Log Cast: 7/31/97 Log Cast: Jaeinn Blix, Shenneret Veery, Paul Nighman, Marcus Crowley (NPC), Ozzle, Donivan Log Intro: As is her wont whenever she's been on a new planet thus far, Shenner has settled down to explore the streets of Plaxton City on Caspar -- looking for where she can play her music, and see what she can learn about the planet's people in the meantime. Without knowing quite else what to do as long as Paul is occupied with the task of trying to find his ship -- and uncomfortable with the notion of spending any more time than necessary in the company of Marcus Crowley, who, she is sure, has no idea what to make of _her_, Shenner takes some consolation in her familiar music. And although the reaction to her public playing on Caspar is not quite as satisfying as the reaction she'd gotten on Etti IV, she does, nevertheless, attract an audience.... ---------- Blix comes from the landing pad. Blix has arrived. The quiet sound of a woman's voice pours soft upon the wind -- carried on by the swirling breeze about you, an almost haunting flow of silken tongue flits fairylike through the mid-morning air. Of course, the crowd being thin as it is this time of day, the voice isn't quite muffled as it would be by the thrumming crowd pouring to and from the bustling city tand spaceport complex. A simple melody, drifting along with the song of the birds that chime but a few hundred feet away among the trees of Plaxton proper, twining with the silvered notes... Melody, it would seem, already exists in this place -- being produced by a guitar with a rather clarion, carrying tone to it. A straightforwardly-chorded song with a driving rhythm weaves itself in and out of the rest of the sounds that flow through the complex, as a slim redheaded figure sits parked by the instrument's open case, lean hands calling the song out of the guitar's strings. The small droid stops to listen. Shenner leans over her guitar, evidently communing quite contentedly with it; she's grinning a bit, eyes half open, keeping a fraction of attention on the open case beside her and the handful of credits scattered within it, between the two flutes lying within as well. Blix rubs at eyes the shade of burning suns as she steps from the starport pad, a tiny form struck as oddity among the taller forms of the straught few about her. Slim, she stands, this tawny form, a gunship sheated in the taut black of a neolar bodysuit -- almost as if her athletic form were clothed in the very fabric of the Void itself. A drape of cocoa is flung over one shoulder as she walks, jackboots pounding out a quiet staccatto on the shimmering duralloy of the walkway she navigates. Sleepy. Damn straight, sleepy. Chestnut hair drawn up in a tail behind her, pouring like a font, and arms sloped and gently corded glittering with the crimson shine of metalloy ink. Perhaps the guitarist people-watches in between her chords; perhaps not. Most of her attention seems on the music, as she rolls out a few more measures of steadily rolling chords before drawing them to a firm, bright close and stretching her fingers out to rest them, first with one hand, then the other. Blix stops for a moment, letting those pools of molten aurum fall upon the red-haired girl sitting by the case, the tool of her begging cradled lovingly in slim arms. Well, now, that's certainly something she's not seen in a long time. Not sinceTattooine, that is. Shenner lifts a pair of casual green eyes to what appears to be her audience of the moment, and tenders a one-sided smile by way of laconic greeting. "Hiya." Blix lets the jacket drop and pool like butter beside her; of course, the battered hide tends to make its customary rustle of complaint at being treated as such, but as always her attention is focused elsewhere. Red-gilt arms cross before a modest bosom caged in black, the runes inscribed on her bare limbs swimming with every slight twitch and pull of her muscles. "Hello yourself, sweet." The redhead -- young, slender, more angle than curve -- turns the grin into a bit of a smirk at the word 'sweet', but doesn't seem particularly affronted. "What's yer pleasure? Somethin' fast, somethin' slow?" Her hands return to the guitar strings, evidently ready to produce music once more. Blix chuckles. "Hon, you ain't can play what I need t' hear right now," she says, leaning a bit against one of those ever-convenient cargo pallets that tend to be strewn about a place like this. Just one more concourse on one more planet, nothing more...a dulling cast creeps across the brilliant gold, and she shrugs. "Doubt it right serious." Dark red eyebrows crook over measuring green eyes for a moment; the kid apparently chooses not to comment on possible interpretations of _that_, and simply says amiably, "Suit yourself." She starts to play again, something different this time, a liquid smattering of notes a bit too random to be real melody, but pleasantly harmonic nevertheless, pitched low enough to not hinder conversation. Blix looks at you for a moment. Paul_Nighman comes from the landing pad. Paul_Nighman has arrived. Marcus comes from the landing pad. Marcus has arrived. Shenner(#3773POnACF) To a passing glance, this individual might be summed up as 'young male human', and certainly the walk, stance, and mannerisms seem like those a brash young man would have. But a closer observation can show that this is clearly a young woman, albeit a lean one, with slight and delicate curves. When she is standing, she is about 5'6" in height. Her rust-colored hair is cut in an approximation of a masculine style, but must not have been cut lately, for it is full and soft, with hints of waves; one heavy forelock frequently dangles across her brow. She speaks and sings with a low husky voice, and regards the world with a pair of large, luminous, and sharply intelligent green eyes. This human is clad in blandly unobtrusive garb, the kind you might expect any common laborer or traveller to have on: a simple white tunic with a turned-up collar; a heavy, padded vest of dark grey, with multiple pockets; breeches of a slate-blue hue, tucked into scuffed but serviceable calf-high boots of a neutral tan suede. Over all of this is worn an overlarge brown flight jacket, big enough that it tends to obscure the utility belt at her waist -- and the blaster holster. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => 700 Galactic Standard Credits Funny how the smaller humans get, the more ferocious they get; damn if the females aren't the worst. Nothing more could compound that than this lady, miss Jaeinn Blix. Five feet, three inces of lean, muscled, razor-edged wit coupled with a face as sweet as a Corellian sunset. Set into a slim, pretty face, nose only gently upturned at the end and lips a happy medium between thin and full, her eyes shine bright and golden like droid's plates, reflecting your gaze with warm, almost haunting air; spilling like a waterfall of glistening ink her jet-toned hair falls attractively to her shoulders, encircling her delicate throat. Over her frame she wears a loose, sleeveless top that bags from lean shoulder over a tight-fitting polymer bodyglove, also sleeveless; pouring like mere darkness over her supple frame it melts down powerful legs into a pair of thigh-high hardcase boots that look like they were shined with a coat of brilliant black sensor reflective. A vented jacket of battered, cocoa-toned leather hangs off her shoulders as well; the long, narrow chrome snap-plates along its breast lapel shine dully as it hangs open. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Medpack => Vibro-Blade Blix leans her head gently against the silvered crates of alloy stacked high on the grav pallet; one cheek flatterns a little against the thing, the metal cool and stinging against her flesh, choosing simply to listen with the same dulling sheen to those brilliant eyes as she lets the music flow into her senses... Marcus, turning to the man at his side sighs softly. "I'm telling you Paul, I don't -know- any more than that. If I could, I would tell you, of course. The damn bloody doctors don't have a clue." He shrugs thoughfully. "All of the universities research equipment is at your disposal, of course." Enough of a bard to know when to just shut up and play, the redheaded youngster eyes her current audience thoughtfully, and settles into a song at last. This tune's a simple one and sweet, in four four time, with the melody plucked out on one hand and accompanying chords strummed on the other. She hums throatily, her voice blending in with the guitar, taking her time with the song. Moments....they pass quietly as the redhead sits and hums, the voice and steely chords roiling through the small woman's mind to blur and mingle with the essence of whatever dreams may be rushing there. Quietly, with the timid constance of the breeze that creeps in on summer nights, her own lips gently part to let free a soft trickle of silvered gravel...words like mirrored shards falling from those dark petals to melt into the air itself. The familiar voice, familar chords catch Paul's attention, his eyes leaving the face of his colleague and straying about the area curiously, a small pleased smile curling the corners of his mouth. "They'll get a thorough workout, I promise you that Marcus," he replies, the lines of face softening unbeckoned. The stress and irritation that had marked his features slipping away in the face of the soul-touching music. His fingers flex, automatically wanting an instrument in his grasp. "Shai'in del harii....kael naren d'ai fenn....kurs den'enn ai shlei thu'doas..." Curling, flowing through the ether about her, the small woman leans oblivious to the world about her now, the very air now not wreathing her form -- simply the cloak of the music, of time and of memory, calling to her like the siren song of so many years long past. Shenner's eyes widen, as this stranger before her begins to sing. The girl's guitar doesn't falter, though, and simply modulates the notes to try to follow these odd words, unobtrusively, laying down an interweaving blanket of chords beneath the syllables. Marcus coughs softly, catching the abrupt change in demeanor. One minute barely contained anger and frustration, and now gone, melted away. Looking about without comprehension, Marcus slows up a bit, then turns to catch up when he realizes that Paul has not stopped. "Ah, Paul, Paul just a minute ..." Blix's eyes close, now....sheating the dullard novae her voice pours on, dissolving crisp and quiet into the air as her words fall with the sudden gravity of millenia long past. "Shai'in....raili anseli...deo'ann kriel'stri ar bo gean..thas...." The smile flickers, falters, fades. The eyes that looked with pleasure narrow with surprise, curiosity. The ancient Corellian words float easily on the air, their meaning clear as the night sky above them, the words like the stars they mention sparkling with the singers clear tone and strong emotion. His pace slows, but his approach continues, heedless of the voice calling out his name hesitantly behind him. It seems to Shenner that, for all that she has absolutely no idea what this woman is singing, a minor key is appropriate. She weaves one into her guitar's raindrop chords, sending ripples of sound out from her strings, even as she eyes the stranger before her. "Baenh'ri ahstri rian'ga alli shoann....kyan stoir hri v'eii shai'in....aran ga 'stromhael." The song fades, suddenly, into the shimmered sigh of a maid long past her moment of sorrow -- or then, perhaps that of one still living it. Tawny lids rise again, theeir fine-drawn lashes letting free the auric glory of her eyes, and she smiles down at the girl and her weaving. "Kai--I mean...thank you." As the woman turns, Shen smiles a bit, bemused, but stilling her instrument's voice with a professional's instinctive timing, for all that a professional musician probably wouldn't be playing guitar here. "'Salllright," she answers, by way of 'you're welcome.' Catching up with the lanky Corellian, Marcus reaches to touch him, then hesitates. Catching the focus of Paul's eyes, the intensity of his gaze, he asks, in a firmer voice, "Paul, what is it? What is she saying?" Casting a glance over his shoulder, he stares at the historian with an expression wreathed with intrique, but not distress. "It's ancient Corellian is what it is ..." His gaze flickers back and then forth. "A song, a love song," he adds, summary taking the place of translation. Blix lets one slim hand rise to pull the tail free -- jet-toned silk falls about her face like a veil. "I'm sorry to interrupt your playing, hon. Sometimes....just carries me away." "Ancient Corellian, but Paul -no- one speaks ancient Corellian any more," Marcus protests. "Hey, no problem," the kid says. "I made my credits for the day anyway." Another quirk of a grin, and the green eyes are plainly curious, though the redhead doesn't voice the 'what was that?' within them. Blix shrugs. "What can you do, eh?" Stooping to pick up her jacket, again the bare arms ripple with the swirling flow of those runes picked out in metallic bloodtone...her gaze flicks up as she does, smiling a tad as she reads the unspoken question there. "Ever hear that one?" "Can't say that I have, but then again, I ain't been too many places yet," comes the redhead's steady reply. Her hands strum a bit at the strings. And finally, curiosity bursts. "What _was_ that?" Turning to regard his friend, Paul chuckles lowly. "Well, guess again Marcus. Now there are at least -two- people who speak the language still." Shifting his gaze and his stance again, Paul surges forward toward the two women, one known and one not. "Probably more than that really." "Tre'leshan Creot'lant. Ancient Corellian Shen," Paul informs her warmly, smiling at her and then raising a curious gaze to the woman before him. Ozzle comes from the landing pad. Ozzle has arrived. Ozzle enters into the city. Ozzle has left. As Paul walks up, Shen's head lifts, and the kid abruptly straightens where she sits, a shine coming subtly into those green eyes. When the older Marcus is seen beside him, though, the redhead seems to dim a little, looking shyer, and she clambers to her feet. "Hiya Paul... uh, Dr. Crowley..." This latter to the older man beside the Corellian. Blix shrugs a bit, still looking at the girl. "Actually, it's Shai Deorunn, but they're similar tunes." A smile is offered to the lady there. "n old, old sailor's song, miss. Very old." Propping the guitar before her and resting her hands atop the end of its neck, the redhead looks vaguely sheepish as she mutters, "Don't hardly know _current_ Corellian, much less ancient." She flicks another half-grin at the older woman, though, and adds, "You know any very old sailors who'll teach me that, just tell 'em I'm their bard." Blix holds a hand up with an impish grin. "Well, love, I'm not Kuros here, but I could teach you a few." Toddling up next to Paul, Marcus gives Shenner a wan half smile and a polite nod. "Miss Veery," he intones pleasantly enough. "Paul, we really should be heading to the Academy," he reminds him firmly and patiently. With a soft chuckle, Paul folds his arms together. "Well, many of those songs were actually written by the Kurla, the abandoned wives of these star-sailors," he adds for Shenner's benefit. Extending a hand to the raven haired woman, Paul introduces himself with a charming smile, "You have an excellent grasp of a very rare language," he murmurs appreciatively. "Paul Nighman." Looking back at Marcus with a slight frown, Paul's expression drops slightly. "Meet you there?" Blix rises, and the glyphs shine again across her flesh as she takes up her jacket. "Jaeinn Blix," she says with a bit of wry humor there, "And it's not exactly all that rare to this star-sailor." The girl with the guitar lifts her gaze to Paul and smiles a little at him, propping her instrument before her and resting a hand atop the end of its neck. "D'yah hafta be an abandoned wife to sing it?" she puts in dryly. Blix gives the man a slight shrug, leather creaking against her shoulder as the jacket settles into being slung across it. "Aran...de aishta kura len fah'ra kann?" Blix slips the jacket on, the curling glyphs hidden by cocoa leather; she returns her attention to the girl sitting there. "You been here long, girl?" Shenner grins a little, glancing at Paul. "A week and a half, give or take a few days," she answers, leaning over to clear some of the loose change out of the guitar case. Noting the tattoos with casual interest, Paul files the symbols and words in his mind for future reference. _Religious_ he muses, _definitely a believer_ Responding easily to her, the words as familiar as his native tongue, "Re'lash te ni ariont ro teo dorm eo'rorn, ne? Tyeroik doir soke'sie todkro." Blix shrugs again, the action meticulously engineered to seem perfectly negligent. "If you say so, hon. I just see it as birthright." A stretch, and the lithe, athletic form ripples catlike beneath the sheer black of its casing -- every contour visible for but a moment as the neomer pulls taut against her skin. "Known it since I was wee." A soft cough is repeated. "Paul, we'll talk more about this later, yes?" Marcus asks him uncertainly. Turning once again distractedly, Paul mutters, "What? Oh yes Marcus ... later." He considers the man's somewhat disappointed gaze, hearing the words that are not spoken aloud. Blix says, "At aaaany rate...." Blix gives her shoulders a good shrug, letting the jacket settle. "This one should be headed back to her ship for some serious naptime." Shenner chews her lip a moment, and then scoops out the rest of the credits in the guitar case, ferreting them away into this pocket and that in her vest. The instrument is then laid gently there, and then the redhead looks up to the woman. "I'll hafta ask you 'bout that song if I see you again, I guess...." Marcus enters into the city. Marcus has left. Blix smiles a little; from her hand five silvered discs fall, thumping quietly into the case. "I'll be around, honey. Just call me if you need me." Shenner blinks, grins, and says cheerfully, "I'll do that. Where should I call?" Blix shrugs. "Well, the Voidstalker's parked on Kichnar....but if you see me here, or you wanna take a ferry up, you're more than welcome company." A nod cast to the other man. "This one, too." Watching the departing back of his colleague, Paul frowns, absently biting his lip. Turning about, his expression clears from years of practice. "Oh, well it was interesting to meet someone who's not an academic that knows ancient Corellian," he replies. "Perhaps we will meet again sometime ... swap some kri'lans." Blix smirks. "Perhaps. Then again, I have some stories make your hair run whte, ol' son. Nice meeting both of you." "Likewise," the redheaded kid replies. Blix gives herself another stretch -- the taut pull of the sheath about her reveals all too well the span of flesh beneath. In every detail, that is. "Unnn...time for me to retire. Take care, the both of you. May Kalla lend to thee her grace." Shen quirks her head, curious again, but finally simply settles for saying in reply, "Uh... 'night..." Crouching down on his haunches next to Shenner, Paul smirks at the woman. "Got a few of my own ... guess we'll have to swap some Corellian brandy and see who's got the worst," he offers with a sly grin. "And may she bear up your troubles," he offers in return, smiling over at Shen. Blix turns; the gunship done up in black and tanned leather wheels on one jackbooted heel, and with that her body is carried off on sleekly formed legs toward the landing area...the crack of her boots heralding her passing like a clarion call. Donivan enters into the main concourse from the road. Donivan has arrived. Donivan looks at you for a moment. Donivan heads down one of the corridors towards the flightline. Donivan has left. [End log.]