Log Date:
	12/12/98

Log Cast:
	Neva, Tance, Gyles

Log Intro:
	Passover has arrived. Every member of the Heptite Guild who
possibly can has fled the planet, and of those who remain, most have resigned
themselves to taking refuge on Shankill Station, while some unfortunate few
have to stay on the planet itself. Tance Vokrim is among those who have
retreated to Shankill; in the midst of a symbiont-imposed stupor, not to
mention a still considerable amount of resonance in his system, he's
barely managed the energy to get himself up to the moonbase and find a couch
upon which to collapse. He's retained no other conscious directives,
forgetting about contacting anyone who might be concerned about him, focused
only on one thing: sleep.
	However, one young woman who remembers Tance's predicament rouses
herself up out of the vacation upon which she'd already departed, and staggers
back to Shankill Station to look for the grizzled old Singer....

----------
Heptite Guild Common Lounge - Shankill
   This is a wonderful, airy room, bright with gentle but brilliant shades of 
  green and blue. Screens hang on the wall to provide the illusion of 
  landscapes, and hanging and potted plants thrive around the room, softening 
  the boxy corners. A number of table stand near the catering unit, and more 
  inviting pillowed loungers and chairs have been arranged in several 
  conversation pits.
   The loud chatter of the afternoon has mellowed slightly, mostly people are 
  just sitting in groups talking and laughing quietly, or eating a nice dinner.
Contents:
  Tance, sitting on a couch.
  Rules -n- Regulations for Shankill 
  Catering Unit
Obvious Commands ("." for list):
  .stand  .chair  .floor
Obvious Exits:
  Guild Members Quarters  Training Rooms  Guest Rooms

Neva steps in from the corridor where the Guild Members reside.
Neva has arrived.
Looking no less than exhausted, Neva steps in. Sighing, she pulls a packet 
  out of a pocket, and pops a small pink pill into her mouth. Alliteration, 
  eat your heart out. Although she doesn't seem much better, she scans the 
  lounge--and eyes alight on Tance. "Knew it."

Tance Vokrim, Crystal Singer, is like most of the Guild solidly in the grip of 
  the Passover hibernation. However, unlike a sizeable portion of the Guild, 
  he's actually still on Shankill. The man's managed to claim an unused couch 
  and is deep in slumber upon it; from what's visible of him, he's been 
  sleeping for some time, perhaps here, perhaps at every point between here 
  and his planetside quarters. His clothes are badly rumpled, and so is his 
  recently trimmed hair; gray-brown strands stand in random spikes over the 
  top of his head. His face, though, is oddly relaxed for once, dropping 
  decades off his features as long as he's in repose.

The crystal resonance coursing through your body is constant and distracting.

And so thus, Neva waits to wake him--she sinks into a chair, and watches for a 
  moment, shaking her head. "Really can't believe it. Even if I were poor, 
  nothing could keep me here," she murmurs to herself.

Oblivious to the arrival of the much younger Singer, not to mention everything 
  else in the vicinity, Tance Vokrim slumbers. His chest rises and falls, 
  slowly and steadily, and there's the slightest sound of snoring coming from 
  him; he lies with one arm draped over his chest, and the other dropped off 
  the sound of the couch, his hand limply dangling a few inches above the 
  floor.

Checking the time, Neva shakes her head. "Tance?" she asks, somewhat loudly 
  although hardly a shout. "Tance, think you can wake up for just a minute?"

The older Singer doesn't stir.

Sighing, Neva stands, moves over, and puts a hand on his shoulder, nudging 
  gently. "Tance? C'mon. Back to the land of the living. Just for a few 
  minutes, then you can sleep again."

This wins Neva a jarring to the rhythm of Tance's deep and faintly rasping 
  breathing. His head turns toward her, his brows crinkling in momentary 
  confusion over eyes that nevertheless remain closed.

"It's me. Neva. Do you remember? I cut your hair," the younger Singer says, 
  slowly and calmly. "Wake up. I want to talk to you. Just for a minute."

A throaty little rumble of bafflement creeps up out of Tance, a rather deeper 
  noise than he generally seems wont to make. Someone's there, some back 
  corner of his mind reports, though the information has to travel through 
  several layers of dulling fog to reach the rest of his consciousness. When 
  it finally does, the rumble modulates into a husky plea of "G'way... lemme 
  sleep..."

Vitry enters from the guest corridor.
Vitry has arrived.
Vitry steps out into the corridor towards the location of the guest rooms.
Vitry has left.

"I'll let you sleep in a minute," assures Neva. "Why're you still on Shankill? 
  For that matter--why don't you have a room? This is no way to sleep off 
  Passover."

The someone is still there. Tance dimly registers the calm words being spoken 
  over him, and at last, his eyes come open about halfway, revealing a groggy 
  brown gaze. Too sleepy to think about his answer, he promptly mumbles in 
  reply, "No credits..." And his eyes start to close again.

"And you too proud to borrow, I suppose? C'mon. You can't stay here. This is 
  no place to sleep!" Neva moves back, pushing her hands into her pockets. 
  "Pride may be one thing. But it's no reason to have to sleep in the middle 
  of the Shankill lounge for the whole time."

"Nice here," mumbles Tance dreamily; apparently, this is perfect justification 
  for his current location, at least in his mostly asleep state. "Soft couch. 
  Good for nap... just a little nap..."

You can feel the crystal resonance hot in your blood.

[symbiont] Tiredness wells over you like a looming black beast, drawing you 
  down into its claws. It's irrepressible. Unstoppable. Unavoidable. At least, 
  however, you don't feel the urge to eat. In fact, the very thought makes 
  your stomach turn over unsettlingly.

"You should be in /bed/." Neva shakes her head slightly, and pulls the little 
  pack out of her pocket. One of the pills is retrieved. "Take that. It'll 
  wake you up enough to at least get yourself to the shuttles." She fights off 
  a yawn, herself.

Gyles steps in from the corridor where the Guild Members reside.
Gyles has arrived.

Tance's brows wing down again over his mostly closed eyes; why won't the 
  someone just let him _sleep_? Why is the someone insisting he has to go 
  anywhere? "Can't go," he murmurs thickly, lifting a leaden hand to bat 
  clumsily in Neva's direction. "Can' afford vacation. Don' wanna vacation. 
  Wan' sleep..."

Gyles steps into the corridor.
Gyles has left.

"Well, I /can/ afford it. And I'm telling you, I'm not going to let you spend 
  this whole time sleeping on a couch on Shankill. If you have to, you can 
  sleep on a couch on the Alexi--but I'm sure they're a hundred times more 
  comfortable. No fare to ge there, either. C'mon." Neva persists, shaking his 
  shoulder a little bit. "You just have to wake up for a few minutes."

Slowly, heavily, Tance's eyes come open again, and he peers glassily at the 
  young woman before him, confusion wrestling with the profound drowsiness 
  that has left him looking like a sleepy child, and never mind the weathering 
  of his face. "But I can't go," he protests in tiny, plaintive tones, his 
  brain still operating with the logic of dreams rather than that of full 
  consciousness. "Shouldn't go onna vacation. 'Swrong..."

Baffled, Neva peers at him. Apparently, she wasn't expecting this. "What's 
  wrong with going on vacation?"

The older Singer's drowsy countenance for a moment turns immensely sorrowful. 
  Something about this dream bothers him, but as it must be a dream -- what 
  else could it be, with this someone here trying to wake him up and make him 
  go somewhere when he has a perfectly good couch to sleep on right here? -- 
  Tance explains in tones of bleak resignation, "Lost Jade onna vacation. My 
  fault. Shouldn't go nowhere, bad to her." There, explanation given. His eyes 
  start drifting closed once more.

"It wasn't because you took a vacation, I'm sure," offers Neva softly. "Come 
  on. It's a lot more comfortable, there. The couches are softer. And there 
  are books--do you like to read?" She smiles, attempting to look as 
  comforting as possible.

His eyes blink. This dream is not going the way Tance expected. Making a small 
  wordless noise of query, he looks up again, then manages to mumble, "Better 
  couches...?"

"Much better," confirms Neva with a nod. "Much more comfortable. What do you 
  say?"

The resonance rushing through your ears is constantly distracting you.

"H... how come you wan' me to move?" Tance murmurs, teetering on the edge of 
  consciousness. And he appends confusedly, "Weird dream..."

"Because. It's not good for a Singer to stay so close to Bally on Passover. 
  And it's not a dream." Neva chuckles softly.

"N'a dream?" Tance frowns baffledly, having problems focusing his gaze on the 
  younger Singer. "'Mawake?"

"Yes, you're awake. And I need you to wake up just a little more, so you can 
  come to the Alexi with me," Neva suggests gently. "Do you have anything you 
  need to bring?"

Yes, this dream is definitely confusing. Tance squints muzzily up at the young 
  woman, and blurts, "You... wan' me to go with you...?" Ah, comprehension! Or 
  something vaguely resembling it, at any rate.

"Exactly!" Neva breathes a sigh of relief. "The shuttle fare is free, and the 
  rooms are inexpensive, and everything is very nice. You'll like it there."

Brown eyes blink sleepily several more times; then, Tance pleads, "Then you'll 
  lemme sleep....?"

"Yes. Then, I'll let you sleep. I'll probably be asleep, too," Neva admits 
  with a smile.

It takes the older Singer a small eternity before he finally seems to connect 
  enough braincells to murmur, "An'... nicer couches...?"

Slowly, Neva nods, and grins. "Yes, nicer couches. Come on?" She holds out a 
  hand, to help him up. "See if you can purchase a ticket. It's the 'Alexi 
  Styvesant'."

You feel a very disturbing thrum beginning to build in your blood, sliding 
  along your nerves.

Tance stares glassily at Neva's hand for several long seconds before finally 
  reaching with his own to grasp it. His grip is heavy, and it is with much 
  awkwardness that he levers himself up to a sitting position. Standing is an 
  entire adventure of its own, as the man lurches dizzily the moment he tries 
  to rise. "Mmrmmm?" he proclaims, to no one in particular.

Carefully, Neva attempts to steady him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "There 
  we go. The 'Alexi Styvesant'. Make a reservation?"

Neva
A thin woman--of course, in this guild, one will never find a pudgy singer, 
  but this person takes that to extremes. She is not tall, but lengthy legs 
  create the appearance of height; slender limbs are toned, lightly muscled. 
  Neva is posessed of the compact figure typical to those in active 
  occupations, only a slight curve at breast and hip, but well-defined. 
  Flame-touched waves curl just beneath small, round ears; wide, sage-green 
  eyes are rimmed with coppery lashes. Her fair skin is dusted with freckles 
  across almost-snub nose and soft cheeks, like sparks; slender, high-arched 
  brows are fiery against milk-white forehead. She seems young, perhaps in 
  mid-twenties--not even the finest lines surround her eyes, no marks that 
  might indicate a penchant for smiles, or frowns. Instead, her usual 
  expression is blank, perhaps vaguely worried.
Where brighter colors might be better suited to one with her complexion, Neva 
  has recently taken to somber, more conservative clothing. A carefully 
  tailored blouse of pale dove-grey suits her figure well, the lightweight, 
  smooth cotton accenting curve while blousing out enough to conceal the lack 
  of it. The tiny white buttons are accented by elegant embroidery in what 
  seems to be silk thread. Still, snug-waisted black slacks only accent her 
  lack of weight, along with the oval, silver-tone belt buckle, engraved with 
  a knotwork pattern of obvious Celtic influence, that emphasizes flat 
  stomach. Then, they loosely follow legs to where they rest around the ankles 
  of low-heeled black leather shoes, still unscuffed by daily wear.
 The scratches on her arms and legs are already half-healed. She received a 
  blow to the head, the impact site of which is bruised black and purple. She 
  looks around in confusion, seeming not to know where or who she is.

Tance's arms come fumbling round Neva's small frame as his slumber-dazed 
  senses struggle to orient themselves to this concept of being vertical. 
  "Reservation," he repeats thickly, blinking down at her, and then with an 
  effort around the room. "I... I need... terminal...?"

Laughing softly, Neva nods, pointing out the terminal first and then 
  disengaging herself from him. "There?"

Ohhhhhhh. Tance squints at the terminal and then lurches in that direction, 
  staggering as though he were drunk and trying to cross a claim during a mach 
  storm. Frowning vaguely at the way the room is spinning around him, he 
  finally reaches the terminal and catches himself against the desk on which 
  it rests. And for our next trick, ladies and gentlemen, let's try to see if 
  we can find the screen and the keyboard!

A step behind him, Neva follows--whether or not she'd actually be able to 
  catch him should he topple is one thing, but at least she's there. "You 
  should be able to get a ticket, since there's no shuttle fare..."

Okay, now how hard can this be? Lift the hand, punch the keys, try to type 
  something vaguely resembling a coherent command... finally. Tance pokes at 
  the keyboard, using a single finger and peering for three seconds per key as 
  he tries to locate the letters he wants. His other arm remains supporting 
  him against the desk, and it seems to be doing a decent enough job, though 
  it's trembling.

The computer responds to your query with a pleasant voice, "You are a 
  confirmed passenger for the shuttle to Alexi Styvesant which will be leaving 
  in 9 minute(s). Please make sure that you are in the shuttle area at least 2 
  minutes ahead of time. Your account has been billed."

"I did it," mumbles Tance, sounding surprised.

Smiling broadly, Neva nods. "Yes, you did. We should go get the shuttle now." 
  Quickly, she taps in her own reservation, and then points towards the exit.

Ahhh. This means he actually has to... _walk_? Tance stares off or less in the 
  direction Neva indicates, looking dubious about this entire prospect. And 
  slowly, inexorably, starting to lean hard to one side.

"Here." Neva offers him one of the pink pills. "Stimulant. It'll keep you 
  awake until you get there." Then, taking his elbow to steady him, she begins 
  to head in that direction.

Tance peers down at the pill Neva places in his hand, almost making himself 
  cross-eyed with the effort of trying to focus on it. Then he gulps it down 
  trustingly enough, and lets the young Singer guide him off as the stim 
  starts to hit his system.

Neva steps into the corridor.
Neva has left.

[And, in about nine minutes...]

Shuttle bound for Alexi Styvesant
The inside of the shuttle feels confining. The seats are set close together 
  and there are no ports which allow viewing of the outside of the shuttle. 
  The forward section contains the pilot and is closed off. Each seat is 
  equipped with a sturdy buckle. All passengers must be 'buckle'ed in before 
  the shuttle will take off.
First Class compartment:  empty
Coach compartment:  Neva Tance
Contents:
Neva

You pass through the portal and into the shuttle destined for Alexi Styvesant.

Tance's Crystal Cutter has left.
A uniformed man takes your cutter to the service rack for temporary storage.

Neva slides into a seat, taking a long breath as she does so. "It shouldn't be 
  a long trip," she offers, buckling the belt.
Neva securely buckles in.

Tance staggers along at Neva's side, managing to stay more or less upright 
  with the stimulant's assistance. He gazes at everything he passes in mild 
  confusion; clearly, the notion that this young Singer is actually taking him 
  somewehere hasn't quite registered with him yet. He mumbles dreamingly, 
  "Oh," to her observation as he practically falls over into the seat beside 
  her.
Tance securely buckles in.

An official discreetly checks the occupants of the shuttle against the 
  passenger list.
The shuttle shudders with the vibration of its powerful crystalline drive as 
  it launches from the bay.
You rise slightly in your seat with the weightlessness of space and are held 
  securely by your buckle.

As he passes, Neva nods to the official, and then takes a deep breath as the 
  shuttle launches. "Not so bad, is it?"

You settle comfortably back into the long rather tedious journey.
You awake from a slight doze at the feel of the shuttle descending and slowing 
  with some retroblasts.

"Mmmmm?" is Tance's only reply as his head lolls sideways. And not too long 
  after, it would seem that the shuttle journey has lulled him right back into 
  sleep, for he doesn't stir at the retroblasts of the engines.

The shuttle vibration ceases, signalling arrival on Alexi Styvesant.
The Shuttle pilot announces over the intercom system, "Welcome the the FSPS 
  deep space liner, the Alexi Styvesant. The newest ship in the FSPS fleet, 
  the Alexi is capable of normal FTL travel, and sports a singularity drive as 
  a back-up system. Please declare all goods, and enjoy your stay."
The shuttle opens its airlock and the pressure pops in your ears as the entry 
  is unsealed.

Lightly, Neva nudges his shoulder. "Wake up, Tance. We're here." She unbuckles 
  her safety belt. "Time to go."

Tance releases the buckle around him.
Neva releases the buckle around her.

"Mmmmm," mumbles the older Singer, his eyes practically shut again. He fumbles 
  through the motions of getting up, dimly aware he ought to follow the 
  someone who coaxed him off the couch... oh yes, the couch. "Couch?" he 
  implores faintly.

A little chuckle. "Yes, let's go find it and sleep," Neva agrees, pulling 
  herself up and heading out of the shuttle.

Neva steps through the portal and onto the debarkation area on Alexi 
  Styvesant..
Neva has left.

You step through the portal and onto the debarkation area on Alexi Styvesant.
Shuttle Bay
This cavernous chamber looks big enough to hold several shuttles, a task it is 
  put to quite often. The constant bustle of activity in this chamber reminds 
  you that a ship of this size always seems to have a few people either coming 
  or going. Shuttles slide in with an ease that gives lie to the fact that 
  some heavy computing power is used to get the angles right and prevent 
  accidents. Ground crews swarm over each arriving shuttle, unloading it and 
  preping it for departure in near record times. Neon signs point down various 
  tunnels, but the one that catches your eye reads 'Customs'. The reason why 
  it catches the eye? In it you can detect three shades of blue, all of which 
  are combining to give you a headache. Now that the day is winding down, the 
  activity in this room is slowly ceasing. Shuttles become less and less 
  frequent, and more and more of the people in the room drift off to more 
  promising activities and locales.
Contents:
Neva
Shuttle arriving from Shankill
Shuttle Control Officer
Obvious exits:
Customs  

A shuttle launches from its bay.
A shuttlecraft has left.

Neva disappears down the corridor leading to customs.
Neva has left.

You walk down the corridor, and pause as the metal door cycles open to allow 
  you passage through.
Customs
This room manages to be several things, but it does a few of those things 
  very, very, well. It is a master at appearing to be small and somewhat 
  cramped, a virtue forced upon it by loads of crates and other luggage 
  needing to be inspected. The room is also quite good at looking stern, steel 
  walls and a steel floor do that to any room. However with a security grate 
  over the entrance to the rest of the ship, one could not get much sterner 
  through trying. However this sternness only comes if you can see past the 
  garish things pasted on the steel walls. They almost appear to be travel 
  posters, but it is tough to read them through the constant barrage of bright 
  and garish colour. 
 As each passenger approaches the security grate, they and their possessions 
  are run through an advanced scanning field. One thing is certain, very 
  little contraband is getting aboard ship through here. 
With things winding down for the night the customs staff are growing less and 
  less busy with each passing moment. they do not let up on vigilance though, 
  processing people with care and consideration.
         (+view enabled)
Contents:
Neva
Obvious exits:
Main Vault  Shuttle Bay
  
Neva pauses for a brief second as the security grate opens to allow her 
  through.
Neva has left.

You pass through customs, pausing only for a few seconds as the security grate 
  opens to allow you through.
Main Vault
The room before you boldly and quite accurately assumes the term 'cavernous'. 
  To put it simply, this room is -huge-. Stretching over half the length of 
  the ship, all manner of doors and other exits empty out onto the floor of 
  this room. Far above your head run the huge steel struts that hold together 
  the entire ship, hanging from which are large chandeliers that cast a warm 
  glow about the room. 
 Though the room is huge, a sense of comfort has been achieved with the usage 
  of plants and various pieces of artwork. Vying for space in the center of 
  the floor, potted trees and pieces of statuary are only interspaced by 
  wooden benches. The artwork and plant life does not end there however. On 
  the walls a mixture of hanging plants and paintings create a bright and 
  cheery scene. This is despite the fact that from your point of view, some of 
  these painting would be better displayed in a dark room. Or any other place 
  where the severity and depth of the colors would not bother adapted eyes. 
  Above all else this room casts a spell of comfort, easily dispelling the 
  sense of enormity the room first provides. 
As the day rolls to a close, the traffic in this room slowly thins out, though 
  there always seems to be a slight crowd in here. In fact, quite a few people 
  are sitting on the benches provided, talking and gazing at the artwork as 
  each becomes illuminated as the light in the room falls.
Contents:
Neva
Obvious exits:
Small Door  Lounge  Passenger Deck  Gymnasium  Dining Hall  Customs
  
"Isn't it beautiful?" Neva glances up and around, apparently still awed by the 
  sight. "The passenger deck is this way."
Neva disappears down the stairs that lead to the passenger deck.
Neva has left.

You quick-step down the stairs that lead to the passenger deck.
Passenger Deck
This room is one of the smaller ones in the passenger area, and for that 
  reason it is kept quite simple. Housing only a desk set in an alcove, the 
  only other use for space in this room is to allow other people to pass on by 
  those waiting to register at the desk. The desk is a heavy looking thing, 
  done in oak and walnut. Behind this desk a man sits, waiting silently for 
  someone to approach him. On the desk in front of him is an old fashion 
  registry, upon which is written the names of those that have requested rooms 
  in the past. 
 The room itself is done in hardwoods, with a wooden floor and thick wooden 
  railings that circle the entire room save the alcove with the desk. Leaded 
  glass lights hang overhead, casting a soft glow upon the contents of the 
  room and bringing out the depth and the richness of the wood. With your 
  enhanced senses not only can you see the grain of the wood, you can also 
  make out the faint scents of beeswax and the odor of the wood itself. 
Contents:
Neva
Front Desk
Obvious exits:
Rooms  Garden  Main Vault  

"The checkin desk is over there," Neva points out. "But if you'd really rather 
  stay on a couch, I've one."

If Tance is registering the slightest detail of the luxurious ship to which 
  he's been brought, the man's giving no sign of it. He trundles after his 
  self-appointed escort with almost mechanical motions, if staggering could be 
  said to be called mechanical. He is oblivious, too, to the lifted brows his 
  disheveled appearance gets him from other passing folk on board the ship.
Tance mumbles by way of reply, "Wan' lay down."

You can feel the crystal resonance hot in your blood.

Nodding, Neva heads towards the rooms, pausing every now and then to wait for 
  him.
Neva steps through the doorway leading to the rooms for guests.
Neva has left.

You step through the opening that leads to the rooms for guests.
Accommodation Wing(#9290RAs)
Before you is a long and fairly narrow hallway. Barely wide enough to allow 
  two people to pass shoulder to shoulder, this is one of the most traveled 
  halls upon the ship. However what is lost in width is made up for in height, 
  with the ceiling set high above your head. Heavy leaded glass chandeliers 
  hang from the ceiling, casting interesting shadows off all the polished wood 
  in this room. With the continuation of hardwoods into this room, the feels 
  less like a hallway or a room of its own, and more of a continuation of the 
  lobby. The twin scents of wax and exotic woods reach your nose. 
 The only real thing different about this room happens to be all the doors 
  that lead off here. Each door has a lettered card above the door, telling 
  the current resident of each stateroom. 
Contents:
Neva
Obvious exits:
Neva's Suite  Hanne's Suite  Out  

Neva enters Neva's suite.
Neva has left.

You enter Neva's suite.
Neva's Suite
Luxury, this rooms reeks of it, or at least as much as you can cram into a 
  room on a spaceship. The walls are covered with wood panels, each set with a 
  differing pattern of hardwood inserts. When taken all together, this creates 
  a panorama that is breathtaking. However with that we have just started. A 
  deep shag carpet covers the floor, and hanging high above this there is a 
  brass and crystal chandelier. Of course the furnishings are also of very 
  high quality. Deep leather couches and armchairs are placed at random about 
  this spacious room. 
 The walls are a similar story. One wall is covered with a sprawling bookcase, 
  filled with -real- leather bound books. Another wall is dominated by a large 
  screen holovid, that is when the wood covering it has been retracted. 
  Another wall empty except for a small curtained porthole. Beyond this the 
  deep black of space can be seen. Finally, the most enigmatic feature of the 
  room is revealed. Set into the last wall there is the facade of a brick 
  fireplace. Within this there burns a gas fire, constantly flickering it's 
  flames, and casting most interesting shadows on the room's contents - 
  especially with the chandelier high above.
Contents:
Neva
Obvious exits:
Bathroom  Bedroom  Out  

"Isn't it beautiful?" Neva turns around, slowly, smiling. "Look at that 
  fireplace!" Then, remembering, she walks over, and pats the back of the 
  couch. "See? Doesn't that look so much nicer? And the storms don't get to 
  you so much, the further you get from them."

Tance blinks dazedly around, it finally seeming to sink in with him that he is 
  now Somewhere Else. "I," he blurts raggedly, scrubbing the back of one hand 
  across his eyes. Then his gaze falls upon the couch. Longing and exhaustion 
  flood his face, and he staggers straight for that piece of furniture. But he 
  also catches himself long enough to peer back at Neva and ask anxiously, 
  just to be sure, "I can... lay down here?"

"For as long as you want," confirms Neva with a soft smile. "You needn't worry 
  about anything. The bathroom's over there." She gestures to one of the 
  doors. "And that's the bedroom." Gesture moves to the other. "I'll get you a 
  blanket." She disappears into the bedroom, and returns a moment later with a 
  quilt over one arm. "You think you're going to be comfortable enough?"

Upon her return, Neva can find that Tance has sunk gingerly down onto one of 
  the couches, but he hasn't yet stretched out. There's the oddest expression 
  on his face; his eyes have gone wide, and he's staring sideways down at the 
  couch's soft suede upholstery in evident shock.

Entering, Neva pauses, looking at him. "What's wrong?" she asks with some 
  worry, heading over with the quilt dragging on the floor. "Don't you like 
  it?"

Tance pokes gingerly at the couch and raises a groggy... but awestruck... gaze 
  to the younger Singer. "Soft," he blurts.

Giggling, Neva nods. "Yes, it is. Isn't it nice? Bedroom's got a king size 
  waterbed. And you should see the bathroom! Six hundred credits. I feel like 
  a queen."

"I... I can't... pay ya," Tance mumbles, with as much dismay as he can manage. 
  That couch is so tempting... even as he gets the words out, his body begins 
  to slump sideways of its own accord, the plush stuffing of the cushions 
  seducing his senses, and his senses aren't putting up much of a fight at all.

"You're good company. Having company... having you here to spend Passover with 
  is payment aplenty. I was getting kinda lonely," Neva admits with a sheepish 
  smile.

"N'a much... company... so sleepy," Tance whispers, his voice dropping again 
  in pitch and timbre, the rest of him sagging over onto the couch.

A little chuckle. "It's okay. Lay down," suggest Neva, holding the quilt up. 
  "At least you'll be comfortable."

"Mmmm?" It would seem that now that he's slumped over on this couch-shaped 
  marvel of softness, further motion has passed outside Tance's current 
  ability to comprehend.

The resonance rushing through your ears is constantly distracting you.

"Lay down... stretch out," Neva suggests again. Slowly, she unfolds the quilt.

Tance open his eyes again, but only enough to peer vaguely up at Neva. He 
  starts to move, but slowly, creeping towards one end of the couch to better 
  place his head. He's still got one shod foot off the couch's side, though.

Gently, Neva lifts the foot up, placing it on the couch, and then drapes the 
  quilt across him. "There. Comfortable?"

"Mmm-hmmm," rumbles the older Singer, his face beginning to go tranquil again 
  as every inch of his body reports that it quite approves of its new 
  location, and could we be getting back to sleep now? Still, something seems 
  to tug at his mind, and he murmurs sleepily, "Gonna... look for me...? She 
  might look for me..."

"Who?" asks Neva softly, tucking the quilt up around his shoulders. "Who might 
  look for you?"

The sensation of a harsh thrum builds in your body, sliding along your nerves.

"Girl," murmurs Tance, his changeable voice softening in volume and rising in 
  pitch again, turning into a dreaming warble. "Girl with th' bear..."

"I'm sure, if she comes, she'll be able to find you," reassures Neva.

[Tance, unfortunately, isn't much able to retain that fleeting wisp of
 memory, as his symbiont tugs him down into slumber. To be continued...]