RPlog:One Bad Day

Fountain Square - Plaxton City

The huge buildings in the background threaten to take over this small patch of green that is the center of Plaxton City. A stone fountain -still in place from another time- sits in the center of the square. It depicts a young woman looking into the sky. Water flares around her and bursts into a star pattern ten feet above her head. The inscription at the base of the fountain is written in the aging language of a more romantic time. 'Farewell, for all journeyers that leave this place shall always return to call it home.'

Newly planted, lush trees now dominate the square, shading the area from the mid-day sky above is filled with rain clouds as light rain falls. Deep rich reds, oranges and browns fill the branches, seemingly setting the trees afire with color. Patches of well maintained grass surround the base of the trees, allowing space for visitors to relax or picnic. The central, most famous area of Plaxton City, seems to become more and more park-like with the frequent additions and maintnence. A pair of Marines quietly watch over the area.

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Detjin

From first glance Detjin stands roughly five feet tall, and is well armored. The upper of two sets of ears that independently flick left and right, haunting solid midnight blue eyes, and numerous sensory spikes upon the being's head instantly reveal a Rodian nature.

The bounty hunter's heavily modified armor resembles that of an Imperial Scout Trooper. Its dulled surface is an olive gray, nearly blemish free. Black impervium twin plates run up both his legs, at the shin and calf, then break at the knee and continue up his thighs. His arms are covered in the same fashion, and a solid plate encircles his trunk, breaking at the shoulders.

Hands covered by a black polygrip gloves - the only missing item is the helmet customarily accompanying such armor, although he does wear a comlink headset, attached to which is a pull-down, wire mounted gun site. At each joint where the plates break is a flexible, black kevlar like material, allowing both protection and free movement.

He carries around him an elitist air, proud of his hunting geneology.

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Hiding was all well and good, but there comes a point in time where it does more damage than it prevents. Simon had never actually figured out where that line was drawn, and as he has done in the past, errs on the side of impatience. Cautiously, casually, he makes his way out of one of the alleys near the Sandbar. His right hand is cradled under his left armpit, and a frown furrows his brow as he turns his blue-eyed gaze about the famous (or infamous) Fountain Square of Plaxton City.

Detjin continues to move in Simon's general direction - or at least, where the Rodian had last seen him moving. His dextrous hands work a small chrono attached to his wrist, setting himself a timeframe in which to work. Too long without seeing him, and the target might be lost.

The urgent sense of impending doom had left Simon some time ago. In fact, it had been shortly after he'd managed to evade some of those seeking he and Mira by slipping into the alleyway, giving a brief respite. Too much had happened, too quickly. The Nek attack, the crash, the skirmish with the stormtroopers... it was all going so quickly, and any misstep would be disastrous. With this in mind, Simon continues to observe caution as he moves casually around the square, unaware of the Rodian still pursuing him.

"Markus Lisardis... I hope you are unharmed," he says quietly to himself, shaking his head slightly. Even to his own ears, he sounds doubtful.

The bounty hunter slows his pace, taking a long hard look across the figures in the crowd. As fortune would have it, he catches a movement to his right, and sees only the end of the familiar robes slipping into the shadows of a not too far alleyway. Detjin glances once more behind him, searching for those whose attention he might have attracted, before heading toward the alley. Another minute, and he'll be there.

Escaping the planet was going to be hard, and the more Simon thought about it, the more he kept coming to the inevitable conclusion that unless Simon carved a path through blood and bones, he and Mira were going to have to hole down and wait for some of the tension to die down. It was not unlike when the storms would come to the forest and lay waste to an area with fires from the lightning. You could either find a dry place to wait it out, or charge through the flames and hope it was cooler on the other side.

Holing down, then, would mean that he and Mira would have to find some way of coming up with food. Though there appeared to be trees and birds on this city, Simon was certain that hunting as he was used to would be completely out of the question. With this thought in mind, he stops in his tracks and starts to turn back toward where he'd left Mira. Perhaps she would have an answer...

Detjin moves toward the alley quickly, but must swivel to face the other direction suddenly as his eyes detect, with suprise, the human emerging from its shadows. He glances down, and notices a Jawa staring up at him. "Boonta." he murmers to it, shooing it off. The hunter glances back briefly toward to the alley to see what became of the cowled one.

As Simon moves back toward where he'd left Mira, he brings his right hand up to the hood framing his face. He was never used to wearing the cowl raised outside of a rainstorm... the way it impaired his vision was not something he could tolerate for long. Mira had suggested it might help keep him from being spotted outright, though, and the suggestion had made a good deal of sense. Regardless, Simon didn't have to like it.

Distracted by his attired, Simon fails to notice a shift at the edges of his sentence suggesting that danger may be upon him again. The bounty hunter continues to go unnoticed by the man, and he shifts his eyes left and right, looking for soldiers and law enforcers that may be looking for him as he makes his way back into the alley.

Detjin turns, looking about the alleyway entrance - and sees no one. Despite a group of passing Sarians, no other sentients surround the opening. The bounty hunter's eyes flash with anticipation, as he picks up a slight jog, slowing only as he stands at the lip of the alleyway. A polygrip gloved hand tightens around his modified hunting blaster, and Detjin turns the alley, facing down into its dark recesses, into which he walks. His gaze finds the human, not far ahead. His footfalls are, inevitably, audible, but the scenario is thus far, ideal.

"Mira!" Simon calls down the alley as he moves deeper into the shadows of where they'd taken refuge. Simon's frown deepens as he is unable to see any sign of her. She had made some noises about her home no longer being there, but Simon had chalked it up as being some of her usual, nonsense ramblings. Could she have actually gone running off to find that piece of city garbage?

Sighing, Simon stops once more in his tracks and turns around again. If Mira had run off, then there was little he could do to stop her. He would just have to trust to her instincts as she trusted to them.

Wet gravel and grit crunch under the bounty hunter's boots as he comes to stop, finding himself face to face with Simon. His right hand grip on the hunting blaster, still hung on him by its strap, tightens. The Rodian doesn't speak, rather allows the human to determine the course of action. His expression darkens with quiet anticipation of violence.

Nooto slowly paces his way in from the south. The Rodian takes in the Square as a whole, making a mental note of everything he sees. Too much has been happening in this part of town lately, and frankly he's getting tired of it. Spotting the Marines guarding the area, he heads over toward them to check on how things have been going today. The air is filled with the sounds of the city, but anything out of the ordinary could still be overheard. Both marines salute Nooto as he walks up. He returns the gesture but quickly sends them at ease. " Good day gentlemen. Just checking in to see how things are going this side of town. This square has seen way to much action as of late and I want to make sure this comes to an end." The Marines nod and one reports than nothing unusual has happened on their watch. Nooto is satisfied by this, but hangs around for a small watch of his own.

Finding himself once more face to face with the Rodian bounty hunter, Simon's footsteps come to an end. Pursing his lips, he studies the armored figure of the creature pursuing him. He'd seen Rodians before, but had not had a chance to ever interact with one. Not surprisingly, this wasn't the sort of encounter Simon was looking forward to as an introduction to that species.

"I have no fight with you," Simon says, the words slurred in his own alien accent. From the sound of the man's speech, one might guess that the fellows native tongue was rather song-like. Uncrossing his arms from his chest, he let's them hang a few inches from his side, the shaft of his weapon within easy reach. He continues speaking, "There need not be a fight between us."

Sisko enters the square and looks about before heading to the IGnews terminal.

Detjin is utterly unimpressed. He lowers his head a bit, fixing his gaze upon Simon's visage. The human clearly wants to evade capture - out of the question. Detjin's mouth opens, emitting words in a gravely Rodian voice, "Son boota, kai deel essh na." His free left hand points at the human, and slowly curls its index finger back toward its owner.

Whatever it was the Rodian said, it's clear that Simon didn't understand. It's also clear that Simon puzzled out the meaning behind the hand gesture, and would have none of it. Frowning deeply, he slowly sets his feet shoulder width apart. His jaw clenches and his eyes fix coldly on the countenance of Detjin, odd as the face might be to him.

"Tokaroth, el kolta nokaroth," Simon says, intentionally slipping into his native tongue. It was a formal acceptance of a challenge in his culture, when two men were to come to blows over a dispute. Somehow, it seemed like an appropriate response to the creature's words.

Sisko stares into the IGNews terminal and grimaces a bit. "Damn slow reporters." He looks around quickly to see if anyone heard him.

The bounty hunter guffaws at the gesture. So he wants to fight back, does he? A pleasing development - though the thought of drawing marine attention stays him to an extent. It is with no small effort that Detjin speaks a broken, accent laden Basic, "You will come with me. For collection of bounty. Don't make a stupid mistake." His eyes flash with cruel intent, anticipating a flimsy retaliation.

Suddenly, Simon is reminded of the great hunters from his home world that would seek out the big game in the deepest forest, for not only the thrill of the hunt, but for the trade such pelts and oils and meat brought. There was much honor in such a pursuit, facing such danger head on, with eyes wide open. If Simon were not the 'big game' in this creature's pursuit, he might have a greater appreciation for what he was doing.

"I am not a bolgrath for your spear, hunter," Simon says sternly, flexing the remaining fingers on his right hand. He no longer had any doubt that there would be a fight between he and this creature, but he was in no hurry to make the first move. It was a dangerous stance, but he had no desire to take this being's life.

The time for discussion had come to an end. Detjin had issued his command, and the human resisted. Without hesitation, Detjin's right hand moves from it's blaster to grip his left wrist and... aims it? He turns his left, fisted hand down, and depresses a small lever there - an action answered with a muffled hiss as a tow cable leaps from his outstretched wrist, writhing its way toward Simon. An old bounty hunter's tool, and a rather effective one at that. Detjin's intent is to bind Simon, but must rely on his steady aim to accomplish this first goal.

Simon had expected the attack, had prepared himself for it mentally. With ample speed, his right hand moves to the shaft of his weapon and draws it from his belt... only too late. Despite the mental preparations, Detjin's attack had come from a direction Simon could not anticipate in time, and before he can ignite his weapon, a thick cable binds his arms tightly to his sides. It squeezes, pressing down hard on his ribs and making even breathing a chore.

Fearing to ignite his own weapon and disembowel himself, Simon reaches to the True Source. Drawing upon the energy, he directs it toward Detjin, attempting to bind him in a similar fashion to the way his bound. Detjin's cable is made of rope and steel and hard synthetic materials, while the weapon Simon uses is made up of something less tangible, something more infinite.

An unseen clamp latches about Detjin's arms, chest, torso, and _squeezes_. Detjin is suddenly reminded of his clash with Valak, what was done to his throat - and winces as his diaphram heaves keep the oxygen flowing. He emits a shallow gasp, and bends at the knee, to rest himself up against the nearest alleywall. His mind heaves to break the force bind, but his effort proves further futile. He narrows his eyes, drawing up focus and adrenaline to keep up with the crush. He can only hope his cable is doing as well.

The effort to hold Detjin is plain on Simon's face as beads of sweat form on his brow. The effort to resist the binding grasp of Detjin's cable is also evident, but which one is more difficult for the man at this point is hard to say. As if in slow motion, Simon kneels to one knee as he keeps his eyes locked on the visage of Detjin, struggling to ply more strength into the binding grasp he has applied to the Rodian.

In a shallow voice, Simon says between breaths, "Let... go... and I... let... go." His cheeks crimson, and his jaw clenches tightly again. Slowly, Simon also shifts the cylinder of his lightstaff in his hand.

Detjin's eyes bulge - it feels like the thin scout armor has turned to lead, and the hunter sinks, slowly, to his knees, his eyes locked on the site of Simon, whose image is, incidently, becoming a bit blurry. He slowly reaches for his left wrist...the release clip. He strains a moment - and breaks it off, locking the mechanism in a perpetual bind. "No.... chance, human" he manages before breaking off his voice to gasp again for air. Left with an occupied left arm, a short supply of air, Detjin's last option is the hunting blaster. His right arm begins to move, slowly, in that direction.

Concentration was difficult to maintain when your chest felt like it was in a vice. For all intents and purposes, Simon's chest was in a vice, and the nasty circle between he and Detjin was the force that was twisting it tighter, upon them both. With his breath coming in more shallow gasps than healthy, black spots begin to fleck across Simon's vision, and all that he sees begins to narrow into a tunnel shape, with the Rodian's face at the far end. Doggedly determined not to give up, Simon clings to his grasp on the True Source as if it were a life preserver, keeping him afloat in a raging river of chaos. To let go now would mean being swept away to certain death.

Without thought, the lightstaff in Simon's hand shifts another millimeter, turning in his three fingered grasp so that neither end is no longer directed toward his own flesh. Without the luxury to consider it, it remains unignited in his hand, a potential solution to his dilemma overlooked by the danger of the moment.

Sheer release. The bounty hunter is perhaps more shocked to experience the end of the force bind than he was its genesis. He struggles to his feet, with the aid of his unoccupied arm, his blood boiling at having been brought so close to his end by a meager human. He begins to slowly walk toward the force user, the wrist bind winding up the slack as he nears. "You are..." Detjin manages, despite being quite winded, "..a fool. Submit ... and I'll release you." He rather hopes the human can make out his mangled Basic, having some idea what Simon must be going through. In any case, he lets the hunting blaster slide down his arm by its strap, and grabs it by the grip as it reaches his free hand, leveling the device at the kneeled figure before him.

Losing his grip on the Rodian was inevitable, but perhaps fortunate for Simon. With his concentration so focused on holding the creature, he could spare none for saving himself from the bondage. Plying the energies tentatively toward the bonds holding him, his right hand flexes once more on his weapon, and the realization that it is free washes over him. The moment where despair was about to take him passes, replaced with the hope of a different sort of struggle. A struggle he was more accustomed to.

Bodily, Simon presses back against the cable like a fish caught on a line. Accepting Detjin's words and discarding them just as quickly, Simon sets his feet to the task of putting pressure on the line, trying to force the bounty hunter to pull back on the line. At that moment, his wrist twists, a double snap-hiss sounds, and twin bars of green light spring out. The weapon quickly severs the binding line, and Simon vaults back and away from the Rodian, the lightstaff a blur in his hands in an effort to deflect his attacker's blaster emissions.

Blasted infernal Jedi. Detjin takes the bait, and pulls maliciously back against Simon's feeble tug on the tow line - only to suddenly pitch back, his eyes seeing as he falls, the ignition of a twin lightblade weapon in the hands of his adversary. The cable snaps back like a whip, lashing the bounty hunter's thigh as it returns at the wrist-launcher's beckon, before Detjin can hit the ground. As he falls, the hunter takes his first shot, his face reflecting to a degree the pain registered by the crisscross line of red on his leg. The blaster bolt races blindly toward Simon.

Still in mid-air, the blast from Detjin's gun flies toward Simon like a hawke diving upon a field mouse. With the True Source behind him, however, one of the emerald ends of his lightstaff interupts the path of the volley, deflecting it to pucker a nearby wall. Twisting, turning, drawing in a ragged breath, Simon's feet reach the ground and his arms continue to pump. The lightstaff moves like a thing alive, lighting up Simon's face with it's green glow and burning narrow gashes in the concrete and stone where it comes too close to the ground.

"Enough!" Simon shouts in Detjin's direction. At least, it was intended a shout. Winded and with his arms pumping, his voice is quiet in his own ears.

Detjin scrambles to his feet, quickly leveling the hunting blaster's aim upon the yet anonymous person's position. The bounty hunter begins to walk toward him, blaster grip unwavering. His boots clomp on the muddy, truncated cable left on the ground as he passes over it. He speaks as he moves in an icy tone, "Enough? Enough of you, human." He tilts his head back, indicating the yawning alleyway opening behind him, "You cannot escape this, you are captured, even now." The Rodian is perfectly serious, regarding Simon behind the barrel of a blaster.

"You seem so certain," Simon says quietly, slowing the motions of his weapon as Detjin's blaster remains silent. "You do not have the look of a law man to this land. Perhaps you are the law man's game in this land as I seem to be yours?" As the Rodian continues to take further steps deeper into the alley after Simon, Simon's feet move to take Simon away, only at a slower pace than the advancing hunter's.

For the life of him, Detjin cannot fathom where the human comes up with such uncommon bravery. Or is it foolishness, he wonders. No matter, of course, he must want to feel the burn of a blaster. Detjin remains otherwise silent, left to his thoughts, and fires the weapon singly at Simon, content to stop him in the most efficient way possible. He does, however, cease his approach before taking the shot.

It's a wonderful evening for a walk through Fountain Square. Sidra walks with her hands stuffed in her pockets and a smile on her face, she moves with the cocky gait common to Corellians. She whistles softly to herself and she keeps to the edge of the square, near the buildings, so as to avoid getting run over by pedestrians or vehicles. Suddenly, a strange note interrupts her whistle.. a blaster type sound. She pauses and instinctively puts her back to the wall, looking right and left to see if whoever shot that blaster is nearby. of course, she could just be hearing things, after a night of Corellian Blasters. Sidra yawns and laughs to herself, walking by an alleyway and losing some of her balance for a moment, "Whjoop.. gotta drink a little less.." She half sings to herself.

The pitch in the lightstaff's hum raises and the volume of it increases as it begins to move surely and swiftly once more. Bodily, Simon steps forward into the shot, catching the blast on one of the tips of his lightstaff, batting it back in Detjin's directory like a ball player knocking home a scoring blow. Even as the shot from the rifle opens up a small crater at Detjin's feet, Simon's momentum continues with the deflection, taking him closer toward the Rodian. Twisting about, he plants one foot while sending the other up in a quick and graceful arc toward the creature's head. It was becoming readily clear to Simon that this wasn't going to end without him striking back, and he still didn't wish to take the bounty hunter's life.

Detjin lithely bends to one side, allowing the foot to pass through air, as chips of concrete spray into the air, dislodged by the blasterfire. He manages a few steps back - realizing he is being pushed back, but must, up against the lightstaff. He won't be put off, and fires again - a third shot, directly at Simon's chest...they're simply too close to place a better with the largish weapon.

Blaster sounds, weird humming noises and all manner of strange and unusual things greet the happy, drunken ears of Sidra. She runs a hand through her hair and stumbles past the alleyway without paying any weird noises a second glance. After all, it /is/ a nice night and the bars are open, it could just be special effects. If Sidra was sober, she might think differently, but as it stands.. the sounds are just 'neat' to her. So long as noone shoots her, she'll be happy.

Any minute now, a dozen heavily armed Caspian marines are going to come around the mouth of the alley and blanket the area with fire. It only took one blast from Detjin's gun to echo through the halls to capture the attention of the many surveillance units throughout the Fountain Square, and Detjin had fired several times. Whatever Simon chose to do to the creature, the fight was essentially over, now, and Simon was going to have to flee.

Simon's eyes climb the nearby walls in the alley even as his staff intercepts the latest of Detjin's short range blasts. Winded, with his right hand throbbing and his throat raw from drawing ragged breaths, he makes a misstep when trying to redirect the blast toward a light fixture up above. The red blast careens off the emerald edge of his staff and burns a ragged hole through his left shoulder.

"Aiiiiiiigghh!" is all Simon is able to say as pain wracks him. He twists back and away from the Rodian, turning the staff to try and keep it between he and his attacker.

Detjin flinches as the blade catches yet another bolt, anticipating it being deflected upon him - but felt nothing. His eyes flick to Simon's shoulder, seeing the wound. He immediately speaks, "Now, you learn. Stop this foolishness, and surrender." He lowers his aim to Simon's legs, and fires, heartlessly - to immobilize him. The Rodian will accept nothing but a successful hunt, perchance that take him across the galaxy.

Now she hears the scream. Sidra snaps to attention and she backpedals towards the Alley that she just passed and she peers into it, her hand moving for a holster.. which is empty. She sighs and grumbles.. "I gotta get a new blaster.. probably couldn't hit anything either.." There's no doubt that someone else has probably heard this, but, nonetheless, Sidra jumps up and down, stumbling and almost falling over where she is, drawing attention to herself, "Hey! Hey.. i think someone's.. uh.. hurt somewhere over here.."

The tide had started to shift in Simon's favor, and perhaps he'd actually grown a bit careless, underestimating his opponent. Perhaps the True Source had simply abandoned him. Whatever it was, the first blast that had opened up the wound in his shoulder had startled him, and the relentless attack on his legs had completely opened his eyes to the situation. Looking for a way out of a bad situation, scrambling back and away from the Rodian, his lightstaff is ineffectual in keeping the blasts at bay, and violent energy breaks through his defenses to try and immobilize him.

Even as the blasts reach their target, Simon is not completely without hope. Calling upon the True Source, he directs the flows to his legs, countering the effects somewhat. Pain lances up from where the shots strike him, yet the shots that would incapacitate merely burn uncomfortably. He could still make his escape.

The glance he'd spared toward the rooftops already had told him that escape up was out of the question. Going through the Rodian was going to be impossible, and there were sure to be soldiers waiting on the other side anyway. Back into the alley led to dead ends or worse.

Which, of course, left down. Driving one end of his staff into the stone, Simon spins on his heel, dragging the energy weapon through the stone in a circle beneath him. As the circle closes, the plug beneath him falls away, and he plunges unceremoniously into the darkness below.

.... Some time later ....

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Hideaway Beach - Plaxton City

Surging whitecaps paint themselves onto the powderlike, white sands of this sliver of beachfront, tucked between the two massive bluffs that encircle Plaxton City. The waves have eaten into several places on the shore, forming rocky outcroppings and small coves, but one long strip is laden with pristine, whispy sand. A few Pula trees jut out, throwing their branches toward the tides. The leaves that grace the branches are beginning to pale and turn browns and red. A few hundred meters from shore, a jagged pebble of an island stands defiantly in the surf, holding up an old, unused lighthouse. The dusk sky above is heavy with rain clouds, and rain showers down to drench the area.

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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-grey give the man a stern look at a glance. For facial hair he wears a well groomed goatee and mustache, trimmed short and of the same deep color as the rest of his hair. All in all, the man's demeanor can be summed up in a word: aware.

At a glance, the man before you looks to be in good health. Scrutiny directed toward his right hand, however, tells a different story. While his thumb, index, and middle fingers appear to be intact and functional, the ring and little fingers of his right hand appear to be missing. Two fleshy stubs protrude from where fingers should be. The skin there is pink and tender looking, as if newly grown.

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.

Currently, Simon's attire is soiled. Blaster burns darken areas along his legs, with blackened holes exposing pink, scorched flesh beneath. Another sizeable burn-hole covers his left shoulder, with the material missing in a large, circular area. The wound beneath looks clean, yet angry and red. Patches all over his clothes are dirty or darkened from dampness. Whether the moisture is blood or water, it's difficult to say.

Ethan

Rebellious, dishevelled hair falls lazily into this man's paper-blue eyes. He is tall, with smouldering features and an athletic build. His mannerisms give away his youth and contrast with his bright, ancient eyes. They are darkened by fierce brows and a perpetually brooding expression.

He wears a loose charcoal colored shirt, unbuttoned to mid-chest, and sky-blue pants tucked into deep nut-brown boots with tall black tread. Over his clothes he wears a dark brown hooded cloak. The cowl is splayed across his back, while the cloak hangs open. A crisp brown holster cradling a shiny matte-black blaster hangs haphazardly at his hip. Tucked into the folds of his robe is a twelve inch silver cylinder.

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As the water rolls up onto the beach, Simon sits atop a large chuck of drift wood, with his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes turned introspectively out toward the sea. A trail in the sand clearly marks his recent trek from a distant aqueduct. Left alone to his own thoughts at last, he tries to gather up the fragments of his inner peace and put together some sort of meaning to the events that had recently transpired. Others walking along the beach are beyond his perceptions, just as he doesn't consider the pain lancing up from his legs, or the burning, itching sensation in the hole in his left shoulder. Phantom feelings in his missing two digits tell him that his hand itches, but he ignores that as well. It's simply the sand, the water, and his thoughts.

Ethan comes thrashing along the beach, the rain now falling quite heavily under a sudden storm. The sand underfoot churning up as his boots make their steps.. creating small pockets for the water to fill as he trudges down the beach. He is running full on now, his cowl dropping from his face.. hair slicked wet, water in his eyes. He can sense Simon somewhere up here. The disturbance earlier had seperated him from Luke.. gotten him distracted in the crowd.. He had turned back as if on instinct. In fact, Skywalker had probably felt it too. The cold, stench of someone known to them being hurt. Ethan could almost taste blood at the back of his throat as he croaks out, "Simon!" calling for the man, out of breath and soaked to the bone. Finally he spots the dark shape up ahead.. the imprint of the strange man with the even stranger weapon easily recognizeable to him. He slows his pace, thinking for the briefest of moments that the object of his search might actually be dead. Dead and sitting upright. Another shiver goes up the boys spine. "Simon?" he calls again, his voice fainter.

K'Cusi cheated. He hopped a ride on an NRI speederbike. And now he's waiting by the chowderhouse, a hot, steamy cup of tea in his hands. He takes a sip, and then, Ethan is here finally. He slowly sets out for the pair, the steam of the tea leaving a trail behind him. The boots on his feet leave visible impressions in the sand, his leather clothing continuing to leave the water away from his body. And the hat? He ditched it. His wiry black hair now resides simply in place, slicked back partially. A small wire lead trails from his ear, a black pip placed firmly inside. Occasionally, he whispers softly to noone, yet someone. His face is calm, and tired. He simply... watches.

After having danger at the edge of his senses for so long that day, Simon marvels at hearing his name and not feeling impending doom. In fact, as he turns his eyes in the direction of the one calling him, he blinks through the rain and thinks he actually recognizes the fellow as Ethan. But how could that be?

Slowly, Simon rises from his perch and moves in the direction of the Jedi student. "Ethan Katana? Is it really you?" he calls back. Despite all the other surprises he'd been through that day, it was difficult to believe Ethan was actually there. Perhaps his injurries were more serious than he thought.

"Are you alright? I.. felt a disturbance in the Force." Ethan says, stepping forward to get a better look at him. "We thought you were dead you know.." he starts, his mind flickering back to being woken this morning to an out of control Nek battle dog.. the trainers latching the collars around it.. the zappers hitting it as it growled.. foaming at the mouth.. the reports that Simon had been tampering with the cybernetics of the animal.. the scared guests.. their fear made it hard for him to breath. Ethan blinks at the man, remembering his statements about the animals and how they were an abomination. He moves closer, searching for words.. The image of the Nek being injected with Dilithium Sobarbitol 42. A deadly nerve agent they kept on hand in case any of the animals got unruly. He held it in his arms as it breathed its last. It wasn't the expense. Although that would make any normal man angry. A 200 kilocred animal. That wasn't it. These were his pets. His.. family. The only thing he had to remember the only person that was a true father to him. His birthright. He loved them, and Simon had the gall to destroy them. The bitterness and rage in his belly mixes with the leftover anger from the death of his friends on Tatooine.. wells up within him. He loses himself to it for a brief fleeting moment. Balling his hand into a fist.. "We had to kill the dog." he hisses through clenched teeth.. the fist trembling at his side. "When you open the casing they can't handle it." he adds, his words nearly blurting out of him. // Part of him wondering why he is reacting this way.. Be calm.. Be at Peace.. // "..they aren't wrong. You killed it you fool." He swings, socking Simon flat on the mouth. It makes a wet sort of popping sound as it connects, sending Simon sprawling into the sand at his feet.. his breath heaving in his chest as he stares incredulously down at him.

And then, the leather clad figure of Captain James K'Cusi is upon the pair, and he offers a lopsided smirk as a punch is thrown, "Play nice, fellas. I don't wanna have to call in the CDU forces to break up a fight. Besides," He waves at Simon, "He's had a rough evening." Heh. If rough could describe it. He wanders forth further, until he is mere feet from the two, taking another drink of his tea, some still splashing out as cool drops of rain sputtering into the mug. Now, definately, this is not a normal sight. Two men, going at it, whilest a leather clad man observes, slowly drinking a mug of tea. Now, the long metal edge of a sword is clearly visible next to his left leg, partially hidden by his long jacket, it's blade held in a strange sheath, a thin piece of metal keeping the razor-sharp edge from slicing at the leather, while keeping the metal of the blade visible. A lump is carried on his right hip, another weapon. And other items could be... sensed. Mostly transmitters of different sorts. And other stuffs.

A certain amount of elation had started to creep up on Simon at realizing that it was, in fact, Ethan Katana that was coming up to greet him. Perhaps he would be able to make it off the planet without being incarcerated by the Imperials, Caspians, or alien Bounty Hunters after all.

Then Ethan's words start to infiltrate his consciousness, and the elation turns to dread. This was Ethan Katana, student to the Jedi Luke Skywalker. The Jedi, that glorified the abmonination of his body. The student, that housed a ship full of creatures that were abominations themselves. Simon suddenly remembers the discomfort he felt for the man, and the remaining fingers on his right hand close into what remains of his fist.

Suddenly, Simon's world flashes, rocks violently to one side, and he finds himself on the ground, looking into the rain spattered sand and mud in front of his face with his jaw already starting to ache. Apparently, Ethan didn't care much for Simon, either.

As the stranger comes upon them to ensure a proper fight doesn't break out, Simon shifts so he is kneeling on one leg. He looks back up at Ethan, drawing in slow, calming breaths. The urge to retaliate was there in his mind, but there'd been enough fighting. And, on some level, Simon knew that he deserved whatever he got from the man.

"I'm sorry about the dog, Ethan Katana," Simon says slowly. His accent is made worse by his sore jaw, making him sound as though he was slurring his words around a mouthful of marbles. "I was trying to help, not harm."

Blinking at his balled up fist for a long moment, Ethan turns back to look at the man in the sand, glancing up to stare at the other being.. the one who had called him by name in the square.. "Wha.. who /are/ you?" he says quickly, turning back to Simon, the rain dripping into his eyes, "Simon.. I'm.." he chokes back the rage.. he had known it was there.. had known it intimately in the recesses of his nightmares. He hadn't expected it to come out like this. He inhales a breath, staring straight up into the air.. the water pelting his face.. feeling the cool freshness of it.. the weight of the soaked clothes on his back. "I'm sorry Simon." He kneels, offering the man his hand, pausing, "Look.. I'm here to get you to safety. Whatever it is between us about the Nek's.. let's just forget it for now." He pushes back that bitterness, as if Simon had killed a very close friend.. knowing in his heart, that rage would come out again.. the events at the school had placed it there.. He knew somehow it wouldn't abate until the ultimate cause of that rage had been destroyed at his hand. But for now, he pushes it back, calling upon the Force for calm. Helping Simon to his feet, "You're injured.. can you make it?"

"Captain James K'Cusi, Ethan. NRI sent me to keep an eye on Simon here... and you." He utters simply, peering between the two, speaking between sips, "If you are unable to walk, Simon, I can call over a hoverlimo. I have one nearby." A lightning bolt strikes out through the clouds over the ocean a ways off, the thunder rolling in like a ship exploding in the atmosphere. A ways off still, but it's lightning nonetheless. The rains start to come down harder, winds pushing at the water, forcing it into an angle. The sun... now gone. The only light comes from the city, the occasional lightning, and the lighthouse off in the distance. And a pair of eerie headlines which rests solemnly at the edge of the street near the beach, the light striking out over the beach. A hoverlimo, just, waiting. James peers about for a few minutes, keeping a keen eye out. It was here that his director had been taken by force days before. This time, there were no chances taken. Right now, sharpshooters sat quietly in the limo, and nearby buildings, keeping an eye out for hostile persons. No chances. Never again.

Simon starts to take the offered hand in his right, then stops, shifting his weight so he can put his left hand in Ethan's instead. A certain bitterness of his own is pushed to the back of his mind as the man hauls him up. It was Ethan's creature that had taken part of his hand... the creature he had been trying to free. That it should react as it did was only further proof of the taint of the spirit, caused by the infection of the body. It was as if all that Simon was taught was proven true in his own foolish endeavor to make things right.

"I am as well as can be expected," Simon answers both K'Cusi and Ethan as their questions seem to overlap. For a moment, Simon regards each of the men quietly, considering. "To what purpose are we being watched, Captain James K'Cusi? Is it more of hunters hoping to take me for some prize?"

Another sip, and James wanders over, his hand pulling forth a smal card from a concealed pocket on his coat, the little sheet of plastic offering information listing him as, indeed, NRI. "Just so you believe me," He proffers quietly, and slips it back into his jacket, taking yet another sip from his mug, "Several days ago, on this very beach, the Director of New Republic Intelligence was kidnapped by unknown forces. A sith, we believe. She also managed to get by our forces, and take prisoner a friend of yours... Markus Lisardis." Markus. The other force-user. Kidnapped. Another sip. And then, he empties the remains of his cup, it having been diluted by the rains. Slowly, he bends down, sets it on the ground, and regains his stance, pulling forth a cigstick from a pocket, and a lighter. It is lit, and a long, slow drag is pulled. And then, the smoke slowly drifts from his nostrils, before the rains dissipate it, leaving only a faint resemblance to the eerie remains of the smoke. "I don't exactly want you fellows to die, if you get my drift," He says, blowing the remainders of the smoke out, another lightning bolt striking down over the ocean again, the thunderous blast of noise rolling over the water, and smashing into the sands with nonchalant force.

Ethan blinks at the agent, "Markus was kidnapped?" He glances to Simon quickly, "I thought he was with you? Simon.. where's Mira?" -- His attention slowly turns back to K'Cusi, tiny rivulets of water running down the back of his collar, making him shiver. He mulls the mention of Sith in his mind. His voice going low, "..Who took them?" -- Fact was, Ethan had only met one Sith in his life. The others were mere stories to him.. but he had no doubt as to their existence. Why they had taken Markus along with the Director of Intel was confusing..

The news of Markus's abduction meets Simon with the same full-fisted impact it had had on Ethan. Blinking against the rain running from his matted down hair into his eyes, Simon stares an incredulous stare at K'Cusi before looking back at Ethan.

"Mira and I had come here looking for Markus," Simon explains feebly, his frown furrowing his brow. Suddenly, all of the parts of his body that should ache does so, and he lets out a slight groan. He continues, speaking once more to K'Cusi, "Bazil McKenzie was taken as well? And their abductor was a female?" Simon pauses to lick his lips. He did not know what a Sith was, but the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach brought forth an image of a woman... a woman that he and Markus had run into. The Hunter. It had to be her. "Where did they go?"

"We believe that they were taken by a woman who went by the name..." James starts, before taking another drag. He lets the answer out with the smoke, "Of Kacela Ulara. We haven't had much luck finding her in our databases of sith, which means it could only be a cover. Very few distinguishing features, whatsoever." A hand is pulled up, bearing a datapad, with the image of Kacela upon it. Fancy that. No cat eyes. And it doesn't exactly look like Morganna. "She approached the Director on Coruscant several weeks ago, several times. She was also under his surveilance for suspicions having to do with the bombings. Of course, he didn't find anything." Another drag, "Then... he got kidnapped."

Slowly, he peers about slightly, and then continues, another bolt of lightning streaking out closer, "We don't know where they were taken, yet. Our teams have been working around the clock, trying to get their escape vector from system scans. Not very easy, unfortunately. Caspar is not very forgiving. I just thought you fellas ought to know. And might want to..." He pauses, trying to find the best word, "Help?" A dark figure moves by the hoverlimo, peering out at the trio, as well as looking around the beach. James is distracted for an instant, as whispers are uttered into his ear, and then his glancings turn to the two before him again, "We must leave. Suspicions have arisen regarding you incident near the square, Simon. There is a safehouse to the north we have. I suggest we go there now, before the CDU tries to arrest us."