RPlog:Encounter with Simon Sezirok

Main Hangar - Level 3  This is a place of gigantic proportions. You can see a dozen transports scattered around the area, some of them being serviced by techs and the rest being loaded and unloaded with all kind of goods. To the right you can appreciate a huge collection of crates, barrels and every kind of known container arranged over cargo pallets and ready to move. Near the inner section of the Hangar many labor droids arrive in a continuous stream to move the arriving goods into the station. You can see a lot of people here, some of them are easily identifiable as businessman, pilots, or military personel, but most of them are just anonymous figures moving at a frantic pace to finish today's business. The screams of high powered engines and the sounds of the machinery make it almost impossible to hear anything in this place.

Legato

The being before you is a male Duros who appears to be no more than five feet eleven inches tall. He has a wiry build and well defined facial features, which are typical for those of his species. His skin is a dark blue with large dark red eyes. Around his neck is a silver necklace that is tucked underneath of his tan colored shirt. Atop the shirt is a blue jacket, which matches his blue pants.

Simon Before you is a young human male of average height and narrow build. His hair is a deep brown, parted and cut short. A strong jawline and deepset eyes of blue-gray look out over high cheekbones, which are accentuated by dark gray horns of bone. The horns are shaped almost like teeth, curved inward like a spider's mandibles. A goatee and mustache decorates the lower half of his face. All in all, the man's appearance and presence could be summed up in a word: fierce. Simon is dressed in earth tones. Light tan, loose fitting trousers are tucked into soft leather boots that come up to just under his knees, and are tied tight with brown, leather chords. Tucked into the top of his pants is a simple shirt of a matching color. Over this is a loose wool tunic of dark brown, covering his arms completely and hanging down below his waste. It's comfortable clothing, suitable for most climates and cultures. Strapped diagnolly across his chest and back is what appears to be some sort of harness. It's worn in the way some people wear a bandolier, yet there is nothing attached to the device. A long shaft of cylinder rises over his left shoulder, a rod sheathed where some warriors sling their sword. Jessalyn The composure of this young human woman is probably the most striking thing about her. Though otherwise unassuming, her expression is one of surprising coherence and calm, belied only by the slightly mischievous gleam in her leaf green eyes. Shining dark red hair falls in unruly silken waves down to the middle of her back, framing her wide cheekbones and smooth, pale skin not as fragile as most redheads'. She is relatively tall for a human woman, with long-boned limbs and a natural grace amplified by her skills. She is wearing a dark green, long-sleeved shirt beneath a velvet black tunic that is belted at her narrow waist. The full sleeves are cinched above her pale, slender wrists. A pair of tight, dark green pants are tucked into knee-high black leather boots, both complementing the best pair of legs in ten parsecs.



The yellow haired soldier unclips a small datapad attached to his belt and consults it for a moment. He says, "According to the registrar, that Corellian class light freighter has been here less than a week. It is no concern of yours." His tone his cool business when he addresses the man in the hood until the one he was speaking to turns a hard, ice blue gaze upon him. The blonde SAT swallows, then, and continues, more respectfully, "Sir."

"Good," the cowled man responds to the SAT. He turns his eyes at the direction of movement, focusing on the Duros. One more alien amongst the throng. Surely no danger there. Walking slowly again, he moves to his left, taking him no further or closer to the YT-1300 that had caught his gaze. As it turns out, his ambling saunter takes him in the direction the Duros was going. What a coincidence.

The hiss of hydraulics accompanies the lowering of the Uwannabuyim's ramp, an event which takes place much quicker than most ships of its type are able to accomplish. It takes much longer for any being to appear in its shadows, but eventually a slim, red-haired human woman descends, her boots making scarcely a sound as she climbs down the ramp and takes a careful look around the hangar bay. Her expression is surprisingly fierce, brows drawn together and hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she pauses, the look in her eyes not changing at all as her vision and her other senses inform her exactly why she's had such an uneasy feeling about this station. She sucks air in between her teeth and narrows her eyes, not even noticing anyone else in the hangar besides Simon Sezirok.

It was so nice of Lando to give Legato all these fun new toys. Like a Shotgun. He really had to break that out sometime for some testing. Well, maybe later. When he wasn't about to "celebrate." His red eyes fall upon the human who seems to be accompanies by a SAT. Interesting. If he had eyebrows, he would have cocked one at the man. I mean, a bone hook thing? Who wants to see that? He should get a bag or something for it. The alien's thoughts move back to his new job and employer. Yes, it was working out quite good. He digs his hands deep into his pockets as his eyes search for soome sort of bar. Slowly, he walks along, wandering. His hand returns a moment later, popping a pill into his mouth. Time to take the meds.

A cool, icy-slick feeling like chilled oil sliding over a glass surface caresses over Jessalyn's consciousness. There's a nauseating quality about it, like fruit that has gone over-ripe on the vine, sickly sweet and blackened. It's a frightful sensation, yet along with it is a familiar caress, and a voice lowered to a whisper, saying, _Unless you wish to fight, I suggest you not call me by my name in this place, Jessalyn Valios._

The cowled man, still nameless as any other drifter wandering through the space port, pauses in his step again, turning at the sound of the ramp of the _Uwannabuyim_ dropping open. He stiffens visibly as the red haired woman becomes visible. Standing there transfixed, he looks as if he were trying to bore a hole through her with his stare. The SAT standing fidgets nervously, then reaches a hand to shake the man. Before the Griffon's hand reaches to cloth of the man's cloak, his target turns and moves to close the distance with the Duros.

"You are looking for something, yes?" the cowled man says, addressing the blue alien. Reaching up with his left hand, he tosses back his cowl to revail his horned face, and what could be read as a friendly smile. A smile that doesn't quite touch his eyes. The tightly controlled expression on Jessalyn's face finally alters, though almost imperceptibly, a slight wrinkling of her nose and widening of her eyes the only indication of the internal reaction she's having to this most unexpected appearance. Her head turns from side to side, as if seeking someone else out; but, alas, there is no one to come to her rescue this time. She licks her lips and takes a few steady steps into the hangar, plotting a course that follows in the wake of the cowled man and his SAT escort, not knowing at all what possesses her to do so. Surely nothing good can come of it. But Jessalyn is nothing if not stubborn. Simon, more than anyone, ought to know that, she tells herself bitterly.

Legato's head turns back to the cowled man as he is addressed. At first, he simply blinks, followed a moment later by a shrug. In Basic he says, "Uh, I guess so. Do I know you? Why are you asking me this?" And what's up with that hand? Though, that question goes unspoken. His eyes continue to scan over the man, attempting to see if he poses some sort of threat. At the moment, the smile holds such thoughts at bay.

It's difficult for Jessalyn not to cringe inwardly at the changed sensation of Simon's aura... especially when something about it seems so horribly wrong. Even more than before. But she presses forth with her own feelings, not holding back the familiar images and emotions she had shared with him not so long ago. Something is very different about her now, too, some deep thing which has taken root and changed her heart. _I won't fight you, Simon,_ she whispers into his mind.

"I am called Petre Simonson," Simon answers one of Legato's questions, bowing his head slightly to Duro without taking his eyes from Legato's face. The smile on "Petre's" face remains unchanging, and he doesn't seem to blink nearly as often as he should.

He winces, then, and turns his head to glance through narrowed lids at Jessalyn. He draws a deep breath, steels himself, then turns back to Legato, saying, "You look like someone looking for something. I am one looking for something, as well. I thought that perhaps we could help each other."

"I'm looking for something, too," comes Jessalyn's gentle, lilting voice from not a great distance behind Simon. Her hands are folded in front of her, the look in her eyes finally softening as she draws a deep breath, flicking her gaze towards Legato almost protectively.

Legato bows his head as he moves along, introducing himself, "Name's Legato." Somehow that smile was beginning to freak him out. Something about this guy just wasn't sitting right in the alien's stomach. As he is once again addressed he shrugs his shoulders. "What a small galaxy. Sure, how might I be able to help out?" Legato was beginning to think that this guy had already visited the bar that he was looking for. In which case he could most certainly help him out. His head spins around to look behind him at the red-haired woman who had just spoken, "Well, isn't everyone these days..."

The SAT escorting "Petre" clears his throat, which earns him another cool look. "Why don't you go stand near the promenade where you can watch me from there?" With an eager step, the blonde soldier complies, leaving "Petre" to turn back to Legato, that pasted, plastic smile in place once again.

"Everyone is looking something, yes," he says. His voice carries a slightly slurred accent, the words running together in a sing-song fashion. He continues, unblinking, "Perhaps we can talk over a drink, or something to eat, if you prefer." For the time being, he tries to ignore Jessalyn's increasing presense. It's painfully obvious that he's having a hard time of it, too. For a moment Jessalyn bites down on her lower lip, saying nothing more as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "Petre," she says in a careful voice, as if the pronunciation of the name is an indicator of her peaceful intent. She doesn't say anything else aloud, but her eyes themselves seem to convey much more, her attention fully riveted on the cowled man.

A soft sigh, like wind whispering through sunlit leaves, tinged with so much sadness and regret that she doesn't try to disguise. _I'll leave you be, if that's your wish, Simon. I don't want to hurt you again._

Legato nods slowly as his eyes trace the path of the SAT away from them. Talk? Bah. Over a drink? Alrighty, that and food was precisely what this little Duro was looking for. Had he taken his meds yet today? Better be on the safe side... His hand bings another pill up and into his mouth and he swallows it quickly. "Alright, that sounds pretty good. I'll even cover the tab. That's where I was headed anyway." His head turns back to the red-haired woman for a moment, eyeing her up. "You know her?" The aliens large, blue head turns back to the man as he asks the question.

"Oh my," Comes a metallic voice from the top of the ramp to the Uwannabuyim. A few furtive steps out, and the being shouts out of surprize, "Oh dear!" Now, it wouldn't be so funny seeing this, but, well, it's 2SK-MI. And he doesn't look himself at all. Falling down the ramp, he tumbles going CLANKCLANKCLANK, until he stops at the end of it. Staring up at the ceiling, he lets out a metallic sigh, "Brain the size of a googleplex..." He stops, as his photoreceptors catch sight of Jessalyn, and he positively beams.

Yes. She was. Oh. He couldn't remember who she was, really. How disappointing. Well, he did know that Orson had spoken very well of her, and had mentioned several midnight rendevouz or something to that effect. With much consternation, the droid somehow manages itself back onto its feet, and stands there, in all its glory. Well, it would, if it had plating. For the moment, it looks like a human whose skin had been ripped from its muscles and bones, and then spraypainted in odd colors, and lots of blinking lights attached here and there. Particularly here.

And on top of all of that, an old, rusty, head. Hundreds of years old. My, what thoughts must be stored in that unit. Oh, the experiences. Not to mention the secrets that must be lodged there. Somewhere, he claimed, he even had the meaning of life stored away somewhere. He just couldn't remember where he put it. In any case, he doesn't seem to be quite used to the new body, as he wobbles back and forth, trying to clumsily walk towards Jessalyn, now. He nearly trips a few times, but doesn't. Mostly because of the immense computational power lodged in his rusted ball of a head. Quite smart, was he. Or so he claimed. Something to that effect.

Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly through his nostrils, "Petre" makes a valiant effort to not let his smile fade. This was how these people spoke to each other, through facades and false smiles, as they prostrated themselves in unholy worship of the evil Jedi and the technological cancer that coursed through the veins of their society.

The sound of the automoton clattering out of the automoton becomes too much for "Petre". He turns at the sound, not sensing any life force, expecting to see a toolchest or something lying on the floor, perhaps dropped by Orson Tighe. Instead, he sees the epitome of the galaxy's twisted morality, a walking, mishapen humanoid made of metal and wires, without a soul or spirit of its own. "Petre's" smile is washed away in a grimace of disgust. Turning back to Legato, he says, forgetting to redawn his facade, "I know her, yes." He finally turns and acknowledges her presense with a flat stare in her direction.

The sensation of Simon's mental caress, the embodiment of nature allowed to fester and feed upon itself, returns. Simon's voice says, coldy, "You can never hurt me again, Jessalyn Valios. That part was cut away when you cut off my hand." With the last of his words, a memory is attached. A memory of seering pain and bitter loss. Like everyone else, Jessalyn turns and watches the approach of the droid, unable to help a little twinge of gladness that the thing is actually functional again. After finding the hapless droid's severed head in the rubble of Karrde's presence on Tatooine, it had been their goal to restore his databanks and get him into a functioning body once more. Orson seemed particularly fond of 2SK-MI, and it pleased her to help him piece him back together.

But she only spares him a quick look, her attention going back to Simon when he fixes her with that odd, unblinking stare. Her own expression is stoic, only her eyes alive with the feelings she just manages to keep suppressed. "We knew each other once," she clarifies for the Duro's benefit. "Though I don't think he's all too happy to see me again."

Legato comes the closes a Duro could possibly be to having a furrowed brow as he looks at Petre. Somehow, this guy is seeming to have some real issues. He turns to Petre, then to the red-haired woman, then back to Petre. Is it just Legato, or could something have happened between these two? Somehow, he thinks not. And the woman seems to confirm it. "Yes, so it would seem..." What the heck is going on around here? And why is there not some sort of drink in this Duros' hand by now? "Can't we all... just... get along?" He offers sheepishly.

"Oh, lady ... ah." He pauses for the briefest of seconds. "Lady Jessalyn! So good to see you again. I see you are fully functional. Orson mentioned his worry that you had spent all of your resources after an evening of working the vessel," TooSock offers simply. "His grammar certainly could use some improvement. Though I must commend him on his superior droid fixin' skills. He did a superb job, for a Human." He cocks his head to the side, and gives Simon a headlong glance, "Hello. I am 2SK-MI. A pleasure to meet a friend of Lady Jessalyn."

Turning his head to Legato, he stares for precisely seven seconds, without the slighest noise, before turning back to Jessalyn, and inquiring, "Is there anything I can do for you, Lady Jessalyn? I must get used to this body, and standing about inside listening to Orson drone on about how much he hated this and that, is really quite tedious."

This time Jessalyn's flinch is nearly palpable. As much as she had reassured herself -- and listened to Orson's own reassurance -- that what happened between them had not been her fault, she's never forgiven herself for Simon. The sensation of his own pain and loss is enough to bring tears to her eyes. She manages to keep things under control, trying to send soothing emotions across the Force. _I'll never accept that, Simon. I know you have something left in your heart. I'll always love that part of you._

Simon's mental projection comes again, and for a moment, there is a stillness to it, like a hot, harsh wind growing still. Anticipation is amidst the feeling, as if it is the calm just before a storm. Quiet... ever so quiet... Simon's voice quivers, _Accept what you will. I will not be deceived again._ With that, Simon withdraws his presence, enshrouding himself in darkness as if wrapping a cloak of shadows around his essense. "Petre" ignores the droid for the moment, his eyes turning back to Jessalyn. His lids close for a handful of heartbeats. When he opens them, he raises his boned appendage, pointing the twisted hook end toward Jessalyn. A grimace covers his face, yet he remains silent as stone, in her regard.

Breaking his eyes from Jessalyn, he gives the droid a flat stare. He does not speak to it, either. It's clear from his expression that he sees 2SK-MI as being one step removed from a trash bin. Probably a step down, at that.

Turning at last back to Legato, he says, "I would want to speak to you and share a drink with you. I sense..." he pauses, then licks his lips. Dangerous words to use, especially around Jessalyn and her Jedi monsters. He continues, carefully, "... that is, I have a feeling that we can help each other, you and I. But not this day, or night. Whatever it is on this station." He once more dons his plastic smile.

The red-haired woman actually... blushes at something that the droid says as he prattles towards her, crimson creeping up from her collar all the way to the roots of her hair. "Ah, I am well, despite, er... last night's activities," she starts to say, cutting herself off as the droid turns his remarks to Legato, and Simon points his horrible, deformed forearm in her direction. She swallows very hard and takes a step backward, the muscles around her eyes flinching as if in pain as she senses the Darkness shrouding this monster again. "I'm sorry to have bothered you," she mumbles, turning her head towards the Uwannabuyim, and rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her palm.

Ick. Put that thing away! If only Legato had a brown paper bag on him. Or a sock. Then he could cover it up. People around here might be happier then. His head turns back to Simon from the unfinished droid. "Um, ok...." What is there he could really say at a time like this? It was so wierd. With that he begins to wonder if he had taken his meds. He would have odd daydreams and visions when he didn't. His hand darts up out of his pocket and slaps another pill in his mouth. Pivoting on one of his heels, the blue-skinned alien begins to head towards the bar. Or, where he thought the bar was, at least.

"Was it something I said?" TooSock quietly inquires, sadly, as Jessalyn starts off. A plaintive sigh is emitted from the droid, perfectly dreadful, and he turns towards Simon then, making sure to keep the angle perfectly out of line with Legato, to include that whole, 'You're not a part of this conversation' ideal about it. It cocks its head to the side momentarily, before extending its hand, naturally, to the one with the hook of Simon's, "Such a pleasure to meet you, sir. I'm so very happy ane ecstatic to meet a friend of the Lady. Why, I'm sure you have all sorts of stories and adventures you could tell me about."

A pause, "Why, I could tell you a story or two, as well. With all the things I've gone through, you'd think I'd have lost more than my head." A joke, "Get it? Lost my head? Ha-ha. After all these years, you wouldn't have thought humor would come so naturally to me, would you?" Another metallic chortle, harsh and strange. "Oh, but it must be nice to be Human, or something like that. Always confined to your own inferiority, and never having to worry about knowing everything the Universe has to offer. Ignorance must truly be bliss. Sigh. Woe is I."

Using his hook, Simon pushes the droid's extended "handshake" away, careful not to let his bubbling anger get out of control and make him do something he'd regret. The blonde SAT was still watching him, after all. And Jessalyn. If she could love a Jedi, she might be corrupt enough to have some disgusting relationship with this technological creation. All he'd need now would be for her to draw her weapon and force him to expose himself to all the bounty hunters that were likely looking for him on this station.

Turning back to the Duros, Simon says, quiet and terse, "Another time, then. If it is fated." he watches the blue creature move off a bit, then gives Jessalyn another flat look. Silently, he then slips off toward the yellow haired soldier waiting for him, his left hand moving to push his cowl back up as he walks. This time Jessalyn barely notices TooSock's rambling. She watches as the Selas turns away from her, leaving with his escort, and a long, sad sigh leaves her lungs. As painful as the 'reunion' had been, she's a little surprised at the sense of closure coming over her. At least this time they weren't attacking each other or slicing off body parts. It's a cold division between them, but not a violent one. Squinting, she glances at the droid, folding her arms protectively over her chest. "Let's go back to the ship. Did you say Orson was working on something? He won't tell me -what- his latest project is...."

Legato nods as he continues on his way. "Yes, maybe I shall catch you around sometime. My offer still stands. I'll pay." He doesn't bother turning back. Heck, he'd almost rather forget about all of this wierd stuff. And after he got into that bar and had his hands on a few bottles, he wouldn't remember a thing. That's how he liked it. Yeah. Thinking back, there's only two things he can remember already: that disguisting bone thing that Simon dude had and that butt-ugly droid. Someone had to finish that thing. Maybe cover up the lights. Yeah. Either way, it was time for Legato to celebrate the new job and the nice ship he had been lent. Ships were nice. Especially this one.