RPlog:A Plea from Orson

Cleared Area (Before Main House) - Karrde's Base - Myrkr

Central to the base is this open area between the main buildings is this open expanse, with its meticulously trimmed bluish-green grass and the occasional dotting of wildflowers. When necessary this area can be used for anything from special (and discreet) picnic-type gatherings to the organization of certain cargo before and after shipping. Often the clearing is the location of Karrde Group employees exercising, playing some simple lawn games, or simply enjoying the outdoors in between duty shifts. The main house is just to the southeast of the clearing; far to the west is the hanger, while the barracks are situated against the trees to the north.

The Players:

Orson This stocky human male stands at only about five feet, thick arms, chest and fingers making up somewhat for his diminutive height. Dark hair is kept in a utility-conscious style, clipped short to his round skull - prominent specks of white hair pepper the sides. A too thick brow and angled face help the impression of heaviness about the figure; the face is complete with a broad nose and large square teeth that appear to be just a little crooked when his wry smile reveals them. Small folds of skin around his eyes and mouth indicate more years than his vigorous face would otherwise show. A heavy jacket of gray-black coarse fur resembling mohair hangs on his broad shoulders, fastened halfway up his chest. A black shirt of simple material is visible beneath the jacket. A thick and heavily starched pair of dark trousers billow so much that it's hard to determine the individual pant legs, deep pleats making it look like a large billowing skirt. A strange half-boot lends support to his toe and heel, but leaves the tops of his feet exposed like a sandal. A copper-colored ring encircles his head with a dark round unfaceted jewel set over his forehead. A narrow crossbar angles out to either side from the crown, looking almost like antennae except they support a tiny row of fine chains and dangling costume jewels.

Jessalyn The composure of this young human woman is probably the most striking thing about her. Though otherwise unassuming, her expression is one of surprising coherence and calm, belied only by the slightly mischievous gleam in her leaf green eyes. Shining dark red hair falls in unruly silken waves down to the middle of her back, framing her wide cheekbones and smooth, pale skin not as fragile as most redheads'.

She is wearing a loose, cream-colored tunic made out of some light material, scooping low beneath her startlingly white throat and showing off a thin silver chain set with a rough but shiny blue-green stone that rests just below her collarbone. The tunic is belted at her narrow waist and the full sleeves end just above her pale slender wrists. She wears a pair of tight, dark brown pants tucked into knee-high black leather boots, both complementing the best pair of legs in ten parsecs.

"Hey."

The voice is terribly close, loud by way of its nearness and not by a special effort of its owner. It's only Orson. He probably wasn't trying to sneak up on Jessalyn, but he might have succeeded. From what he had learned of the Jedi so far, accidentally sneaking up on one wasn't something you had to be concerned about so he hasn't made any special effort to announce his presence.

"You're feeling better?" he asks, coming up alongside her and looking around the clearing. "What're you doing out here?" Orson has had nothing but questions for the members of the Jedi group so far, and he's clearly not changing his plans today.

Under any other circumstances, Jessalyn would have been well-aware of Orson's presence before he purposefully let it be known he was approaching. But she was completely lost in thought, sitting atop a small rise in the clearing with her knees drawn up to her chest. A patch of yellow wildflowers grows nearby, their long stalks beginning to rise above the manicured grass. And with no Force-senses to alert her otherwise, Jessa finds herself somewhat startled at the proximity of the familiar voice.

She looks up, squinting against the sun and shielding her eyes with her hand as she smiles at Orson. "I'm just resting. I took a little walk earlier. Trying to figure out what's keeping us from being able to sense the Force around here. It's very bizarre." Originally, Jessa had reacted with fear and anger at the occurence, but now there is a matter-of-fact tone in her voice, curiosity tinged with concern.

Orson's hand drops to his side as he makes the last couple of steps up to the rise, letting his fingertips drag through the yellow petals with an almost distant wistfulness. It's really reflex for him and he never looks down. "I wish I could help you. There's so much of the Force I don't understand." He sits as well, reaching up to remove his antennae-crown and place it in the grass beside him as he crosses his legs.

"I have to admit, Jessalyn. I never thought I would see such amazing power - it's magic. I didn't believe it, when I saw Skywalker in action. And I didn't want to believe, even that day on the beach. I still don't understand these things you can do." He leans back and plants his hands in the grass to act as supports for his weight, tilting his head back to let the sun light up his roughish face. "I'm supposed to be writing reports, for my job. Of things I see and do. But these things - I can't put that in a report. I wouldn't know what to say."

Jessa lets her chin drop on top of her knees as she hugs them to her chest. The trees nearby sway in the soft breeze, their leaves disturbed by creatures that leap and climb on their willowy branches. It reminds her a bit of home, and she's grateful that at least this planet is pleasant enough to be hiding on. "I was that way, too. I refused to believe Luke when he first told me I could be a Jedi. There was no way I could do the things I'd seen him do." She smiles at the memory, even as it brings a painful lump to her throat. Everyone was asking her the questions she herself needed to ask Luke. She felt as if she had become an untethered boat, and even though Jessa has complete trust in the Jedi Master, the nagging question lingers in the back of her head.... Why didn't -he- rescue her?

Shaking off those thoughts, Jess considers Orson thoughtfully. "Do you still find it all difficult to believe?"

"I guess it's selfish," Orson says contemplatively, bringing one hand up to his face to examine a few pieces of grass he's plucked. He looks past the contents of his hand at focuses on the red-haired Jedi. "But I find it as hard to believe that I'm here now, working for Karrde, doing the things and meeting the people I've met." He looks back to a slender blade of grass and brings it very close to his face. "I wonder if this would have been good enough," he murmurs cryptically.

The mechanic lets some space between his fingertips, and the grass spirals away slowly. "It's hard to believe. But yes, I do believe. I've been considering - authoring some sort of document on the phenomenon. But you know ..." He pauses and lets his eyes latch onto some minute detail of her clothing before he finds her gaze, "It doesn't seem right, somehow. To tell."

Stretching one of her legs out in front of her, Jessa tilts her head as she turns to face him more easily, the sunlight glinting gold off her dark red hair. "Like a magician giving away his tricks?" she chuckles. "I don't know... it seems that no matter what kind of logical explanation there is for the Force, there will always be some... esoteric mystery about it. I was scared of it at first, but I've grown to love the intense connection a Jedi has with the rest of the universe." She allows her gaze to be held by his, and pauses, curious to his reaction. For some reason he does not seem typical of Karrde's men.

Orson watches her leg extend, boot heel cutting a flat swath into the grass. "Yes, yes, that's what I mean precisely," he replies quickly, voice still quiet. "Something esoteric that I've been given the chance to see. It would do it dishonor somehow to go around telling everyone about it." No, he's not typical of Karrde's men at all. That fact has weighed heavily on him in the past few weeks: the day on the beach marked a certain sort of split between he and Karrde. Not as much as chasm in their relationship perhaps as a splitting of facades. Orson was free here, to talk as he wished and simply be himself. For Karrde, it was a little more painful, and would probably take a while.

"But even as I say that ... I need to ask your help. A favor." He purses his lips and watches her critically. It's his turn to watch.

Jessalyn's smile is kind as she nods her understanding, happily surprised at the candid conversation they are having. It was clear that Karrde's opinions and Orson's were far different. As he poises his question, she arches her brows curiously. Help is one thing she's always willing to offer, even if the consequences aren't always pleasant for herself. "Of course, what is it?"

Orson leans forward, his tone becoming a little more business like. But, there he sits, cross-legged in the grass with a woman, playing with flowers. "I met a woman on Tatooine - on the first trip, when I left from the asteroid on business. I've known her, somewhat, for a while." He looks down the hill at the encampment, as if he's about to impart some secret knowledge to the woman. His voice is quiet, almost in a whisper. "I've not wanted to share this yet, because, well, I haven't told Karrde yet. I'm afraid, well, with all that's going on, he wouldn't approve."

Orson licks his lower lip and swallows, starting again. "She related a story to me. About being chased in a landspeeder by a crazy man on a speederbike, pursued because she and her group were in the possession of a small cube. She crashed." The mechanic averts his gaze, sincerely touched by some sort of concern for this woman. "Everyone was killed in her vehicle. She lost the cube, and about three months of her memory."

He examines Jessalyn's face once more, leaning still closer. "The description she offered, the details. I believe it to have been this Cort Stasus fellow."

Jessa, too, gazes toward the base, trying to forget the last encounter with Karrde, and leaning in closer as Orson whispers. "Cort Stasus... the one that Simon mentioned," she murmurs. "I believe he was a student of Valak's himself. I admit, I'm wary about the ties Simon has with these people, Orson. I don't want to lose him as an ally." She avoids discussing any details about the Dark Side and the potential for danger she senses in him. Things are confusing enough as it is. "What is this cube that he was after?"

The distance between them has been pared down to just a few feet, and while certainly an intimate conversation, someone from afar might believe the lack of distance carries a different sort of connotation. "I wanted to wait until I found you alone," he admits, bobbing his head at her. "I trust Simon a little, I suppose. At least his sense of duty to you. But ... I -know- I can trust you." The short, unattractive man grimaces slightly and presses through to his next sentence, formulating it on his tongue. She would probably be able to understand that Orson's ability with language decreased at a rate proportional with the intimateness of his conversation. But explaining all that would only make it worse. He was sure he didn't feel -that- way about her, but, she -was- mostly a stranger and didn't deserve the level of trust he had already given her. She had his trust anyway, despite all that.

"She thought it was a focusing or teaching cube. She described it as having some strange writings on it. This person was also under the impression that it could kill millions of people." Orson looks down and nudges an insect clinging to a weed with one of his thick fingers. "If that's the case, I thought I should tell you. If it's not the case - she seemed on the verge of some sort of mental difficulty - she needs help. I thought that, if this Cort fellow had damaged her mind ..." His voice trails off and he lets Jessalyn's assumptions and willingness to help fill in the blank.

The description of the cube sounds somewhat familiar, reminding Jessalyn of the puzzle that had lured her into its own lethal trap. It was a Sith construction, which explained Valak's interest in it. Perhaps this device as well was another kind of destructive Sith toy. These thoughts roll about in her head so that she hardly notices at first the sudden difficulty Orson is having in relating the story to her. Nonetheless, she's touched and grateful at both his display of trust and compassion, and she impulsively reaches to squeeze his hand. "I would like to meet her," she says quickly, sensing that this is yet another unknown piece of the puzzle. "And if I can help her, then I will be glad to."

Orson takes on a passive role in this hand-holding and he squeezes her hand back a little but releases it quickly enough. His hands are broad and rough, but he has a gentle touch. The ace mechanic smiles a bit, appreciating the clear show of her support. "I'll bring you to her," he pronounces solemnly. "As soon as we have an excuse to leave on some errand, I'll line up the meeting. She was to send me a message and attach her drawing of the device, so I'll share that with you as soon as I get it."

Orson draws back and looks down the low hill to the compound. "In case there's some trouble, or whatever - that would separate us and we get distracted onto something else ... find her. Her name is Eva Sargent. She works for a company called FLS, on the planet Caspar. I know that she's a good person." There's activity in the compound. A small group of his mechanics coming out after a break, making a ruckus as they stomp to the maintenance hangar. There's no time to tell Jessalyn the story of how they worked together as strangers and helped rescue the lost slave horansi. He could look at her face and tell that this had been sufficient. There was resolution in Jessalyn, something steely that wasn't bent by money or circumstances, it was clear. There was more to this 'Force' than he knew.

Hearing the sound of the others entering the clearing on their break, Jessa glances up as she shifts, crossing her legs and resting both her hands in her lap. "All right," she murmurs in response to the information about Eva Sargent, information she files carefully away for now. "I'll find her and help her." Chewing on her lower lip, she glances then at Orson, expecting him to rise to meet the others in his maintenance crew. "I know I'm not Skywalker, but I'll do what I can."

But Orson doesn't rise to meet them, instead just shifting his seat and watching them go. He works all kinds of crazy hours that puts most of the younger workers to shame, feeling his way through complicated projects in less time with less rework than the others. So, he doesn't feel compelled to help them, and doesn't feel bad when he disappears for work on his side projects or personal entertainment. Like his last surfing trip ...

"That's all I would expect," he says honestly, letting his eyes sweep along the ground nearby. After a long pause, he leans far to the side and pulls something from the grass, returning it to Jessalyn. The sun is low in the Myrkr sky. And while the planet is characteristically humid and warm, it's a fair evening and the light playing down on her red hair makes it seem positively golden. "Here," the squat man comments, touching her knee and withdrawing his hand. He's left a short weed there, its back broken by a rough picking. The stem is narrow and frail, its edge feathered with soft hairs that might have one day been thorns had it not been taken so soon. A small cup-shaped flower caps off one end, creamy white with bolder yellow at the tips. Orson frowns, both at the quality of the gift and the clumsiness with which it's been offered.

With that, he stands, sweeping off his pants and scooping up his copper crown, letting it hang loose in his hand. "Thanks," he says with a sudden degree of urgency and he turns toward the maintenance hangar.

A soft little giggle escapes Jessalyn's lips as she looks down with some surprise at the token left upon her knee. She covers her mouth with one hand and picks up the flower with the other, appreciating the subtle colors and the fragrance as it dips close to her nose, coloring it with a sprinkle of yellow pollen. It might seem strange that the young Jedi would sit there and give a weed the kind of attention more deserving of a well-bred rose, but it's not out of character for her at all. "Thanks!" she calls cheerfully to him, even as she watches him hustle towards the hangar and away from her. At that moment she smiles broadly, relieved that she has a handle on her emotions once more... and becoming somehow aware, through the Force or otherwise, that the birth of an important alliance had just taken place.