"Soothing the Savage Corellian" Log Date: 8/22/97 Log Cast: Thraknor, Morgan, Rellawy Woodlake, Lerren (NPC), Han Solo, Kris Log Intro: Did every man on Nar Shaddaa want her to leave the Smugglers' Moon -- or at the very least, want to guard her every movement? To Rell, it was certainly beginning to seem that way. Lerren had refused to allow her to leave the Burning Deck without either H'rraal or H'rruuk to accompany her, and the two spacers, Han Solo and Thomas Drake, had made it clear that they thought she had no business being on Nar Shaddaa. And if that hadn't been enough, another stranger calling himself Thraknor had, after imbibing a fair amount of whiskey, volunteered himself as Rell's escort when H'rruuk and H'rraal had had to visit their injured den-sister in the medical center. That a stranger had so volunteered himself was troublesome enough to Rell. That Thraknor had thusly volunteered after downing three large servings of whiskey troubled her still further, and she hadn't been able to express how horrified she'd been that someone in his state had been willing to put himself into danger. Never mind that if Thraknor _had_ been hurt, she would have had to heal him; no, it was troubling enough that he'd even thought of it in the first place. That Thraknor had also volunteered Han Solo for the job of escorting her safely out of the bar had only compounded the matter. Rell hadn't expected the Corellian to understand why she had refused to go anywhere with Thraknor until the man was sober -- but then again, after Solo _had_ offered her aid if she needed it, she'd been annoyed and hurt that he'd turned around and dismissed dealing with her as "babysitting nonsense." But then... She hadn't quite caught what Thraknor had said to cause it; she'd already started storming off across the bar, intending to wait in the relative privacy of the Burning Deck's kitchen until Lerren closed down the bar for the deadest hours of the night. But Rell _had_ caught the sudden strong flare of what could only be hurt feeling from the Corellian, and when she'd whirled back around in startlement, she'd found Thraknor slumped against the front of the bar, and Solo beating a hasty retreat out the door. Rell still wasn't sure what had propelled her to follow Solo out the into the streets, and even less sure what had convinced her that _she_ should apologize to him. But the flare she'd felt had packed enough strength to stand out in her head amidst the general din of the Deck's patrons. And just before, he _had_ been annoyed at _her_... She supposed, later, that she should have been grateful to Thraknor for following her out after the Corellian, and for following her back into the bar, apparently anxious to help her. But with Solo's inexplicable outburst still resonating in her mind, almost every ounce of attention she could spare went towards trying to shield herself from any other flareups from the sentients left in the bar... and that included Thraknor. By the time Rell finally emerged from the kitchen, so that Lerren could escort her to her miniscule flat, Thraknor had departed. Only grudgingly did Lerren leave her alone in her flat, and once he did, it took Rell forever to drop off to sleep. Once she did, she fell into uneasy dreams about traversing the maze of Nar Shaddaa's levels, Galdric and Tabak always lurking just behind her... but on the way down, she fretted about Han Solo. ---------- Thraknor comes through the double swinging doors and enters the bar from the floor outside. Thraknor has arrived. Thraknor walks in slowly, carefully toward the bar. Thraknor reaches the bar and looks around, puts a coldpak on the bar. Thraknor says "I just came back to return that, thanks.." Thraknor looks at Rellawy. Thraknor looks at you for a moment. Thraknor says "You make it home okay Rell?" Upon the entry of Thraknor into the bar, both Lerren and Rell can be seen on duty, but neither one of them looks particularly fresh, as though both of them have slept short nights -- or at least, what passes for a night on Nar Shaddaa. Hailed, the honey-haired girl turns, blinking, before she finds who's hailed her. She stands there a moment with her tray of mugs in hand, before blowing out a sigh and answering lowly, "Aye. Lerren got me home." Thraknor says "Good..I apologise for the both of us, we acted badly last night..." Thraknor You see a young man strong with work and tan from being outdoors. He is not tall, and wearing old loose cloths. He is wearing a dark brown loose short sleeve shirt, old dirty combat boots, and black cloth pants, with a few rips in them. He looks as if he has not slept recently, his dark brown hair is short, but a mess. He has a black eye and a cut above the other, and several bruises and small cuts on his arms. His knuckles are raw and an angry red. He has several bandages on his arms, and his elbows are severly bruised. He is holding ice to his jaw, and his eyes are a dull dark blue. As Rell's gaze takes in the sight of the battered young man, her stance shifts a little, her expression beginning to grow rather more strained. She swallows, and rasps in a voice turned hoarse, "Your apology I'll be takin'. Thank you..." Thraknor says "Sure, um, I'm sure I'll be seein' you again, Have a nice day..." Thraknor smiles slightly at Rell, and turns for the door. Gone strangely pale, the girl shakes her head at herself for a moment, perhaps as if to clear it; then she says, still hoarsely, "Aye... right," and promptly arrows for the bar. Thraknor nods and heads for the door. Rell does not watch Thraknor go; shaken, she slumps onto a stool, motioning urgently for her tired-looking boss. Lerren comes over, frowning, and leans over to converse in undertones with her. After a moment, he pours her up something bubbling and clear and hands it to her; Rell gulps it down without so much as pausing for breath. Thraknor limps out the door. Thraknor pushes open the swinging double doors and exits. Thraknor has left. [Later in the day...] Morgan comes through the double swinging doors and enters the bar from the floor outside. Morgan has arrived. Morgan sits down at Table 6. Morgan looks at you for a moment. Morgan nods to Rellawy, once seated. He orders shots of Turkish coffee. The Burning Deck is not the most active bar on Nar Shaddaa, but it's got its fair share of sentients guzzling away at assorted intoxicants at this time of the day. It's also got a stocky older Corellian slinging out drinks behind the bar, and a tired-looking, frazzled-seeming young woman running them around to the tables. Upon the order of coffee, she flicks the customer a curt nod, and calls across the room to the bartender, "Get th' hot water brewin', Lerren!" The man behind the bar nods gruffly, turning to do as she asks. "'Twill be a moment," the girl adds to the customer. Morgan nods to the serving wench, pausing to scratch at his neck before placing his feet upon the table. Morgan He is an average man of some indefinite age in the late twenties; just over six feet tall without those boots. His sun-streaked brown hair is short, though far from regulation. His liquid azure eyes shine like the Devil's, when not hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses framed with silver wire. His skin is smooth, lightly tanned and peeling. His hands are big, strong, and capable. He wears a pair of drab khaki trousers tucked into military boots, secured at the waist by a utility belt supporting a number of tools, a large knife, a comlink, and a blaster pistol. Hanging untucked over the belt is a worn and faded shirt the tone of Mississippi mud, buttoned in cheap gold-colored plastic and spotted with fuel. The sleeves are rolled to the elbow, and underneath is a long-sleeved white shirt. The girl turns around and heads towards the bar, as the barkeep fetches the ingredients for the hot drink. It takes him a few minutes, but once he's done, the lass takes up the steaming mug and brings it back to Table 6. "There it be," she says, her brogued words shortly toned. Morgan sips his coffee, nods satisfaction. "Nice place you've got here." "It's fair enough," replies the girl. "Will ye be wantin' anything more?" Morgan says "You recommend any food?" Blowing out a breath, the young woman sighs, and says, "We're not an eatery by trade, but we can feed ye a meal to fill yer belly; we've stew in the kitchen and bread that's only a day old. Will ye be wantin' that?" Morgan considers, shakes his head in the negative. "I'd better not." He sips at his mug again. "As ye wish." The girl turns to go, hailed by a furry creature two tables over hollering for another round of whatever it is it's been drinking; calling out in reply, "Aye, be keepin' yer pants on, ye'll have it in a moment," the female reaches that table in a few quick strides, takes the sentient's order, and relays it off towards the bar. Morgan says "You enjoy your work?" Coming back into earshot of Table 6 as she drops off 8's drink, the girl turns round and blinks at the man with his coffee. "You'd be talkin' to me, then?" Morgan nods, swallows some more coffee. Dark golden brows draw together warily over blue-green eyes, then the server-girl crosses her arms and replies a trifle more shortly than before, "It's work." Not an answer, really, but, well. Morgan says "So it is. And you look ready to collapse from exhaustion or blow a smoking hole in some poor unfortunate's chest." The wary look on the girl's face grows warier. Given that there is no sign of a weapon anywhere upon her person, the former assessment of her likely future actions seems the more probable -- but then again, her gaze sharpens to something blaster-like in intensity. "Would ye be havin' a point?" she asks stiffly. Morgan says "You need a vacation." Morgan's tone is casual, almost to the point of boredom. Or one pointing out the obvious to a very small child. Thraknor comes through the double swinging doors and enters the bar from the floor outside. Thraknor has arrived. Thraknor limps through the door and heads toward the bar. Her expression icing over, Rell says caustically to the customer at Table 6, "I'll be takin' that under advisement, and thank ye so much for the recommendation. Enjoy yer coffee." _Jerk,_ her gaze appends, as she whirls around and stalks off to respond to a hollered call from halfway across the bar. Morgan sticks his tongue out to Rellawy's back. Thraknor glances around the bar. Thraknor drops some creds on the bar, sits on a stool."A shakla, no brandy please.. En route to Table 1, Rell frowns for no apparent reason, looking momentarily distracted; then, her gaze turning troubled, she shakes it off and heads on to get the yelled order. At the bar, Lerren, the barkeep, turns round at Thraknor's order and gruffs out, "You got it." The coffee water still hot, he pours some of that out into a mug and starts stirring in ingredients. Thraknor takes a gulp of shakla, and looks around for anyone he recognizes. Morgan says "Ah, Nar Shaddaa. Where the men are hairy-chested, the women are venemous reptiles, and the children are hairy-chested venemous reptiles." Thraknor glances at Morgan, then back to the bar. The lumpy green being at Table One's order in, Rell stalks to the bar and obtains the requested alcohol, glowering at everything in her line of sight as she takes the tankard over to its intended recipient. As she goes, a pair of furry sentients lumbers up from a wall booth; arm in arm, they stagger out warbling something that probably passes for song with their species, and Rell stops at their table to pick up the credits they'd left. Morgan points to Thraknor. "And there's one now!" He smirks, sips his coffee. Thraknor glances at Morgan Thraknor drinks more of his shakla. For about ten more minutes, the harried-looking young woman running the orders goes about her business, before at last trudging back to the bar and claiming an unoccupied stool at the end. Not meeting the gaze of the bartender, who slides her an inscrutable look, she murmurs out a request for a drink of her own, which she is provided. Morgan says "Oh incredibly good-looking if slightly bitter waitress? Might I humbly beseech your soft, curvaceous and monstrously evil corporeal manifestation for another cup of this delicious coffee?" Thraknor shakes his head and sighs looking down the bar at Rell. Morgan raises an eyebrow at Thraknor. "Don't make me break my foot off in your ass." _That_ gets the bartender's attention, and he lifts grizzled eyebrows at the man at Table 6, before hiding a smirk. The girl on her stool, however, barks out tiredly, "Either wait till my break is done, or come ye up here to get it yourself." She slugs back a drink of her own mug's contents, not bothering to look anywhere except at the shelves behind the bar. Thraknor turns to Morgan Thraknor says "Did I threaten you in any way..?" Morgan says "Discounting your peculiar and uniquely disturbing odor? I don't think so." Thraknor says "Then why threaten me?" Morgan says "Because I have a reputation as a womanizing, conniving, drooling, stinking, unwashed, wheezing, moaning, groaning, perverted, thirsty, ugly, bad-ass, nasty, greasy, insane motherfucker to uphold. And because you're infringing on my style." Thraknor says "Then I'll leave." Thraknor puts his mug on the bar and gets to head for the door.. Morgan says "No, don't leave! I haven't finished demeaning you! Be my special friend!" Thraknor says "Alas, I havemore important people to demean me, but thank you." Thraknor exits through the door. Morgan sighs. "Turned down again." Thraknor pushes open the swinging double doors and exits. Thraknor has left. Morgan says "Honestly, I can't see the appeal of being pestered by anyone other than me. I'm so cute." Morgan thinks. "Can you?," he questions of Rellawy? Behind the bar, Lerren snorts, in the middle of pouring out a couple of ales for a slumped, weedy-looking, and morose humanoid on the bar's other side; in the meantime, the girl called Rell, finishing off the contents of her mug, rises. Back to it, then. She stalks to Table 6 and says coolly, "Will ye still be wantin' more coffee?", avoiding the query directed at her. Morgan says "Yes, please, oh demon goddess." Morgan bows. Rell smirks, then casts a shout off towards the bar, "You heard him, Lerren!" The tender pours out another mug, taking a bit less time this time, what with the brew already prepared. Two seconds later, the second mug has made its way to Table 6. Morgan says "The witch-queen has answered my copious prayers! Oh, thank the gods!" Morgan moves from servile to weepy alarmingly fast. The girl stares at this strange being a moment, then smirks again, muttering, "Aye... sure. Right. Whatever." Coffee provided, she moves off, but not without giving that man an odd look. He doesn't _smell_ drunk... Morgan finishes his coffee in relative silence, with only the occasional furtive and either dirty or laviscious look at the assorted inhuman patron. Morgan says "Hey, lady. If humans are six feet tall, and ... say ... six inches, what do you figure a Wookiee's got?" Passing warily past Table Six en route back to the bar, the waitress says bitingly, "If I meet any, I'll be sure to tell them you're wishin' to research the topic." Off to the bar, then, to grab another tray. Morgan grows impatient with her inattention. "Come on, you've got to have had a couple of naked Wookiees in here! That's what I paid 'em for!" Morgan grumbles. Morgan stands and leaves Table 6. Not bothering to point out that Wookiees _are_ generally naked, Rell sallies back in passing, "I suggest ye be tryin' the brothel in the Duros Sector, for that sort o' thing. We _are_ just a bar. Excuse me." She smiles without any sort of warmth, hauling the tray off to the big table by the firepit. Morgan fishes in his pockets for a good ten seconds before screaming, "Oh, /here!/" at the top of his lungs. He flings two handfuls of mostly one- and five-tenths credit coins all over his tble. Certainly enough for the drinks, and quite a tip for the enterprising waitress. Morgan muses, "You know where I'd like to try it?" He gestures to the bartop. "Sure, it's a little sticky. But you won't notice in a minute." Closing her eyes a moment at the screech _and_ the lewd comment from the coffee-drinker, Rell looks as if she's wrestling with a headache, but shows no other sign of acknowledging the obnoxious behavior as she hands out tankards of whiskey to the spacers at the big table. Her presence gets her three or four winks from the knot of men, but she pays them just as little mind as Table 6's customer as she wings her way back towards the bar. Morgan makes thoroughly inappropriate sounds all the way out the door. Boy, what voicebox control. Morgan pushes open the swinging double doors and exits. Morgan has left. [And after a while...] Thraknor comes through the double swinging doors and enters the bar from the floor outside. Thraknor has arrived. Thraknor glances around to make sure he's gone, then heads over to the bar. If 'he' was the obnoxious individual at Table Six, he does indeed appear to have departed. Lerren, as Thraknor returns, nods curtly at the young man. Thraknor plopps onto a stool. "A shakla please." drop some credits onto the bar. The requested drink is provided, with reasonable swiftness, as Lerren still has some hot water ready from earlier. The stuff steams in its mug, casting off its rich scent. Thraknor smiles at Lerren."Thanks.." "Just doin' my job," the bartender replies amiably enough, as he goes about his business. Thraknor laughs slightly and takes a drink. Thraknor sighs and relaxs into the stool. Thraknor glances at Rell and smiles slightly. The girl is going about her business as well, making sure the bar's patrons remain as lubricated as they wish, grimly ignoring laviscious stares from a couple of the rougher human spacers, and once, slapping a groping hand out of her way. Thraknor smiles and laughs a bit, then takes another drink of shakla. Thraknor finshes his shakla, and puts the mug onto the bar. Thraknor slowly rises fromhis stool, in obvious pain this time. Thraknor turns toward Rell. "Goodbye Miss Rell, hop eto see you soon." Bows slightly, then turns toward the door. As Rell comes back into earshot of the bar -- and Thraknor -- she slows before him, frowning tightly. Her already tired face going slightly pale, she says, "You... should be goin' to rest." Thraknor says "I am, and thank you..." Thraknor limps to the door. Rell breaks into a sweat, but makes no move to prevent the man from leaving. It is clear, however, that she seems suddenly greatly strained, as she leans heavily against the bar. Thraknor pushes open the swinging double doors and exits. Thraknor has left. ---------- Interlude: When Rell dropped a tray for the second time in an hour, Lerren took her aside and demanded to know if she was alright. Reluctantly, the young woman allowed that her sleep had been poor... and that she'd worried about how Solo had stormed out of the bar the night before. "Don't worry too much about it, kid," Lerren advised. "It wasn't your fault, yah know. It was that guy's Thraknor saying what he did to set Solo off. Making cracks about his woman troubles." Her boss delivered this in sage tones that implied the Corellian pilot had a long history of troubles involving females. This didn't entirely surprise Rell -- Han Solo _was_ handsome -- but it disturbed her, nevertheless. She still didn't quite know what to make of the man, and she had no intentions of adding to his "woman troubles". But on the other hand, she didn't want to add to any other sorts of troubles of his, either. "Ler," she asked awkwardly, "I'd like to go talk to him..." Lerren gave her a fatherly pat on her shoulder. "Well, if it'll make you feel better. Take H'rraal." The bigger of the two K'shannaar that served the Burning Deck as bouncers was more than willing to escort Rell to the Pot, the place where Rell knew that Solo's ship, the _Millenium Falcon_, was docked. But that H'rraal had to escort her at all brought back to mind the incident of the night before, and as she let her large friend accompany her through the warren of linktubes and walkways between the Corellian Sector and the Pot's docking dome, Rell reached a conclusion that disturbed her even more than Solo had the night before. She couldn't expect her friends to watch over her forever -- if she intended to stay on Nar Shaddaa, at least long enough to contact Kelga the Hutt, then she needed to be able to protect herself. On the Smugglers' Moon, this meant she would have to purchase a weapon, and learn how to use it. The thought nearly made her ill with fear. Rell didn't require an astronavigator's license to know that if she harmed some sentient with a weapon, chances were high that she would have to turn right around and heal that being... and considering that she _was_ on Nar Shaddaa, chances were even higher that she would eventually have to use whatever weapon she obtained. That she could see no other choice in the matter dogged at her all the way to the Pot, despite H'rraal's assurances that if they could find her a suitable blaster, he would teach her how to use it properly. By the time they reached their destination, her mood had turned despairing, and she couldn't help but wonder how much more of herself she'd have to sacrifice before she could leave the moon... ---------- You select level 2170, Level 2170 - Docking Dome [Nar Shaddaa]. After swift movement, the lift stops and the doors open for you to enter... Level 2170 - Docking Dome [Nar Shaddaa] From the height of this large docking tower, it is impossible to see the moon's surface, as covered as it is with metal and dirt. This domed platform is lifted into the mid-atmosphere of Nar Shaddaa by a massive tower, mostly circular. It is a broad expanse, protected by a yawning, cavernous dome, only broken by tube extending further up and out to catch ships on their way in. All manner of craft are guided through these tubes and into the dome's belly, where marked landing area wait for them. The passengers of these vessels hurry about on business, and from the looks of most of them, it's dark business indeed. For this is Nar Shaddaa, the "smuggler's moon", so high above filth that the fall, if you trip, is worth at least one standard lifetime. Various warehouses open off the main floor, and the place is a maze of old equipment, abandoned droids, and burning drums of unknown safety. There is a turbolift here. (OOC: Type '+level list'). Contents: Millenium Falcon <9101> Odessa's Dowry <9102> Pulsar Skate <9106> Thraknor Thraknor glances over at the lift, and his eyes go wide. The lift disgorges a tired and tense-looking Rell, flanked by one of the two big ursoids that works at the Burning Deck; the creature's sporting a blaster rifle, and lumbers in the young woman's wake, his beady gaze unreadable, his muzzled face set and businesslike. As she emerges from the lift, though, Rell pauses, glancing around the docking dome unsurely. Thraknor says "Can i help you Miss Rell?" Coming out across the dome, the girl whirls at the hail, and the big ursoid beside her squints over warily. She pales slightly at the sight of Thraknor, but answers hoarsely, "I'm lookin' for the _Millenium Falcon_." Thraknor says "Oh, I didn't mean to startle you..sorry.." "Are ye goin' to rest?" the young woman demands, abruptly, her tone still oddly strained. Thraknor says "Um, yeah after I finish my work...are you okay?" "No," Rell says hoarsely, "I am not. Do ye... know the _Falcon_, which ship it would be?" Thraknor says "Not, particularly, um, You seem a bit more, not okay, than just looking for a ship..." Rell's eyes clamp shut for a moment; behind her, the ursoid with the blaster rifle rumbles out a query, and she whispers hoarsely, "I just... am needin' to find the _Falcon_, alright? Do ye know which ship it is?" Thraknor sits down on the ramp of the Pulsar Skate. Thraknor says "No, sorry..I really wish I could help, you look so miserable, and I hate it when people are miserable.." Thraknor looks rather depressed. "I'll get by," Rell rasps out. "Thank ye..." Clearly distracted, her features still drawn, the girl turns and walks off, the ursoid lumbering after her stoically. She begins walking through the Dome, staring at the ships she can see, her gaze intent and anxious on each one. Thraknor mutters something to himself and stands back up. At least five minutes pass as the girl searches the area; another two pass before a grubby little being in technician's coveralls tailored to fit its species scurries past her. She stops it, calling out the same question she'd asked of Thraknor, and the creature halts and blinks bulbous eyes up at her before squeaking its reply, gesturing towards the battered YT-1300 freighter some distance away. Rell, looking tenser, heads in that direction, her ursoid guard still following. Thraknor shakes his head begins looking at the landing gear, again.. Solo has arrived. Solo disembarks from the Millenium Falcon. Solo stomps down the ramp of one of the ships, casting a glance around and looking distinctly irritable. Thraknor glances at Rell, then at Solo, and sighs. Solo spies Thraknor and does an about face, smoothly, trying to move back into his ship. Her ursoid companion still trudging firmly after her, blaster rifle slung on his shoulder, Rellawy slowly circles the freighter, and slows and stills as the owner of the vessel himself emerges. She swallows, then calls out hoarsely, "Captain Solo, a word, if ye please?" Thraknor mutters to himself again. Solo also mutters, then says louder, "Busy." Rell's eyes shut again, briefly, and her pale face tightens before she opens her eyes again and repeats, "_Please_, Captain. You may take it or leave it as ye like, but I came to apologize, and not till I've done so will I be leavin'!" Her words come out sharp, but ragged, as worn as her expression. Solo frowns and bends to peer at the woman, as well as the, ah, battered man with her and the being. He rests an elbow on his knee, and asks incredulously, "You came to -what-?" Thraknor sits back down on the entry ramp to the Pulsar Skate Looking not particularly less tense as the Corellian's attention is gained, the young woman repeats hollowly, "Apologize. I had no cause to be bitin' yer head off just for not likin' your opinions, especially when ye happen to be right. So. I am sorry, for burdening ye with time and trouble, and adding ye to the list of those who think me a fool." Solo takes in a breath and holds it, then mutters in the release, "Yeah, well, serves me right for buttin' in." "Again," the girl says exhaustedly, "I am sorry that you were caused any pain. That's what I came to say. Good day, then, Captain." She turns back to the ursoid waiting nearby, and mutters at him, "Let's be goin', H'rraal, if we're to finish our business." Solo frowns, stating, "You didn't, I was just annoyed." Rell pauses, turning halfway back around; with a sigh, she concedes, "I apologize for bein' an annoyance to ye, then. As I said -- I'd no cause to be snappin' at ye for bein' right." She doesn't look up at the pilot. Solo's expression darkens, with something suspiciously like guilt, and he mutters, "Alright, accepted." A tiny portion of the tension in her face subsides, as Rell inclines her head, a single time. "Thank ye," she says roughly. Then she adds, "Would ye know the name and location of a weapons seller who won't cheat me, much?" Her expression turns towards the bleak, as she delivers this last question. Thraknor's eyes go wide, and he looks down toward Rell. Solo answers promptly, "Steewie on level 328, Corellian section." He squints. "You buying one for yourself?" Looking as though she is doomed to shoot herself with whatever weapon she's planning to purchase, the girl answers almost dully, "It's no choice I'm havin', it would seem, if I wish to be no longer babysat." Solo gives the girl a hard stare, then directs one at the 'guard' near her. "You're going to shoot your foot off," he reckons with the air of experience. The ursoid rumbles out a comment that Rell doesn't bother to translate, as she lifts her blue-green eyes back to the Corellian. "I cannae know that till I try." Solo grins, advises, "Trust your friend to teach you enough, alright?" "H'rraal," says Rellawy without much in the way of enthusiasm, "has pledged to teach me as if I were a cub of his own." The ursoid snorfs once, as if by way of agreement. Solo nods approvingly. "Good. I can tell you're in good hands." The girl's mouth quirks a moment, perhaps trying to form a smile, but it doesn't succeed. "We'll see about it, if we can find a stunner that suits." Looking away wearily, Rell finishes, "Thank you again, Captain Solo. H'rraal, let's be goin' where he's suggested." The ship 'Nudj' lands. Solo nods, saying, "Good luck," to both of them. Kris has arrived. Kris disembarks from the Nudj. Thraknor is sitting on the ramp of the Pulsar Skate. Glancing over at Solo, the big ursoid rumbles pleasantly; Rellawy looks at the Corellian as well, and manages something closer to a smile before she and her guard continue on their way towards the lifts. Solo is sort of squat-bending halfway up the ramp of the Falcon. Kris walks out form the underbelly of th eNudj, and begins to fix something with a hydrospanner. With her blaster-rifle-toting ursoid companion in tow, Rell strides towards the lifts, walking with her head held up and her shoulders squared, but her expression strangely forlorn, before she and H'rraal are both gone. [End log.]