectionate concern. It is such a change to finally speak to someone who isn't constantly testing her or set out to oppose her in whatever Leia puts forth. The singular struggle she finds herself in daily has been exacerbated without the company of those closest to her. Han, Luke, Chewie, Winter, all off to someplace else doing things she's not a part of. Perhaps by sharing her query with Han, she'll find a partnership she isn't even aware she craves. Her solemn face warms slightly, a small smile touching her lips as she nods softly. Leaning against her own side of the hatch, having stopped her pacing and settled across the doorway from Han, she speaks with a tinge of relief in her voice. "Apparently. This representive, a very militeristic young woman named Dybra Lemruk, seemed very adamant about this. I could see the fear in her eyes when she spoke of this Baron." Her smile fades as the Princess relives the empathy she felt. The _Falcon_: first place he ever kissed the woman before him. Perhaps in memory of this, and what exactly he was doing when that kiss took place, Han reaches over and takes up one of Leia's hands in his own, massaging the dainty palm with his thumb, kneading his lean callused fingertips along her knuckles. His expression, nevertheless, remains more or less businesslike. "Now, stop me if I sound goofy here, Princess," he says musingly, "on the grounds that I ain't a diplomat, but what's the problem with us letting them into the NR and sending in a bit of military presence to bolster their morale, scare off this Baron, that kinda thing?" Leia's own sense-memory kicks back to that day, some years ago and many life times as well. How she's resisted on the surface and how the agitating Corellian's proxity made her breath quicken and brought out sensations she'd never felt before. Time has ripened their love, making it richer than she ever imagined it could be. Now his attention to her brings comfort, not fear. In that comfort she finds confidence that was, in this matter, unexplainably lost. "Nothing. It's what we should do. But the Council is getting 'careful'." This last word is chosen with difficulty but she's not sure how else to phrase it. "I hear constantly how our resources are precious...how we have grown too large to rush headlong into fires we're not sure we have the concentration of power to fight." Looking up into Han's warm hazel eyes, Leia seeks his council, questioning, seeking confirmation for what she feels is the right thing to do. Just as she has always felt it, ever since she first left Aldaraan with Winter to seek out the Corellian resistance and pledge her father's aide to the infant rebels. "Do we have the resources, General?" 'General'. Not 'Han'. The manner of address impresses upon him the seriousness of the situation, though he doesn't reply in kind with one of Leia's even more impressive and formal titles. It takes him a moment as he reviews what he knows, and his mouth curls into a small grimace as the responsibilities he'd wanted to avoid for a while in merrily disassembling his beloved ship's cockpit systems reassert themselves. "We're thinner than I'd like," he replies then. "We've had to spread our ground forces out to give backup to the Fleet in a lot of these contested systems we're trying to keep from the Empire. Lruk's asking just for ground support, then, or have they said?" His fingers keep up their unhurried ministrations to the hand they enfold; his voice remains just a trifle husky. It's a good bet he doesn't use that voice when giving status reports to Madine and Rieekan. Feeling the relaxation of Han's attentions all the way up to her royal shoulders, Leia might consider the benefits of appointing her husband as one of her aides to have her sit next to her in council and just massage her hands. Wouldn't that cause a scandal! Ackbar would grow pale at the gills over such impropriaty. Good thing she doesn't dwell too long on this image. "I've only had the one meeting, Leia breaks from her imaginings. "They don't sound like a technologically advance world. I'd be surprised if they had starfighters as we know them. But who knows what kind of support this Baron could bring back. I think if we go in, we need to be prepared for anything." The brown orbs close, lashes fluttering slightly as she moves a half step closer, feeling drawn towards Han's comfort. "You've confirmed my suspicions though, about our forces. The only advantage I can use in council is that maybe this world will offer a new source of recruits," she smirks, almost embarrassed by her cleverness, to pit unconsenting lives as chips in her bargains to gain more territory for the fledgling government. Han's brows wing down over his eyes, as he boils the matter down to, "Technologically advanced enough to holler for help to us, but not technologically advanced enough for their weaponry to match some of the more interesting goodies this Koor guy might bring home, huh?" Oh good. The massage is working. Pleased at that, at least, Han lightly captures Leia's remaining hand with his other one, making sure to attend to it in the same manner he's doing to its mate. Some extra tension may be felt in this new delicate appendage now in Han's skillful care. "Aha. See. I knew you'd see it too. The dichotomy." A slender brown brow is raised in a sure decision. "I'll send a delegation, with a little assistance. Some one to not only protect my attache but also to gather information, assess their readiness for a conflict." A sigh emits, that mixes both satisfaction at coming to a decision with the rare pleasure Leia takes at the way Han finds exactly the right spot to make her knees grow a bit weak. "I'm half tempted to go myself...." she muses. Slowly, gently, Han exerts gentle pulls on the hands he now holds, drawing his wife back towards him. "As your military advisor, I'd suggest that if you're considering the trip, consider taking Veran and some of Squad One with you. Undercover, if need be, they're prepped for that kind of thing. As a backup to your honor guard, _and_ to check out their military status," he says. His voice starts lightly enough, but drops down towards that velvet rumble he'd used towards the Princess earlier, while his hazel eyes remain fixed upon her delicate features. "On the other hand, as your husband... I'd have to pitch at least a bit of a fit if you turned around and left just as soon as I got here." Leia listens, taking in not only Han's words but the temptation of the sound of them. That voice is just about enough to draw the work-focussed woman away from her pensive thoughts, but Leia is the sort that must take things to their conculsion before moving on to other matters, no matter how pleasant their prospect. Close to him now, the natural perfume of her pent-up long tresses wafts upwards. Her form softens in his arms. "No. This time I'm not leaving. Not yet. It's time to let others do the advance work. I'll appoint my representative in the morning, and arrange for a qualified escort." That done, Leia finally sinks back into the stance that ealier gave Han no regret for neglecting his tinkering in the cockpit, nestled against his chest, content. [End log.]