Log Date:
	2/25/99, 5/7/99

Log Cast:
	Alpin, Tance, Talaitha, Lucas, Neva

Log Intro:
	Tance has hit it lucky for once -- he's found black crystal, all
by himself. This rather auspicious event has powerfully moved him, since
it's the first black claim he's found since the loss of his beloved Kesya.
After sleeping a night on the claim, his dreams full of his lost 'Jade',
the scatterheaded Singer has come back to the JPF and sold his cut for more
than enough credits to haul him out of debt. By way of celebration, and by
way of trying to dull the ache in his head over his dead love, Tance has
proceeded to spend an entire day getting himself drunk on the strongest
liquors a Singer can buy. And he's wound up, at last, in the Singer lounge
on level 11....

----------
Alpin walks in from the level 11 lift area.
Alpin has arrived.
Alpin saunters over to the catering unit.
Alpin smiles, "Hi Tance. How's the ranges treating you these days?"
Alpin spins the menufax around to display the fish selections.
Alpin peruses the selections of fish dishes and orders a Blackened Swordfish 
  Steak.
Alpin sits down on one of the soft couches.

The Ranges, apparently, have been banging Tance Vokrim around, at least by 
  the physical look of him... but then again, that might also be the 
  perceptible reek of alcohol on his breath, as he unsteadily pivots around on 
  his heels, blinking dazedly in the direction of the newcomer. "Whuh....?" he 
  says thickly, voice decidedly slurred. "Do I know ya...?"

Alpin slowly eats his dinner, then looks over and smiles as Tance has finally 
  spoken, "I guess not today. But that's all right. Care for another drink?"

A drink... a _drink_. A large, unfocused, lopsided smile blossoms out across 
  Vokrim's weathered features, and he proclaims proudly, "I BOUGHT my drinks. 
  My credits! I bought 'em!"

Alpin walks over to the catering unit and orders up a tray full of scotches 
  and returns to his seat on the couch, a contented smile on his face.

With a grin Alpin downs one of his scotches. Wiping up the bit that missed 
  says, "I'm glad to hear that Tance, guess you're doing good these days."

Tance's brown bleary gaze tracks the course of those scotches from the 
  catering unit to the couch, and as he unerringly tracks them, he staggers a 
  little nearer. This seems like a nice enough young pup! So he confides, 
  slurred tones rasping, but his face positively aglow, "I found BLACK."

Alpin
Alpin is an outgoing young man of medium build and 6' 2" in height, with 
  blonde hair and blue eyes that always twinkle. He's usually got a good joke 
  and a kind word for anyone. He's wearing a bright orange jumpsuit and very 
  ragged looking work boots 
 He limps slightly, his ankle visibly swollen. His jumpsuit is ripped and torn 
  about the leg, showing the broken leg, and some bone.
Carrying:
Pack
Alpin's Crystal Cutter
Climbing Equipment(#4028d$)
Katz lamp OFF(#8849C$)
Alpin just returned your gaze with a smile.

Alpin nods towards the tray, "Help yourself." Then with a delayed jolt at the 
  magic word black he pales as it's something he's seen so very little of. 
  With a touch of envy he adds, "Well now, that's a fine thing to find, 
  something I have hopes of seeing a bit of one of these days."

The grizzled old Singer must have put down a pretty phenomenal amount of 
  alcohol, given that he is obviously drunk. But this doesn't stop him from 
  lurching towards the scotch, that big foolish grin solidly in place. He 
  swipes one of the glasses off the tray, making himself stagger a bit with 
  his own movement, till he finally opts to half-fall into a chair. Oh, yes, a 
  nice young pup. Sharing his scotch. Feeling immensely companionable, Vokrim 
  beams fuzzily at the other man. "Jade was there. I could feel 'er."
Tance leaves the catering unit.

The crystal resonance is zinging through your body.

Tance sits down on one of the soft couches.

The 'young pup' chuckles at Tance's obvious intoxication and smiles, "I've 
  heard bits and pieces about Jade, but I never got the whole story." Drinking 
  another scotch he adds, "I guess I'm just not here enough to hear bout these 
  things."

"I was gonna marry 'er," Tance explains, with childlike earnestness, glazed 
  eyes wide and guileless. "But then she died. So I gotta cut by myself now." 
  He belts down the scotch in his glass without so much as pausing for breath; 
  then, he concludes, "But then I found the black and she was there."

Alpin nods down towards the glasses that are still full, taking one for 
  himself. A wave of sympathy goes over him as he says quietly "That would be 
  the place to find a lost loved one I guess."

Tance starts to nod, and then keeps nodding for a while, thrilled that his 
  companion seems to understand the situation. "So then I cut it," he slurs, 
  "but then she reminded me I had to pack so I wouldn't thrall, so then I came 
  home. To celebrate." His slightly battered brow crinkles, though, in vague 
  consternation. "She's not here, though."

Alpin chuckles softly, "Maybe leave just a bit in the vein, and hide it real 
  well and you can visit her again." Then shaking his head to clear his 
  melancholy thoughts says "I'm happy for you Tance, though I haven't been 
  finding black I have been doing pretty good at rich deep colors."

Tance's face falls a little. "I cut it all," he observes in doleful tones, "so 
  I'll hafta find s'more black... so maybe she'll be there again..." Then he 
  trails off, listening rapidly to the younger man, and then saying dreamily, 
  "I like rich deep green, but I ain't s'posed t' cut it."

"Tell you what Tance." Alpin says, "If I ever find black I'll have a sliver 
  made into a necklace for you. A very small sliver mind you." Then, 
  curiousity getting the better of him, "Any particular reason you can't cut 
  rich deep green?"

Alpin notices the scotches again and drinks another one.

Tance's gray-brown eyebrows knot together, winging down over his eyes, in 
  confusion. He blinks once, slowly, trying to make sense of this offer, and 
  failing. Still, it sends a surge of profound sentiment coursing through him, 
  and he blurts, "You'd... do that... for _me_?" His pronunication, rather 
  slower than normal, is further hindered as his voice cracks slightly in the 
  middle.

Alpin smiles softly and nods, "Maybe because it's....Oh I don't know..." 
  Downing another scotch he continues, "I guess it's all about losing 
  someone." he says, not able to get his feelings out very well. Turning his 
  head he downs yet another scotch. "Yeah, I would." He then clarifies."

"You're... you... nice young pup," Tance rasps, alcohol keeping his voice down 
  on the very bottom of his natural range, the very bottom end of baritone. 
  "Nice young pup. Sorry I'm gonna forget ya!" He toasts the younger Singer 
  with his glass, then realizes it's not actually holding anything, and peers 
  at it.

Alpin chuckles and hands Tance a full glass, "Don't worry about it, you've 
  forgotten me before and it works out all right." Then raising his glass in 
  toast says "Maybe to black claims?"

You feel the resonance tingling in your blood.

"I have? Oh..." Tance gives another of those slow, languid blinks, and then 
  beams unfocusedly as his companion trades off his glass for him. Now THAT'S 
  more like it! He lifts up the glass and toasts Alpin anew. "To black 
  claims," he echoes huskily. And then he peers closer at the younger man. 
  "You asked me somethin'. Jus' now. Forgot. Wha' was it?"

Creasing his eyebrows in thought for a moment, "Oh it was nothing important, 
  just about cutting rich deep green claims is all. I was curious about why 
  you can't cut them."

Tance's mouth makes a soundless 'o', and then he bobs his head seven or eight 
  times as recollection and comprehension make it through the pleasant haze 
  about his senses. "Thrall too much," he confides. "Forget stuff. Forget my 
  own name on green!"

Alpin smiles wryly and comments, "That's a pretty good reason not to I guess. 
  I haven't thralled *too* bad yet." he says looking for something wooden to 
  knock on and finding none looks disgusted. "Hopefully that won't happen for 
  a while yet. Couldn't afford to pass up any claims at the moment." Then 
  belying his poverty statement orders up another tray full of scotches.

Tance looks up, following the younger man's movements, and his eyes go a 
  little wider at the arrival of more scotch. "Are you gonna get drunk too, 
  pup?" he inquires, quite amiably, and might almost look curious if his eyes 
  weren't so bleary. "Lotta scotch to get a Singer drunk."

With a laugh the younger singer tosses off another scotch and nods, "Yeah, I 
  haven't done that in a long time and maybe it's good and overdue." He nods 
  at the scotch before taking another one, "Polly works faster but leaves me 
  with a terrible headache."

Tance's grizzled head bobs again, wisely. "Keep drinkin'," he advises in rough 
  but knowledgeable tones. "Gotta build up the alcohol in your system or else 
  your bug'll burn it up. Outrun your symbiont!"

Alpin laughs and downs several in a row. "Like this?" he asks with a vapid 
  expression on his face, obviously in jest.

Tance's lean frame twitches with a barely suppressed bark of laughter. "You 
  got that down good!" he exults, trying to point by way of emphasis at 
  Alpin's expression, and more or less managing to aim at some indefinite 
  point over his shoulder.

Alpin snickers, "They always said I was a quick study. It looks like I have a 
  ways to go to catch up with you though." With a look of disdain he pushes 
  his unfinished meal aside and drinks another scotch after handing one to 
  Tance.

"I been at it..." Tance pauses, frowns, and tries to remember. "Hours!" he 
  finally expansively concludes. "I lost track." And he starts nursing the 
  latest scotch.

You can hear crystal resonance coursing gently through your body.

Alpin leans back with another scotch and looks around, "Too bad the lounge is 
  so empty, a good drunk should be shared far and wide."

Tance considers this, with all due gravity. Brown eyes blink a time or two, 
  and his left one closes halfway, making his expression lopsided. "Y'think we 
  should find somebody?" he asks after a moment, once his sodden brain spits 
  out the first conclusion it can draw from his companion's observation.

Alpin shrugs and reaches for yet more to drink, "Oh I don't know. I'm sure 
  somebody will be along eventually. We'll just be ahead of them."
Alpin starts muttering "There once .....named Maureen." then blushes. "Maybe 
  that one should stay put away.

"They can order their own scotch," declares CS Vokrim. Perhaps the man should 
  get drunk more often; he certainly sounds far more forceful and vigorous 
  than usual. He sways forward as he tries to sit up a little more, 
  blinkblinking over at the other man. "Wha'? Whaddya say?"

Alpin shakes his head as he hands a scotch to Tance and takes one for himself, 
  "Nothing, just an old limerick that probably should stay old is all."

Talaitha comes in from the lift area.
Talaitha has arrived.

Tance lets out another bark of laughter, low and husky, and belts back the 
  latest of the scotches. "Ain't as old as I am. I'm old as dirt."

Alpin blinks over his glass of scotch at the Singer he hasn't met. "Hello 
  there." he drawls.

Talaitha limps in- she got rid of the crutch- just in time to hear Tance's 
  comment. "But much cuter than dirt. Hey there," she returns the greeting.

Alpin offers Talaitha a glass, "Care to join us?"

Tance's head turns in Talaitha's direction, and he blinks slowly at her, 
  twice. "What?" His brow crinkles. "Ain't cute. Stop talkin' nonsense, 
  girlie." Hrmm. Maybe she'll make more sense if he has another scotch.

Talaitha grins, turning to join the men on a couch. "Happily. Whatcha 
  drinkin'? Aw, c'mon, Tance, you're cute and you know it."

Alpin hands Tance another glass, then offers one to Talaitha again, "Why, the 
  gods own nectar of course miss, uh I didn't catch your name?"

"Horsedung," retorts Vokrim. He finishes off the glass in his left hand before 
  somewhat awkwardly taking up the newest one from Alpin in his still-healing 
  right one. Then he shoots his left forefinger emphatically at Talaitha, 
  adding, "I ain't cute. You're drunk." Wait a minute. Something sounds wrong 
  about that. "Or you should be. Stop talkin' nonsense then."

Talaitha takes the glass as she lowers herself carefully to the couch. 
  "Talaitha la Grave, but anybody giving me nectar's earned the right to call 
  me Tal." She grins over at Tance before taking an appreciative sniff at her 
  drink. "I'd love to be drunk right now, believe me. Not that it'd stop 
  nonsense from coming out of /my/ mouth."

Alpin looks Tal up and down, appreciating the leg showing, "My name's Alpin 
  Ashford, and I'm sure really stupid things will be coming out of my mouth 
  here anytime soon."

Tance lets out a hoarse little grunt, slumping back against the cushions of 
  the couch he presently occupies, communing with his current glass. "You two 
  pups start talkin' nonsense at each other, I'm gonna hafta switch to 
  whiskey," he gruffly pronounces.

Talaitha absently... or perhaps not so absently... rubs said legs together as 
  she takes a cautious sip of the scotch- maybe she's scratching an itch. 
  Right. "Pleased to meetcha Alpin, I guarantee I've said stupider things than 
  anything you can come up with, so no worries there." She wags a finger at 
  Tance. "That'd make it worse."

Laughing at Tance's words Alpin finishes his scotch and gets another, "Sorry 
  Tance, didn't mean to ignore you it's just that her legs are better." Then 
  to Tal smiles, "Well, have a few dozen of those and we can compete."

You feel resonance tingling in your bones.

Tance peers at the young woman, blearily, not making sense of her last couple 
  of words. "Make wha' worse?" he slurs at her. And then he snorts faintly at 
  Alpin. "Dam straight her legs are better. Pretty young girlie beats a 
  beat-up ol' karker like me any day o' th' week."

Talaitha chuckles. "Makes the nonsense worse. Whiskey's my weakness." She 
  beams at Alpin, raising her glass in a toast to him. "Here's to good taste."

Alpin tries to wink at Tance with just one eye and sorta succeeds. "Well, I 
  hate to say this old salt, but even when you were a young karker I doubt you 
  had legs like that." Then noticing the lack of whiskey on the tray remedies 
  that promptly. "A lady should always have her choice of drinks." He says 
  smoothly, all except for that *burp* in the middle.

Tance squints his left eye at Talaitha, and then grimaces, deciding it's safer 
  to attend to the scotch. "Jus' a'slong as she don' start sayin' stupid 
  things about me bein' freggin' _cute_," he barks, "you jus' go ahead and 
  look at them legs." His opinion delivered, he slumps sideways a little, 
  slouching crookedly on the couch.

Talaitha grins. "Ah, but when somebody else is buying, I'm not picky. Besides, 
  this stuff's pretty good." She laughs softly. "Why, Tance, are you saying 
  you'd prefer conversation to looking at my legs? They're very nice legs, 
  even if I do say so myself..." She trails off, peering at him to determine 
  if he's still conscious.

"Don' wanna lookit your legs," Vokrim mutters, shifting position a little 
  uneasily. "He... uh..." Unable to remember Alpin's name despite the fact 
  that the man did just introduce himself, he waves vaguely in the other 
  fellow's direction. "He got it covered, don't he?"

Alpin chuckles, "Well, one of them is better than the other at the moment." 
  Then looking over at Tance slowly as if rapid movement would be a bad thing 
  asks, "You OK buddy?"

Talaitha
        Talaitha's very much on the short side, only standing around five feet 
  high or so, and downright skinny. She's almost hidden by the mass of wild 
  black hair that tumbles past her waist. The color of her ice-blue eyes 
  meshes nicely with her olive-skinned face, accentuated by a long narrow 
  nose, pointed chin, and generous mouth. She appears to be in her early 
  twenties.
        Her clothes are a multitude of bright (gaudy, to adapted eyes) colors, 
  from the white silk blouse trimmed with gold tracery of thread, to the blue 
  pants with the yellow piping along the seams. She's changed her footwear to 
  a pair of old but polished brown leather boots, a shiny buckle atop each. A 
  large white leather pouch hangs from her black belt, and tiny silver bells 
  stitched on the edge of its flap ring as she moves. Large gold hoops dangle 
  from her ears, half a dozen gleaming bangles decorate each wrist, and she's 
  never seen without her most prized possession, a necklace comprised of old 
  coins strung along a knotted black cord.
        The bulk under this Singer's clothed right leg gives easy evidence to 
  the joined walking cast beneath it, supporting the broken ankle and leg. The 
  cast is a standard white in coloration. The Singer uses a crutch under her 
  left arm to help keep her balanced on the cast.
        That leg isn't so clothed- Tal never bothered putting pants back on 
  after leaving the infirmary. Happily her panties aren't as brightly colored 
  as the rest of her wardrobe- they're just a pink thong.

Talaitha grins slyly at Tance. "Temptation too much for you? My offer from the 
  other night is still open."

Tance, beginning to look a little flustered in addition to looking drunk, 
  blurts loudly, "I'M FINE!"

Alpin sips slowly from his glass, mostly to hide his grin.
Alpin engages in one of his favorite pastimes, people watching for a few 
  minutes.

Talaitha nods to Tance with a smile, looking him up and down. "You sure are."

Scooting a little farther away on the couch, his slurred and rasping voice 
  creeping a little higher in pitch and timbre, Tance mumbles, "Quit that, 
  girlie...!"

You feel resonance tingling in your bones.

Alpin chuckles and picks up another scotch, his eyes getting a little 
  glassier. "How long you been cutting Tal?" He asks to give Tance a little 
  room.

Talaitha giggles at Tance, giving him an innocent look. "Eh? Oh, not nearly 
  long enough. Maybe a month or so, I'd guess. Not doing too badly for the 
  nonce. Except for this." She leans down to tap the cast on her leg.

Alpin laughs softly, "A brand new Singer! I'll drink to that. And it took you 
  a month to get injused? You're doing good."

Oh good. Subject change. Tance's brain, which had valiantly attempted to set 
  off a few alarm bells in his consciousness at Talaitha's frank stare, starts 
  settling down again. And mmm, it does feel good on this couch. Good to be 
  relaxed and just lie here... oh, right, the scotch. He drinks down the rest 
  of his glass's contents, and then just slouches there for a few moments, 
  losing himself in the heavy, fiery languor beginning to suffuse his frame.

Talaitha chuckles, taking a drink from her own glass, trying to make it last. 
  "Is there anything you wouldn't drink to right now? Thanks, though. I am, at 
  least, just barely out of debt. Doubt that'll last long."

Trying earnestly to think about Tal's question Alpin shakes his head, "I can't 
  think of anything off of the top of my head, no. Well yes but I won't 
  mention that just now."

Out of debt; Tance likes the words out of debt. His voice, growing softer and 
  dreamier, wafts up from his half-slouched frame. "Out of debt is good. Gotta 
  fin' me s'more black..."

Talaitha tilts her head curiously at Alpin. "Why not?" She perks up at Tance's 
  words. "Black? You've cut black?"

Alpin chuckles softly at Tal's reaction to the magic word.

Tance murmurs an indistinct affirmative, eyes threatening to close; could it 
  be that the amount of scotch in his system... and who knows what other kinds 
  of alcohol... is starting to catch up with him? "Mmm-rhmm," he rumbles. 
  "Foun' some black. S'why I'm drinkin' with... with... m'friend here." And 
  again he waves a hand over at Alpin.

Talaitha doesn't /quite/ drool. "And to think I was happy to find white. Can't 
  think of a better reason to be drinking though. Not that I can think of a 
  bad reason." She tosses back the rest of her scotch.

Alpin raises his glass in a toast, "Yep, he finds the black, and I buy the 
  drinks!" he announces.

Tance murmurs again at Alpin's announcement, his brow vaguely crinkling. "I 
  got credits... I can buy somethin'..." He starts trying to get up, only to 
  discover that gravity seems to have a tenacious hold on him. Whoa there, CS 
  Vokrim. Rethink this 'vertical' concept a minute or two?

Talaitha chuckles. "In that case, can I get a refill of /your/ scotch, Alpin?" 
  She grins over at Tance. "You might wanna just stay where you are for a 
  while. Maybe lay down."

"Lay down?" Tance repeats absently, pondering the concept. Lay down what? 
  Oh.... HIM. "That... sounds real good," he says slowly and slurrily, his 
  body beginning to droop backwards to the couch's back.

Alpin stands and manages a halfway decent bow. Refilling Tal's scotch says 
  with a wink, "Your wish is my command." Then looking over at Tance asks, 
  "Can I get you something while I'm up, it may be a while before that happens 
  again."

Tance's head tilts backwards, bringing up his stubble-shadowed chin, along 
  with his unfocused dark gaze. "Somethin' else... mmmm. Wha' should I have?"

Talaitha smiles her thanks to Alpin, keeping an eye on Tance as she takes 
  another drink. "Please," she murmurs, "Don't puke."

Alpin takes his seat a little further away from Tance than before, looking at 
  Tal mouthing "Amen."

"Silly girlie," rumbles Vokrim hoarsely. "Don' throw up. Singer. Booze don' do 
  that to me n'more..." His brain is still half occupied with this concept of 
  lying down, though, and it's taking him a while, for the notion has to get 
  through a whole days' worth of alcohol-induced haze. Decades drop off his 
  weathered visage as his entire frame relaxes, enticed by the couch's general 
  softness. Lying down. What a marvelous idea. Now if he can only make himself 
  move...

Talaitha grins, watching Alpin. "It'd make a good excuse for us all to shower 
  though." She nods to Tance, looking relieved. "Guess they're's advantages to 
  being an old karker then, eh?"

Alpin leans back humming some old country tune, "Old karker....I'll be one 
  soon enough, but for the meantime...."

"Sometimes," Tance admits absently to Tal, at this point practically ready to 
  agree to anything. Slowly, very slowly, he sags sideways along the couch. 
  Well, that's closer to horizontal, anyway.

The crystal resonance is zinging through your body.

Alpin stands slowly and takes a couple of the glasses off of the tray, "Guess 
  I should see if any crabs escaped. Good meeting you Tal, I'm sure we'll run 
  into each other again soon." He then heads off towards the Senior Singer 
  level muttering (I KNOW a sled can do barrel rools)

Talaitha nods to Alpin pleasantly. "I'm sure we will." She turns to lay on her 
  belly on the couch, gazing at Tance. "What's the other advantages?"

Alpin walks down to the senior singer level.
Alpin has left.

"Ad...vantages?" murmurs Tance thickly.

Talaitha mhmmms. "There's got to be /some/ advantages."

You can hear crystal resonance rushing between your ears.

Tance, from his mostly now horizontal position on the couch, shifts his 
  unkempt graying head to peer more or less in Talaitha's direction. 
  "Advantages f'r what?" he slurs at her hoarsely.

Lucas walks in and plops down on a pile of pillows.

Talaitha shrugs slightly, moving a little closer. "For anything. Like, 
  cutting."

The scotch haze in Tance's head is playing havoc with his ability to follow 
  the threads of this conversation; what was the girlie saying? His forehead 
  furrows in deep concentration. "Ad... vantages," he mumbles. "Oh... right... 
  t' bein' old...?"

Lucas looks at you for a moment.

You can hear crystal resonance rushing between your ears.

Talaitha mhmms. Tapping the side of her glass, she comments, "Like this 
  scotch. The older, the better, eh? Does the same go for you?"

To this, Tance smirks. His gaze wanders briefly around the room, and his eyes 
  close and open again in a very slow blink as he registers the presence of 
  Lucas. But well, he's already mostly lying down on that couch now, and hey, 
  it's a public lounge, right? He hears himself distantly murmur in reply to 
  the girlie, "Depends... 'son if you're too... too old...."

Talaitha glances over, nodding to Lucas briefly. "But you're not too old, 
  Tance. Not if you cut black."

Lucas stands up, using his staff for leverage.
Lucas stands up from his pile of pillows.
Lucas walks up to level 9.
Lucas has left.

"Only foun' it 'cause o' Jade," Tance murmurs.

Talaitha looks vaguely confused. "Jade?" she questions.

"Jade sung black," the grizzled old Singer explains. His unfocused eyes turn 
  slightly plaintive, and he appends, "I was gonna marry her. But she fell 
  offa cliff."

Talaitha's eyes widen. "Oh God, that's awful..."

If you pay attention to it, the crystal resonance can be heard coursing 
  through your body at all times.

Tance lifts his left hand, scrubbing it clumsily across his face, and winds up 
  falling over entirely on his side. He lies there staring off into space, 
  murmuring, "I could feel 'er on th' black. I could feel 'er..."

Talaitha winces sympathetically, but her expression is thoughtful. "Maybe you 
  shouldn't cut black anymore then."

Tance blinkblinks a time or two, and then frowns. "Don' fin' it so much," he 
  mumbles.

Talaitha nods amiably. "Yeah, but when you do..."

The Singer on the couch emits a rasping 'ffttttft' noise of dismissal, waving 
  an unsteady hand around. "Bet I won't do it again... forget 'bout this 
  sooner or later, cracked old karker...."

Talaitha chuckles. "I'll take that bet. Now for stakes..."

Tance's eyes drift closed, though his brow remains crinkled in puzzlement. 
  "Whuh... wha' bet?"

Talaitha rolls her eyes, amused. "Never mind. Want another drink?"

Tance considers this, and then finally drowsily murmurs, "I don' think I can 
  sit up."

Talaitha grins, glancing around. "Well, I wouldn't fall asleep there, if I 
  were you."

"Comfy," Tance rumbles contentedly. "Sof' couch. Sleep here. L'il nap."

Talaitha smiles sweetly, sitting up. "You do that. Come to think of it, you 
  look nice and comfy too."

"Silly. 'Mnot a couch..." comes Tance's drowsy reply. His eyes now firmly 
  closed, weathered and lined features still so relaxed that he looks almost 
  boyish, the Singer snuggles a bit into the cushions, settling down. He's 
  still got his feet dangling off the couch's front, but this little matter of 
  position doesn't appear to have entered his notice.

Talaitha moves forward on her knees, right up to Tance. "Well, let's test the 
  theory..." If he doesn't do anything to prevent it, he's going to find 
  himself snuggled against.

A wordless little noise of puzzlement sounds in the back of Tance's throat, at 
  the sudden contact to his body. He tries to lift his left arm, the one he's 
  not lying on, to fend off the intruder, and then he manages to mumble, 
  "Hey... s'my couch... wanna nap..." But his arm doesn't go very far, his 
  motions slowed and weighted by the amount of alcohol he's put down. He then 
  opts instead for rolling over onto his back where he lies.

Talaitha grins. "Hey, nothing's preventing that. Goooooo to sleep, Tance." She 
  begins humming a lullaby.

You can hear crystal resonance rushing between your ears.

The vague consternation eases out of Tance's features, now that he is truly 
  horizontal. All senses report in that this is a more than suitable state of 
  affairs. At the humming, though, he lets out another little noise of query, 
  eyes coming a little open for a moment, just long enough to reveal the brown 
  beneath the lids.

Talaitha pauses to arch an eyebrow. "You prefer Brahms' version? Just go to 
  sleep Tance," she whispers with a smile. The mischief in her eyes belies the 
  innocence of her expression. "Go to sleep."

"Okay," murmurs the prone Singer agreeably, his mouth curling up on the right 
  end for a moment before his face turns entirely tranquil.

Talaitha looks at you for a moment.

Tance(#3209POQce)
This is a man of of perhaps about 5'10" in height, with a build that might be 
  skinny if not augmented by knots of wiry muscle along his shoulders and 
  limbs. He is deeply tanned, with the look of one who spends a lot of time 
  working outdoors, and his roughly planed face and callused hands show signs 
  of regular weathering. His eyes, a dark and sullen shade of brown, are 
  framed by lines in his skin that suggest that far too often, their owner 
  glares at anything in his sight.
His hair has been cropped short into what would be an almost military style if 
  not for the choppy, spiky look of the sun-and-gray-streaked brown strands. 
  Black pants fall loosely down Tance's toned legs, tucked into sturdy boots 
  of the same color. Dressed casually, this outfit still compliments the 
  Singer's slim frame and gives him a rakish air. A white shirt hangs from his 
  shoulders, loose sleeves rolled to just below his elbows. The shirt billows 
  a bit where it's tucked in, but he wears a stylish black vest atop this as 
  well, the hem of which dips just below his belt-encircled waistline. 
 You notice a rather strong prickling along your skin when you pass too 
  closely to Tance. His right arm, broken in two places, is encased in a deep 
  green cast while it heals. The minor scratches have healed already, but the 
  gash above his left eye is sealed with surgical glue. His left arm sleeve is 
  in shreds and the arm beneath is streaked with long, bloody scratches, 
  little bits of grit stuck to the raw looking edges.

Talaitha beams. "Told ya you shouldn't fall asleep in here, Tance." Depending 
  on his state of consciousness- one can only hope he's completely out of it 
  for a few minutes- she proceeds to de-clothe him.

Another vague little rumble escapes the inebriated man, but other than that 
  slight noise of confusion, he doesn't rouse much. How much scotch has he put 
  down, anyway? As for Tance's clothes, getting his boots off is easy. The 
  shirt, vest, and pants, however...

The shirt, vest, and pants... are easily slit away with the knife procured 
  from the catering unit.

Talaitha loves practical jokes. Did she ever mention that? No matter.

Weeeeeell. That shirt was in tatters anyway, at least along the sleeves. The 
  pants are a bit tougher fabric, made for wear and tear in the Ranges. The 
  vest is leather; _that_ takes some work, too. But seams, well, seams are 
  vulnerable things. Eventually Tance winds up with his crystal-scarred, wiry 
  torso bared to view, along with a pair of trim legs, with nothing between 
  torso and legs except a worn, form-fitting pair of underwear. His feet still 
  claim their socks, too.
As he starts feeling portions of his clothing being tugged out from under him, 
  Tance begins to stir, frowning absently. His nap is being disturbed. 
  Something's wrong with this.

Talaitha laughs softly, stuffing the remains of poor Tance's clothes into the 
  disposal. She is somewhat merciful- she leaves the underwear and socks alone 
  as she climbs carefully onto the couch to kneel at Tance's head, smiling 
  down at him. Nope, he doesn't even get a blanket. Now for the grand finale...

If you pay attention to it, the crystal resonance can be heard coursing 
  through your body at all times.

Once the clothes are disposed of, Tance settles down again. His right arm, now 
  clad in nothing but that cast, drops down low across his bare stomach. 
  Something about the shift in temperature around here tugs vaguely at his 
  mostly unconscious mind, and he starts to roll over, towards the couch's 
  back, instinctively seeking to burrow further into the cushions.

Talaitha grins, bending over to speak very softly to her vict... er, fellow 
  singer. There's something to be said for not-quite-subliminal suggestions.  
  She mutters to Tance, "... was absolutely wonderful. I've... had..."
You sense Talaitha grins, bending over to speak very softly to her vict... er, 
  fellow singer. There's something to be said for not-quite-subliminal 
  suggestions. "Oooooh, Tance, that was absolutely wonderful. I've never had 
  better."

Another slight rumble escapes Tance, but this one with more of an earthy tone 
  to it. His head is now turned towards the back of the couch, but enough of 
  his face is still in view to allow the espying of an unknowing small 
  lopsided grin. "Tryin' t' humor an old karker, girlie," he can be heard to 
  mumble, very softly, his voice already husky but now taking on a tone of 
  pleasure and surprise as well.

Talaitha's eyebrows rise in surprise, but she grins. Lying down on her side 
  carefully behind Tance, facing him she murmurs, "Merely giving credit where 
  credit's due." One of these days she's going to /have/ to find out what a 
  karker is.

Mmmm. His back is warm. That feels nice. Tance shifts backwards towards that 
  warmth, starting to roll towards it. His eyes remain quite shut, but that 
  crooked grin tugs at his mouth.

Talaitha pauses for a moment- she's enjoying this way too much. But see, she's 
  cold too- being pants-less will do that to a person. So she snuggles up to 
  Tance a bit, keeping her voice to a whisper. "You up to another round?"

There's not much room to turn on a couch, when two bodies are lying snuggled 
  upon it. Tance has to settle for only turning his head towards the source of 
  the warmth at his back, since it seems so awfully difficult to move right 
  now, and his dreamful expression might almost be called mock-plaintive. 
  "Tryin' to kill me," he accuses drowsily.

Talaitha chuckles softly, trailing a finger along Tance's uppermost arm. "Now, 
  now, that would be a bad thing. I suppose I can let you have a few minutes' 
  rest though."

If you pay attention to it, the crystal resonance can be heard coursing 
  through your body at all times.

Neva comes in from the lift area.
Neva has arrived.

Tance's arms, rather like the rest of him, are lean and wiry and crisscrossed 
  with countless little scars. He makes another sleepful, rumbly little noise 
  in the back of his throat as Talaitha strokes his biceps, and repeats 
  dreamily, "Nap. Just gonna have a l'il nap."

"/Out/ of coffee. How the hell does my catering unit run /out/ of coffee? I 
  haven't even been there for a week, and it's out of coffee..." 
  Mumblemumblemumble. Neva, not in the best of moods, stalks in from Level 
  9--and stops dead. "What the--"

Tance is clad in nothing but his underwear and his socks, not that this is 
  exactly noticeable, given that what his now-deceased clothing had been 
  covering is now mostly covered by the scantily clad form of Talaitha, who 
  appears to have entwined herself around his prone form on the couch.

Talaitha glances over her shoulder, startled, and hsssts with a grin. "Shhhh! 
  You'll wake him up."

"By all that's holy--what in /blazes/ are you doing?" Neva doesn't seem the 
  least bit concerned, unfortunately, with waking him up. "Get some /clothes/ 
  on, for god's sake. What'd you do to him?" Immediately, she assumes that 
  something was done to him; this is Neva, after all.

Tance by way of reaction murmurs indistinctly, managing to half-turn where he 
  is sandwiched between the couch's back and the daring young woman. Mmmm. 
  Warm. Warm is good.

Talaitha just grins, though she keeps her voice low. "He got drunk on his own. 
  Other than that, I didn't do anything to him." She hesitates a split second 
  before taking the plunge. "Except show 'im a good time. Wanna join us?"

"Tance?" A brow lifts; Neva doesn't believe it. Obviously. "Like hell. /You/ 
  need to go get some pants on. Or a skirt, or something--if you're going to 
  be a hussy, don't need to show it to /everyone/." Decency--Neva certainly 
  knows something about /that/. "And what'd you do with /his/?" Vaguely 
  protective. Maybe. Er, well, very.

"Don' geddup, Jade honey," Tance puts in in husky, yearning, gravelly tones, 
  soft as velvet, though his consonants are audibly slurred.

Talaitha mmms, "It's kind of hard to be a hussy with/out/ sho..." She grins at 
  Tance, giving him a pat on the arm, "I'm not going anywhere," before turning 
  back to Neva. "His what? His pants? Oh, those're gone." She nods toward the 
  disposal.

At that, eyes narrow slightly at Talaitha. "You sick, sick woman. Could at 
  least give him time to get over her first--go after him when he's drunk and 
  won't know the difference?" Neva frowns deeply. "You /that/ desperate?"

Tance tries to roll over, his left arm fumbling now to reach for the warm 
  curvy form snuggled up against him. "Jade," he rumbles in a soft rich tone 
  entirely unlike his normal voice.

Talaitha points out quietly, smiling somewhat as Tance reaches for her, "And 
  when's the last time you saw him this happy?"

Almost reluctant to wake him--but it is a necessity. "Tance? Wake up. It's 
  /not/ Jade, Tance." Pausing for a long moment, Neva then adds, a little bit 
  quieter: "She's /dead/ Tance. She's not coming back. And this isn't her.. 
  just some... gods, I don't even know /what/ to call her." Another glare at 
  Talaitha. "Happiness will come when he learns to /live/ with it."

Tance frowns a vague, tiny little frown as Neva's voice begins to trickle into 
  what passes for consciousness within his grizzled head right now. "Mrmmm?" 
  And he turns all the way around, his free arm dropping heavily over 
  Talaitha's hips.

You feel the resonance tingling in your blood.

Talaitha arches an eyebrow. "Just? /Just/? Ma'am, I'm not /just/ anything. I'm 
  the best, whether it be hussy or angel..." She trails off, finding herself 
  face-to-face with Tance. Not that she minds, to judge from her expression.

"Do you re-mem-ber, Tance?" Slow, carefully accented speech. "She died. On 
  Verron IV." Unfortunately, Neva didn't get more detail than that... 
  hopefully, it'll do. "She's /dead/, she's not coming back. This isn't Jade. 
  Look at her, will you? Wrong color /skin/, even." Then, eyes turn to regard 
  Talaitha. "The /best/?" Softly, the Singer snorts. "Please. You learn real 
  quick that there's no top-rank in /anything/, here... and that jokes such as 
  this are never funny."

Voices. More talking? What's going on? Tance begins to frown more visibly as 
  he lies there, consciousness tickling at the back of his sodden brain. 
  "Whuh? Who's...." His left eye slits open, confusion beginning to creep into 
  his expression.

"Jade was /green/. You showed me the picture, remember? She was from Taal'en," 
  reminds Neva, voice picking up a little more. "This is not her. Not Jade. 
  This is..." Eyes flicker again to Talaitha. "What's your name?"

Talaitha mutters softly to herself- whatever the words are, they're not 
  complimentary to Neva. She's distracted, though, as Tance begins to awaken, 
  and she gives him a warm smile, ignoring Neva.

Neva's rising voice pokes and prods Tance until at last both his eyes flicker 
  open, and he blinks groggily at.... at an unfamiliar face, immediately 
  before him. "Wh... wha's... wha's goin' on...?"

"Apparently, you had a bit to drink... and someone decided to take advantage 
  of it." Another frown in Talaitha's direction, before Neva looks back to 
  Tance. "/Not/ Jade. Remember. She's dead." Repetition seems to be the key to 
  this strategy.

Talaitha sighs slightly, starting to pull away from Tance. "You," she notes to 
  Neva, "Are no fun. I had no intention of tricking him into thinking I was 
  his lost love. It just happened."

THIS is decidedly peculiar. Tance blinks foggily at the young woman now 
  pulling away from him... and it begins to sink in that something is amiss 
  here. He emits a short, choked little bark of startlement, starting to try 
  to sit up.

"No intention. Right. He's dead drunk and you try and get him into bed... in 
  the middle of the /lounge/, no doubt? I should get legal on you... must be 
  /something/ in there." Another snort, and Neva sighs heavily. "You see? 
  Tance, are you all right? You should go get dressed."

_Dressed?!_ Tance blinks rapidly now, looking down at himself, and he lets out 
  an even louder yelp, something like panic beginning to well across his 
  features.

Talaitha eases off of the couch, getting carefully to her feet. "I said I'd no 
  intention of tricking him into thinking I was Jade. I didn't even try to get 
  him into bed... just to thinking he and I had..." She trails off at Tance's 
  yelp, grinning.

And she smiles at this. Neva is definitely /not/ smiling. "So he'd /like/ you? 
  Whatever pleasure you get out of toying with mens' minds, I'd rather you 
  took it elsewhere. Tance is my friend, and he doesn't deserve this." At 
  least, she has the dignity not to look at him, at the moment.

As Talaitha gets up, and the full impact of his primarily unclad form begins 
  to make it through his alcoholic haze, Tance scrambles into as much of a 
  sitting position as he can manage. "My... what... where'm I... where are 
  my..." he babbles, his voice picking up speed and climbing higher up his 
  register in increasing shock and embarrassment. Then it occurs to him that 
  _NEVA_ is present, too, and with a third yelp, he goes catapulting clumsily 
  over the couch's side arm. With a dull thud, he lands on the carpet on his 
  bare knees and hands.

Talaitha isn't just smiling at this point- she's darn near doubled over in 
  laughter, and finds it quite impossible to respond to Neva.

Not even a glance, now, at Talaitha; not worth her time. With as much dignity 
  as possible, Neva moves over, offering a hand to Tance. "Those weren't the 
  things I bought you, were they? Hate to have wasted the credits..."

Alpin walks in from the level 11 lift area.
Alpin has arrived.

Talaitha looks at you for a moment.

You can detect some crystal resonance in your bones.

Alpin walks in, his gait now steady and eyes clear. Looking over at Tance and 
  Tal just sighs and rolls his eyes. He mutters "Tance told .......alone."

His face now flooded with horror that _two_ women are seeing him in this 
  suspicious state of undress, Tance scrambles unthinkingly away from Neva, 
  his face turned deeply crimson from his hairline clear down to the hollow of 
  his throat. And then he spies _Alpin_ coming in. This is enough to provoke a 
  burst of panic that propels the intoxicated man to something that passes for 
  standing... and then he charges out the exit to level 11, staggering and 
  stumbling. In seconds, he's gone.

You walk down to level 11.
Lift Area - 11
Muted lighting fills the area, giving a soft, comforting glow. The light 
  accents the brilliant white stripe that leads off to the white quadrant. The 
  stripe is not merely white, but rather a composition of all the colors of 
  the spectrum. Situated on this floor are the quarters for the senior singers 
  of the Heptite Guild.
This well carpeted area circumscribes a circle with the center being filled by 
  a shiny lift tube. On the doors to the tube is the number 11. There is a 
  button set into the wall, you may summon a 'lift.'
Obvious exits:
Common Lounge  Ocher Quadrant  Amethyst Quadrant  White Quadrant  

Neva walks down from the common lounge.
Neva has arrived.

Tance stumbles out past the lifts, his shaky legs barely able to move him, but 
  he doesn't stop as he desperately bolts towards Ocher Quadrant.

You go through the Ocher Quadrant exit.
Ocher Quadrant
Swirling shades of rich golden brown and soft orange stripe this hallway, 
  soothing to the eyes. A warm gold carpet muffles your steps and lends a 
  regal feel to the entire quadrant. Several recessed doorways indicate the 
  quarters of some singers.
Obvious exits:
Lifts  
To see a list of people living in this quadrant, type 'rooms'.

Neva arrives from Lift Area - 11.
Neva has arrived.

Following, Neva holds out a hand--"Tance, wait. Are you all right? Calm down, 
  Tance..."

The sound of his name makes Tance stumble, smacking into the wall, and he 
  shoots a frightened glance over his shoulder.

"It's /Neva/, Tance. Remember? We went offplanet for Passover... went 
  shopping, bought clothes, remember?" Just, hopefully not the ones currently 
  in the disposal unit. Neva pauses, stock-still as one afraid of scaring off 
  a wild animal.

"Neva," Tance dutifully repeats, even as he tries to huddle up against the 
  wall. Nice wall. It's keeping him from falling down. Now if he could only 
  hide behind it... "Clothes?"

"On the Alexi Styvesant. When we went offplanet." A soft voice, Neva's, 
  reassuring. "It's all right. Go get dressed. Then come out and talk to me?"

"I-I-I wanna go in my room," Tance blurts. He's still quite drunk; his diction 
  is blurred, his gaze still foggy. And he starts inching away from the 
  younger Singer, for he's still quite palpably nervous, too. He doesn't make 
  too much progress, though, for he has to fumble at the wall to stay on his 
  feet.

A small nod... and, once again, Neva offers a hand. "Need a little help? Don't 
  quite look steady, there. How much did you have?"

Tance peers blearily at the hand, while trying to comprehend the question. Two 
  tasks at once seems to be beyond him. "Lots," he rumbles uncertainly.

"Figures." Neva smiles at him--just a little one, an attempt at reassurance. 
  "Come on. It's okay. I'll help you at least that far."

Tance's mouth tightens up into a small plaintive line, as he mumbles dolefully 
  and slowly, "I don't... remember where my clothes are..."

"Your room, I'd assume. Do you remember what number it is? Do you have it 
  recorded somewhere?" Neva is nothing if not patient--Tance is her pet 
  project. Some people have dogs, or cats, or goldfish. Not Neva.

You feel the resonance tingling in your blood.

Recorded.... recorded?! "M-my datapad," Tance blurts, fumbling for pockets... 
  and not finding any. The new reminder that he's swaying there clad in 
  nothing but underwear and socks causes a flush of red to darken his face all 
  over again, and he tries, by way of futile attempt to reduce the amount of 
  his skin showing, to wrap his arms around himself. This only results in his 
  scarred, trim chest being covered by scarred, trim arms, one in a green 
  gelcast, the other scratched up and looking dirty and battered.

A visible wince, there. "You don't think she would have... gods, I hope not." 
  Neva pauses, turning. "Do you mind staying here? At least less travelled 
  than the lounge. I'll go check for you..."

"Don't leave--" Tance wails, short and sharp and terrified.

Okay, then. "Then what do you propose we /do/?" asks Neva, minorly frustrated.

She's asking him to _THINK_, at a time like this? Tance's features crinkle up 
  in palpable dismay, and after a moment, all he can mumble is a desperate, 
  slurrily pronounced, "I can't walk too good... don'... don' leave me like 
  this, girlie..."

"Just... try to remember? Your room number. I'm sure you've lived here for 
  ages... we made it this far, which number is it?" asks Neva, gently. Then, a 
  pause--"Or you could just check your thumbprint on all of them."

"I... I... um... down thattaway," mumbles Tance, pointing unsteadily further 
  down the corridor.

Once again, Neva offers a hand. "Let's check, then. Don't want to stay out 
  here long, huh?"

"I los' my _clothes_," groans Tance plaintively. He fumbles for the hand, not 
  daring to meet Neva's gaze.

"She lost them. Wanted you to think you'd... been together. 'Least I know 
  better. C'mon." Neva doesn't pry, just grasps his hand, steps slowly down 
  the corridor.

It would seem that Tance is still having distinct problems with this notion of 
  being vertical. As unsteady on his feet as a toddler, he stumbles after the 
  younger, smaller Singer, and docilely submits to having his thumb introduced 
  to a door or two. It doesn't take long, fortunately. The third one tried 
  bleeps pleasantly, turning the privacy light green, and admitting the two 
  Singers to the suite within.

The door slides open, and you step inside.
Tance's Suite(#3189R$)
This large central suite seems comfortably airy, and by the stylish 
  decorations and sheer size of the area, it obviously belongs to a senior 
  Singer. The walls are a pleasant shade of forest green, the carpeting a 
  neutral beige shade that compliments the other nicely. Trim in rich polished 
  wood here and there -- in picture frames, railings and bits of furniture -- 
  give the place a more natural, fresh feel.
Though you can see several doors leading off into still more rooms, this one 
  has been split into multi-levels to allow for greater function. One side is 
  partitioned off by a low, polished wooden rail, one step leading into a 
  modest dining area. At the opposite side of the room, a dark green couch and 
  a few large, over-stuffed chairs of the same color rest in a circle, perfect 
  for friendly conversation. The art on the walls is all tastefully done, 
  mostly pen and inks and oil paintings of landscapes. Although the room is 
  currently spotless and comfortable, there are subtle indications -- to the 
  very observant -- that it may not always have been so. A few cheerful throw 
  rugs cover old stains on the floor, as do some oversized pillows that rest 
  against the wall here and there.  
Obvious exits:
Out  

Neva steps in from the hall.
Neva has arrived.
Neva pauses, once she's helped him inside. "You go get dressed, then."

"I wanna lie down," Tance protests. He looks foggily to the nearest safe 
  horizontal surface -- his couch. Longing softens his otherwise embarrassed 
  face.

A little smile. "I can imagine, having had that much. You going to be all 
  right, then?" asks Neva. "Should I go?" See, she asks these things.

"I... I found black," Tance blurts by way of explanation, "so I hadda 
  celebrate a l'il... but..." He rubs the back of his free hand across his 
  face, and staggers towards the couch, shyly ducking his gaze away from the 
  young woman. There's a rumpled blanket there, and the grizzled old Singer 
  more or less falls right onto it, clutching at it anxiously.

"Mm-hmm." Not that Neva remembers celebrating when she found black. 
  Unfortunately, that falls into the portion of time she's purposely ditched. 
  "Good for you. Get a lot out of it?"

Tance awkwardly clambers under the blanket, clutching it protectively to 
  himself now. From the look of his couch, he may well frequently sleep on it. 
  "I got credits," he mumbles tinily, the faintest glimmer of pride entering 
  his eyes.

If you pay attention to it, the crystal resonance can be heard coursing 
  through your body at all times.

"Out of debt, yet?" Neva's just curious, apparently, and not at all paying 
  attention to his lack of decent dress. "Should, so you can go someplace 
  better, next Passover."

There -- there's a spark of pride in those brown eyes again. "I got outta 
  debt," he agrees huskily. "My credits!"

"Good for you! Now, see if you can stay that way, huh?" A momentary grin, a 
  flash 'cross Neva's face. "Buzzy, I bet. Black does that..."

To this, Tance seems to ponder hard, his brow crinkling. "Mmmmm... 'mall 
  buzzy." He begins to nod, and keeps nodding, eight or nine tmes.

A soft chortle. "And a bit from the drink too, huh? Shouldn't do that... at 
  least, not out in public. Not with people like /her/ around." Once again, 
  Neva's expression darkens.

"She... she was...." Tance turns crimson again, and tries to burrow further 
  down under the blanket, eyes positively liquid with chagrin now.

"It wasn't /your/ fault. She's just a slut, that's all." Neva wrinkles her 
  nose slightly--still standing near the doorway. "At least she didn't get 
  anywhere, hmm?"

Tance slips over sideways on his couch, curling up in a small huddle under the 
  blanket. His face is still visible, but it is deeply embarrassed of 
  expression. "Silly stupid... dunno why... can' think right now..."

If you pay attention to it, the crystal resonance can be heard coursing 
  through your body at all times.

"Not your fault," repeats Neva, gently. "Some people just don't have any 
  morals. She knew you weren't yourself, that you'd think of..." A pause.

"I-I-I was thinkin' o' Jade," slurs Tance uneasily. "I could feel 'er... on 
  the black... I-I... slept on th' black..."

"And woke up with it, too?" asks Neva, very softly, almost a whisper. "I 
  imagine that'd be bad. 'Least I'm used to waking up to it alone... never 
  been out duo."

The crystal resonance is zinging through your body.

Tance nods seven or eight more times, slowly and plaintively, as he curls up 
  there on the couch. He's still got hold of that blanket, and it's covering 
  him pretty much at random... but at least it's covering most of him. Eyes 
  gone childlike, he rasps, "Woke up on it, and it was rumblin', and I was 
  dreamin', and, and... I..."

Finally, from her spot near the door, Neva steps over, and takes one of the 
  corners of the blanket, pulling it out a little further over him--just a 
  small kindness, perhaps. "And?" She settles down, cross-legged, on the floor 
  next to him.

"I miss 'er," Tance says mournfully, his voice going rough, his eyes stricken. 
  It's the same gruffness the grizzled Singer has shown the young woman 
  before... but only more so, now, as if the amount of alcohol he's put down 
  has lowered a number of defenses within him.

A little nod, Neva, leaning against the side of the couch. "Of course you do. 
  I don't expect you to stop..." She trails off, eyes fixed on her hands as 
  they fold against her knee.

"Miss 'er so much, an', an'... 'lone again, don' wanna be alone, I'll forget 
  again if I'm alone," Tance mumbles in small, frightened cadences, slumping 
  over sideways on that couch. As he goes down, a bare shoulder is revealed as 
  the blanket shifts with his movements. "I thought that was her, w-was I 
  gonna kiss 'er? Kiss that girlie?"

"I don't know--were you?" Neva finally looks over to him; her smile is faintly 
  reassuring. "Nobody /has/ to be alone. You could have kissed her, if you 
  wanted to. It just wasn't fair of her to... go about it that way."

"Couldn't do that!" Tance wails hoarsely, his unkempt head shaking vehemently 
  back and forth. Horror tinges his foggy eyes.

Still, that smile, but it fades ever-so-slightly, Neva moving a hand up to 
  brush a short wisp of hair behind her ear. "We live many lifetimes... is it 
  fair, to deprive yourself for however many decades you have left because 
  she's gone? You don't have to do anything you don't want to, but you should 
  at least be fair to yourself."

"S'a... s'only one," Tance mumbles plaintively. "Only one wanna ol' wreck like 
  me. No' gonna make no other girlie hafta have a cracked ol' karker."

"For an old wreck, you don't look /that/ bad," volunteers Neva, carefully 
  skirting around anything like 'handsome', even if it might be true.

Tance lets out a low noise of chagrin and dismissal, waving a limp hand 
  clumsily about. His rumpled head shakes back and forth again, a trifle oddly 
  now that he's on his side; his eyes flutter shut and then open again. 
  "Ffftt... 'mold. Can'... can' keep m'head straight, even when I-I ain't 
  drunk... keep breakin' every bone I got..."

"We all end up that way eventually. For that matter, I managed to break a good 
  many of mine in my first few months of Singing. Now, I try and stay out of 
  the ranges when I can..." Finally, Neva trails, off, and shrugs a little 
  bit, helplessly. "You're still alive, though. That's something, isn't it?"

"'Live, but..." Tance swallows hard, one bleary brown eye visible now the way 
  he's lying, his face half-pressed into the blanket. Between the hoarseness 
  of his voice and the way his consonants are already slurred by drink, it's a 
  wonder he's intelligible at all. His mouth works without sound for a moment, 
  before he finally admits in tiny broken tones, "Lonesome. S'lonesome, 
  forgettin'. Scared..."

Neva's voice settles on a comforting, if /almost/ condescending tone. "Well, 
  you've got a friend, right? At least one, 'cuz I'm here." A smile is 
  proffered. "Right?"

The one visible brown eye peers upward, a glimmer of comprehension there. 
  Slowly, solemnly, Tance nods, a bit of the torment in his features draining 
  away as the younger Singer's tone seems to get through to him.

One hand moves up to rest on the edge of the couch. "I want you to be /happy/, 
  after all, Tance," murmurs Neva gently. "It just feels like there's not much 
  else I can do."

Tance seems to consider this, his brow crinkling as he seems to try to 
  comprehend what he's being told. It's taking him a little while. "H-help," 
  he finally croaks. "You. You help. Good t' me. Books. I like books. Y'ra 
  nice girlie..."

"Neva," reminds the young woman. "My name is Neva. Well, books are nice. I 
  like books, too."

Tance repeats dutifully, a child struggling with an apparently difficult but 
  desired lesson, "N-neva. Neva. Y'ra nice girlie, Neva. Sorry. M'sorry."

There's another smile, though Neva closes her eyes... just for a moment. 
  "Nothing to be sorry about," she replies as they flicker open once more. "I 
  know you try to remember."

"Try," agrees Tance huskily. "Can' do it good when'm drunk. Couldna' got in 
  here without ya though, nice girlie. Nice N-nnnnnneva. Neva. Sorry I lost my 
  clothes." And he tugs the blanket closer to him, up to hide almost all of 
  his face save his hair and that one visible anxious eye.

Her head shakes, and Neva comes close to a chuckle. "It's /her/ fault, not 
  yours. Certainly can't blame you for what she did."

"But I got no clothes on," Tance mumbles, abashed.

Okay. Neva is not going to make any comment. Really. She's not. Honest! She's 
  absolutely--"Well, you don't look so terrible.." Then again, maybe she is.

"I don'?" Almost timidly, Tance peeks up at his rescuer again, not quite 
  believing what he's hearing. His voice loses a little of its roughness, as 
  the alcohol still in his system and the fact that he is once more more or 
  less horizontal start enforcing the notion that relaxation is so very, very 
  appealing right now...

"Well, of course not. And, I must say, you're in terrific shape for a man your 
  age." This calls forth a little smirk across Neva's lips. "Perhaps you 
  should get some sleep."

It's almost pathetic, the way Tance's haggard face lights up at that gentle 
  little morsel of praise; doubtless his drunken state contributes to this, 
  but still. And even so, all he seems to be able to manage to say in reply 
  is, "Y'ra nice Neva. I'm sleepy. So sleepy. I-I was gonna have a nap, but, 
  um..."

"But, um..?" A brow quicks slightly, Neva apparently having followed his end 
  of the conversation up until that point.

"But then she, uh, got... did... um, an' I los' my clothes," Tance mumbles, 
  rolling over onto his back, one sock-clad foot emerging out from under the 
  blanket, along with a lean muscular shin.

Sighing, softly, Neva nods. "That wasn't very nice of her." Eye follows down 
  to the foot, and shin, and then she manages a little smile.

Tance tugs the blanket towards him again, baring the knee that goes along with 
  that sock-clad foot. Both brown eyes visible now, he peers up guilelessly at 
  Neva and murmurs, "Won' have no more naps out there. Nap here. Take a nap 
  here." His lids droop shut, and it takes effort for them to come open again.

Another nod. "I'll go, then," offers Neva, moving to pull herself up once more.

"Than... thank you," Tance breathes out, eyes coming open with the effort it 
  requires him to try to clearly pronounce the words.

"You're welcome." Neva stands the rest of the way, pausing to gently tug the 
  blanket down back over his leg. "Sleep well, Tance. I'll see you later."

Tance murmurs something dreamful-sounding, but otherwise does not stir as Neva 
  tucks that blanket more securely around him. His features begin to 
  noticeably relax, tension draining out of them, along with a seeming number 
  of years.

[End log.]