Log Date: 11/18/97, 11/24/97 Log Cast: Shenneret Veery, Paul Nighman Log Intro: Paul and Shenner's tension on Mandalore has not lessened in the slightest as their host, Urio'kosh, has attempted to inform them that their expedition has been canceled. While Shenner has striven to maintain her temper in the face of Urio'kosh's veiled and unveiled contempt, Paul and Dane Noth have called for their situation to be brought before the elders. But after the two Mandalorians leave them alone, Paul startles Shenner by violating his own request that they behave professionally while on this world... and Shen, desperately trying to do as he had asked of her, pulls back out of Paul's kiss despite wishing to lose herself in it. Now, Paul is stepping out of the hangar that has served them as their makeshift quarters, while Shenner tries to regain her composure.... ---------- It is with an unsettled gaze that Shenner stares into the darkness after Paul's retreating form. Her pulse is rioting somewhere under her breastbone, and only grudgingly starting to settle down, letting her know in no uncertain terms that the assorted portions of Shenneret Veery In Charge of Responding to the Presence of Paul Nighman are not amused that she has pushed him away. _It was the right thing to do!_ she grumbles sternly at herself. _We're supposed to be professional!_ Easy enough to tell herself, but still, Shen can feel a lump in her throat as she curls up on the spartan bunk and tries to close in on some shut-eye. _Gotta do -something- right as long as I'm here... what the -hells- am I doin' here...?! I can't screw this up, I just -can't-...!_ It's a refrain that makes it hard for her to drop off into slumber, and after many long minutes of lying there forcing herself to relax, the recurring litany hangs on to her subconscious as she manages to drop into sleep. Images, thoughts, lights, flicker across Shen's concious and her unconcious, the latter taking those and twisting them into half-sleep rambles and finally into a dream. There is a point where all of these thoughts clarify for the sleeping brain into a jungle scene ... clearly Mandalore, but not what Mandalore is .... but what Shen had expected it to be. There is a camp off to one side and no one in sight other than Paul, who is standing before a statue, running his hand along some glyphs along one side and flipping through a book, searching for translations. The heat is oppressive - a physically weighty thing for Shen, sweat dampening her hair and between her shoulders. Paul, in contrast, seems cool, confident, as he works. She accepts this reality with complete belief, unaware that she dreams. And the thought that tracks through her mind is a dejected _Gods, can it get any hotter?_ But Shenner strives to suppress this as valiantly as she can, as she steps out of the tent it had taken her seemingly _hours_ to properly assemble. Paul's presence is a beacon to her, and she treads towards him quietly, hoping to get a better look at what he's doing. "Can I help?" she speaks up. Turning around Paul considers the sweaty girl, grinning comfortably, those his eyes seem strangely shuttered - unnaturally neutral. "Not unless you can read Mandalorian, nope!" he replies amiably, the sensation that every word that drops from his lips has first been dipped in a batter of glibness. Her face falls, and she can feel a sensation in her breast uncomfortably suggesting that her heart's slipped down an inch or two. Shen's answering grin is wan at best, and she stares at Paul unsurely. "No," she finally answers, wondering why he doesn't seem to remember, "I can't...." _Or maybe he does remember_, she thinks, turning away dolefully. _Or is he just trying to be cheerful for me?_ "Uh... I guess I'll find somethin' else to do... study the language, or somethin'..." What is there to do, though, in this camp? Shen considers the sight before her, swallowing at the tiny circle of tents... all expertly assembled and even camoflauged to blend into the jungle background. Except for hers, leaning at a slight but obvious angle, enough to put it into plain sight as obviously as if she'd parked a holo-sign atop it reading "Camper Here!" She turns back to Paul, the impulse to ask for his advice rising in her... and the impulse to simply behold him, cleanly confident, handsome, almost shining. You'd think he was Mandalorian himself, the way he's taken to the place. He's even got... wait. Armor? On Paul? Lifting up his face plate, Dane considers Shen gravely, nodding. "Study is good, you need to practice. Remember though, go nowhere without me ... I'm your only protection here ... do what I say and you'll be fine." The morph from Paul to Dane is flawless, unquestioned ... and suddenly alarming as the face behind the visor shifts just before it is cut off from sight - Dane's eyes being replaced with Urio'kosh's, who looks at Shen with a bemused and challenging expression of, "Why are you here?" before it vanishes behind the armor. Turning about, Urio raises his weapon and begins to blast the artifact into pieces. Shenner starts, alarmed, and yelps out, "Hey?! What the hells are you doing, Paul was looking at that!" Never mind that the figure with the gun _was_ Paul, a few seconds ago; this occurs to Shen only after her yelp, and she looks around in dismay. Paul was just here! Turning around, the Mandalorian faces Shen, facelessly, weapon pointed at her with intent. "So?" Urio's voice echoes unpleasantly. "I told you, all of this is just myth ... fairy tale. None of it's real, so I'm not destroying anything." As he speaks, the landscape around them withers, plants twisting and turning brown, a river that burbles nearby drying up with a frightening choking sound. The earth beneath Shen's feet shifts from soft loam to hard and cracked clay. Every vibrant flower, bird, plant, tree is leeched bare, naked, grey. "We know better," he informs Shen in a chillingly superior tone, "We will rebuild Mandalore," he claims, even as it shrivels up and dies about him. Horrified, the girl reaches for her own blaster, only to feel a surge of alarm when she determines she's unarmed. "You're weak and helpless here," Dane Noth's voice reminds her in stern fatherly admonition. "We certainly can't let you carry a gun around." And she feels that slight distraught slippage within her breast once more, as she thinks, _Oh. Right._ But she can't let the armored one before he go unchallenged, and she shakes a fist at him, retorting, "Know better?! How can you say this is -rebuilding- Mandalore? You're gonna tear what's left of your planet apart! Paul says so!" "You're just a child," he chuckles softly, "What could you possibly know? And -him-? What does a no-good, superstitious, womanizing smuggler know?" The visor snaps up, Xavier Nighman's features narrowing and pointing to the statue. "He wouldn't know a fake artifact from a fake woman. He can't even take care of himself ... you of -all- people should know that. Why he brought you along on this journey I'll never know," he barks, the voice still eerily that of Urio. The ground beneath Shen's feet begins to tremble. Shen's temper flares, and her slender hand thrusts out towards Paul's armored father, to jab a delicate forefinger at him. "Paul is _not_ a womanizer and he can _so_ take care of himself!" _He can? Then where is he? Where'd he go? He was just here...! Oh, hells....!_ Whirling, turning her back on the doctor, she scans the jungle undergrowth and calls out anxiously, "Paul? Paul, where are yah?" The ground is now shaking violently, and only Dane and Urio, now reverted back to being Mandalorian, stand, unshaken, by the effects. Shen reels about on the unsteady ground, which growls and moans beneath her feet. "You are not welcome here," notes Urio. "You do not belong ... go back from whence you came!" As if in agreement, and ground splits, a chasm yawning open mere inches away from Shen's feet. "I ain't goin' _nowhere_ without Paul!" Shenner hollers defiantly. "And if you ain't gonna help me find him, I'm gonna look for him mysELLLL--" The ground crumbles away beneath Shen, and she shrieks, flailing for the edge of the cliff that has sprung up out of nowhere. Panic-stricken, she does the first thing she shouldn't -- looks down -- and whimpers in terror at the seemingly fathomless space beneath her feet. "Paul!" she pleads into the air. "Paul?! K'chaiya? Beloved?!" Paul my beloved k'chaiya sweet wonderful handsome tender Paul don't go away please come back I didn't mean to make you go away please let me help Paul...?! Urio laughs while Dane merely sighs and shakes his head sadly, even perhaps regretfully, but remains planted where he is. To Shen's screams comes a replying, "Shen? Shen?!" The Corellian is suddenly in sight, the Mandalorian's stepping out of his way, neither helping nor hindering. "Damnit Shen," he curses, "I -knew- this would happen .... I knew this was a mistake!" He reaches down with one hand, grabbing Shen's wrist, then, when he can't seem to pull her any closer, he reaches with the other, setting himself close to the edge and heaving with all of this might. The weight of the heat, however, seems to be as physical as it feels, because while the muscles in the man's arms ripple with effort, Shen can feel herself slowly slipping down, down ....down ... taking the man she loves with her. Terrified, Shenner looks up into Paul's eyes, and for a measureless instant, all she can think is, _I got his armor off!_, for his gaze is full of light and passion and she could drown forever in it, but the heat, oh, karkin' hells she's getting heavy, she's gonna fall! _No, I can't let Paul be hurt I can't I can't I can't....!_ His image blurs with the welling up of tears, and Shenner cries out in anguish, "I love you, Paul!" even as she lets go of his desperately clinging hands, and plummets headlong into nothingness.... "Ohhhh...!" It's not a scream, but it bursts out of Shenner with the force of one, as she falls... falls... up. Into sitting upright on the spartan bunk, her heart pounding with deafening force, sweat bathing her skin. _Dream,_ she thinks wildly, _just a dream..._ Still, her gaze desperately flashes sideways towards the bunk Paul's claimed. And she can feel herself reel with a palpable relief to see the shadow of his form lying there, hear the muted sound of his breathing. But just to be sure.... she half-rises, half-leaps off her own bunk and creeps to the Corellian's side, just long enough to assure her sense of touch that aye, he's there... by brushing a hand gently through his hair. It takes every ounce of her will not to try to see if the bunk can support two; the girl has to settle for leaning silently over, dropping the softest of kisses upon Paul's brow, and thinking at him, _I love you,_ before she creeps back to try to recover something resembling sleep. While the Corellian may have been disturbed - on many fronts - this evening, Shen's soft cry and tender kiss do not number among those concerns. The man does not even shift or murmur under the slight pressure of her lips, deeply asleep for a change. Already sliding into a dream state, Paul had only just recently laid down himself. The bulk of the night had been spent in a state of frustration and self directed anger. He was annoyed at how badly he had been handling things .. not only Mandalore, but Shen as well. After his less that subtle attentions to her tonight, it had become once again clear that he was far more immature and childish than she was ... always changing his mind, constantly breaking his own rules and restrictions, showing little to no restraint on either his temper, pride, or hormones. After a long walk, his temper and hormones under control, but still growling, he had finally realized that he was being a fool - about everything. There was the futile hope, as he laid he head on the small pillow, that sleep would help clear his mind. It seems all too soon before a gentle hand is shaking Paul's shoulder, summoning him back towards awareness. "Paul... hey, Paul." It's Shenner's voice, light, carefree, guileless. "It's time to get up! Time for you to work!" Opening one eye and glaring, Paul growls, "Seven Hells Shen, I just fell asleep ... can't possibly be morning yet!" The eye shuts firmly, the Corellian burying his head against the pillow, pulling the blanket over his features in a petulant gesture. The girl can be glimpsed as that eye comes open, her long hair falling about her shoulders and down to her back in glimmering waves, coppery-bright, the only adornment against her simple white dress. "It's definitely morning," she assures. "Time to face your responsibilities." And with surprising strength for her slender hands, she takes up the blanket and whips it deftly aside. The blanket whishes across the hangar, turning it as it goes into a different place entirely: the living room of Paul's childhood home on Corellia. Muttering under his breath several different curses in several different languages, Paul sits up on the bed, staring about him uncertainly, with a grimace on his face. "I don't know why you insisted that we live here ... I could have bought us a much nicer place ... and you could have picked any planet in the whole galaxy ..." Rubbing at his eyes, he peers up at Shen, his gaze softening gently as he takes in her appearance. Reaching out he catches her hand, dragging her close. "Have I told you," he murmurs, grabbing a handful of her red tresses and wrapping them about her neck, "how much I like your hair long?" His gaze flickers over her features, a sly Corellian grin stealing over his lips. "Say, why don't we play hooky and instead of me getting out of bed, you can get into it?" Shenneret smiles tenderly, loosely looping her arms about Paul's neck. Has she just gotten out of the shower? She seems to shine all over, with her bright hair brushed until it gleams, spilling down in a red cloak around her slender frame... and that white flawless dress setting off her hair and the leaf-dappled depth of her eyes. "We _live_ here," she answers with an arch smile that belies her gentle tone, "because it is Home -- and besides, your mother would be very cross if she had to traverse half the galaxy to visit her first grandchild, don't you think?" At the sly suggestion, her eyes glimmer warmly, but she taps a gentle fingertip in remonstrance. "And _you_ are ducking the morning." "Screw the morning," he growls, pulling her closer. "No wait," he murmurs against her throat, "I got a better idea ..." Drawing back, he grins into her eyes, reaching down to take up her hand, placing a kiss on the knuckle above the white gold band that encircles her finger there ... the only jewelry she ever tends to wear. However, as she mentions his mother and more importantly, their child, he jerks his head upward, looking about suspiciously. Paul frowns, dipping his head again and murmuring against her hand, "Hey ... where is the little spud anyway?" "Here," murmurs a voice from the doorway, as the grandmother of the 'spud' in question laughingly admits the toddler into the room. Marcus Molari Nighman is mostly notable by the fact that he is wearing his father's battered brown hat atop his small head, and that worthy item of apparel is concealing his entire face. This doesn't seem to stop the boy, however, as he comes charging in at top speed, making a steady "rrrrrrrrr" noise as he goes. His grandmother remarks wryly, "He won't sit at the table till you two come have your breakfast." "Mom!" Paul squeaks, allowing his hands to drop from the more interesting areas that they were roaming. Glancing up he grins sheepishly. "Thank goodness you're here ... don't you think this would be a grand time for you and the little turnip to have some one on one bonding? I bet Marcus would love a trip to the visit the zoo?" His gaze is almost pleading as Paul regards his mother fondly, the fact that she looks young enough to be Marcus's own mother neither surprising nor disturbing to her son. "Me and the wife have things to, ah, -discuss-." Shenner leans over one deft hand to turn her son _just_ in time to prevent him from colliding with the nightstand beside the bed. But this makes the boy peek out from under the hat; given that he's barely tall enough to look over the side of the bed, this means that all is visible of him is a pair of huge dewy green eyes. "Are you gonna talk about going to Mannalore, Daddy?" the boy pipes. Paul's mother leans her slim and capable frame against the doorway, observing, "I'm afraid he just doesn't find me very interesting, when his parents are going to go off and have archaeological adventures." "I wanna go to Mannalore too!" Marcus confirms, as he tries to pull his small form up onto the bed. This requires Shenner's aid, and as soon as his mother has hoisted him up to join them, the child scootches up beside them, bouncing. Paul's features fall, and struggling to keep his tone gentle, it still comes out a little harsh when he barks, "-No- one is going to Mandalore!" Pausing to regain a fraction of control, he wraps an arm out the small shoulders of his son, scooching him over from the bed and onto his lap. "No one is going to Mannalore," he repeats in a mellower voice, "Not even Mommy and Daddy," he assures the tyke with a finger swiping across the boy's nose. "And where, may I ask, did you find such a snazzy hat? It fits you perfectly!" His gaze remains locked to his son's green gaze as he lifts the hat off, ruffling the golden brown cap of hair beneath it affectionately. His eyes remain averted from both Shen and his mother, uncomfortable with the implications and memories of Mandalore. "But Mommy says the Oonafirstity says you hafta go to Mannalore," the three-year-old maintains, happily parking in his father's embrace, his sentences as always well-structured for his age even if he hasn't quite grasped proper diction yet. And Shenner and Anastasia Nighman exchange glances, both women frowning softly at one another; Shen, then, turns to study her husband. Somehow, Paul manages to avoid wincing, but he does deposit his son into his mother's lap with a lowly muttered, "We'll see." Walking toward the doorway where his mother stands, Paul flashes the two women a look, his voice lighter than his eyes as he adds, "But your mother was right about one thing ... I do have to go to work ... so I best go right now ... I'm probably already late." He starts to move out and through the doorway, but his own mother's hand stalls him for a moment, and she softly murmurs, "Paul, don't be like your father." He was able to control the first wince, but this target hit's even closer to home, and her son's eyes grow shuttered and cold and with a slight jerk, he frees his arm from Anastasia's grasp, heading into the hallway and toward the refresher. Marcus's young voice can be heard babbling from the other room; then, more clearly, the boy sings out, "But Mommy, why can't I go to Mannalore too?" "You study lots, punkin," Shenner's voice answers, "and in a few years, we'll talk about it again." "Did you hafta study lots, Mommy?" "Lots and lots and lots. Go on, now. Go practice with Grandmomma for a little bit, okay?" "You heard your mother, Marcus, why don't you and I go practice some scales together, hrmm?" "Okay, Grandmomma!" And then Shenner is at the door of the refresher room, her arrival masked by the babble of the child as Anastasia carries him off into the living room. She doesn't say anything as she watches Paul wash his face and begin to shave, but finally, she states, "There is no one else, you know; we _have_ to do it. Everyone else is out on assignment already." "You're not going," he replies flatly, his gaze intent on the workings of his hands in the mirror, but his hazel eyes are resolute and firm. "Not this time ... not after last time ... End of discussion." "Discussions typically involve input from more than one party," Shenner says calmly, crossing her arms. Still not looking toward his wife, Paul replies, "I know you too well ... I know what you're going to say - you're going to insist on coming along, just like you always have, and you're going to find some way to twist me around your finger, and then I'll conceed and let you come, so I'm just going to forestall that whole procedure and put my foot down. You're not coming ... period. We have a son to think about now ... we're not both going there, and no offence, but I'm more qualified to go." "Maybe in _your_ field, but the last time I checked, that impressive collection of letters after your name does _not_ include a degree in xenomusicology." Shen doesn't alter her position at the door, nor does she seem to be getting angry; her voice, however, remains firm and confident. "Which, conveniently enough, even though I might not happen to have a degree _yet_, just happens to be what my studies are _in_! And, as that song cycle _still_ requires analysis, Dr. Nighman, I'm needed there just as much as you are. So we both have to go." Whirling about, Paul drops his razor, grabbing Shen by the arms tightly and shaking her roughly. "Gods damnit Shen, did you completely forget what happened the last time we were there? You -died- damnit it all! If it hadn't been for the fact that Luke showed up, you wouldn't -have- a degree, or a husband, or a son ... you'd be dead. D-E-A-D. Because I sure as hell wasn't able to protect you then, and I won't be able to protect you now!" What started off as softly hissed words finishes in a shout. Shutting his mouth sharply, jaw clenching spasmodically, Paul gazes at Shen with guilt filled eyes before releasing a soft painful sound, pushing her aside and storming out, knowing only that he has to get -out- of the house -now-. The beauty of the spring morning that surrounds the house might be soothing, if it didn't shortly yield to a blasted landscape no more Corellian than the steely, unyielding sky that roofs it. "Why are you bothering to go back, 'son'?" Xavier Nighman demands mockingly from somewhere off to the right. "Returning to the scene of the crime of your negligence?" Glaring over at his father, Paul considers the man for a moment before spitting on the ground before him. "Go to Hell if you're not already there old man, I'm going back if I have to, and she's not coming .... call it atonement for my sins if you like," he barks, spinning on one heel and striding off into the devastation, either oblivious to it or uncaring. Shenner, however, _is_ there, or at any rate, a ghostly edition of her as she had been, five years ago... barely out of her teens, seemingly too delicate for the blaster she stoically wears at her side, her hair still a waifish mop, her stride just barely managing to keep up with Paul's. "Don't make me leave, Paul!" she cries softly. "I ain't leavin' yah!" Stopping in his tracks, Paul's frame clenches, and shutting his eyes, his hands curling into fists, he snaps out harsh words deliberately, despite the fact that he knows they will wound Shen as much as they already cut at himself. "Go away Shen! I don't want you! I don't need you! When will you finally figure that out?! Beat it!" "You're lyin', k'chaiya." The diction and husky, ragged voice are young Shen's, the confident delivery that of the Shenner left behind at the house with little Marcus, with Anastasia Nighman. "Deep down inside, yah need me, you and I both know it." Furious and in denial, determined to protect her at all costs, Paul barks hoarsely, "You're just a kid, you don't know anything. I don't need anyone ... never had and never will. You're just one in a string of babes kid, you might as well figure that out now. "I don't need anyone," he reiterates firmly, in voice growing stronger and more certain at the familiar litany of his life. "Especially not you." And around Paul, the devastated landscape of Mandalore is touched by a chill breeze, little gusts of cold that swirl up to punctuate the Corellian's vehement claims. But the ethereal Shenner seems unfazed by the wind; all that seems to affect her are the words themselves. Her eyes turn liquid with unshed tears, but the sadness in her gaze is a knowing one, one that comprehends not only the words hurled at her, but the meaning behind them as well. "Yah need me, k'chaiya," she repeats softly. "'Cause otherwise you're gonna be lost out here forever." Turning around, Paul stares Shenner down, strong in his conviction, his heart convenient bound and silenced to allow him to speak to her thusly. "I don't need any one ... you think you're the only one I've ever been intimate with? There have been dozens and dozens. I didn't need any of them, and I don't need you. I've been on my own and self sufficient since I was six years old. If you think I need you, you're a fool. I'm not lost, I'm just enjoying the scenery babe," he finishes sarcastically, his eyes narrowing against the harsh light, still empty and unwelcoming. Shenner says nothing, simply regarding Paul with that deep, strange searching gaze. Finally, she only bows her head, murmuring and turning away, "Whatever you say... pal. I ain't gonna clip your wings." She glances back over her shoulder a moment, smiles sadly, and then turns out toward the blasted terrain, to tackle Mandalore... alone. He watches her walk off into the landscape, his heart squealing against the restraints placed around it, rasping at him _Fool! Now she's here -alone-! Idiot! Not she's bound to get hurt!_ The lines on his brow deepen and the Corellian takes off after the girl, not saying another as he reaches her, but merely catching her by the waist and flinging her over his shoulder, then turning back toward the hanger, carrying her like a sack of bantha hides. The girl startles as she is scooped up, protesting only, her voice muffled coming around from his backside, "But they'll see us in there...." The hangar and the girl's words seem to cloud the focus - Paul wavering between the dream intent of placing Shen on a ship leaving Mandalore, and memories reminding him of what he -really- wants to do. He shakes his head, feeling the disorientation growing stronger, muttering as he reaches the door and opens it, "To hell with them too," and stepping into darkness. Paul's eyes snap open for a moment he lies there frozen, reality and dream mixing unpleasantly as he struggles to understand which is which. Rolling over slowly, his body drenched in sweat, he spots Shen over on the other bunk, clarifiying that he neither put her on a ship or made love with her. _Dream_ he says firmly, putting his brain cells back in their proper place. Rolling over, he wipes the sweat from his face, grimacing at the ceiling. "Gods," he mutters harshly, "I should have just stayed awake." [End log.]