RPlog:Ash Seneal Strikes Again

The long walkways that surround the Fountain Square in the center of Plaxton City are particularly crisp and trim today. Blindingly white flowers hang in clusters off low trees with multiple trunk-like stalks that weave about each other in decorative patterns. Alternating squares of light green grass, dark, almost blue-green grass, and duracrete segment out the paths. Among one of those is Jessalyn and Orson, wandering down a long sidewalk with the shorter mechanic... businessman... Jedi apprentice... musing on something about the shape of the flower to Jessalyn. It's been a tremendously lazy day and, with their only obligation to meet Drew at some point in the next hour, the pair is content to wander down these lanes.

Wander, in fact, so far from the center of the square that they now find themselves down a long, broad street that is well-kept and pleasant looking but mostly full of sleepy shops that have seen better economic times. But, that's where the best flowers can be found, so there they are. "Do you think we should head back, that way?" Orson waves a thumb down the long and slightly curving walk in the direction they came. "I guess Drew will comlink me when she shows up though. She'll be alright." With that, he slips an arm around his companion and whistles a formless tune at a slow-buzzing bug, fat with nectar, that comes a bit close. Jessalyn is leaning up on her tiptoes to get a better sniff at the heavy, hanging flower that she cradles in one hand. The petals are almost as velvety smooth as a rose, and have a sweet, unique fragrance that reminds her of... somewhere. The past few days have been quiet, for a change, and though Jessa is still on guard, she's allowed herself to relax, just a little, as she enjoys passing the pleasant afternoon wandering the flower-lined street with her student-consort.

"Unless you want to try a different street. Might be nice, see something new," she offers with a smile, sliding her own arm around his waist as they walk along. "What time did she say?"

Drew must have been distracted by the flowers, or how nice the afternoon is, somewhere along the way to her meeting. She is late but the day is so /nice/, she thinks. Her strides are slow. There is a flower tucked in her hair and a small computer console in her hand. Her long shadow bobs up and down as the tall woman walks down the path.

Like the buzzing of one of those familiar insects, except far more intimate and ultimately, far more malevolent, something sets off Jessalyn. Deep within her mind, the familiarity of a being she knows far too well touches her sensitive feelings... Ash Seneal.

As Drew makes her way down the walk, an innocent-looking Ash steps out of one of the many alcoves formed by shop entrances on the street sides. His step divides the would-be group, coming very near Orson and Jessalyn but blocking a direct path between them and Drew. The gaunt man is carrying a colorful plastic bag and wearing a lazy smile that is almost a perfect imitation of the look both Jessalyn and Orson had just a moment ago. "Oh hello," he remarks, easing up to them and taking a deep breath. "Smell those flowers. What a perfect day. And I've found two very good friends!" He chuckles a little, teeth clenched. It's obvious he doesn't mean it.

As far as Ash goes, it appears that he hasn't even noticed Drew. Then, there's a scuffle and a shout of activity further down the walk, like so many of those thick bugs, buzzing from the street sides. There are at least four, with another lurking in the shadows. Common thugs, perhaps, but they begin to form a lazy circle around Drew, grunting and grinning. In their extremities: one with a traditional-looking axe, another with a chain that features an attached weight. The other two thugs that are visible are wielding simple blaster pistols. "No need to get hurt here, girl," a dirty one whispers from Drew's flank.

Orson leans back, some sort of stance forming on his frame. His hand drifts to Jessalyn's side. Not to obstruct, but to protect. "Leave us alone," he huffs to Ash, other hand wandering to his side and withdrawing his comlink. Inconspicuously, he flicks it on. By the time that annoying tickle manifests in Jessalyn's brain, it's already too late. As she draws breath to warn Orson, moving involuntarily closer, Ash steps before them and her eyes narrow. Dropping her left hand to her waist, she finds the concealed lightsaber beneath the loose folds of her tunic and releases it from her belt. "What's the matter, Mr. Seneal? You didn't learn you should stay away from us last time?" she says with haughty calm, her body straightening into dignified Jedi posture.

Reaching out with the Force, she sizes up their competition -- realizing only then that the circling thugs have an entirely different target. Jessalyn's blood runs cold. _Drew!_ she cries out silently, knowing Orson will pick up on her thoughts. _There are three, no -- four of them..._

Drew'sn't sure why it is that the day she chooses to relax and go into raptures over flowers and trees or somethingorother, thugs decide to push her around. Niiice, is her first thought, as she finds herself surrounded, far away from any protection, and caught very off-guard. Her hand rests on her blaster holster on her shoulder and the other on her comlink, but she decides that pulling it out at the moment would get her head sliced off. She stands in the circle, tense - anyone with an eye for those sorts of things will see that her knees are slightly bent and she's bouncing, just a little. Ready to pounce.

The tall blonde is tempted to say something to the man at her flank that talks to her but...er, what do you say to something like that? The rules of engagement are pretty well defined. Instead she gives him a /glare/. Head slightly lowered, eyes just a little wild. If one gives her an opening, she's going to kick him in the nads.

Ash corrects Jessalyn instantly. "High Baron, actually." He seems to have missed the rest of the comment after being affronted by her title faux pas.

"I'm not the fastest learner, but I'm not entirely incapable of it either." Ash mocks Jessalyn, pressing his fingers to his chest. "Everytime I try to talk to you, you attack. Some example of the fine Jedi order." Ash Seneal still hasn't looked over his shoulder to see how the assault on Drew is going. "Consider this insurance, of the most unfortunate sort. You, of course, have pushed me to this. Poor Hidenky. What will I tell his green grieving mother?" Ash exaggerates a sad face and leans forward in Jessalyn's direction, adding in a low tone: "A Jedi killed him."

The gaunt man angles his shoulders slightly, sun playing in a hazy band off of his silk suit. With only a wave of his fingers, he starts again. "Think you can kill us all to save your friend? Take over my mind and move me like your puppet to call them off? Try it." It's a dare, almost, and the dangerous, smug tone he speaks with make it sound very much like he's thought out multiple contingency plans. Ash promised himself that the next time he found these two he'd be prepared.

Still holding a blaster, the man on Drew's flank that spoke earlier edges forward. From his other hand, a pair of shiny brass wrist cuffs falls loose. "Ya gotta wear these," he grunts, voice darkly pleading. "We'll take good care of ya." Easing toward her, the dirty thug licks his lips and leans in, adjusting his palm on the handle of his blaster.

Orson's comlink is on. If nothing else, it'll notify other Karrde operatives and signal the ship. If this trap is more extensive than just what they see, at least someone will know where they went. Mira, maybe. "What do you want?" Orson asks, his profile nodding stiffly at Jessalyn. He's heard her, and sees past Ash now, trying to come up with something. The unfamiliar weight clipped to his belt, hidden beneath the jacket, seems to tempt his palm.

Seneal's remarks give Jessalyn pause as a strange flutter of anger rises in her throat. If she truly used all the powers at her disposal, she could crush all of these men with a thought. If she wanted to invade Seneal's brain and torture him until he died, she could do that, too. If she wanted to use the Dark Side. Gulping back her anger and the feeling of helplessness, she grips the hilt of her saber, bringing it before her, but still unlit as she glances furtively past the High Baron. "You're not going to get the chance to spread those lies," she taunts, taking a step away from Orson and toward Seneal, vividly aware of the four others on the move against Drew. She holds her breath, eyes riveted to the one closest to her, with the cuffs, and they go flying out of the man's hand to smash violently under his chin.

Thinkthinkthinkthink...Gun, cleaver...alright. Which one does she like the best. The talkative fellow next to her with the cuffs is distracted. Right? Maybe a little. She doesn't move as he approaches her, looking rather unhappy about the cuffs but not very threatening. Once he is close enough though, she makes a strike to grab the blaster in his hand and hopefully direct the blast she's expecting towards another target. Like, at the /other/ man with the blaster.

Her other hand swings to give him a sidelong punch to his jaw only to find that he's already reeling backwards from the cuffs smashing into his chin. Stick to the plan, stick to the plan...Grab the gun, shoot the other thug, run run run AWAY.

Ash was getting bored. "Oh, you've decided," he commentates, turning -away- from Jessalyn to look on at the show behind him. "Relegating your friend to a certain death instead of facing an uncertain future for yourself." He's a remarkably glib fellow under the circumstances.

"Stop this nonsense and she'll probably live?" Ash suggests, turning back to face the advancing Jessalyn.

With a yelp, the thug with the cuffs stumbles back, bright red froth spilling from his mouth. He gurgles, and seems fairly upset at this development. That dirty man is putty in Drew's experienced hands, and he reflexively squeezes off a pair of shots when she grabs at his blaster. The first shot thunks into the building, and the second sinks deep into the man with the other blaster, who collapses happily. The blasts are thick stun bolts, intended to incapacitate but not kill.

Those stun bolts were not intended to kill, but the other two with weaponry may have other ideas. Snaking his weapon along the ground, a near-human with bright purple hair sends his chain and weight low, with startling speed to wrap around Drew's ankle as she takes her first step. His partner, a being with a similar build and the same hair color, slices the air with his hatchet, intercepting the blonde woman with a grin.

Still, in the shadows, another one lurks.

Orson's fingers slide into his jacket and he steps far to the side, testing the notion of moving off to help the semi-distant Drew. With a check glance to Ash - who seems unconcerned with Orson - the mechanic starts forward, concern heavy on his face as he watches Drew go into motion. "If she comes to harm, it would be justice to kill you," the Jedi says, her voice firm, and intended to at least distract Seneal from the converging Orson. She keeps from watching her apprentice as he moves closer to Drew, lest her eyes betray him. She can perhaps help from here while keeping this detestable man at bay.

With a menacing snap-hiss, Jessalyn's bright lightsaber blade comes to life, held aloft in her right hand, while she holds her left palm out into the air. The effect of that subtle gesture is to immobilize the axe of one of the purple-haired thugs, causing it to be too heavy to even move through the air. "I wouldn't press your luck, High Baron," she says, voice dripping with disdain for the title.

Drew is in the midst of her second step, almost into a run when her leg is pulled back violently by the weight and chain wrapping around her ankle. She lets out a cry, her first one of the evening, as she slams onto the floor. Another cry as the hatchet swings, it seems to her, rather close to her head. She ducks her head in, curling her body inward defensively as she is heaved down onto the floor. Her hand finally reaches for her blaster and pulls it out while she is still on the ground. She aims a shot at the man with the hatchet, too distracted to tell that it has stopped swinging altogether.

The orange-haired near-human with the axe lifts his weapon with expert hands once more, preparing to remove something non-essential from Drew on his third swipe. With a surprised 'mff!' escaping his lips, he tries another swing. No good, his weapon is firmly cemented in place. In the air. He goes to stomp at Drew, hand lightly resting on his immobile axe and is shot, her blaster bolt carving out part of his lower abdomen and leaving only a sick mass of steaming inside things which are never supposed to see the outside. Then he's gone, on the pavement.

The thug from the shadows leans forward, showing himself. It moves with creaturely grace, huge dark forearms curled around the grip of a blaster rifle with an extended stock. His swarthy head is covered with long black bristles and his broad nose is pushed up too high on his squat face. He's drawing a bead on Drew. He was an expensive investment for Ash, but then, it's said he's never missed a shot. And what's money to a High Baron?

"I knew you'd make the right decision," Ash comments quietly, giving Jessalyn a nod of approval. "She'll come to no harm, as long as you hear me out completely. But not here. Unfortunately, some attention will be directed here soon." Ash examines the blade of the saber that is far too close to his face, though he doesn't draw back. It does, however, make him bite back the comment he had planned. The one about the authorities, and how they would be looking for Jessalyn soon. Since she murdered his employee. Maybe later.

Still as a statue, the creature lightly squeezes the trigger on his rifle. A heavy report issues forth, and a powerful stun bolt escapes the rifle like a bolt of lightning. It was destined for her, destined for the spot where her neck met her shoulders. It slinks into Drew's low form with an electric-sounding crackle/whack.

"Meet me, in an hour, please. At your favorite restaurant, there in the Fountain Square." Of course, Ash has seen the pair frequent the Sandbar. If not with his own eyes, then with other methods. "After we talk, I'll return your friend. Simple." The High Baron lowers his chin in the direction that Orson has started off in. "I'd rather not carry two beings with me."

Orson tightens his jaw, starting forward when Drew is shot but pausing when he sees the source of the blast. There would be another shot, for either him or at his associate. Bad. Frozen in place, the broad-shouldered man gives a check glance to Jessalyn. _What now?_, he sends her, mind desperate.

Without responding, Jessalyn stares Ash down, cringing inwardly as Drew is hit by the stun blast. She senses Orson's panic, it has some effect on her, as well, as she tries to calm her breathing, letting the Force flow. She should have dispatched of those thugs herself! Instead of patronizing this egomaniac. But something tells her not to turn her back to him, and she trusts that instinct even while grinding her teeth in frustration.

Both hands wrapped around her saber, she takes a threatening step closer to Ash, letting him hear the powerful and deadly song of the blade as it wavers beneath his chin, Jessalyn's green eyes shifting to Orson. Only he can feel the dread pulsing through her veins. He will be cornered there without her -- unless -- unless --

_The lightsaber!_ she whispers across the Force to Orson. _Trust the Force, and it will obey your commands._

Drew's mouth turns downward, as if she ate something bitter, when she watches the thug crumple onto the ground. Her arm swings towards the second thug - ready to do the same thing to him - her jaw set. The look quickly fades into wide eyes and an outraged sputter (and a few expletives) as her ankle is violently pulled at by the other man with the weight and chain. She aims...and, well...she doesn't see much else. Doesn't see it coming. There is barely a gasp when the stun ray hits her and the lights go out. Click.

Ash does back away now, not wanting to tempt fate or the angry woman edging in on him. "Very well then," he comments.

The man with the chain uncoils it from Drew's leg with a quick flick of his wrist and scrambles to the hatchet-man's side. Too late. It was his brother, the pair inseparable for those many years. Dead, from this woman's lucky shot. With a quick step, he grabs the lanky blonde by the shoulders and begins dragging her roughly to the storefront nearest them. He's sobbing, and very angry. But now was not the time. Drew's boot heels bounce over the pavement as she's dragged.

Orson seems more frozen at Jessalyn's advice, freeing his hand from his jacket. Instead of being empty, however, it is holding an organic-shaped cylinder, a bit longer than Jessalyn's but otherwise somewhat similar. The mechanic turns to look at her, for more guidance, but there's no time. A second *zapppt* spills from the Beast's rifle at the newest threat.

Jessalyn was right. The Force guides him. The awestruck Orson is jerked into place, arms held aloft and saber handle angled to catch the bolt smoothly. In but a split-moment, the new lightsaber blazes to life, pale blue blade born into the world with a deep thrum. The stun bolt touches the lightsaber blade and ricochets into the open sky, leaving Orson to stumble back from the unexpected power of it. He's not only speechless, but completely frozen again, holding a ready weapon. Face a ghastly white, he's almost hypnotized by his own weapon...

"They're... multiplying." Ash relates to Jessalyn as he looks on, dropping his shopping bag at Jessalyn's feet and heaving a little sigh. "See you in an hour," the tall man promises, stepping away and moving to the storefront that he emerged from.

The Beast dissolves back into the shadows, still lingering, but not caring to fire his powerful weapon repeatedly. It wasn't in the contract. Despite her attention being divided, Jessalyn focuses as much as she dares on Orson, holding her breath as she watches his newly-made lightsaber flare to brilliant life for the first time. Her fear for him is quickly dissipated as she feels the Force flowing readily into him, guiding his motions as he deflects the stun blast.

But now it was too late. Drew had disappeared into the storefront, dragged there by the grieving near-human. Fuming and angry at herself, she watches as Ash slinks back into the shadows, turning off her lightsaber and snatching up the bag that the Baron had left there. Must be meant for her, after all. Her long legs carry her swiftly to Orson's side, and she huffs for breath, eyeing him carefully and sending a flood of worried thoughts along their Force-bond. "Orson!" she moans. "We have to save her!" Jessalyn isn't sure she can handle being responsible for yet another death. And this one would be far more personal than those innocent people on Tatooine.

Orson resets his hands on the weapon, and lets his eyes wander down its shimmering blade. Under other circumstances, he'd examine it carefully, but as much of a milestone as it was for him, it seemed wasteful, to have ignited it first for combat. Quickly, the blade is drawn into the hilt and he lets it rest loose in his hand. "We'll save her," the mechanic replies firmly, scanning the almost empty street now. Empty, save a few bodies there.

"Her comlink. If it's active, we'll be able to track her down. I don't like the terms of this deal." Quickly, he turns, gray eyes critical. "You're okay?" She seemed unharmed, at least, even if fuming and unbalanced.

When she opens the bag that Ash has left for her, Jessalyn finds it almost empty, save a cheap visor-hat, wide band and adjustable clip supporting a foam-backed front panel. Printed on the dark color visor are the words: Enjoy Plaxton City.

Disgusted, Jessalyn tosses the bag and its contents onto the ground, her entire expression twisted into upset lines. She rakes both hands back through her hair and averts her eyes from Orson's searching gaze. "I'm fine," she says, wishing it wasn't so. She should be as injured as those she's hurt through her failures. "I don't like it either, but I don't see that we have a choice."

Shoving her feelings aside, she takes a steadying breath, risking a look at Orson, and at his hand which still holds the lightsaber. "You did it," she murmurs, her pride showing through in her eyes. "You will be a powerful Jedi, Orson." The words are true, and she believes them in her heart, but it's the Force that compels her to say them. She Knows. It makes her bend her head, and keep her stance a step away from him as if out of a sense of reverence.



"You've made the wise decision," Ash Seneal says from over the top of an expensive bottle of liquor resting in the center of the table. He's selected a spot that seems directly in the middle of the Sandbar, the frequent stopover for so many people in Plaxton City. Evening has fallen, and the accent lighting used in the place gives Ash's face a skullish look. The man props his elbows on the table and looks from Orson to Jessalyn. "I knew you would. Your friend will be fine, provided you don't try any tricks and you... cooperate."

Orson considers shooting him. He was almost certain he could locate Drew's comlink, since they had been to the ship and returned with the appropriate equipment. But there were so many risks, and he really did seem to have layers of contingencies.

From where she's sitting beside Orson at the table, Jessalyn picks up on her student's thought, and carefully weighs the decision as she folds her hands on the table in front of her, her back straight and her gaze fierce as she stares across at Ash Seneal. "You expect us to negotiate with someone like you? As if you can be trusted. You should give her up, or it could mean your own end, -Baron-," she says in a calm, flat voice. This little game of words was only a stalling tactic, and she assumes that their nemesis knows that as well. They would have to sniff out his intentions before they risked Drew's life. Now wasn't the time to be reckless, and she's grateful for the means of silent communication between Orson and herself. _It might come to that,_ she deduces. _But not yet._

Ash grins, reaching for the few glasses on the tray at the center of the table. With a cool grace, he removes the top of the bottle and pours a thin layer of deep purple liquid into a glass. He repeats the process twice and in a moment, there's a bit of expensive drink in front of all three members of the table. "You don't have to trust me," Ash replies, picking up his glass and swirling the half-centimeter of drink thoughtfully. "Just believe me. I'll kill her," he admits solemnly.

With a new tone: "Come, how about a toast?" He places the glass between he and Jessalyn and the smooth turn of the crystal catches Ash's image and distorts it wildly. "To my new business partners." Graciously, he waits a moment, leaving his glass in the air to touch the others' when they joined him.

Jessalyn has to fight the urge to squirm in her chair. The glass is in front of her, and she has little choice but to wrap her fingers around the crystal stem and lift it. But she doesn't join in Seneal's toast, instead bringing it to her lips and sipping from it as she gives him a level stare. "You'll die if you harm her," she warns him in a matter-of-fact tone, licking traces of the dark liquid from her lips, her green eyes sparkling with something deadly and fierce that rarely shows itself in her expression. "We're anything but partners. Give this up, Seneal. It's useless."

Ash seems distantly offended that she doesn't share his toast, and gives Orson a dark stare when the mechanic doesn't even touch the glass. "Here are the terms for her release," he says, drinking down the dark liquid and letting it fall down his throat. With a light gasping breath, he puts the glass back on the table. "You'll go to the Bank of the Core tonight, open sealed-safe number fourteen, put the contents in a bag, and bring it to my ship, which will be waiting at the landing pad of Union Starport. A few guards, some security equipment. Nothing you can't handle." He dismisses the certainty that they'll have to kill those few guards with a wave of his hand.

"I had planned to turn your friend into the Empire," Ash comments to Jessalyn, preening his dark gray hair. "But I thought I'd go for the sure thing." As simple as that? He's not lying directly, but there is duplicity evident in his manner that would be particularly obvious to Jessalyn. Tremendous duplicity. "Give the bag to me, I return your friend, and we never see each other again. Or, you can refuse." That possibility seems to interest Ash more, and he smiles once more, revealing his slightly imperfect teeth. "And I'll kill your friend and sell you to the highest bidder. What do you think?"

Pushing the glass away from her, Jessalyn considers Ash's offer, her perceptions running deep as she gazes into the vile man. She doesn't like the idea of breaking into a bank, but she's fairly certain that can be accomplished with a minimum of fuss and casualty. There are other methods for disabling the guards than skewering them with her lightsaber. "What is it you're asking us to bring to you?" she asks, narrowing her eyes. She's considering going through with his plan, if anything to discover his intentions, and maybe move into a position where they can more easily take him out. "And what makes you think I can't discover our friend's location at this very moment, march in, and take her right out your clutches?" The Jedi knows a bit about bluffing, too.

The gaunt man gauges Jessalyn carefully, still smug and smiling. "It's not your concern. But, since we're business partners... simple technology components for a new little device with all sorts of interesting uses." Military and industrial uses, but Ash doesn't offer that. Instead, he stands. "Please don't think me a fool," he replies darkly, waving down at her. "If you could have found your friend by now, you'd be doing that and not talking to me. She's very far away, in any case." With that, he takes a step away and gives the pair a little wave. From within Ash's suit, his comlink crackles, someone saying something desperate into it.

Flicking her green eyes between Seneal and Orson, Jessalyn leans back in her seat, putting some distance between herself and the table as if she's prepared to rise. "Very well," she concedes, her mind already fast forwarding, plotting contingencies, and her fingers clench into fists in her lap. That is all the answer she gives him, though she perks up slightly at the sound of the comlink going off in Ash's suit, attuned senses trying to make out some of the words. Not waiting for a dismissal, she stands swiftly and moves behind her chair, glancing down at Orson with a stony expression.

Ash stalks off, snarling and lifting his comlink to his lips in a fist. He turns and gives Jessalyn a polite nod of his head, conscious of the Jedi's proximity and waiting until he's at the door before he speaks again. "She ...gotten far. ... weapons ... stun." Moving swiftly, he slides through the doors and into the dark.

Orson stands as quickly, pulling a spikey gray box from his jacket with no small amount of effort. "What do you think?" he asks.

Perhaps Drew is making things difficult for Ash Seneal on her end, Jessalyn reasons as she watches the High Baron's departure, her lips twisting as several contingencies race through her mind. She blows out a frustrated sigh as she turns to face Orson, running her fingers back through her hair. "We'll try it," she says on a long, exhaled breath. "Of course, we won't give him what he wants. We'll do whatever we have to do to get Drew back safely. Orson, I'm sorry about this. About her." She gazes solemnly at the toes of her boots, leaning her weight on the back of the chair which she grips in one clenched hand.

Dropping the device on the table, Orson opts to give it a try in lieu of taking a drink. "Seems like," the mechanic starts strangely, twisting a knob on the box. "That she's closer than what he's saying." They are attracting attention now, but it doesn't stop the broad-shouldered man from producing a loud squealch noise from the item. "We use special frequencies and encryption," the man explains. "On our comlinks, I mean. Look at this. What do you think?" He gestures to a pattern of dimly-glowing lights on the object's surface.

"He's bluffing," Jessalyn deduces as she steps to the table and bends over, peering at the readouts on the device. "I definitely sensed deception. Don't know if that's all that he's lying about, though." She folds one arm across her chest, propping her other elbow on it and rubbing at her chin. "Do you think you can locate her? If you can, maybe we can sneak in and get her out, and forget all these nonsensical hoops he's making us jump through."

"I'm not sure," Orson admits, making some sort of fine adjustment once again. That adjustment makes the array of lights change slightly, the pattern shifting, but it's something he can read. Without explanation, he lifts the tracking device from the table and starts for the door, walking out with hardly a glance up.

...

A half an hour later, they are at the side entrance to a warehouse in a lost alley somewhere deep in the municipal industrial utility park. "I've been in a circle, but can't get a reading. Perhaps in here?" He clicks off the device and looks to Jessalyn with a frown in the darkness. The dirty windows of the metal warehouse are lifeless, and the heavy door that they are in front of is barred and electronically locked. It also appears to not have been used in quite some time.

Wiping a hand across the grimey window, Jessalyn tries peeking in, standing on tiptoe to do so. Maybe, with their search narrowed, finding Drew through the Force would be less like finding a needle in the haystack of Plaxton City. Since the woman is non-Force-gifted, it makes it more difficult to locate her than it would another Jedi, but she's willing to try it if they are getting close. "Maybe," she offers, hesitantly, sinking back on her heels and turning to look at Orson as he switches off the device. "If you're certain she's not too far, maybe I can find her...."

"This is just for her comlink," Orson says quietly, hissing a little in an effort to keep his voice down. Cool puddles of old rainwater echo their voices a long way and then back at them. "And I can't get a clear reading even from that. Still, the best guess I have is through this door." He raises his finger like a play gun and points.

Jessalyn's look through the window reveals nothing but several long rows of stacked crates, covered with plastic sheets. Some supply for the city, no doubt, but the warehouse appears rarely used.

The woman turns, her attention on the door now, and she crouches down in front of it, her palm pressing against the flat surface as she slips her eyes shut. The Force starts to swirl at her concerted effort, a flow of energy moving out from her hand and into the locking mechanism. After a long moment, a distinct click sounds as it unlocks, and she stands and backs away, glancing at Orson. "Well. Guess there's only one way to find out," she says with a tiny smile.

"I was going to slice it open," Orson replies with a mild grin, half-suggested a second way to find out. Nudging the door open with his foot, the man moves past Jessalyn and sticks his head in, looking both ways and slipping into the dark warehouse.

There's not much in the place, perfect rows of dusty crates stretching longitudinally down the low-ceilinged building. An office and 'fresher has been walled off nearby, but Orson doesn't give them a second glance. He doesn't have to. "Hmm." With a start, he wanders down a side passage. The mechanic gives it a glance, but has missed the important clue: a simple metal grating, locked and bolted with a mechanical-style latch, set within the floor. Sick yellow light filters up through the grating, which covers a deep tube-shaped access pipe in the floor. Hard metal rungs have been set into the duracrete below to function as a ladder.

Making scarcely a sound, Jessalyn moves in behind Orson, glancing around in the dimness, stretching out with her senses for any sense of danger or other beings nearby. The place is eerily empty, and quiet, and she calls on the Force to mask their presences even from the more mundane senses. Trusting his instinct, she follows after Orson into the side passage, though she hesitates as she walks across the metal grating, the yellow glow catching her attention. She takes a few steps, then turns, peering down into it even as she crouches, moving her fingers around the edge of the grating for a place to grip it and perhaps pull it free. "Orson," she whispers, a sound he could detect only with his newly acquired abilities. "Lookit this."

Orson shuffles as he turns, stalking quietly back to her. "Hmm," he intones again, very quiet. The mechanic examines the locking mechanism with the tip of his finger, tugs at it, and then puts his hands on the bars to the grate, giving them a quiet tug. "Locked," Orson announces. With a blinding flash, the pale blue blade of his lightsaber fills the space in front of him. The humming fills the warehouse. He makes a quick jab, and it's over. "Let's try it." The lock has been mostly disintegrated, the critical part vaporized where the energy dissolved it. Smooth bubbles of new-looking silver surround the cut, where the metal liquified under the heat. Orson gives Jessalyn a sheepish look and a shrug. There was no one here, though the same couldn't be said for security systems. Still, the pair didn't have a lot of time.

She can't stifle the grin that forms on her face, and as she pushes up her sleeves, Jessa leans towards Orson and pecks a kiss on his cheek. "Let's," she agrees, dropping to the floor and dangling long legs over the edge of the hole and into the exposed hatchway. Grabbing a rung, she swings downward, climbing swiftly down into the tube, the sound of her boots echoing up into the chamber as they clang against the metal rungs.