RPlog:Enslaved

From the streets....

Snark the Merciless (a large Gamorrean by any standards) settles down in a darkened booth in the Nerf Herder, one hand clutching a large tankard of Corellian Ale, the other a box of Snotties Extra-Soft Tissues (tm). Either his size or his lack of personal hygiene keeps even the most curious at bay. Sniffling to himself he chugs the Ale in one smooth motion, half going down his throat, half dribbling out his mouth and down his front. Not seeming to notice, he tosses the tankard aside and grabs a handful of tissues. Biting back the tears, he talks to no-one in particular. "I don't understand. I mean...I am one of the Big Boss' best guards and yet still she doesn't notice me!" A pause as he blows his nose loudly, inspecting his efforts before he goes on. "Sure she is beautiful....sure she isn't wearing much....sure she dances like no one else I ever saw..." A Serving Droid draws near, seeking to collect the remains of the tankard lying nearby on the floor only to be grabbed by one of the Gamorrean's massive hands. Shaking it he yells, "Don't you get it! I love her and she doesn't even look at me! And she's only a slave..." At that point Snark the Merciless breaks down and sobs, the emotional pain too much even for a tough guy like him to hold back. Oh the angst...

Descriptions: Gar'thriln The man before you is a short humanoid figure, perhaps just breaking the five foot barrier. He is perhaps 60 standard years old. His body is quite rounded, with a gut that could knock people over, were he not careful. He is wearing a pair of slacks and a button down shirt. The slacks are held around his belly by a pair of bright red suspenders. The man's face sports a contagiously pleasant smile, which looks almost comical above his long, pointy grey beard.

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. She has wide cheekbones and smooth, pale skin not as fragile as most redheads'.

She is wearing an outfit typical to the rest of Tarba's female entourage. The small bustier is formed out of glittering gold beads and green thread, elaborate, low cut, and held up by the thinnest of beaded straps that wrap around her straight shoulders. Her slim, pale torso is exposed, and draped low around her hips is a gold-beaded girdle from which swaths of dark green, transparent silk flow down the entire length of her long, slender legs. She wears a pair of matching gold slippers on her feet, and an elaborate beaded headdress covers the curls of her dark red hair which falls just above her shoulders.

Krackor You see a tall, muscular man standing before you. His dark hair hangs down across his face and a scraggly goatee covers his chin. He wears loose pants that cover the tops of his calf-high boots and an open cloak on his arms and shoulders, but no shirt. His dark eyes can barely be seen behind his hair and a sly grin can be seen on his face. His skin is dirty and you see different patterns of scars across his chest. He wears a strange symbol on a chain around his neck and various rings on his fingers.

Krinko About 2.0 meters tall and easily 130Kg he is built quite stockily. He is clad in a thick tunic like shirt, colored in urban camouflage colors, with identically colored pair of cargo pants, with many pockets, bound by a thick black belt. Under his tunic is a thick piece of black material that protrudes from his chest a bit. Around his left arm is a gray band sporting the an unidentifiable logo. Strapped to his back is a black wooden scabbard, containing a full-tang 'Navy Sword, with a red and black wrapped hilt sticking out of it. Over his ensemble is a black tactical vest with many pockets on the front, and a hole in the back of which the sword's hilt stick out of. Two black gray plasteel knee guards cover his knees. Strapped unabashedly to his right thigh is a IR-5 blaster. His feet are adorned with a pair of black knee-high military surplus boots. Sticking out of the right boot is the hilt of a traditional metal Tac-Knife. On his head is a matte black swoop-rider's helmet, with the face blocked out by a matte black polarized face guard, and a small t shaped comm. mast sticks out of the back left of the helm. Over his hands are two pairs of anti-shock gloves and over his right wrist he weirs a metal bracer that a remote terminal can be slid in and out of, making it integrated into the wardrobe.

Setting:

Nerf Herder -- Hutt Sector The Nerf Herder is the most popular bar in the entire Hutt sector. An immense room with equally high ceilings, its walls and floor are hewn from solid blocks of stone. A wooden bar stretches the entire length of one wall, whilst a small stage sits comfortably in the corner of another. Tables and chairs scattered throughout the main part of the room allow ample seating, with large booths designed for clandestine meetings taking up what wall space remains. The lighting is kept deliberately low in line with the discreet atmosphere preferred by the sort of partonage that frequents the establishment. All manner of beings from every species imaginable can be found here, doing deals or relaxing after a major score. Some recognised by their remarkable similarity to wanted criminals, others not so well-known - all less than savoury. **********

"A long story," Keeda says as she looks at her glass. "And I would be as interested in telling you as I bet you are in hearing it." She lifts the drink to her lips once again and grimaces as she takes another pull. "Gah, I take it back... this is disgusting." Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she gives the human a once over. "And what sort of work do you do? Or is that something you can't tell me, either?"

Gar'thriln leans against the bar, facing the room. His bright eyes scan the room while his left hand strokes his long white beard absently. His eyes fall on Keeda, to whom he offers a disarming smile and a little wink. He sips the water that he got from the bar only after a close inspection of it.. for what, you don't know.

Krackor smiles, and shakes his head. "No, I can't tell you that either. I do all sorts of things." He takes another sip. "I told you that you wouldn't like it." he says, gesturing to Keeda's disgusted look. "I never knew a Twi'lek to like any of Tatooine's ales, or anything else from that planet, as a matter of fact." He smiles again.

Stepping out from the archway again, Kyyel glances to both of the guards stationed there faintly, even as they give him a rather... bemused grin. Not bothering to return it, he simply makes his way out to the bar; muttering a quick order to a passing serving droid, which beeps and whistles an affirmative before wheeling off. He glances towards where the Twi'lek woman converses with the human, but doesn't give it much thought as he sits down at the bar.

Keeda's lips twitch slightly at the corner, her eyes dipping down to the glass in her hand. "No... I can't say that I've ever been itching to go there." She looks back to him and leans across the table, her arms crossed under her breasts to make them more visible, and a sly smile perched on her full lips. She pouts a bit, her voice low and intimate when she speaks. "Come on now... you can't tell me anything? You expect me to believe that you spend your days sitting in bars, tricking women into buying you drinks?"

Gar'thriln turns his head over and he catches sight of Kyyel, the sight of whom causes the squat man to waggle his eyebrows. He takes on a look of concern, "What happened to you, young man? Sarlacc spit you out?"

Krackor's eyes wander down to the Twi'lek's over-exposed breasts. "Well, ahh...Sorry. I can't say too much about myself. Could get me(and most likely you, into a bit of trouble. We don't want that, now do we." His eyes move back up to the female's face, just in time to see her giving someone behind him a nasty look, but doesn't bother to turn around and see who. "Is everything alright?"

It seems to take a moment for Kyyel to realize that he's being addressed, but after a moment, he looks up and gazes over towards Gar'thriln. A faint smile comes to his lips as he runs the question over in his mind... thinking idly to himself that it might have been a preferable experience. Shaking his head though, Kyyel simply leans back against the bar, "No... fraid not. Just ran into a bit of trouble a few days ago... that's all." The human tries to keep it as general as he can; no sense in having anyone possibly get hurt because of a loose tongue. Kyyel's eyes seem to soften slightly though; it's a good thing to see another friendly face in such a place, "Thank you for the concern though." The words are spoken sincerely.

"Hmm?" Keeda says somewhat distractedly. "Oh... yes. Fine." She pushes the glass of ale at the human and stands, walking over to stand beside him, one hand on her hip and the other touching him below his chin. "But I really must be going now. I thank you for your company... it's been entertaining, if not informative." She starts to turn towards the door but pauses, her attention once more on Krackor as she looks at him over her shoulder, her tails swinging softly behind her. "And the name is Keeda. I do hope you'll think of me... if anything of importance should arise."

When Keeda stands, Gar'thriln straightens up also, after all- it's only polite. He gives her the same glowing grin as before, apparantly unfettered by his failed attempt at charm last time. "Hello there, miss Keeda."

Krackor nods at Keeda. "Very nice to meet you, Keeda. My name is Krackor. Thank you for the drink and your company." He takes one last sip of his drink before taking her unfinished mug. "I do hope that we will meet again."

Without waiting for a response, Keeda walks away from the man at the table. She brushes by Gar'thriln, eyeing him carefully as she passes both he and the human he converses with at the bar. To him she turns a disinterested look before slinking out the door.

Krackor watches as Keeda makes her way past the man and out the door, before turning back to the table and his drink. He lifts his mug and takes a swallow of the dark liquid, then sets it back on the table and leans back in his chair and watches the activity of the room.

Kyyel looks back over as the serving droid beeps its arrival, and he reaches down for the plate before it can lift it up... he wasn't about to have the thing drop his food over a sudden twitch or the like. As he did the night beforehand, the human all but tears into the food; eating quickly as though he were getting used to real food all over again. After a few moments, he looks up though... pausing to notice Krackor for a bit... and fairly sure he'd seen the other man about the last few days.

As he drinks, Krackor watches the beings moving around the room. His eyes fall on the man who was Tarba's slave. He sees that he is looking back at him, so Krackor gives a nod. He finishes his drink and, instead of getting up, grabs ahold of a nearby serving droid and tells it what he wants. As the droid goes scurrying off, he looks back up at the man.

Pushing aside his now empty plate, Kyyel looks towards Krackor again for a few moments, before he stands up from his seat. Walking over to the stool next to the other human, Kyyel tilts his head slightly... a faint questioning look forming in his eyes. After a moment though, he speaks evenly, "This stool taken?" He waits patiently for an answer, leaning one arm against the bartop. "Not at all. Have a seat." He gives another nod to the man and watches as he sits down. "Can I help you with anything? Or do you usually approach strangers and ask if you can sit with them? It doesn't seem like such a good idea to me." He smiles and looks around for the serving droid.

Gar'thriln stirs from the bar and trots over to the table with Krackor and Kyyel. Without asking for permission, and grabs a nearby chair and pulls it up. He plunks his enormous body down into it and props his short stubby legs on the top of the table. He flashes a grin at the other two guys.. "So, how are we doing today?"

He merely shrugs his shoulders in answer, "Not like I'm going anywhere. Besides, I've seen you around this place the last few days." Sitting down comfortably, he only gives a faint wince as he settles onto the stool. As Gar'thriln sits down beside them both, he can't help but look at the older man with a bit of bewilderment, and hesitates before answering the man's question, "Umm... I've been better..."

He can't help but think of when he would have easily gotten himself out of this situation... but with other lives on the line, especially those of his friends... the Hutt had found a far more effective prison for him.

As Kyyel and Gar'thriln set at the table, Krackor gives them each a nod. Turning to Garth, he says, "I am fine, and you?" Then he turns to Kyyel. "Yeah, I've been hangin around here from time to time. I've noticed that you're doing a little better than the last time I saw you. I'd like to hear the explanation, if you're able to tell it." He turns as the server droid comes back and takes his drink.

Gar'thriln nods at Krackor then turns his bright, wrinkled eyes to Kyyel, apparantly interested in hearing his tale. He sets his glass of water on the table and devotes to him his full attention.

Pangs of painful and dark memories flash to life in Kyyel's mind for a moment, before he shakes his head once more, "Let's just say I took a wrong turn one night... and I ended up like this." For the moment, he seems unwilling to go any farther in that discussion, glancing back to the archway with a fainly concealed glare, "But right now, I'm just a local guest."

Turning his attention back to Krackor, Kyyel simply leans back in his chair, arching an eyebrow slightly, "How about you though? You seem to have nearly made a residence for yourself here. What's your story?"

Krackor shakes his head. "Fair enough. As far as my story....I don't have one. Just hanging around here. I don't have a 'residence' other than my ship. I'm just around. I figured I'd just stick around here for a while. I've been hearing about some pretty odd things happening. Just thought I'd come and see for myself." He takes a swallow from his drink and sets it back on the table.

Kyyel seems to get a bit more attentive as Krackor mentions his news, and he pauses only to order a drink from a passing serving droid, before he looks back towards Krackor yet again, "Oh? What kind of things have you been hearing about?" His voice, while intrigued, remains emotionless and still, as though he were simply asking of the weather or the like. And maybe he might also find out some news himself... "Doesn't seem like this is the type of place for stuff to happen in, besides things that people generally don't want to have heard."

"Well, mostly about the local Hutt. Nothing important or that you don't already know, I'm sure." He lifts his drink and takes a swallow. "Now, what is your name? I do like to know who I'm talking to." Krackor looks about the room while waiting for Kyyel's response.

Kyyel smiles faintly, then shrugs his shoulders once, "I don't get much news, so I probably don't know as much as you think. Why don't you tell me anyway, I know very little about the local hutt here. He seems to be fairly reclusive..." even as he speaks, Kyyel doesn't push with his tone... instead he tries to give off only a faint interest. The question Krackor presents brings a slightly wider smile to his face, even as he leans back in his chair, "Name is Kyyel." Not that he really had anything to hide... and there's little that the name would give away anyway.

"Well, Kyyel, I'm not the type that goes around telling everything I know to everyone. I'm sure one that has been so close to the Hutt would know a little about its activities." He reaches into a pocket inside his cloak and removes a cigarette and a small lighter. "Now, I'd be interested to hear anything that you might know." He puts the cigarette in his mouth and lights it, sending a plume of smoke into the already smokey room.

A slight frown comes to Kyyel's face, even as he shrugs his shoulders once more, "If you truly saw me a few days ago, then you'd probably know that I haven't had much time to make small talk about current events." Closing his eyes for a moment, Kyyel forces down the slight bit of irritation that begins to rise up... forcing himself to control his emotions at this time. Looking back up towards Krackor, he smiles faintly, "You'd also realize that I might not have that much information to give."

Krinko again enters the hazy bar, the air bellowing past his face as the door opens, carrying with it the smoke and stench of the lounging inhabitants. Behind him is his Horansi companion, noes wrinkeled in disgust of the bar. Instead of taking their places at the usual place on the bar, they slide over to a small table and wave a server droid over. After a few minutes of arguing with the blased peice of trash it makes off for the kitchenett for their food. Krinko is now on the look out for Kyyel, and when he sees him, he sets down his term and again sets it to record.

Krackor nods. "I understand. I didn't mean to offend or upset you. You have my apologies." He takes a long drag on his cigarette and blows a large cloud of smoke out of his mouth and up to the ceiling. He turns his head to see the two beings enter the bar. Looking back at Kyyel, he speaks. "By the way, my name is Krackor. Nice to meet you Kyyel."

Glancing over towards Krinko for a moment, Kyyel tilts his head slightly... again... another familiar face, he thinks. Still, with all that's happened even in the last two days, he can't be sure of anything anymore. Watching Krinko and his Horansi friend warily, Kyyel speaks quietly towards Krackor, "No worries, Krackor... I've just been under a bit of stress lately," he smiles faintly, then leans in a bit, "Nice to meet you too, by the way... now I don't suppose you could give me just a little information on the things you've heard?" he tilts his head slightly to one side, hoping against hope now for some possible news.

Krinko leans close to Motwa, as their food comes in... for both sterilized nerf terderloins, not carbonised in the least, and approaches the Horani's face. and says, "eeako yarantha eeako tak your treglan shok'la, he, kaliya och e'ran, yarantha tak' olha. This kaliya ugly...", in Horansi.

Krinko leans close to Motwa, as their food comes in... for both sterilized nerf terderloins, not carbonised in the least, and approaches the Horani's face. and says, "Keep grranack catch eckma your ergol kalshal, he, eckma every nashlaah, metung ergol' nashlaah. This kaliya get ugly...", in Horansi.

Krackor shakes his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that. Not for nothing anyway." He takes a drag on his cigarette and looks back at Kyyel. "Maybe we could work something out. I saw you talking to that red-haired woman earlier. One of Tarba's dancers. What do you know about her?" He stares at Kyyel and waits to see what his response will be.

Kyyel's eyes widen for a moment in surprise... even as he becomes all too aware of possible prying eyes and listening ears. Shrugging his shoulders again, he gives a heavy snort, "Her? Why do you want to know about her?" he gives a shake of his head, "Trust me, Krackor... that one is nothing but trouble. Though... she has a certain spirit to her. No, afraid all I know about her is that generally you want to keep as far from her as possible in most cases. Just so happens that she owes me a little... something." He keeps his voice even, as another serving girl brings up his drink. He uses that to keep his face hidden as he takes a long draught... merely to conceal his narrowed eyes. Why would this one be interested in Jessalyn...

Krackor smiles at Kyyel's response. "Very well." He watches as Kyyel drinks. He drops the cigarette onto the floor and steps on it, making sure it goes out. He looks around the room, giving Krinko an interested look, and turns back to the table. "Now, I heard something about the Swoop Races coming. Do you know anything about that?"

Krinko idles at his table, the word 'Jedi' rolls backinto his mind. Galdarnit! Why couldn't he rember what that meant! 'Who in the name of the moons of Mutanda is a Jedi already!' He mentaly demans. He picks up his slab of meat and starts nawing on it. Who had mentioned it to him? Wen did, and what did he say about these people? Was it a warning? A threat? A praise? 'soldiers, fighters, of what? for who? and why is that name keep popping up in my head!' He shakes his head again and chews thoughfully. 'This MUST be important, othewise i wouldnt be so fixated on it' he reasoned. He picks up his term and does a quick data search, 'nope no jedi in here...'

Nodding his head once, Kyyel sets his tankard down again, ignoring Krinko for the moment. A faint smile touches the edges of Kyyel's lips for a moment... he hadn't seen a swoop race in nearly a year now. After a moment though, he simply shakes his head once, "Only that it will be held here on Nar Shaddaa... unless I'm mistaken. Other than that, I haven't kept track of the swoop races in a while." He leans in again, "Now... I answered two of your questions... think you might be able to answer mine?"

Krackor nods, grinning. "I will try. What would you like to know?" He lifts his mug from the table, having to give it a slight tug to unstick it from who knows what its stuck to, and swirles its contents around before drinking. His eyes move from Kyyel, to the man beside him, 'He's been rather quiet.' he thinks, but says nothing. He waits patiently for Kyyel to ask him his questions.

Krinko naws on the last of his rather simple meal, nodding to him self. The terminal was back on the table, and again, Motwa was getting restless. 'He needs patiance' Krinko notes to him self. 'Its a wonder they let him on his innation hunt. Even more so that he secudeed. I supose it's becouse Wen taught him. He was no slouch as a teacher... I wonder where wen is...' an idea pops into his head. and says, "Had yolyne vaal'k to the clan since he yara? alna alna sent ?", in Horansi.

Motwa Torra shakes his head, his ear twiching. "No, he had made no communication since he left last. If he had, it would of been in the last two months, since i left the clan to hunt for you." he squits one of his eyes (rather odd) and asks "Why do you ask?"

Kyyel smiles faintly, bowing his head slightly in thanks, even as he begins to speak, "Well you mentioned some odd things happening around here. Mind being a little more specific about what exactly those were? Besides... of course... that odd roar and unfortunate spill that the hutt suffered a few days ago." Even as he speaks, he bites at his lower lip for a moment... trying not to burst out grinning at the memory of the hutt rolling down in a heap. "Anything else that you've heard about, perhaps?" He grows silent again though... listening intently to the bits of Horansi he's able to pick up from Krinko and his friend...

Krackor shakes his head. "Well, most of what I heard was about the races. And then, once I had gotten here, I heard that he had a few new 'employees'. Just thought I'd come down and have a look. I go back a long way with some of the Hutts. One, in particular." He smiles and looks up at the ceiling. After a moment of thought, he looks back to Kyyel. "Anything else?"

All at once, the house lights in the cantina go down, casting all the tables into darkness as a narrow platform descends from the top of the stage. It is lit by a single bright light that glitters off the hair and jewels of the woman perched upon it. Most of the patrons and guards nearest the stage fall into an expectant hush, and Snark the Merciless in particular seems to be apoplectic with excitement. As he stumbles against a table, a Twi'lek girl steadies the Gamorrean and whispers to him as she points upward.

The performer's head is bent, flaming red hair decorated with an elaborate golden headdress framing her half-hidden face, but her back is straight and elegant. Only after the silence stretches out for a long, tense moment does she lift her head and gaze out at the audience.

Krinko nods to Motwa. and says, "Get yolyne hraath the cheretz. treglan' almost inhas we will grroat needing it. Fnark cheretz ergol for hraath grroat. And one nuye ! tak ets qraak tak get jolnwhar metung  yhna metung. yara jolnwhar a yarantha yarantha this treglan  kalshal get khell... (when i ets tak, your shok'la to qraak e'ran where yara ein...)", in Horansi. Motwa Torra exits the bar post haste, to comply with the spoke orders...

Before Kyyel can respond, the table is set into the dim light as the illumination falters. Pausing in his response to Krinko to look up towards the lowering platform, his eyes go wide upon seeing the performer... trying to force out the sounds of glee which come from a certain excited Gamorrean. Using the darkness for camoflage... Kyyel smiles softly at the woman's serene elegance. So far there had been only one of the girls here who could have that hair. A deep sigh escapes him though at what she must do, yet even still... he cannot help but watch.

As the show starts, Krackor gets up and moves to the back of the room to watch.

The sound of the performer's inhaled breath is easily audible before she begins to sing, even as she's suspended above the crowd. The voice matches her expression: bittersweet and yearning, gentle and forceful at the same time. No music accompanies her at first, only the sound of her voice echoing clearly in the tavern, her slender figure silhouetted by the bright light.

"You can tell everybody, That my love is gone He had fled from the Jedi, But his heart had been strong I hope I don't cry! I wish I won't cry! As I sing out these words... How difficult life is, now he's left the world..."

Gar'thriln sits alone at a table in the corner. The elderly, large man watches the shoe with a glint of lust to his eye, and during particularly .. interesting bits of the show his begins tugging on his beard excitedly, and his bushy white eyebrows pop up and down.

Krinko stares on at the preformer, gazing at the red haired woman, the... jedi... what ever it meant. All he knew was that that word... that word carried alot of weight he knew nothing about, or why it did for that matter. His brows shoot up at the womans mention of the word 'jedi' again... who, or what... and where was that blasted Motwa? He needed to get geared up. Enscrew the hutts court, somthing big was about to happen in the near future... but he just could not figure out what. Regardless, he wanted to be ready. Somthing about that word jedi... but what...?

As she begins her song... Kyyel can only gape in wonder. The words... each word, brings back thoughts and images, from the time he had first seen her, to even recently in her current state. Yet through each image, he can't help but feel he knows exactly who she speaks of. The human takes a deep swallow... lowering his head now as he thinks of Orson... and the cruel fate he had been sentenced to by even crueler beings.

In the darkness of the rest of the bar, Kyyel lowers his guard for a moment, unable to look to the woman for the time being, but instead letting her words echo throughout his ears and heart. Perhaps her fate had been crueler still... forced to see what had happened day by day, yet unable to do a thing about it. Looking back up, Kyyel locks his jaw... making a silent promise to himself and to her, one he had made when they had first met, and he had promised to help her however he could.

As her platform reaches floor level, the singer slides off and steps onto the stage with those long, slender legs, easily commanding even more attention as she sings out as if her heart were breaking anew. An old ballad? She was a performer after all, an actress in Tarba's entourage. Her pale eyes smolder like emerald suns as she sweeps her view across the crowd and moves to the stage's edge.

"Chained on this moon, Held down by the Hutts No one can see just how deep This wound really cuts Though the Force is kind, and can keep me strong It's the memory of him That keeps me going on..."

Gar'thriln hefts his sizeable frame up from where he sits and moves a few tables closer to the stage for a better view of the lovely young performer. As he lowers himself into the new chair, glass of water in hand, his eyes lock themselves back on to her. But this time the hint of lust is all but gone, and he seems to be studying her, as though for a school report. His left index finger twirls the tip of his beard idly.

Krinko stares at the preformer, the new old recognisable word rolls through his mind, like the waves of her ballad where crashing through a bay. First Jedi... which was a mystery enough, but this word, not the word it's self, but the use of the word... Force. The Force. Like a Deity? No, that didn't sound right. 'Like the druids of...'Suddenly the word snaps into place. 'Force! Yes! Like the druid's life energy. Like that pagan cult out on the southern subcontinet!' He knew that word... excelent. But was it her words, or was she just reciting another epic? He leans back even further into his seat. 'Somthing is out of place here. Somthing is not right, and i bet it has somthing to do... somthing to do with that woman. But what is wrong?' She is, after all, a dancing girl, or is she? Somthing about the last conversation he got from the two... somthing that hinted at more. That word... Jedi. Those words... Je-Dy. What ever it was, somthing had rung a deep dark baratone note in his head... Now where was that blasted Motwa.

There is no doubt in his mind now of who she sings of. Kyyel can't help but smile now... smile at her own strength that she calls on. As her eyes sweep across the crowd, the pilot simply shakes his head once, knowing that Tarba won't likely be happy with that last verse, but caring little about what the slug might think. He'd already planned to make sure her degredation was kept to a minimum so long as he could find a way to stop it. Kyyel's eyes follow her path along the edge of the stage... as his thoughts wander to things un-linked to his current plight... but which the song brings to memory. In silent wonder, Kyyel stirs in his seat, bringing a hand to cup his chin, running his thumb over the stubble there.

The spotlight follows Jessalyn as she moves off the stage, taking the steps at the side and moving in front of the patrons positioned closest to her. Snark the Merciless bangs on his table with a meaty fist, held back by the Twi'lek girl and another Nikto who has added his effort to keep the Gamorrean from interrupting the show outright. The redhead doesn't seem to notice him at all as the gentle music rises behind her, flutes and a stringed instrument accompanying that lilting, yearning voice. She brushes past a pair of groping aliens who want a closer look, evading them almost too easily, and half-turning away from the audience as she sings out the last verse.

"So forgive me for crying But there's nothing left to do When love is dying And the Sith are so cruel Only hope and what I sometimes See Can keep me from dying of grief..."

Her voice nearly cracks and she inhales a shaky breath, tears clearly glistening in the woman's eyes.

When Jessalyn's song is completed, Gar'thriln is the first one to rise from his chair. He begins pounding his meaty paws together in enthusiastic applause, and after a while puts two fingers between his lips and lets loose a low appreciative whistle. The entire time his eyes are focused on the girl - not on her body, as are the eyes of some patrons - but on her face, as though trying to memorize it.

Motwa Torra scurries back into the bar, nearily on all fours, with a 3/4ths of a meter long rigid duffel straped over his sholder. He pauses at the entrance, and then gracefully pads his way across the bar to Max's seat and sits down, setting the duffel under the table "One thousand and one apoligies." he mudders, "I had to deal with some of the locals natives who had their eyes on your gear." he slides the sword across the table to Max as well, who inturn moves to the refresher, sword and gear in hand. Things where afoot, even if it was a hullisination about that woman, and he was going to be prepared.

As her voice cracks, Kyyel stands up now, with the rest of the patrons as they roar in applause. The light glistening from her eyes brings his hands into fists tightly, as he takes a deep breath of his own. He forces himself not to scream out... to attack the guards blindly... just to let her get out of this forsaken place. Somewhere inside him though, he knows it would do little good. He would just be imprisoned yet again, and she would never leave so long as her friends were here. For a moment, Kyyel does not see Jessalyn... instead another woman... crying in a similar manner as he toddled up to her as a child. Too young to understand then... and still not completely understanding now. Kyyel did know that he would not suffer to see any more hurt placed onto her, not while he could help it.

Even as several of the patrons step forward towards her in cheers, he moves past them all, glaring heavily at any that dare try to impede him. He comes to stand in front of her as far as anyone is allowed for the moment, trying desperately to meet her gaze even as his own softens upon seeing her so tormented.

Shrinking back from the crowd, Jessalyn holds up her hand, and it's as if an invisible wall suddenly shields her from them; they simply cease to come close enough to touch her. The spotlight disappears as the rest of the lights come on, and she looks up with a stricken expression as Kyyel parts the crowd in front of her. The look on his face is almost terrifying in its pity, and she forcibly smooths her expression and wipes the back of her hand across her eyes and forehead. "What is it?" she whispers, inaudible in the din of cheers and applause that bring a rush of red to her cheeks.

Gar'thriln takes a few steps towards Jessalyn, but still is a few feet behind Kyyel. His hands are still coming together in light applaus, but his head strains forward to attempt to listen to the pair.

Kyyel steps forward now, even as the crowd begins to calm down, and is allowed their reign over the girls and entertainers again. He doesn't answer her at first, simply because he couldn't be heard over the roars that echo still. But her meaning was evident enough. Moving forward enough so that he could be heard, he sighs softly, suddenly very aware of how he must have been looking at her, she didn't need his pity... "Come..." he whispers lower now, we have to talk." while the edge of the cold that he's used before is there, it seems that for the moment, he has little heart for the game they use now.

Jessalyn, however, is still fully in her role, and her reluctance to follow Kyyel is obvious. She starts to back up, and only at the last minute does she realize her mistake as she bumps into the solid bulk of Snark the Merciless. The sound she makes then can only be described as a yelp, and before she can pull away, the pudgy porcine arms wrap around Jessalyn's waist. "Let go!" she commands. But Snark only lifts her further off the floor -- until suddenly, inexplicably, his feet give way beneath him. Another drunk pig guard, perhaps; nonetheless, Snark falls flat on his broad nose and his lithe captive tumbles into the crowd in a flurry of silk.

After a flurry of confusing motion, Gar'thriln suddenly finds himself being thrown back onto the floor by the wonderful performer. The man possesses some presense of mind, though, and somewhat controls the fall so that the woman is treated to a soft landing spot - Gar'thrilns stomach. After a fairly loud "oof!" the elderly man leans forward and murmurs so that only Jessalyn may hear, "I wish to speak to you about Simon Sezirok, ma'am."

Now beginning to seriously question his own sense of sight on having missed Snark moving up, Kyyel nevertheless takes a quick backstep to avoid the flying mass of the guard. He whips his head about as Jessalyn rolls past him; now back into his full role as he swears loudly in Corellian. However, he had easily lost track of her for a brief moment... though she becomes rather easy to find again as the elderly man apparantly breaks her fall. Arching an eyebrow curiously, Kyyel begins to take a few steps forward now... coming to stand nearby, and looking at them both curiously for a moment. For now, he simply waits for Jessalyn to stand.

It was pretty good aim, landing on that soft-looking elderly fellow, and Jessalyn nearly bounces off of him, but holds onto his shoulders for support as she regains her footing and her breath. But the old man's words take her completely by surprise, and her eyes widen. "Wh -- who?" she gasps out, looking over her shoulder for Kyyel and noticing the small army of Tarba's denizens carrying the unconscious Snark away. "I don't know anyone by that name," she says more certainly.

Gar'thriln regards his pretty new companion with a set of inquisitive eyes for a long moment. He continues in a rushed whisper: "Are you sure my dear? He is a Sith. I need your help, and it looks like you need mine. I can help you get out of here.. i have friends. A small army of friends," he says truthfully. He watches her face for any reaction, verbal or nonverbal.

Krinko walks in and secures the 'fresher door, and he pulls out his concealed knife and blaster, trowing them on the counter. He presses the latch of the grey container, causing the spring loaded hatch to pop open, revealing it's contents. He quickly strip off his suit for bussiness, and pulls on a pair of Camoflauged cargo pants, with a urban print on them, the many pockets filled with assorted gear. He binds this off with a belt, and straps the holster to his IR-5 to his leg, fitting his weapon into it. Then, he proceeds to pull on his boots, their thick black heels making a hollow *thud* as they hit the floor, lacing them up, and sticks his tac knife down into the side, so just a few centimeters stick out, masked by the baggieness of the pants. With Due haste he pulls on his thick tunic like shirt, also 'flauge colored, over his undershirt, and tucks it under his belt. He pulls his glove on, and secures the edges under the sleave, which he clanps a metal bracer over, and insets the terminal on his forarm. The sword he pulls onto his back, centered for quick draw, and over this all, he pulls on the black, many pocketed tac vest, with assorted hooks and cuffs haning off it, the hole in the back perfectly matching up over the hilt of the sword. Finaly, he takes out the Helment form inside and pops the attena up, but keeps it under his 'pit, and slings the duffel over his sholder.

He had hoped never to wear this gear again... He steps back out of the fresher. And hands the empty container to Motwa. "Put that back on the ship." he mutters.

Jessalyn's glance over her shoulder brings Kyyel forward, and his own hand comes down to rest upon her upper arm. Back into his role completely now, he tilts his head slightly, "I believe we had an agreement earlier? Or perhaps your stunning performance has affected your memory?" He looks over her to gaze towards the elderly gentleman, bowing his head in a slight apology, "If you will excuse us?" While he doesn't catch everything the man says... he's certainly able to catch the main point. He looks back towards Jessalyn, squeezing her arm once to let her know he's there before releasing her, while he puts the ice back in his tone, "Shall we?"

The red-haired woman gives the stranger a good stare, and then she bursts out laughing, letting go of his arms and brushing him away as if he has just made the most absurd remark she's ever heard. "Don't take the songs too seriously, old man," Jessalyn advises with a playful wink. She tenses when Kyyel's hand wraps around her arm, and lowers her lashes for a moment before giving him a stern look. "We had an agreement all right, if you've got the credits," she says over her shoulder to the Corellian in a haughty tone, placing her hands on both hips.

Realizing that associating Krinko with his hunting identity, he pulls on the helment, and toungs on the external com, so he can speak through the helment. Instantly, the assorted little dodads come up form the remote terminal, and he finaly give the termial a good look at the Redhaired woman in question. The little screen flashes things that only a droid could understand, before displaying in deep red letters, 'File not found, create new? y/n? He presses Y, hoping that the corellian and her don't make off before he gets a good immage of her face, and watches quietly as the sceen unfolds over by the absurdly short, elderly man. 'You ain't a harvest season forlron your self Max' he mentaly reminds him self. 'I'm getting way to old for this...'

Once Jessalyn has climbed off the large man, Gar'thriln hefts himself to his feet by supporting his weight with his arms on a nearby chair. "Well that was about the most fun -I'VE- ever had!" he says loudly, and offers high-fives to a few surrounding patrons, flashing huge grins at them. But when Gar'thriln takes his seat his face is all seriousness, and his eyes lock back onto Jessalyn.

The tall human sniffs once, then simply gives her a curt nod. "I've got the credits all right. I just hope your friends gave you a decent place to go." Kyyel tilts his head a bit, seemingly more in a farewell to the old man than to any curtesy to Jessalyn, "Let's go." He speaks quickly, noting Krinko yet again... and purposefully putting himself in between Jessalyn and the rather curious individual, giving the terminal only a good look of his back. Leaning down slightly to Jessalyn, he whispers quietly to her, "I've got some news..." he stands back up straight, then begins to gesture for her to lead the way.

"The alley oughta be good enough for you," Jessalyn nearly spits into Kyyel's face as he leads her away, and the crowd parts in front of them, most of the male patrons drooling over the fact that one of them has the star of the show on his arm. After a moment she even seems to soften up and not glare at him anymore, though she does glance back over her shoulder at the portly fellow she toppled, who's watching her as she leaves. What was his connection to Simon? It wouldn't be long until he learned from all of Tarba's cronies who she really was....

Gar'thriln watches Jessalyn and Kyyel go out into the alley, and he shakes his head, "Lucky bastard.. her loss i guess" he murmurs to himself. He idly twirls his beard with his finger, thinking. After a few minutes of though he decides to wait around and see if she returns.. so he hunches over the glass of water on his table and get ready for a potentially long wait.

Krinko follows her as she walks off... 'Good, i got a profile at least.' He presses up the store on his 'term.  it flashes. He sets the term back for idle, watching the show... where was Motwa? He was suposed to be back by now. He turns to to see the horansi enter the room again... he could of sworn he hadn't seen him leave... Max menatly shakes his head. 'Now lets see if i could hear what they are saying, hitting the 'record' button again. He pads his way over to the bar, where he takes a seat facing backwards, slumped on the stool, as if staring at the entier croud... no, only this woman... who ever she is...

Glaring down at her, Kyyel simply speaks again; his tone still emotionless, "I've no desire to see where you live," even as they walk past arm and arm, he leads her to a curtained alcove; its purpose for more... discreet matters. Pulling the curtains aside for her, Kyyel gestures into it with a quick tilt of his head, "Get in..." he barely waits for her to move into the alcove before he's in himself, closing the heavy curtains behind him so that neither can be seen by prying eyes.

Looking back over to her from inside the alcove, he glances up with his eyes to her, making note that they still might be watched, even here. When he speaks, he moves closer to her, his voice barely a whisper, "Sorry for that Jessa... a few of the people in there seem to have taken a great deal of interest in you... more specifically... they're wondering who you are." his tones are spoken barely over his breath, "I think one of them in particular is recording our actions out there..."

Inside the alcove, Jessalyn's breath sounds very loud, and she keeps peeking around the edge of the curtain in case they really are being surveyed. "Well, I came here as myself, Kyyel. Tarba knows who... knows what I am. Many of the others do, too. I'm here... voluntarily." She swallows hard and grips the thick material of the curtain more tightly. "I'm worried about Mira. Where are they? What if something went wrong?" she rasps.

Krinko sticks out his arms and rests them on the bar behind him. 'Why are they talking so quietly?' he wonders. Over the com, he make out "...is record..." before the crowd drownds him out again. 'FNARK!' Max's fist nearily pounds into the counter, but he stops him self before he does. 'They know about it. FNARK. Well, his fatness better show up quick. Fnark things that are happening, this has gotten way do dicy for me. Motwa and I better leave before we get our selves killed...' at the reminder of the name, he scans over to look at the Horansi, again alone at the table he was at a while back. Max smiles a rare smile. 'Hey, at least i tought him right. Stay down, and maybe we can survive this...' he focuse back on the curtins again. WHO is She?! What is a Jedi! And why does that word keep coming back to mind?! 'what do i know about this that i'm trying to tell my self...?'

Gripping the other edge of the curtain, Kyyel shakes his head once, then peeks back as well, "Mira will be alright Jessa. Like you said... she's strong. But it's that darn Nikto that she's with that worries me. Him I don't trust at all..." Taking a moment to take a deep breath, Kyyel then looks back out, still keeping his voice low, "But either way... we can only hope they'll be back soon." Closing the curtain again, Kyyel shifts his gaze back towards Jessalyn, then takes another deep breath, "How about you? How are you holding up though?"

"I hate it," Jessalyn whispers, letting her shoulders sag for the first time and rubbing her forehead tiredly. "I hate being looked at. I hate hiding from every drunken Gamorrean..." Of course she could leave any time she really wanted. There was nothing Tarba could do to bind her here, except that she had given her word, and she couldn't leave without her friends -- or without the carbon-frozen remains that still hang in the Hutt's audience chamber.

"I hate having to see... see him there. Every day. There's something so wrong about the way he looks, Kyyel. I can't believe he's gone... I can never get him back now." In the dim lighting she wraps her arms around herself and shivers.

Max, to say the least, is stewing in his boots. Information is power, and right now, he is powerless. A bit here, a dab there, Krinko is frustrated that he can't make out what their saying. His innitial panic over the recording bit over, he HAS to know more. "Hate...him... so... ee ky..." Now he does pound his fist in frustration. 'More, fnark it, i need more than that!' "gone... never...now." What on earth was she saying?! This is what one would call a ancutly frustrating moment. He diels up the com half again... and the noise of the crowd blasts him in the ears, so it is quickly turned down again. 'Great, now i can't hear ANY of what their saying...'

Swallowing softly, Kyyel bites his lower lip, then walks over towards Jessalyn, and upon seeing her shiver, takes his robe off... dirty as it is, and wraps it around her. Afterwards, he places his hands onto her shoulders gently, "I know... I've seen him too. I can't tell you how sorry I am Jessalyn... for him, and for everything you have to endure."

The pilot grows silent for a moment, then shakes his head once more, "You're right... you can't get him back Jessalyn. Not physically anyhow." He looks down to her, fighting back his own feelings of loss as he continues to speak, "But you... you can't dwell on it... or on the past," he sighs, barely whispering, "Neither can I..." For a long moment, he's silent, even as his eyes traverse the networks of scars that line and cover his body. When he speaks again, his voice is a little stronger, but it has a faint quiver in it for the first two words, "We're going to get out of this though. You, Mira, me... and Orson. I promise you that, we're going to get out of here."

Smiling a little bitterly, Jessalyn lifts her head to look up at the other Corellian. It still baffles her that Kyyel took it upon himself to help her; perhaps his attitude was a vestige of the honor and respect that Jedi Knights once received. "Yes," she replies tiredly, but not lacking in confidence. "We'll somehow get out of here. Perhaps Tarba's next public appearance or somesuch...." she muses quietly, then sighs as she plucks the heavy headdress off of her hair and massages her scalp. "The Death Star is gone... Orson is gone. What more is there for me to do now, really, even when we do escape?"

Tired of waiting, Gar'thriln stands from his table and wadles over to Krinko, whos odd behavior has been drawing some attention. He stands a few feet away, with one bushy white eyebrow raised. "Excuse me, umm, sir, but ahhh, what are you doing?" He waves his hand vaguely at the equipment the man has been fiddling with.

Max breaths a sigh of relife as the male starts speaking in an emotionaly driven higher tone... the again boosted volume doesn't hurt either. "You're right... you can't get him back Jessalyn. Not physically anyhow." at this Krino swallows a lump. 'Oh Krahn...' he quickly shakes his head 'He's talking about some one else, not to you. Rember that, isolate your feelings... swallow them' he reminds him self. he listens in as he finishes. But then the real nerf hide... what he was waiting for... ".....ehow get out of here. Perhaps Tarba's next public appearan..." He mentaly fills in the missing parts. 'next public appearace.' Paydirt. 'But can I really turn this over too...'

"Excuse me, umm, sir, but ahhh, what are you doing?" He jerks up. And slowly, steadily, his matte black helment faces the short man. Max the draws him self up to his full two meter size. The com lets out his voice, but in a cold mechanical quality, filtering out the ascent. "What did you say?" he glances down at the smaller man, as if to belittle him. "None business of yours."

Perhaps it was a shadow of the respect the Jedi once held.. perhaps it was simply that Kyyel saw in Jessalyn something that he had lost in his youth, that he was unable to save. Or perhaps it was simply that he could not stand idle while another needed help of any kind. It was doubtful that the Corellian was very sure of the exact reason himself; but whatever his reasons, whatever his motives, they were honest, and true. He does smile though... glad to hear her saying when instead of if.

He squeezes her shoulders tightly, then tilts his head back to one side, "You still have Mira to train, Jessalyn. There's also a multitude of things and beings out in the galaxy that can use your help. Most of all though, you live, Jessa. If nothing else... you let yourself live." He speaks with the same conviction and honesty he used at their first meeting; the same he's used all his life. "No matter what, I'll be there to help you when you need it... as a friend or a guardian, whatever might be required."

Tilting her head, Jessalyn gives Kyyel a curious look, letting the silence spin between them behind the alcove's curtain. "Required," she repeats, bemused. Then the redhead moves closer to Kyyel and begins to muss the collar of the threadbare robe he's wearing. "Here, we mustn't disappoint," she says. Then, smearing the bright red lipstick she wears on the back of her hand, she wipes it all across Kyyel's face and mouth, giggling uncontrollably. "We both know what motivates most men in situations like this." Giving him a meaningful and chiding look, Jessalyn shakes her hair loose before reaching for the curtain and yanking it aside to hop down onto the tavern floor.

At the first sign of the alcove curtain being opened, Gar'thriln abandons his conversation with the voyeuristic Krinko and takes several steps away from him... and several steps towards Jessalyn, and although his legs are short, he manages to get within only a foot or two of her by the time she turns around from the booth. His eyebrows are scrunched together, brow furled. He mumurs in a subdued tone, "Excuse me my dear, I really must speak with you about this Simon Sezirok character."

Krinko Motinons to the horansi for the door, the tall alien falling in behind him as he exits back into the smelly dark streets.

"Well... I'd do it anyway, as a friend for a friend," Kyyel speaks softly even as he flashes her another wide grin. Letting her settle the cloak around him loosely, he stands still while she makes the scene look believable. Even in the seriousness of the situation... Jessalyn's giggle is infectious, and he can't help but chuckle along with her as she smears her lipstick across his face. "Yeah we do..." By the time she throws the curtain wide open, he's already got his role in hand again, and when he steps out from the alcove as well, and he takes a faint... happy hop from the alcove as well, wearing the biggest grin he can muster as he tips his head to her slightly, before walking away, "Might even consider that again sometime..."

"I already told you," Jessalyn says, blinking at the old, short man who approaches her. She begins to push through the crowd away from him, glancing back nervously. "I don't know anyone named that. Can't you see I'm working?" Her path is blocked by a couple of stubborn Gamorreans and her brow wrinkles as she folds her arms and glares at Gar'thriln.

Gar'thriln shakes his head, he is more insistent during this encounter. Perhaps he is more self-assured when not flat on his butt. "I saw you throw back that guard on stage without even touching him. Don't try to deny what you are, i know a thing or two."

Jessalyn's voice drops to a dangerous whisper as her eyes narrow, feeling cornered and forcing herself not to lash out in anger. Her nostrils flare as she inhales a calming breath and spreads her fingers wide. "If that's so, then you know I'm no one to be trifled with. Now please, I don't know who you are, but the show is over for the evening. This Sezirok person sounds like someone you should perhaps... avoid."

"I think i know where he is.. i understand that he is wanted. But i know i can't bring him in myself." He sighs, and looks again at Jessalyn, and his eyes look worried.. perhaps his age has given him a paternal instinct which simply overrides the instinct to get the heck out of there. "Why do you stay? You should be able to fight your way out easily enough, shouldn't you? Is there... is there anything I can help you with?"

"Look," Jessalyn whispers, more gently now as she moves closer and hunches down to be closer to the old man's height, "this isn't the place for such conversation. You know? I stay because I have to... I have to get him out." With no further explanation, she shrugs her shoulders helplessly and looks for another escape route. "Sezirok will destroy himself in time. I don't think it's up to me to do it."

Gar'thriln heaves a sigh and seems about to turn away, but then with renewed resolve, makes one last plea to her.. "Listen.. Tarba has many enemies, not the least of which is my boss. He could have two dozen New Republic marines ready to go here in a day or two. Would that be of any help to you?" Although the man seems somewhat knowledgeable about what a Jedi IS, he doesnt seem to possess a scale of what they are actually capable of.

Did he say New Republic? Jessalyn swallows hard and twists her hands together before darting after Gar'thriln and clasping his shoulder. "No, no. Look, I -- I will tell you more, but you'll have to come back. Now is not the time." Kyyel's suspicions that they were being watched make her look around once again, extending other senses to ferret out prying eyes. But there is no sign of surveillance now that she notices. "Come back tomorrow."

Gar'thriln slowly puffs up his cheeks with air, and slowly lets out out between his lips in thought. Unfortunately, the side affect of this is that he is now giving a Jedi a somewhat loud rasberry. Upon realizing this the man covers his mouth embarassedly with his beard and takes a step back. He nods briskly at what she says, but does not verbally acknowledge it. He moves a few steps towards the door, then turns around and blows her a kiss, saying loudly, "Wonderful performer, WONDERFUL, best i've seen since that gold bikini'd woman! I swear!" He turns around and meanders out of the bar, talking to himself about, well, nothing.