RPlog:The Prodigal Son

You head west toward the city square.

Calamari Coral City - Coral City Square This vast square, the ground paved with the same pearly white sea rock as the avenue, is deeply cherished by the citizens of Coral City. The plaza slopes downward toward an imposing fountain where the likeness of a Mon Calamari looking upward toward the ocean blue sky and that of a Quarren, its eyes cast down toward the depths of the fountain, have been etched in stone, the salty water streaming like salty tears down their silent faces. Erected to honor the symbiotic relationship that these two races have shared, it is a relic of a once peaceful past when the ocean of space was but a distant dream. Many citizens come here to reminisce, or to rest awhile before continuing on their way. Large crowds gather as a constant flow of people arrive from the west where the city's Commercial District is to be found, or from the Market District to the east. What appear to be the wealthier citizens of Coral City continue on their way southward onto Coral Avenue. Others, not so wealthy, make their way on the northbound stretch of the avenue.

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=> Shenner => Coral City Information Booth

Music can be heard wafting across the city square, a low, plaintive kind of melody, strummed on a guitar. A soft voice can be heard to be singing, a husky low murmur of a voice that carries well despite the ambient noise in this place, of passersby and transports. The guitar must have an amplifier circuit activated, for _it_ carries even better.

Shuffling his feet in apparently in no particular hurry, Paul wanders in from the market district ... his satchel hung across his torso to rest on one hip, his leather jacket tossed casually over his right shoulder, and his luggage sack in his left hand. As he walks, he looks about at the people moving about him as if he were unfamiliar with other people - curious about their behavior and where they are off to. His face is clean shaven for a change, but the rest of him looks somewhat rumpled, his hair disarrayed by the sea air and hanging in front of his eyes, begging to be trimmed.

Hearing the music wafting through the briny air, Paul smiles slightly and finds his feet drifting in the direction of the melody, his right hand slipping into his pocket for some change.

Shenner has taken over a bench; at this hour, after being out and about for hours, she isn't too proud to sit while she's playing. Her gaze sweeps the square as she sings, keeping track of potential audiences. She, too, is windblown, the silken shirt she's wearing -- and the feather dangling off her right ear -- rippling in the night breeze.

As he nears the singer and the music, Paul realizes that he knows that guitar and that voice - intimately. He stops in his tracks, not realizing that he would be seeing Shenner so soon. His eyes flick toward the barracks and for a brief moment he considers just moving on, pretending that he didn't know she was there. The option is considered for about a second. He then sets his shoulders back, as if gathering his courage and heads toward Shen's voice and strumming strings. He comes along a line of trees, allowing himself to remain in their shadows. As he draws nearer, he takes in Shenner's altered appearance, his eyes widening slightly in surprise, then appreciation, and then consternation. He carefully muffles the questions in his mind and masks the features of his face into an pleasant expression. He doesn't find this too onerous a task, as seeing Shen playing her guitar pleases him immediately anyway he were to look at it, or any way she were to look.

Shenner: To a passing glance, this individual might be summed up as 'young male human', and certainly the walk, stance, and mannerisms seem like those a brash young man would have. But a closer observation might show that while the rust-red hair is boyishly short, there is nevertheless a slight softness to it; that while the lean build and tallish height of about 5'6" might say 'youth', there is nevertheless a slight curve of breast and hip; and, that while the voice is almost tenorishly low, it is still too high to really pass for that of a young man. The face is the clearest signal that this is indeed a young woman, for her features, dominated by large, luminous, and sharply intelligent green eyes, are far too delicate to be male.

She is clad in what, for anyone who knows her, would be surprisingly ornate garb: a silken wraparound shirt with flowing sleeves, in subtle splashes of teal and green and blue... green velvet pants that closely hug her legs, but not so closely that she cannot easily move... and calf-high, cream-colored boots of a rich, soft suede. A delicate golden hook has been wrapped around the back of her right ear, and from this dangles a dappled brown feather.

The kid is, in fact, playing a finger-plucked melody -- a slow and careful one, over minor chords. Perhaps fortunately, the song is a simple one, but the girl doesn't flub a note. With her guitar case open before the bench, her two flutes can be seen within it, each out of their bags, and a smattering of coins dot the lining of the case around them. Shenner herself finally draws the song to a close, and pauses for a moment, frowning off into the air as if trying to decide what to play next.

Paul steps out of the shadows and drops a large handful of coins into Shenner's guitar case. He straightens with an almost shy smile and flicks his head to one side to try to flip his hair out of his eyes, but the wind retaliates and flicks it back at him. "Hey there ... I see you've been practicing." he murmurs softly in greeting.

Shenner's gaze immediately shoots around and lifts up to the one who's drawn near, and her hands freeze on the instrument's strings. For an instant, her face begins to turn radiant, but then, as if with a visible effort, she dims it down to merely cheerily welcoming. "Hi, pal," she answers, perhaps, just perhaps, a trifle overfast. "Yeah, it's been comin' in handy, whatcha taught me."

His gaze misses nothing, and Paul notes her first reaction, dampened as it may have been. His face betrays none of his emotions, but instead he puts down his bags and lays his jacket over them. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, which looks casual, but is actually to prevent them from perhaps betraying his nervousness. He smiles warmly, but it is a friendly smile, no more, no less. "I thought you might find it interesting ... and obviously not all that challenging ... I knew you would outstrip me in a few meager weeks." A slight flush comes over his cheeks as he internally smacks himself at his potentially poor choice of words. To hopefully cover it, he continues by commenting idly, "I like your new get-up ... what's the occasion?"

It's too dark, even with the evening illumination in the square, to tell whether Shenner blushes; she does, however, look away briefly, as if embarrassed. She does smile a bit, though, and her voice is quite steady as she replies, "Buskin' again. I figured... what the hell. It'd get me an audience faster, if I didn't look like a street rat, yah know?"

Paul watches the kid, his gaze curious and a touch relieved. "I didn't know you played for other people," he replies, his voice holding a hint of surprise and subtle awe." He smiles at Shen warmly and adds, "Well, you look great ... you're sure to get a big audience." He looks around and then back at Shenner and begins to pick up his stuff. "Well, I don't want to cut into your business or anything," he adds quickly.

Again, a flash of that radiance in her face, as you compliment her... and an equally sudden flash of disappointment, as you move to go. She says hastily, "Oh, yeah, I been buskin' ever since Tatooine. And, eh, well, y'know, can't sing all night anyway, but I guess you been busy too, huh? Research and everything. That don't wear your voice out...."

Paul stops gathering his bags and looks at Shen carefully. He seems to be weighing the situation carefully. He releases his grip on the bags and instead hunkers down next to them. "Yeah, singing can be hard on the voice if you haven't had any training," he murmurs absently. He runs his right hand through his hair again, but the sea gusts blow it around playfully and he gives up trying to straighten it, and settles for staring though the strands instead. He nods in response to Shen's last question. "Well, yes, I had to get some final information on Mandalore and visit with an," and he seems to hesitate for a moment, as if he were going to say something else, but finishes instead with, "an old friend." His expression is turned inward and a little regretful. With a small shake of his head, he comes out of it and smiles wryly at Shenner. "No voice strain, but my glasses sure got a workout," he jokes lightly.

Shenner brightens a little as you crouch nearby, and grins crookedly even as she appears to devote most of her attention to her guitar. She strums very quietly as she listens to you speak, then abruptly emits a low chuckle. "Glasses," she murmurs, as if the concept amazes her somehow. "You and your glasses, don't think I ever seen anybody else who has 'em." Her gaze lifts back to you, as if she can't quite help looking straight at you as she talks, though her stance _looks_ casual.

Paul chuckles himself and replies, "Well, you know how what an old fashioned kind of guy I am." He grins up at Shen, glancing at her face and then watching her hands work over the strings, as if memorizing the patterns she is creating. "I have a small imperfection in my sight ... it doesn't bother me and it's not really worth fixing, but if I have to read a lot, I get headaches and eye strain ... so I just use the glasses and I'm fine." He smirks in a self deprecating way. "Some would say it makes me look distinguished or brainy, but I think it just makes me look like a geek."

The kid gives you an apparently casual shrug, and smiles lopsidedly. "Can't say I know too many geeks, so I ain't got nothin' to compare against. You look alright to me, though, with or without the glasses." She returns her attention to the guitar, as she picks her way through something deliberately sprightly, perhaps trying to cover for... what?

Paul watches the girl play for awhile, not saying anything at all. If one were paying attention, one might think that he was struggling with a decision, and you'd be right. For a long time Paul sits there, balanced on the balls of his feet, and for once he remains silent, uncertain what would be the best thing to say now. He toys with the straps of his stuff, as if he were considering rising again and taking his leave.

The girl, though, murmurs at last, "You... gonna go back and, uh, do more research?"

Paul stares at her for a long moment before responding. "No, I think that I've gotten all that I can from here," he replies softly. "Now it's just a question of where we're going and when." He eyes Shen for a moment longer, his mouth opening as if he were going to say something else, but then he shuts it and stares at the fabric between his fingers. "Anything else I need to do, I should do here," he finishes, as if he were uncertain what that might entail. He then looks up at Shen and replies, "And besides, I did promise you another lesson, although I doubt you'll need it at this rate." His corresponding smile is small and tentative.

Shenner looks back up at you, and her casual air appears to have slipped a trifle, as she ventures, "I'd like that... nothin' else, you could, I dunno, just check over what I been doin'?" The question's almost businesslike, but the kid's face says differently.

Shenner's expression, perhaps without her knowing it, has begun broadcasting a bashful kind of hope.

Paul shrugs and smiles, noticing that she didn't touch on anything he was hinting at unintentionally. "Well sure ... I can check out what you're doing, maybe show you a few more things ... maybe give you some singing tips so you don't wear out your voice." Paul registers the hopeful look in Shen's eyes, but attributes it to her interest in the music and nothing else. His form seems to relax a little, as if he had been holding himself in to a degree.

"I'd like that," comes Shenner's prompt, if oddly shy, reply. Her expression softens a little, before she ducks it towards her guitar.

Paul nods shortly in response and stands up, pulling his jacket up and over his shoulder and reaching for his bags. "Okay, pick a time that's convenient for you and we'll run through some stuff." He pulls his bag on over his head and across his chest. "I should probably pick up a guitar so I can show you stuff and you can try it at the same time."

Shenner blinks at the word 'time', checks her chrono, and lets out a breath. "Yeah... sure," she blurts, as she hops up, to nestle the guitar into its case along with the coins and flutes. "I, uh, I better be gettin' back...."

Paul watches Shen gathering her stuff together as he reaches down for his last bag. "Do you want me to walk with you?" he asks. "After all, I am heading for the same place and wouldn't want any bad guys to hassle you." His tone is both serious and slightly teasing, but more serious.

The kid grins crookedly. "Eh, well. I do feel kinda weird still, dressed like this... if, uh.... you don't mind?" She pauses as she lifts the guitar up, glancing over at you, again clearly striving to be casual.

Paul lifts the last bag and nods again, waiting for Shen to finish packing up. "Yeah," he murmurs idly, "I didn't think about that. Do you need any help carrying anything?" he asks, even though his arms look pretty full as it is.

With the two flutes nestled in the case along with the guitar, Shenner has only the case to lift, and she shakes her head briskly at you as she hoists it up. "Nah.... thanks, though..." She moves off a little, and glances back to see if you follow.

Paul follows in Shenner's wake, about one step behind her, letting her lead.

The girl might, perhaps, look thinner from the back than she does from the front in this new garb of hers; the silk and velvet she's wearing tonight provide far less padding to her slender form than her usual bulky flight jacket and vest do. Shenner strides along as she usually does, nevertheless, that guitar case hefted under one silk-clad arm, the feather dangling back off her right ear and occasionally dancing in the breeze.

Paul follows along, his eyes occasionally glancing about at passersby, but his gaze generally stays on the slim back of the young girl.

Shenner heads northward up Coral Avenue. Shenner has left.

You head northward up Coral Avenue.

Calamari Coral City -- North Coral Avenue An extensive thoroughfare, the road, made of smooth pearly white sea rocks with irregular hues of pink, glistens under the warm rays of the sun. Residential buildings that seem to have sprung from the very depths of the dark blue oceans tower into the sky. However, these structures, made of a pale blue almost translucent material, are not nature's ingenuity, but that of the Mon Calamari. Cataracts of leaves, rustling in the cool breeze, flow from large trees providing plenty of shade. Many citizens walk to and fro, either to disappear into their dwellings or to quickly pause before a fountain and refresh themselves with its sparkling waters. To the west, you catch a glimpse of coral hills which lure you to take a stroll through the Coral Gardens, and coming from the south you hear the distinct sound of water rushing against cold stone, a pleasant call for you to head into the city's center square. Toward the north is the spaceport.

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=> Shenner

Shenner glances once back at you, and chatters idly, "Been buskin' the last coupla days... findin' out how the Calamari like their music, and stuff... and the NR folks here. Somethin' for me to do, anyway, and maybe I can make a few credits..."

Paul nods again, and then realizing that Shen cannot see his non-verbal response, he replies, "Sounds like sound business practice - scope out your market and see what will sell."

The kid glances back at you again, and grins, startled, pleased. "Uh... yeah!" She nods, vigorously, as she leads you on northward.

Shenner heads north, into the Spaceport. Shenner has left.

You go north down Coral Avenue, into the Spaceport.

Calamari Coral City -- Main Spaceport A large docking bay, people of all races bustling between various terminals, the hum of many conversations in different tongues periodically muted by the roaring of a shuttle's engines. Expansive white walls, smooth and cold as washed stone, gleam in the soft light cast by the fixtures in the ceiling. There is the continuous shuffle of cargo being loaded and unloaded and the need to move out of harms way as a cargo lifter passes by you. Occasionally a wisp of salty air tickles your nose but it quickly fades away. A cargo lifter scoots by as it heads toward one of the private docks then disappears north toward the space platform. To the south the shapes and lights of a lively city can be seen.

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=> Shenner

Shenner heads out. Shenner has left.

You head into the Womprats room. Womprats Room A long but wide corridor, lined with windows that allow Calamari's bright sunlight to shaft through. The white, almost iridescent walls shimmer in the sun, casting tiny rainbows onto the floor. There are comfortable looking benches along both walls, and exits leading off to different rooms.

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=> Shenner

Shenner heads into the Barracks. Shenner has left.

You head into the Barracks.

NR Spare Barracks -- Calamari Row upon row of meticulously made cots line in military precision down the cold, off-white walls of this plain-looking room, each separated by a barracks locker and side-table. This room is normally silent, the shadows cast by the lights above harsh and stark against the bare floor. You can see doorways leading off into private rooms and bathing rooms at the far end of the hall.

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=> Shenner => Jessalyn

Shenner pads quietly into the barracks, with Paul Nighman in her wake; the kid pauses, just as the two of them come in past the door, and turns to the man, looking up at him.

Paul stops short of crashing into Shenner and peers down at her in confusion. "Something wrong?"

Jessalyn sleeps soundlessly, curled up beneath a crumpled blanket, hair wild around her face.

Shenner's eyes have turned liquid, and she pauses a moment, clearly unsure, even as she murmurs, "Uh... I'm... real glad you're back, Paul..."

Shenner offers a tremulous not-quite-smile, barely little more than the right corner of her mouth curving up for a brief instant.

Paul stares down at Shen and he swallows and clears his throat. "Uh, thanks Shen ... it's good to be back," he replies a little hesitantly. He watches the kid a little warily, as if he were expecting her to explode without warning.

No explosion; if anything, the girl seems abruptly unnerved by your regard, and she strives to cover it by looking hastily away, by striding on soft suede-booted feet to her claimed bunk and sliding her guitar under it. The kid does something else, though -- grabs at a small chest under the bunk, pulls it out, and ferrets through it till she produces a large bathrobe, a rather simply designed nightgown, and an enormous towel. At last, turning back to Paul, she bobs her head at the sleeping Jessalyn as if to signal the need to be quiet, and pads back.

Shenner murmurs, "I'm, uh, I'm gonna go get in the refresher, 'kay? If you wanna get to sleep."

Paul watches Shenner's preparations with a confused expression, his eyes glancing to Jessalyn when Shenner bobs her head in that direction. Paul nods briefly and then turns his gaze back to Shen's. "Okay, that sounds good," he replies, his eyes dropping down to the new nightclothes and then back up to Shen's face. His expression is unreadable. "Been doing a lot of shopping I see," he says, noting the obvious.

Jessalyn shifts slightly beneath her blanket, but her face remains buried against the pillow, the blanket pulled tightly over her shoulders.

"Yeah, uh, well... can only sleep, eat, and all in the same set of clothes before they start gettin' pretty rank and I got some credits now, so, uh... 'sides, the NR folks'd get kinda testy, I guess, if I ran around with nothin' on." Shenner grins crookedly as she babbles this out. "'Night, Paul?"

Paul chuckles softly. "Well, I did offer to lend you a shirt once, but I guess it would have been a little big," he notes in response. His face seems composed and relaxed. "Night Shen ... don't slip down the drain or nothin'," he teases lightly.

One last final, oddly shy look, before the kid is gone, with a bob of the feather at her ear.

Shenner heads back into the Womprats room. Shenner has left.

Paul stares at the doorway for a moment, holding his bags. He then turns and quietly makes his way through the room. He reaches his bunk and looks down at it, smiling at the fact that no one took it in his absence. It is a silly small thing, but makes him wonder if maybe he was actually missed. He begins to stow his gear under the bed and once finished with that, strips off his shirt to get ready for bed.

Jessalyn makes a small, worried sound like a moan as she rolls onto her back, inhaling a sharp breath. She blinks into the darkened room, squints, and lifts her head slightly at the sound of voices and movement.

Paul stills his motions at the distressed sound, then drops his shirt silently onto his bunk, and walks a few steps toward Jessalyn's bunk, just in case there might be something wrong.

Jessalyn's voice can barely be heard in the dark room as she whispers, "General? Is that you?"

Paul takes a few more steps in the darkness and whispers back, "It's okay Jessalyn, it's just me." And then, as if he didn't think you'd know who that was he adds, "Paul."

"Paul?" Jessa's voice is incredulous, and there is a sound of rustling blankets as she pushes them aside and sits up. "You're back?"

Paul stays where he is for a moment and then walks over to the bunk and smiles down at Jessalyn, barefoot and bare chested. "Yeah," he replies in an almost sheepish voice, "the prodigal son has returned."

Jessalyn: The deepset eyes of this young human woman are rainforest green, and are lit from within with humor and compassion whenever she offers her dazzling smile. Shining dark red hair falls in unruly silken waves around her shoulders, framing her pale features set into a face with wide cheekbones and smooth skin not as fragile as most redheads.

Jessa is wrapped in a thin, light green silk robe that falls to her knees, and which conceals the darker green nightgown beneath it. Her hair is even wilder looking than usual, as if she has only just woken up and hasn't had a chance to make any sense of it yet. Her long legs are slender and bare, her feet slippered in green shoes, and her skin is pale and marked only by two high patches of color on her cheeks. Her eyes blink drowsily as she smiles.

Jessalyn squints up at him, but a smile lights up her tired face. "I'm so glad. Are you okay?" She pats the bunk next to her and moves over, making room for him.

Paul smiles down at Jessalyn and takes the offered seat next to her. He idly runs a hand through his hair. He looks very tired, like he hadn't been sleeping for a few days. His voice, however, sounds normal - strong. "Yeah," he replies, a little embarrassed at her pleasure at his return. "I'm just fine. I did the work that I needed to and reached some important conclusions," he notes wryly, as if he was entertaining a personal joke, but with a slightly bitter edge. He doesn't seem sad or even upset, but there is an air of something almost resigned about him.

"And you?" he asks conversationally, "How have things been around here?"

Jessalyn seems too pleased simply at your presence to pay too much heed to the tone of your voice, and she wraps her fingers around your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "At least it was a useful trip, hmm? I am glad you're back, Paul. I've.. been all right." Her tone is light, though the slightest bit evasive.

Smiling down at the hand on his arm, he lays a warm palm over your knuckles. "Yeah," he replies, "I got a lot of work accomplished and gave myself exactly what I needed," he replies wryly, thinking to himself, "a wake up call", but he doesn't voice that thought. He grips Jessalyn's hand and adds lightly, "And you're alright, huh?" His voice hints to her that he knows she is hiding something, his tone is light enough to assure her that he will not pressure her for details.

Jessalyn leans against Paul, resting her cheek against his shoulder and taking comfort in the warmth and strength of her friend. She pauses for a moment, then her voice is quiet in the darkened room as she replies simply, "Luke is leaving."

Paul sits still, his mind processing that information for a moment. Finally he replies, "Oh," knowing that it is an inadequate response, but feeling at a loss for words. "Where?" he asks.

Jessalyn stares off into space, but her fingers tighten slightly around your arm. "Kashyyyk. He said he was coming to talk to you about it. I guess he didn't find you." She pulls back finally, turning her head to look up at him. "I got a promotion," she says sheepishly, suddenly changing the subject.

Paul shakes his head at that. "No, I haven't seen him yet," he replies. He cocks his head to one side and murmurs aloud, more to himself, "I need to talk to Luke too ... I wonder what he wanted to talk to me about?" His eyes slowly focus back to the present and Paul looks at Jessalyn then. "A promotion? Really? That's great." he replies enthusiastically.

Skeezix stirs in his sleep, yet still remains chillingly quiet.

Jessalyn sighs quietly, leaning against Paul's arm as he sits next to her on the bunk. Her voice is barely heard in the dark room as she replies to him. "Yes, isn't it?" She doesn't sound quite as enthusiastic as Paul, but perhaps that's more because of other distractions than because of her actual feelings about the new position.

His eyes upon the woman next to him, Paul leans his head toward the one resting against his shoulder. He catches a whiff of her perfume .... or perhaps it is just whatever she uses to wash her hair, which is tangled and cascading down his side. He swallows for a moment and focuses on what she is saying instead. "Well, you don't sound exactly thrilled," he teases her gently.

Jessalyn rubs her cheek against Paul's shoulder, and smiles to herself. "Oh, I'm thrilled. Really. I guess I just didn't expect it. And I'm a little overwhelmed."

Skeezix turns on his side again and releases a slow, yet painful grunt as his blanket begins to crunch around him. His eyes begin to squint, forming deep lines across his face and forehead. Fists begin to clench, his knuckles growing a deadly white color.

Paul stares down at the cheek against his shoulder. "Uh, well, that's good ... I mean about the promotion and all and the fact that you are happy about it and all, but of course not about being overwhelmed, since you really need to break and all from the general craziness that's been going on and ... well, and there," he finishes awkwardly, coming to the realization that he'd been babbling. A faint flush touches his cheeks. He is completely focused on Jessalyn, and has forgotten completely that they are in a room with many other sleeping people.

Skeezix clenches his blanket tighter, then suddenly opens up to a complete state of alertness, his eyes gaping around in awe. He throws his blanket from him angrily and jumps up from his bed growling, "Spawn of the Sith." He then begins to pad over towards the Staff Sergeant's office, completely aimless as his face contorts into one of pure concern.

Nearby, the Staff Sergeant looks out with a worried frown and asks in a hush, "General, are you-"

General Calhoun snaps back at the Sergeant with, "Shut up, Sergeant.."

Jessalyn doesn't catch the blush in the darkened room; in fact, she's not even looking at Paul's face as chuckles softly and tightens her hold on his arm. "Well, that doesn't sound like your usual self, Paul. What is bothering you?"

Paul opens his mouth to say something, but isn't sure what he should say. The softly cursed oath startles him, and he turns to the source of the voice, peering into the darkness in confusion.

Jessalyn turns her head as well, tensing slightly, but holds up a quieting hand to Paul. "I think it's the general," she says in a hushed voice.

Paul stares back at Jess and then back out again into the darkness. "Lando? Since when do you call him general?" he whispers back.

The other voice storms quietly into the Staff Sergeants office and lightly slams the door shut. "Get me a twig," the voice can be heard in a muffled shout... Then, moments later, the same voice returns with a louder shout, "A real man's twig, damnit!" Some scuffling can be heard inside the Staff Sergeant's office, and moments later Skeezix walks out, a thick flavor twig sticking out of his mouth. His jawline contorts into a thick muscled, hard edged line as he chews on the twig angrily.

Jessalyn shakes her head, her hair brushing against Paul's bare arm as she does so. "No.. not Lando. General Calhoun."

Paul stares at the approaching man and shrugs his shoulders. "The name doesn't mean anything to me ...." he whispers softly.

Jessalyn remains silent, at a loss of anything to say as she listens to the commotion.

Seeming to completely ignore the others who are now watching him. General Calhoun pads his way, angrily, over towards his footlocker. He reaches inside and pulls out a dark black jacket, a large white claw stitched into the back side. He throws it over his shoulders and, scowling, looks back towards the main doors for a long, tense moment.

Jessalyn swallows hard, glancing through the dark first at Paul, and then at Skeezix. Finally she whispers loud enough for him to hear, "General, are you all right?"

Paul watches the obviously upset man for a moment longer and then turns back to Jessalyn. Completely distracted now he remembers something that she mentioned earlier. "So why is Luke going to Kashyyyk?"

Jessalyn hushes Paul for a moment and waits for Skeezix's reply. "Sir.... " She bites her lower lip as he snaps at her. "What is troubling you?"

Paul sits for a moment, feeling like something of a third wheel, but sits patiently enough. He observes the man's scowl and tries to determine if it is aimed at him personally, which Paul doubts, or what he just said. His eyes take in the general's appearance and expressions carefully.

General Calhoun: The man before you stands to about 5'11. He is bulky, agile and carries a determined look in his vivid blue eyes. He is young, looking to be about 26, his short brown hair just starting to show age. A gold wedding band is always worn on his left hand ring finger.

He currently wears a rather comfortable looking pair of grey sweatpants, the cuffs shortened around a pair of white socks running down into old, worn out climber's shoes. A tight yet relaxed fitting undershirt is worn over his toned chest and broad shoulders, tucked into his sweatpants lazily.

For a long, drawn out moment, Skeezix stands still, his breathing heavy and slow. Finally, with a dry & cracking voice, he manages to force out, "It's Jenny." He then turns around again, clamping his jaw onto his twig and chewing with vigor.

A few bunk lights begin to blink to life as a few younger non-comms begin to wake up in disturbance.

Jessalyn exhales a long breath, her brow furrowing with sudden concern, and she rises from the bunk to take the steps toward Skeezix. Touching his shoulder, she tries to turn him to look at her. "A dream about her?" she asks, and glances over at Paul helplessly.

Paul returns Jessalyn's look, but shrugs sympathetically, indicating that he'd help if he could, but didn't think it was appropriate, or even possible.

Skeezix shudders at the touch and shrugs his shoulders as if in dismissal. Strangely, though, he turns slowly to look back at Jessalyn. "Not only," he replies dryly, "It's..." He then turns, angrily, and growls, "Iz' none of yer business. Don't worry about it."

Jessalyn takes a startled step back from Skeezix and nods, her eyes rounding in her face. "Yes, sir, I'm sorry...." She gulps and stands rigidly in place however, gazing at him steadily.

A long, drawn out moment proceeds, until Beaubos finally turns around to face Jessalyn. The anger in his eyes as since vanished and replaced with what -might- be considered a cold emptiness. "No.. no, now isn't the time to get you confused." He sighs submissively, "-She- was on the planet. It was like... like she was there, instead of me. Except this time, it killed her." He looks to the floor to hide his shame, "No... it was just a dream."

Jessalyn stares at the general helplessly. "You know that's not true," she whispers, fists clenched, and glances back at Paul again with watery eyes.

Paul sits uncomfortably on the bunk, then lays back on his side quietly, averting his eyes and trying to give the man a little space and privacy. He misses Jessalyn's look.

Skeezix growls, "Of course it ain't true... but damnit, I've just had too much time to think." He looks back up to Jessalyn, the emptiness still oozing from his eyes. "Not enough time ta move on with it all." His left hand clenches, his thumb dangerously pressing against his golden wedding band.

Although it's clear that Jessalyn wants to help somehow -- her eyes are shaded with compassion and she hangs her head worriedly as Skeezix snaps at her -- she begins to tremble slightly, not knowing how to respond to his mood. "You just need some rest," she suggests, and winces at how lame that sounds.

His jaws bare open, his teeth showing like fangs wrapped around their prey of his flavor twig. "Rest," he replies, though a bit quieter this time, "Rest I -have- Jess. Rest ain't what the hell I need." His left fist unclenches and re-clenches in a rhythmic pattern as his eyes seem to grow distant for a moment. "I never even set up a funeral service. Where in hell have I -been- this past month?"

Paul's voice suddenly breaks out of the darkness, "In mourning," he replies softly and in a tone that indicates understanding, empathy, a shared experience.

Jessalyn sighs in frustration, frowning, then glances over at Paul weakly. "General, I know how you feel. I ... I suffered a loss recently myself." She gulps and hesitantly touches his arm again. "All you can do is go on, find people who care about you and let them be there for you. I hope you know you have that."

Now, the General's right arm begins to clench. He peers over towards Paul, yet doesn't comment as he averts his gaze until it rests on Jessalyn again. "Then stop calling me that," is all he can manage to say, gulping back what was about to come out as well.

Jessalyn's face pales slightly. "What? What do you want me to call you?" she asks helplessly.

Paul rolls over quietly and stares at the ceiling, remembering yet again why it is that he lives alone, on his ship, with no one else around, and begins to yearn for the quiet peace of the Academy library.

General Calhoun replies in a hushed whisper, "My name's Beabous Calhoun, Jessalyn Valios. I'm not in uniform now, am I?" As the subject is mildly tossed away from his late wife, a slight smile cracks his previously cold face.

The tension eases from Jessalyn's face as well, and she smiles in return. "All right, then. So when you're not in uniform, I'll call you.. Beabous. Is that what you want?" She chuckles lightly as she regards his face.

Skeezix chuckles slightly, though his chilling fear hides deep in his eyes. "Yeah, that's better, Jess." He then releases a long, timid sigh and says, "I think I need to take a walk outside..."

Jessalyn gives Skeezix a comforting pat on the shoulder and then steps back toward her bunk. "Some fresh air couldn't hurt."

Skeezix nods slightly, "Thanks, Jess." Without another word, he turns and begins to stride towards the doors, his flavor twig sticking out of his mouth like a fatty.

Jessalyn steps over to the bunk where Paul is now reclining and stops in front of him. Softly she whispers, "I'm sorry about that... I guess you're ready for bed now..."

Paul looks up at Jessalyn and idly bites his lower lip. "Actually," he replies I am completely awake now." He rolls himself up and off of her bed, gesturing with one hand. "You, on the other hand, are probably ready to reclaim your bed."

Jessalyn shrugs as she settles onto the edge of it, pulling her robe more tightly around her. "I'm sort of wound up, myself." She glances at the door through which Skeezix disappeared.

Paul stares at the doorway for a moment and then shakes his head. "I'd ask, but I'm not sure that I really want to know .... or that I should know."

Jessalyn crosses her legs on the bunk and runs her hands over thighs. "His wife died recently," she says quietly.

Paul's gaze still lingers on the doorway. "That's rough," he replies sympathetically. He turns back to Jessalyn and then remembers yet again that she never answered his question. "So why is Luke going to Kashyyyk?"

Jessalyn gestures toward the doorway again. "The general talked him into it. There's something they're going to look for, that has to do with the Force and something that happened to Beabous as a child." She frowns, not entirely pleased with this situation.

Paul stares at Jessalyn, his expression clearly puzzled and confused. He then shakes his head. "You know, I don't know why I asked ... it's none of my business anyway." He sighs and turns to head back to his own bunk. "G'night Jessalyn," he murmurs softly.

Jessalyn blinks with confusion and watches him turn. "What's wrong?" her voice is high and soft, like a child's.

Shenner arrives from the corridor. Shenner has arrived.

Paul stops, but does not turn around. "There is nothing wrong with me Jessalyn ... really. I just recently figured out what I need to do, and it's probably just for the best that I start wrapping things up and saying my good-byes and such. No point in getting too involved when you're on your way out." His tone isn't angry or upset ... or anything really. Perhaps there is a hint of resignation in his voice, but that is all.

The Barracks door slides open, and Shenner, looking dwarfed and perhaps childlike by the enormous terrycloth robe she's wrapped about her frame, comes padding in. Her hair is damp and sticks up along her head in short spikes, her towel is draped around her neck, and she's carrying her clothing in a carefully folded armload.

Jessalyn sits in stunned silence at this diatribe, then slowly lowers her gaze. "I see," she says, her voice suddenly cool as she attempts to hide the quake running through her. "If that's how you want it, Paul..."

Paul turns to look at Jessalyn, his expression slightly pained. He doesn't notice Shenner's arrival. "That isn't how I like it," he replies, "that's just how it is." he states matter of factly.

Jessalyn hides the expression in her eyes from Paul as she turns away. Silently she yanks her bag up to the bed, thrusts a hand down into it, and pulls out her jacket and trousers. Slipping her arms through the sleeves, she pulls her hair out of the neck, then shoves her legs into the trousers, yanking them up and fastening them to her waist as she mutters on her way to the door. "It's exactly how you like it, Paul Nighman. Every man I know runs away from the truth, it seems." She tosses Shenner a sudden compassionate glance, gives Paul a good cold, level stare, and heads for the door.

Shenner blinkblinks where she stands, absorbing the exchange between the two adults; then, quietly, the girl slips towards her bunk.

Paul stares at Jessalyn in complete confusion and shock. He takes a few faltering steps after Jessalyn, his brow knit. "Jessa?" he calls after her, his tone imploring. He then registers Shenner's presence and gives her a look that seems to say that he has no idea what the hell is going on.

Biting her lip a moment, Shenner returns first Jessalyn's and then Paul's glance uneasily as she settles down to place her clothes in the chest under her bunk. "Don't mind me, y'all," she mutters, to no one in particular.

Jessalyn frowns, pausing in the doorway, and a flicker of pain crosses her eyes as she watches Shenner. She hits the doorpad and glares at Paul with glassy eyes. "I'm going for a walk."

Paul stares at Jessalyn and then he glances at Shenner and gives her an imploring look before he pursues Jessalyn, reaching for her arms and holding onto them hard. "Jessa," he growls softly, "what the hell are you talking about? What's wrong with you?" While his words might be harsh, his tone is concerned and confused.

Shenner sits down on her bunk, still quiet, but watching Paul and Jessalyn warily.

Jessalyn turns her head as the door whisks open, and her arms writhe, trying to break free of his grip. "Leave me alone! You just want to run away, too, so why should I care?"

Paul scowls, his expression becoming just a little bit dangerous. He turns Jessalyn roughly in his grasp so that she is facing him and grips her arms tightly again, preventing her escape. "I'm being reasonable," he replies. "As I see it, you've got your promotion, Luke's got his trip to Kashyyyk, Shen will go wherever it is that she will go, and I will do my job ... and maybe we'll all meet again, and then again maybe we won't. I don't depend on that kind of coincidence." His eyes bore into Jessalyn's, nearly black in the dim light. "Besides," his voice rumbles softly, "the only person I see running here is you."

Jessalyn gapes at Paul, green eyes fierce and flashing, her complexion turning a furious red. Her hand trembles even as he holds onto her arm, but she jerks herself away from him, draws back her arm and slaps him across the face. "How dare you! After you know how I feel about all of you!" She spits the words, then turns on her heel and bolts out the door.

Shenner might be seen to wince. The kid still says nothing, as she slips off the green robe, leaving herself clad in nothing but an oversized pale golden flannel night-tunic that dwarfs her form almost as effectively as the robe did; only her legs from the knees down, most of her arms, her neck, and some of her collarbone are left in view.

Paul lays a hand on his cheek, watching Jessalyn flee. He stands there for a moment, his eyes narrowing to small slits before he turns away and storms back to his bunk and begins to furiously pack up his stuff growling to himself, "Well, I knew this was futile ... don't know why I even bothered coming back, better off where I was, that's for sure ... damn redheads ... nothing but constant trouble ..." His voice cuts in and out as he growls to himself, cursing every so often.

Jessalyn heads back into the Womprats room. Jessalyn has left.

Shenner tenses, then, without so much as a peep, takes down the covers on her bunk and crawls in under them. The kid buries her face in the pillow, turning her body towards the wall.

Paul finishes packing and heads out toward the exit, sparing only a glance at Shenner's bunk. When his eyes catch her form, huddled toward the wall, he slows his pace somewhat.

She can hear his muttered swearing, and she can hear the slowing of his footsteps; still, Shenner remains huddled there under her blanket and sheet, and only after a moment does she say gruffly, without looking over her shoulder, "Don't worry 'bout that lesson, Paul... 'nother time, I guess..."

Paul hangs his head for a moment, feeling emotions crowding him hard. He sighs and drops his bags, then fishes around in his pocket till he finds a business card. He walks over to Shen and drops his frame down onto the edge of her bunk, touching her lightly with the card. "Here's where I'll be ... you can reach me there any time of the day or night," he murmurs gruffly.

The kid doesn't shift position, doesn't risk looking over at you. But she does let a hand emerge from her blanket-nest, to take the card, and she mumbles tinily, "Thanks..." Her voice comes out slightly strangled.

Paul hesitates a moment longer, taking in the tortured voice. He leans over slightly and touches the still damp hair of Shenner's head, the only part of her that is still somewhat visible. "Shen?" he says gently, his hand hovering over her for a moment longer.

"Yeah?" she croaks from the depths of her pillow.

Paul hovers there for a moment longer, uncertain whether to press the kid or not. He hangs there indecisively. "I'm sorry about that .... that you had to witness it." He sits there for a moment longer and then his hand drops to her covered shoulder. "Anyway, you're welcome to visit any time you want to." He grimaces slightly, noticing the ironic switch in positions. Last time it was Shenner that he was fleeing from and Jessalyn whom he invited to seek him out. He shakes his head in frustration.

Shen's head shifts a little, and one green eye comes round into enough view for you to see the girl's bleak look. "I... wouldn't just be in the way? I mean, you got to get ready for your job and everything."

Paul catches Shen's gaze and stares at her for a moment, taking in the bleak expression. He shakes his head slowly from side to side. "No, you are not in the way ... I'm not leaving because I have work to do ... that's all set for now ... the rest is up to Lando." He looks away for a moment and a glimmer of light illuminates the red hand shaped mark on his cheek. He turns back and observes the corner of Shen's face. "I'm sure I'll find something to work on while I'm there, but nothing that can't be interrupted," he adds.

Shenner peers up and around at Paul, then, shifting position under her blanket. Her eyes are still plaintive, but she offers that brief smile she'd given him before, little more than one end of her mouth curving up. "Okay," she says, trying to sound at ease, and not quite succeeding.

Paul nods at Shen, the red of his left cheek standing out harshly even in the dim light. "Okay," he mumbles, rising from the bunk and heading back over to his stuff. He picks up the bag and swings it over his head and around his form and then gathers up the rest of his stuff. "Then I'll see you around, huh?" he replies.

Her voice very low, very restrained, the kid says only, "Yeah... see yah."

Paul nods again and idly rubs his left cheek before turning and heading out the doorway.

Once Paul's back is turned, Shenner simply watches him go, saying nothing, though her expression might be seen to fall. When the door whooshes shut behind him, the girl turns back towards the wall, and the dubious refuge of her pillow and sleep.

You head back into the corridor.

Womprats Room A long but wide corridor, lined with windows that allow Calamari's bright sunlight to shaft through. The white, almost iridescent walls shimmer in the sun, casting tiny rainbows onto the floor. There are comfortable looking benches along both walls, and exits leading off to different rooms.

You go back to Calamari.

Calamari Coral City -- Main Spaceport A large docking bay, people of all races bustling between various terminals, the hum of many conversations in different tongues periodically muted by the roaring of a shuttle's engines. Expansive white walls, smooth and cold as washed stone, gleam in the soft light cast by the fixtures in the ceiling. There is the continuous shuffle of cargo being loaded and unloaded and the need to move out of harms way as a cargo lifter passes by you. Occasionally a wisp of salty air tickles your nose but it quickly fades away. A cargo lifter scoots by as it heads toward one of the private docks then disappears north toward the space platform. To the south the shapes and lights of a lively city can be seen.

You decide to investigate the aesthetic delights of the Coral City.

Calamari Coral City -- North Coral Avenue An extensive thoroughfare, the road, made of smooth pearly white sea rocks with irregular hues of pink, glistens under the warm rays of the sun. Residential buildings that seem to have sprung from the very depths of the dark blue oceans tower into the sky. However, these structures, made of a pale blue almost translucent material, are not nature's ingenuity, but that of the Mon Calamari. Cataracts of leaves, rustling in the cool breeze, flow from large trees providing plenty of shade. Many citizens walk to and fro, either to disappear into their dwellings or to quickly pause before a fountain and refresh themselves with its sparkling waters. To the west, you catch a glimpse of coral hills which lure you to take a stroll through the Coral Gardens, and coming from the south you hear the distinct sound of water rushing against cold stone, a pleasant call for you to head into the city's center square. Toward the north is the spaceport.

You head toward the city's center square.

Calamari Coral City - Coral City Square This vast square, the ground paved with the same pearly white sea rock as the avenue, is deeply cherished by the citizens of Coral City. The plaza slopes downward toward an imposing fountain where the likeness of a Mon Calamari looking upward toward the ocean blue sky and that of a Quarren, its eyes cast down toward the depths of the fountain, have been etched in stone, the salty water streaming like salty tears down their silent faces. Erected to honor the symbiotic relationship that these two races have shared, it is a relic of a once peaceful past when the ocean of space was but a distant dream. Many citizens come here to reminisce, or to rest awhile before continuing on their way. Large crowds gather as a constant flow of people arrive from the west where the city's Commercial District is to be found, or from the Market District to the east. What appear to be the wealthier citizens of Coral City continue on their way southward onto Coral Avenue. Others, not so wealthy, make their way on the northbound stretch of the avenue.

-=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=-

=> Coral City Information Booth

You head east toward the Market District.

Calamari Coral City -- Market District An overwhelming crowd, a varied sea of faces, bustles about in the city's busy market district. From every direction vendors call out to you in an attempt to lure you to their booths typically made from smoothed sea rock fitted with a canvas covering which shields the produce from the warm rays of the sun. These booths overflow with exotic and colorful fruits, vegetables and plenty of other foodstuffs that by just looking at them makes your mouth water. Small shops line the streets, the gleaming windows showcases for displaying fabrics, tools, jewelry, fresh meats, fish, crustaceans and other provisions fished daily from the rich blue-green seas of Calamari. Those around you attend to their business, moving from stand to stand, bargaining and occasionally bartering with the vendors. A large sign to the south that reads 'Briny Deep Tap House' catches your interest as the door to the establishment opens revealing a poorly lit tunnel from which emerges a happy faced Mon Calamari. To the west the street meets with the city's central square from where there is a constant movement of people arriving and leaving the market district.

You decide to leave the busy market place and open the doors to the tap house and descend down a short passageway.

Briny Deep Tap House The crisp scent of brine and sonorous roar of laughter and conversations greet you upon entering this lively tavern. Immediately you realize that it is submerged underwater, the walls made of a translucent material allowing you to peer into the rich blue ocean, the waves forming silhouettes cast across the marble white tables, chairs and varied faces of its many customers. Occasionally, the dimly lit tap house is illuminated by bright lights as a cargo of ore mined from the depths of the ocean by the Quarren is taken up to the surface. It is here where freighter crews, merchants or the average citizen can enjoy fine drink and entertainment as supplied by a jizz-wailing band, their music mingling with the clinking of glasses and endless chatter. It is the Briny Deep's boast that it can prepare any drink as sure as the rivers flow to the sea, a motto that Grekmar, the tavern's overworked and sad-eyed Mon Calamari bartender, takes pleasure in informing to all those who enter.

Lando enters the tavern, the sounds of the busy market district muted as the door closes behind him. Lando has arrived.

Paul is sitting in a far corner booth, eyeing the crowds with idle curiosity and nursing a Corellian brandy. His expression isn't exactly pleasant and he is sporting a somewhat faded red imprint on his left cheek that looks suspiciously like a hand print.

Joining Paul in his booth is his satchel, his jacket, and his luggage. The company is not drinking, and if there was any conversation going on, it has since died.

Lando strides into the bar with a very familiar arrogant swagger. He pushes past a few people and makes his was to the bar. He smiles and the bar tender and nods curtly, "Yeah, just give me the usual."

Paul allows himself to slip back into the shadow of his nook, not much in the mood for company that might actually talk back at him. He notes Lando's entrance and eyes the dark man warily.

"Yeah, put it on my tab." He says, nodding to the bartender. He takes the glass of dark liquid and turns to face the gathered crowd. He takes a slow drink and examines the room carefully.

Paul lounges in his shadowed corner and touches the glass against his cheek, the cool liquor easing the red traces still faintly visible there.

A pair of very attractive females temporarily disrupt Lando's scan of the bar. He smiles brightly towards them and seems to have gained there attention as they wave to him and he responds with a sly smile and a nod. After a few minutes he resumes his scan of the bar. He surveys a dark corner and makes out a familiar form. He picks up his drink and ambles over towards the nook.

Paul watches as Lando peruses the delights of the room, as if considering sampling some chocolate and relaxes for a moment. However, when the gambler begins to head toward Paul's darkened corner, the Corellian curses softly and stares at his drink, watching Lando leisurely make his way across the room.

Jessalyn enters the tavern, the sounds of the busy market district muted as the door closes behind her. Jessalyn has arrived.

Lando approaches your booth and smiles cordially, "So, how'd the research go?" He says placing his drink on the tabletop and taking a sit in front of you.

Paul looks up at Lando's approach and gives him a smile that -seems- completely genuine. He moves over some of the luggage to make a space for the man. "It's going well," he notes idly. "In fact I was on my way back to the barracks when I realized that I had forgotten something, so I'm heading back there to finish that last loose string up."

"Back to the Academy," he clarifies, staring at his drink for a moment.

Jessalyn moves silently and with sharpened intent from the doorway to the bar, brushing against people in the crowded room, and she finds an empty stool and slides onto it, resting her elbows on top of the bar's surface and turning her back to the room.

Lando nods quickly and intones a serious, business like voice, "Good. Listen, Paul, I wanted to talk you about our upcoming trip. Mainly I want to know what sort of equipment we'll need. I've got us a Mandalorian tour guide who'll also provide some protection, but I want to know if there's anything special we'll be needing?"

Jessalyn gestures to the bartender as he approaches her, a small movement of her hand which only indicates her beverage of choice. A tall glass is produced, filled with a bright blue liquid, and no more than twenty seconds pass before half of it is emptied by the young red-haired woman.

Paul nods, his face also becoming somber and his tone professional. "The terrain is rough - hot humid and jungle. I think outdoor gear and survival equipment will be essential." He leans back for a moment, his mind running through his requirements. "I'll need some kind of ground transportation - as I recall there is some kind of droid mounts used normally there, but whatever will get us there will suffice. I need to talk to Luke before we go ... that is essential. There was some talk that he would be coming along, but I don't think that is necessary unless we actually find something that requires verification on his part in terms of it being a Force activated object." He rubs his jawline thoughtfully. "Of course I'll need a computer connected terminal to an outside database, to do some checks and verifications ... and I'll need some of the equipment that is on my ship ... a carbon dater and stuff like that." He shakes his head. "I'll draw you up a list," he murmurs, taking a sip of his drink.

Jessalyn picks up her drink and turns it around in front of her, her green eyes narrowing as she inspects the swirling blue liquid through the thick clear glass. A frown creeps across her face, the eyes squint even more and she takes a sharp breath before downing the rest of the contents.

"Yeah, just send me a list, no way in krak I'll be able to remember all of this." He say taking a quick drink from his glass. He leans back, placing the glass on the table, "I don't know if Luke is going or not. The other day he was talking about making a brief trip to Kashyyyk. Hell, it might be safer if he doesn't. I don't think the Mandalorians are quite over the Clone Wars yet. Then again, Luke could really come in handy if we get into some serious trouble."

Paul's gaze scans about the bar idly as his mind runs along scientific lines of thought. He nearly misses seeing Jessalyn at the bar, and his gaze stops short and then swivels back to her. There is the ever so slight twitch, but otherwise he manages to keep his face impassive. "Hey, well I figured the best thing to do is chat with Luke and then with Grathix. I'm not clear on whether Grathix -invited- Luke into this venture, or just tempted him with it. If it is the former, then perhaps Luke should come along, but still wouldn't' recommend it. If it is the former then I definitely do not think Luke should come with me. Besides, I generally work better alone." he muses. He looks up and raises his glass to Lando. "I'll send you a complete list of what I need in a day or so at the most." He shoots back the glass and waves at a waitress, signaling that he wants another.

Lando nods quickly and stops short of taking another drink, "Oh, speaking of Grathix, I also have a contact keeping an eye on him as we speak. If you ever need to contact him. I can arrange that." He picks up his glass and takes another drink.

Jessalyn rests her chin in her hands as another glass is placed in front of her, and she simply stares at it for a long while, her eyes turning to great watery jewels as she studies the clear blue liquid, a fingertip tracing the cool rim of the glass.

Paul nods his thanks to the waitress who passes him a glass and then at Lando. "Alright, so the first line of business is for me to talk to Luke and get his part in this clear. Second, I need to talk to Grathix, and how I do that will depend on what Luke has to tell me. I have to decide if I want to do it in person or over a holo communication. Personally, I'd rather do it in person myself, but we'll see which will serve our purpose best." He takes a sip from his drink.

Lando turns to glance idly about the bar. His eyes stop of the two attractive females from earlier. He allows a lopsided grin to grace his face and then blinks suddenly returning to business, "Oh, yes, I can arrange either, but I would prefer we do it by holocom. I still don't know if we can trust this Grathix person."

Paul sighs and nods, "Well, we'll see ... he may be the only link and I may have to at least use him to some extent ... I've checked and whatever he's found isn't part of any known dig site - legitimate or illegitimate. He might be the only link we actually have." He then frowns at Lando, "So how are we going to arrange this ... you'll drop me off with this guide and then pick me up later when I finish the work?"

Lando shakes his head, "Not on your life Paul. I'm going in with you."

Paul stares at Lando in astonishment for a second, then looks the man over with a gaze that frankly indicates that he doesn't think he is up for the task. "Are you nuts?" he asks frankly, "Do you have any idea how arduous a trip this might be? Do you have any survival skills at all? Have you ever even slept in something other than a cozy bed?" His tone is not disparaging, but frankly astonished. "I don't think your cape will survive the journey Lando."

Lando glowers at Paul and growls in a low voice, "Look here antiquarian, I've seen more action in my time than you have read about in those books of your while lounging around in those plush libraries. I'm more than up to this journey, pal, and the only reason I'm going with you is to make sure that you don't get killed as soon as you step off the landing ramp."

Jessalyn, still seated at the bar, blinks her large, glistening eyes and swallows the last sip of her drink almost regretfully. Then she pushes herself back and digs a hand into her pocket, fumbling for a handful of credits and counting them silently to herself. She frowns, recounts them, and promptly turns red as she give the bartender a sheepish look.

Paul stares at Lando a minute and then starts chuckling. "Well, I see. Let me make sure you got this straight ... this isn't like going to a city and dealing with surviving there, this is some serious outside work. I've been working dig sites since I was seven years old, so trust me when I tell you that it ain't no picnic. If you think you can handle it, far be it from me to stop you. I think, however, that your "bookish" concept of who I am is going to receive a surprising jolt once we arrive." He gives Lando a friendly if slightly competitive grin. "I just hope you can keep up with me," he jokes lightly.

Lando smirks at Paul and lift his glass for a drink, "Paul, my friend, I don't plan on doing any work. That's -your- job, that's what I'm paying you for. I'll just be around as another set of eyes and ears. A little added insurance."

Paul chuckles again, a friendly rumbling sound that emerges from his chest. "I'm not even talking about the work part ... it's the getting there and back that counts. As long as you can keep up, you can tag along and watch my back ... a little extra insurance is always nice." He waggles his finger at Lando, "But if I have to bail -you- out of a jam, well, that's gonna cost you extra buddy." He grins and raises his glass in a toast. "To the quest!"

Jessalyn reaches into the breast pocket of her jacket, and looks relieved as she pulls out another crumpled credit note, and she tosses it onto the pile collecting on the bar. She nods once more to the bartender and swivels the stool to the side, reaching long legs down to the floor.

Lando glances at Paul warily for a movement, but slowly lets the sly smile tugging at his lips envelope his mouth. He raises his glass in the air and clinks it with Paul's, "To the quest." He brings the glass to his mouth a finishes off the remaining liquid.

Paul notes the suspicious look on Lando's face and manages to smother a grin in response. He too tosses back the brandy in one shot. "So, do you always take such a personal interest in your employees?" he jokes idly.

Lando smiles at Paul putting his empty glass on the table, "Not always, just that I know quite a few Corellian and I've learned enough not to trust them." He says with a wink.

Paul winks back, signaling the waitress for another drink. "Hmmmm, that's my policy too ... you must be smarter than you look." he quips lightly, giving the waitress a seductive smile as she approaches with another brandy. "Thank you sweetheart," he purrs at her, and she blushes in reaction and looks to Lando to see if he would care for a refill.

Jessalyn leaves her stool, and guides herself with one hand along the bar as she walks quietly back toward the exit, eyes fixed upon the toes of her boots.

Paul notices Jessalyn's departure as his eye idly catches her form getting up to leave. He watches for her for a moment to determine if she can make it out alright.

Lando chuckles quietly and grins at the waitress, "Yeah, tell bartender to get me the usual and put this nerf-herders" he motions to Paul, "bill on my tab."

Lando grins at Paul, "All expense paid remember, this is a business meeting."

Turns his gaze back to Lando and chuckles. "Nerf herder? Well, that's Dr. Nerf-herder to you bub, and thanks." he retorts pleasantly, his gaze still straying to Jessalyn to see check on whether or not she is still vertical.

A rather tall looking, blue-skinned alien the width of two doors stops in front of Jessalyn, blocking her passage, and she cranes her neck to look up at him, annoyed. The creature makes a low guttural sound barely heard across the room, and Jessa's bright red head shakes in response to the words as she tries to push past him.

Paul's gaze sharpens slightly at Jessalyn's run in with the alien. He remains seated, but his frame tenses slightly, as if in readiness for action. He covers his distracted attention from Lando with a casual grin and a gulp taken from his glass.

Lando arches a brow at Paul, "Problems Dr. Nerf-herder?" he says with a sly grin.

A thick, clawed hand grasps Jessalyn's shoulder as she tries to move past the creature, jerking her backward, and the growls coming from his throat grow louder in volume. Jessalyn pales, but glares back at the being with fierce green eyes.

Paul smiles back at Lando, his gaze casual. "Nothing I can't handle," he murmurs before taking another sip, "Why do you ask?"

Paul's smile just as quickly fades and he places his glass on the table. "Watch my stuff, won't you?" he mutters, pushing himself out of the booth and heading toward Jessalyn purposefully.

Lando blinks suddenly and jumps up from the table right behind Paul.

Paul looks back at Lando in annoyance. "That's important research there, I can handle this," he growls softly, and then turns back toward Jessalyn.

The towering alien looms over the red-haired human woman, black eyes glittering. As she snaps at him to let her go, that clawed hand rips into her shoulder and shoves her against the bar before she can reach for her blaster.

Paul, hand pulling out his blaster yells, "Hey buddy, hands off!" and charges forward toward the two.

Lando scowls sharply, "The krak you can antiquarian." He flinches slightly and his right hand drops quickly to his hip, instinctively. He brings his blaster to bear in the general direction of Paul's. And searches the area for a clue as to what's happening.

The creature isn't as stupid as he may look, and his black eyes over a narrow snout turn to slits at the sound of the voice. The massive frame moves slowly to grab and haul the woman in front of him, effectively shielding himself from the would-be heroes. He snarls something unintelligible yet clearly belligerent at them and sinks his claws into her upper arms.

Paul rushes forward to place himself between the creature and Jessalyn, but stops short when the beast grabs Jessalyn. He raises his blaster anyway and growls, "I suggest you let the lady go, as you are a big target and she is a very small shield," he warns.

Lando's eyes widen as he spots Jess. He looks up at the creature, lowering his blaster, "Look buddy, just let the girl go and nobody gets hurt. No one gets in trouble we just all go about our lives and forget this ever happened."

Kian enters the tavern, the sounds of the busy market district muted as the door closes behind him. Kian has arrived.

Kian walks into the tavern with his usual light and careless pace, then stops in an instant after seeing the scene. He scans the mess at the bar with a calm glance and tightens his lips just a little bit, relaxing with a short exhale.

Kian tilts his head a little bit, puckers his mouth and steps forward as if nothing were happening at all, spitting the gum he was chewing into the nearest trash-bin.

The beast snarls, revealing a double layer of yellow fangs. Jessalyn shakes her head slowly at Paul, but cringes as the claws dig into her arms and she stops struggling as much as she had been. Hissing between his teeth, the creature snaps in glitchy Basic, "Miiine, Human...Ohr mhy frieends will causs a sceeene." With that, three others of the same apparent species rise up from the bar, surrounding the first one and his captive.

Kian sighs and whistles a short, odd tune, then starts a slow, peaceful walk towards the bar, one eye on the blue alien, one on Paul. Calm and quiet as he is, he doesn't drag much of the other observer's attention which seems fixed upon the fighters.

Skeezix walks into the tap house, his hands shoved into the pockets of his New Republic issue windbreaker.

As General Calhoun enters the bar, his eyes are immediately drawn towards the group of Aliens that hold Jessalyn. Silently yet briskly, he reaches into the right pocket of his jacket... and brings out a pistol.

Paul watches the three beasts join the first, but his expression doesn't change. "I don't think you quite know who you are messing with." he growls softly. His eyes catch the generals as he sees him enter and he subtly jerks his head to indicate that they have a situation in progress.

Lando swivels around, trying to cover the three new threats all at once. He keeps his blaster drawn at the nearest one and calls out to the one holding Jessalyn, "Look, we don't want a scene here. We just want our friend back. You let her go and no one gets hurt. We just part company and try to forget this little incident." He states in a calm, yet firm voice.

Without any immediate sign of agreement, General Calhoun begins to stealthily make his way towards the group, his soft and worn out climber's shoes adding to his quietness.

Kian pauses on his slow, but rather effective way towards the bar, to study the situation once more, then walks on, his soft, short footsteps drowning in the noise of the tavern.

While the ringleader keeps his claws firmly embedded in the woman's arms, the three other aliens slowly move out, forming a protective, circular pattern around the them. They keep a watchful, glittering eye on each of the men with their drawn blasters, and each unsheathes a row of angry-looking claws from large menacing looking hands.

Paul's eyes narrow to small slits and he flicks his gaze to Lando and the General. "Three against four ... those seem like fair odds for us," he murmurs, and dark grin spreading over his face. Paul's face is one of barely contained rage.

Skeezix eyes Paul for a moment as he continues to sneak towards the aliens, his pistol trained upon the one holding Jessalyn. He takes a few deep breaths as he draws closer, sidestepping a few dancers who gasp as they see him.

Kian stops again, seeing the aliens' new formation, narrows his eyes to reconsider, then takes a bend and disappears in the upraised crowd. As small as he is, he gets completely hidden by the shadows.

Lando takes a step forward, blaster still aimed at the nearest alien. He draws himself up to his full height and calls out in a commanding voice, "Look! We don't want any trouble! We just want our friend. There are too many innocent beings in here for any of us to do anything irrational." He directs his statement at both the aliens and at Paul.

The first creature turns its huge head from side to side, sniffing the air with a narrow, sensitive snout. He hoots something to the others, then a wide fanged grin crosses his face. "Mooove clooserr, only killlls hehr..." Jessalyn gasps with mixed fright and pain as she is lifted off her feet against the creature, blood seeping now from where the claws dig deeper into the flesh of her arms. She pales and closes her eyes as the beast laughs obscenely. "Orr I shaall uze the poisonn.." As he says this he bares his glistening teeth.

Rolled into a small but rather heavy ball, Kian suddenly drops from the ceiling, soundlessly, and lands directly on the head of the alien holding Jessalyn.

The falling form hits it's mark with a silent accuracy, knocking the Alien away from Jessalyn. Consequently, the alien loses his grip on his victim, though not without slicing a painful gash across Jessalyn's shoulders.

Taking Kian's obvious initiative, Skeezix raises his blaster pistol and fires a shot aimed at the nearest alien's chest.

The blaster bolt slams into the Alien's right breast, tearing a hole in his skin and sending him flailing towards the floor.

Lando fires off a quick shot at the nearest, standing alien and darts toward Jessalyn.

Lando's bolt streaks towards his target and does manage to tag him in the dead center of his chest, yet the alien turns in rage and begins to charge Lando in retribution.

Jessalyn shudders as she is released from the alien's grip, her arms limp at her sides, and she crumples to the floor.

Paul aims his blaster for the aliens face in front of him and fires, then ducks around him to reach for Jessalyn.

Lando manages to swerve out of the way of the charging alien, leaving him nothing but his billowing cape to touch. With a swipe the alien rips the cape in half.

The Alien takes Paul's shot in his abdomen and releases a gut wrenching scream, his arms rising into the air in agony.

The beast gives an enraged howl and swerves back to swipe at Lando with a massive clawed arm. His companion turns in a circle, seemingly off balance and confused.

Lando, still glancing towards Jessa, does not see the alien's blow until about a spilt second before it should have connected. Out of instinct he ducks and avoids the massive arm.

Kian rolls off 'his' alien and stands upright a couple of feet away, scanning the scene quickly, then kneels down besides Jessalyn and starts checking her out.

Snapping his wrist to the right, Skeezix takes aim at the bewildered alien and fires another quick burst of energy...

The fiery red blaster bolt soars through the air and barely knicks the alien's knee, causing no damage at all. Instead, the alien turns and pounces towards General Calhoun, screeching wildly.

Skeezix sidesteps briskly as the enraged alien launches itself at him.

Lando drops to a knee and brings his blaster to bear upon his assailing alien. He takes careful aim and squeezes on the trigger.

Lando's shot nails the alien before him, sending him sprawling to the ground in a pool of his own blood.

Jessalyn barely moves as Kian crouches beside her. She catches her breath and blinks up at him, then as she tries to sit up, her arms give out and she curls up in pain.

Paul reaches Jessalyn's side and intervening his body between hers and the last outstanding alien, he raises his blaster, takes careful aim, and fires.

Paul's blaster shot slams into the alien's arm, causing it to rear back in pain, yet he still stands.

As Paul's blaster shot hits his arm, the beast howls in fury and charges toward him, both hands outstretched, and reaches for his neck. The other alien still standing suddenly crouches and moves behind Kian and Jessalyn, claws extended, breath heavy and hot.

Two thick hands clamp around Paul's neck and begin to squeeze with a terrifying sound, literally cutting off Paul's air supply.

Paul gargles and placing the blaster against the creatures torso, he pulls the trigger, point blank.

As Paul begins to move his blaster, a gut-wrenching scratching sound can be heard as the alien begins to rub his claws together in a rather harassing gesture. However, just as the alien's claws begin to dig into Paul's neck, a fiery explosion erupts as Paul's blaster goes off at point blank range. The Alien emits a croaked scream and flies backwards, taking a chunk of Paul's flesh with him before the massive creature falls to the ground in a smoking mess. The steam rising from it's open and cauterized wound lashes into the air with a sickening stench.

The last alien howls with remorse and anger as his companions are blasted. He hesitates, then straightens and heads for the door.

Kian chuckles under his breath, almost inaudibly, seeing the last alien flee, then furrows his brow and looks down at Jessalyn again. He searches the slash, feeling along it with his thin, sensitive fingers, then nods in recognition, presses his fingers into the muscles around the wound. The blood stops floating almost immediately.

Skeezix quickly averts his aim until he points towards the wounded alien at his feet. "Freeze," he shouts and drops his right foot onto the dead center of the alien's chest, pressing with brute force. "Don't move, damnit."

Lando furrows his brow at the fleeing alien. He flips his thumb downward and in the same smooth motion fires off a quick bolt.

Two blue rings of energy lance out and succumb the fleeing alien, sending him sprawling to the floor in an unconscious heap.

Jessalyn manages to push herself up to sitting by digging her boots into the floor and doubling over. "Paul..." she whimpers, and looks about with glazed eyes, her hair wild around her face.

Paul grabs his shirt by the collar and pulls hard, buttons flying everywhere as his eyes narrow on Jessa's wounds. He begins to rip the shirt into strips and passes them to Kian. "You bind that side with these for now, I'll get the other," he growls.

Kian frowns a little bit at the strips, glancing down at the wound, then at the strips again, then shrugs, takes them and starts wrapping the shoulder up, quickly, but gently and carefully.

Paul keeps ripping strips of fabric and then, closing up the wounds in her other arm as best he can, he begins to bandage Jessalyn up, keeping the pressure on while he wraps.

Jessalyn smiles weakly, but her eyes are unnaturally bright, from both extreme pain and the alcohol she had so recently consumed. She winces as pressure as applied to the wounds, her breath catching in her throat. "Damn it... be careful.... Paul..." She bites her lower lip hard, squeezing her eyes shut.

Lando checks his blaster quickly, flips the switch back and replaces it in the holster. He gazes down at Jessalyn and Paul and calls over to Skeezix, "Get a med team over here too."

Without warning, the alien below General Calhoun's foot screams and begins to flail his arms wildly. With almost blinding speed, Skeezix flips a switch on his pistol and fires at the alien beneath him, pulling his foot off just as a blue, circular bolt lances into the alien and sends him back to the unknown land of incapacitation.

Kian finishes off his work with a light knot, then looks into Jessalyn's bright eyes and gives her a calm, small smile. "You should well rest now, you know," he chirps sort of childishly. He places his small, cold palm on her hot brow, soothing.

Paul gives Jessalyn a strained smile and keeps working, his hands firm but gentle. "Sorry honey, looks like this time the tables have been turned." he croaks softly, his voice raspy with concern. He almost jerks at the alien's reaction, but then stills himself at the last moment. He looks at Kian and smiles grimly. "Thanks for pitching in there."

Kian: The long, ruffled and fluffy red hair of this tiny human boy hangs like a split curtain over his white brow and the wide blue eyes, sparkling brightly with a mixture of curiosity, candor and lust for life. The small, sooty nose, covered by a galaxy of freckles, sits in the middle of his mischievous, yet still innocent young face like a black button, just waiting to be pressed and make the child's full, serious lips smile, the strong, pale blue vein pulse between his eyebrows in the beat of his heart.

Kian is clad in an old pilot's suit that has seen much better days, its sleeves ripped, the knees of its baggy, oversized pants torn and the laces of the low, worn-out boots lost. A wide cloak of an imperial royal guard, trimmed at the bottom and the sleeves into a baggy, knee-long scarlet tunic is girdled at the boy's narrow waist by a standard utility belt. There's a plain black pouch hanging across the child's lap, and from the pouch, an old, ragged wookiee doll grins at you.

Skeezix lowers his pistol and, with his comlink still held in his left hand, raises it to his lips again with a short nod to Lando. "And get a medteam down here, we've got casualties and a wounded Officer."

Jessalyn blinks with astonishment at the unfamiliar boy, then down at the blood seeping already through the wrapped cloth strips. "I'm all right," she insists in a weak voice, and pushes herself to her knees.

Kian raises his eyes for a moment and looks at Paul with a careless smirk, as if nothing ever happened. He even chuckles, in his quiet, almost soundless way. "No problem. I sort of figured out you'd need a..." he pauses, with a naughty smile, "...distraction."

Paul grabs Jessalyn's waist quickly, anticipating her dizziness and forces her to sit back down. "Just be still for a minute, willya?"

Lando nods curtly to Skeezix and moves towards the outgoing stairs, "I want this exit clear, no obstructions. Everyone out of the way." He says calls to the nervous crowd, motioning them out of the way.

He gives the kid a wry grin. "Distraction indeed ... how the hell did you make it to the ceiling?" Paul queries ... "You part spider or something?"

Jessalyn leans against Paul as the room spins, and buries her face against his shoulder. She mumbles something unintelligible, but in a familiar tone, a single syllable, repeated over and over.

General Calhoun glances over towards Jessalyn for a brief moment, his eyes masked with concern. However, as he notes that she is getting the 'proper' treatment, he turns and strides over towards Lando. "Yeah, get the hell outta the way if you want to see Major Valios live," he growls out in a distinctly commanding, yet somehow polite manner.

The bystanders quickly move out of the way. A couple of burly Calamari barhoppers help out by dragging a dead alien body out of the way as well.

Kian makes another impish giggle and shrugs... "Well, if you're light enough, and quick enough..." he looks up into the ceiling, pointing the cableworks of the light-show, "then even the wires can carry you around... A spider, well..." He chuckles again as if it were the joke of the century.

Paul cradles Jessa carefully supporting her. He idly reaches up to touch the burning at his neck and his hand comes away covered in blood. He curses softly and looks to the bartender. "Throw me a towel, willya?" he asks brusquely. He then turns back to Kian. "Well, you got style kid, I'll give you that and then some."

Jessalyn's face begins to look paler, a cold sweat breaking out over her skin as she struggles to keep her eyes open, still leaning against Paul for support.

With that, a mass of troopers and medics begin to rush down into the bar, looking towards the two General's for advice. General Calhoun grabs the medical Sergeant and points over towards Jessalyn. "There's your wounded, Sergeant, get to work."

The Medical Sergeant nods curtly and rushes over towards Jessalyn, his own medical team following behind him.

Lando walks around the exit, scowling and scurrying people out of the way. Once the area has been cleared efficiently he turns to Skeezix, "General I'll leave this to you."

Kian cocks his head and shines proudly. "Well... I don't use blasters usually... They're breaking my eardrums." Then his attention is full on Jessalyn again, and he grows more serious. "But let's not chat... She is rather badly hurt... Let's keep her awake, just in case."

Paul passes Jessalyn carefully to the medical team and curtly notes, "She's going into shock and has a high alcohol content," his voice crisp and professional.

Skeezix turns and rushes over towards Jessalyn. "Sergeant?" he asks, and receives a curt nod in return.

"Lets get her to the hospital, Sir," the Medical Sergeant replies, and the motions for Skeezix to help in raising Jessalyn from the floor.

Lando walks up the small passageway and leaves the tavern. Lando has left.

Kian stands up after seeing Jessalyn has been taken proper care of, and is his old carefree self, with a ready smile on the lips. "What caused all this mess?" he chirps.

Paul catches the towel tossed over by the bartender and wadding it up, presses it against the back of his neck, watching Jessalyn being treated by the Medical team. His face looks dark and almost guilty. "I dunno ... I just saw her trying to leave and then the one that was holding her started to hassle her and then when he pushed her against the bar, that's when I cut in ... she's a friend of mine after all."

Skeezix hefts the wounded woman easily with the help of the Medical Sergeant and begins to carry her towards the stairs.

Skeezix walks up the small passageway and leaves the tavern. Skeezix has left.

Kian nods and sighs, poking one of the dead aliens with his foot. "I guess too much testosterone, or whatever these blue meanies run on." He chuckles at his own insipid joke. "Anyway, it's over... Too bad for them, though."

Kian yawns and stretches like a sleepy cat. "Now I'd better go and take some sleep... All this fighting and mess got be a bit tired... I am still very small you see," he winks in mock innocence, "I have to watch about my energy."

Paul nods shortly and begins to walk over to his table where all his stuff. "Thanks again kid," he mutters, his voice, "I owe you one," he adds as he shuffles off, the blood trickling down his back.

Kian looks after the man, and giggles once more. "See you then... Otherwise, I am Kian... Not kid." And heads for the entrance.

Paul stops and turns and gives Kian a grin. "Kian," he repeats, savoring the name. "Paul." he replies.

All alone now in the bar, save for the bartender and a few NR's cleaning up the bodies, Paul heads over to the corner table, and pulls his leather jacket over his bare torso, the satchel over his head and picks up his luggage. He turns around and heads for the doorway out, his face tired and his eyes lifeless.

You walk up the small passageway and leave the tavern.

Calamari Coral City -- Market District An overwhelming crowd, a varied sea of faces, bustles about in the city's busy market district. From every direction vendors call out to you in an attempt to lure you to their booths typically made from smoothed sea rock fitted with a canvas covering which shields the produce from the warm rays of the sun. These booths overflow with exotic and colorful fruits, vegetables and plenty of other foodstuffs that by just looking at them makes your mouth water. Small shops line the streets, the gleaming windows showcases for displaying fabrics, tools, jewelry, fresh meats, fish, crustaceans and other provisions fished daily from the rich blue-green seas of Calamari. Those around you attend to their business, moving from stand to stand, bargaining and occasionally bartering with the vendors. A large sign to the south that reads 'Briny Deep Tap House' catches your interest as the door to the establishment opens revealing a poorly lit tunnel from which emerges a happy faced Mon Calamari. To the west the street meets with the city's central square from where there is a constant movement of people arriving and leaving the market district.

Once outside, Paul turns away from the city, toward the Transport Bay and the nearby Academy. He walks heavily, one hand still holding the towel to his neck. He barely looks around as he walks.

You head towards the stone and transparisteel transport bay.

Calamari Coral City -- Transport Bay This stone and transparisteel structure shelters a number of atmospheric and submersible transports that connect Coral City with cities on other islands, under the sea and upon the ocean surface. Every few minutes a teardrop shaped transport lifts from its pad, taxis out of the hangar bay and speeds off towards the horizon where sky and water meet. Arriving transports can be seen emerging from the ocean depths, and slowly lifting upwards towards recently emptied berths as water pours off of their grey and green hulls. Nearby islands and floating cities dot the watery surface, while kilometers below, the Quarren care for the many gifts that the ocean grants. At night these places become distant lights that reflect the distant lights in the void.

-=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=-

=> Intercity Transport Moren Chonk => Transport Request Computer

Paul turns toward the Academy and after walking for about half an hour, he finally arrives a Dr. Molari Canto's home. He knocks on the door, his hand falling onto the surface as if it were leaden. A long moment passes before the door opens and with his large eyes blinking rapidly, Molari peers out at Paul.

"Paul? What are you doing here at this hour?" The Mon Calamari looks down at his wrist and his eyes widen. "Do you realize what time it is? I have a 7:00 am class to teach tomorrow ...." and then his voice fades off as he looks at Paul, taking in the man's appearance.

Paul's face is worn and tired and his pants have blood on them from where he had rubbed his hands, which are also covered in blood, both his and Jessalyn's. The towel that he holds at the back of his neck is fairly red to boot, and he doesn't have a shir t on under his jacket. The man's eyes look dead - empty of emotion.

Molari draws back, opening the door wider to allow Paul in. "Gods Paul, what's happened?" Paul shuffles through the door without a word, dropping his bags once he is in. Molari shuts the door and gives Paul a gentle push saying firmly, "Kitchen." Paul automatically obeys, his steps heavy and guilt ridden. Molari moves as quickly as a Mon Calamari of his age can and fetches the medical kit from the bathroom. He returns to find Paul sitting at the kitchen table, the jacket removed, and still holding t he towel to his neck. Molari approaches him slowly, looking the human over. "Is the wound to your neck your only injury? I see blood elsewhere," he notes.

Paul doesn't speak, only shakes his head no, mutely.

Molari lays a hand on Paul's shoulder and then removes the towel from his unresisting grasp. He turns his eyes to the wound there, which is still seeping blood. It is a large deep gouge, where the flesh has been actually torn away in a large chunk. Sti ll, it isn't so deep as to threaten the spinal cord and no major muscles seem to have been inordinately damaged. Molari dabs at the wound ineffectually. "Damn," he mutters, "I'm no doctor." He patches up the damage as best he can, smearing the area lib erally with bacitracin. "You should see a doctor Paul," he concludes, but Paul's head mutely shakes no yet again.

Sighing, Molari wraps a bandage securely around the wound and stares critically at his handiwork. "Well," he finishes, "you are definitely going to have a scar there ... a rather large one by the looks of it." He waits for something .... some kind of re action from Paul.

Paul sits there staring at the table, saying nothing. Slowly, and without a sound his eyes fill with tears and they begin to fall, splashing lightly against the table top.

Molari stands there quietly for a moment and then he notices the small splashes on the table's surface and steps to one side, looking down at Paul in astonishment. He lays a comforting hand on Paul's shoulder, but his expression betrays his true confusio n and distress. There is something extremely disturbing about knowing someone well, and knowing that they never ever cry ... and then being a witness to such an event. Often children suffer this when a parent finally breaks down in front of them, and at this moment Molari stood there, feeling like he was suddenly seven years old himself.

He pats Paul's shoulder for awhile, cursing his inability to comfort the child of his old friend ... the child that had grown to be almost like his own son. "Paul, do you want to talk about this?" he asks gently.

Paul clenches his body, embarrassed and angered by the flow of tears that he cannot seem to stop. Not trusting his voice he shakes his head no yet again. His throat clenches tightly and his hands fist against the table, the liquor in his system and all of the experiences and revelations of the past few weeks crowding in against him, jockeying for room amongst all his ancient wounds.

Molari watches Paul's body fight against the oncoming waves of grief that he can neither stop nor truly understand. In a moment of sheer desperation, Molari drags Paul's arms off of the table and pulls the human against him, embracing him. "You know me Paul ... I'm no threat to you ... you're safe here, you don't have to pretend any more."

Molari's words are like the opening doors of a dam, and an anguish that Paul didn't even realize was there surges forward, sweeping Paul along in the dizzying tidal wave. Paul wraps his arms around his old mentor and despite all of his struggles and resi stance, he breaks down, great sobs wracking him, giving him a voice for the first time since he had left the bar. Molari feels his own eyes growing moist in empathy, as for the first time since he's met the human Paul finally lets down his guard. He hol ds the human tightly, comforting him as best he can.

After a very long while Paul's sobs weaken and his body slowly begins to stop shaking. He leans against Molari heavily, taking in deep breathes and occasionally weathering violent shudders of the aftermath of his grief. Molari lays his hands on Paul's a rms and gently draws him away. "You need to rest now Paul." He sense somehow that this has been a great breakthrough, and to push any further would endanger the ground gained. Paul nods weakly, the experience having obviously drained him. He actually allows Molari to gently lead him to the spare bedroom where he stretches out on his back. Molari carefully places blankets over Paul and waits for a moment, unsure of what to do. He asks softly, but in a voice gruff with emotion, "Ah, do you want me to stay?" At first Paul begins to slowly shake his head no again ... but then stops and closing his eyes shakes his head in the affirmative.

Molari pulls up a chair and sits next to Paul, watching the young man anxiously. "Sleep now," he urges in a comforting tone, "I'll be right here ... you won't be alone ... you're safe." Paul merely grunts in response and reaches out a hand, squeezing on e of Molari's gratefully. The combination of physical exhaustion, the liquor in his system, and the mental fatigue is just too much for him. He falls asleep within almost mere moments. The Mon Calamari regards Paul's features with affection and concern, waiting until he is sure the man is asleep before he gently places Paul's hand back onto the bed. He settles himself down for the night, making himself just as comfortable as he can. Within a short while, the aged Calamari is snoring softly.