Log Date:
	1/28/99

Log Cast:
	Gavin, Rekkie and other musicians (NPC), Shenner, Emma (NPC),
Ariani (NPC),

Log Intro:
	With the excitement of the Imperial ball now well out of the way,
Shenner has kept up as is her wont with her music and her studies. And
she has deliberately packed away the fine gown that she'd bought with Rekkie's
help for that gathering, still wary and edgy over Troy McTavish's attempt
to encourage her to seek out male companionship. The companionship of men,
as far as Shenneret Veery is concerned, is nothing she needs in her life
in anything more than minimal doses.
	Tonight, however, Shenner is about to attract more male interest
than she has bargained for in a while...

----------
Situated on a bar stool, at the end of the long row of seats, Gavin contents 
  himself with nursing a half-finished cigarette. Ashes have collected in a 
  crystal tray at his elbow and a blue pack with Coruscant markings can be 
  seen beside him as well. A battered, well-loved silver lighter is perched 
  between the fingers of the man's left hand as he idly toys with the cap. 
  Snick, snick -- the sound of him opening and closing the lighter falls into 
  a steady pattern. Two empty shot glasses are arranged before him, upside 
  down.

The Sandbar's full of music tonight, and its usual five musicians, headed up 
  by Rekkie Sheldon, have milked their first set for everything it's worth. 
  Heavy on the drums and horns, their repetoire of choice this evening is 
  especially letting the two horn players Karm and Tethra... and the Corellian 
  drummer, Loren Jarnes... fill the place with vigorous tuneful noise. Rekkie 
  and Aa'leet have commanded the vocals with their usual aplomb. And although 
  the crowd isn't big tonight, the diehards are out in force, their mood high 
  with the band's raucous and rowdy playing.

The mood must be going around, for when the Sandbar's sixth musician tromps 
  into the bar and shucks off her winter gear, hollering for Ariani to make 
  herself heard over the noise, Shenneret Veery is clad head to foot in silken 
  black. The first to see her come in is Emma, who actively gapes and whispers 
  at her in passing, "Wow! Shen! Where'd you get THAT outfit?!"

"Just ain't worn it in a while," the redheaded guitar player retorts 
  cheerfully, but she's got a restless glint in her green eyes tonight. As 
  Emma scurries on her way with a tray of drinks for a back table, Shenner 
  tromps to the bar, waiting for Ariani's attention and her usual shot of 
  Corellian brandy to get her evening jumpstarted.

Gavin looks at you for a moment.

Shenner(#3773POACF)
This is a young human female, of about 5'6" in height, but of a delicate 
  enough build that there barely seems to be any substance to her. Her skin is 
  moon-pale, her already fine-boned features made pronounced by an utter lack 
  of extraneous flesh anywhere on her face. In stark contrast with her white 
  complexion, her hair blazes a dark red; her green eyes, large, luminous, and 
  darkly limned by red-brown brows and lashes, look out at everything she 
  encounters with a intelligent, haunted intensity. Those eyes, incongruous 
  with her ethereal frame, and taken along with a walk, stance, accent, and 
  mannerisms seemingly more suited for a brash young street tough, exemplify 
  the contradiction that anyone who observes this girl long enough can soon 
  discover: that for all her fragile appearance, this is no delicate flower. 
  Rather, this young human is one that burns.
She is clad entirely in black from head to foot: a billowy, long-sleeved 
  silken shirt tied off at her waist, unbuttoned enough to reveal the top of 
  the form-fitting, sleeveless jumpsuit she's wearing beneath it. The 
  jumpsuit's neckline cuts a straight line just below her collarbone, before 
  running down uninterrupted along the rest of her body to calf-high suede 
  boots. Even the thongs that hold the braid of her hair swept back from her 
  face are black, terimnating in three clear glass beads and a pair of small 
  black feathers. All that relieves the stark black garb is a glint of silver 
  at her breast, some sort of pendant dangling around her neck.

A veil of smoke clouds Gavin as he keeps working on that cigarette. The tip 
  burns with a fierce, angry orange and his nostrils flare, as he exhales grey 
  fumes. Immersed, at least initially, in his own private thoughts, the 
  ensuing ruckus catches his attention and breaks the reverie. His mouth forms 
  an amused 'o' around the dying stick, as he begins to peer over at the band. 
  Aside, he mutters to Ariani, when he can get her attention, "So what is with 
  the band?"

Ariani, sliding off an ale to the big Barabel parked at one end of the bar, 
  casts a glance off in Shenner's direction as she does so.... and does a 
  doubletake. But before she acknowledges the girl's hail, she chuckles 
  throatily and informs the customer who's been quietly smoking at her bar for 
  a while, "They're getting warmed up for Shen, I'm guessin'. She'll be takin' 
  over the set for Rekkie in a few more songs." She jerks a thumb off in the 
  direction of the black-clad girl who's come up to lean against the bar, 
  within earshot. To the redhead, she adds dryly, "Kiddo, are you _tryin'_ to 
  give Loren a coronary?"

The glint in Shenner's green eyes sharpens as she commandeers herself a stool. 
  "I felt like wearin' black tonight, is all. Loren makes an issue of it, he 
  can freggin' well eat his drumsticks," she answers stoutly, in husky 
  tenorish tones. "Gimme my shot, will ya?"

"Shen? Sorry, I'm a bit new here. Is she popular?" Gavin flicks a glance 
  towards you, even as the question is launched in the general direction of 
  Ariani. One leg curls around the metal bars that support his stool, while 
  his hands deftly deal out a new cigarette. Trading one for the other, he 
  chainlights the second smoke stick, and closes his eyes in pleasure at the 
  momentary comfort it brings. When he opens those grey eyes anew, his gaze is 
  focused on you.

Red hair, green eyes, black clothes, slender figure, and a glint of silver on 
  a chain at her throat are the obvious details that can be gleaned from the 
  redhead at casual inspection. Her return scrutiny is equally frank, and 
  before Ariani can answer, she leaps in with a straightforwardly confident, 
  "They like me, yeah."

Ariani sets down a shot glass full of amber liquid before the redhead, and 
  puts in dryly, "You'll see if you plan on hanging around tonight, pal." She 
  doesn't elaborate, but it's apparent that the bartender's just about as 
  confident in the skill of this girl as the redhead is herself.

Gavin
 Fierce and determined. Those are perhaps the first two words that are invoked 
  when gazing upon this man. That he stands out in a crowd is obvious; his 
  handsome, albeit rugged face is distinct with its sharp, almost aristocratic 
  features and despite its close cut, his jet black hair catches the eye with 
  its lustrous and silky quality. His eyes are calm in their steel grey 
  intensity, almost world-weary or grim some would say, yet the humor and 
  roguishness of his younger days can still be seen within those depths. Lean 
  of body, yet solid in build, it is firm, worked muscles that contribute to 
  his imposing stature. His hands are slender and lightly calloused; hands 
  that seem to be equally at home with a pen or blade. Precise and methodical, 
  his efficient use of motion makes it obvious that his every action is 
  considered and calculated.
 Black on white is the day's choice in colors and clothing. Silk and 
  ivory-hued, he wears an elegantly simple shirt underneath a thicker one made 
  of black wool, sans collar. The overshirt is adorned with large, black 
  buttons and rides low, past his hips so as to adopt a casual, almost lazy 
  style. His slacks are well-pressed, perhaps in a military style, and of a 
  tailored charcoal-black cloth. Over his feet and reaching nearly to his 
  knees are a pair of shiny, yet well-used black boots with silver buckles. 
  His right hand sports a gold ring, bejewelled with a beautifully cut 
  sapphire and from around his neck hangs a tiny, matching woman's ring, off 
  of a thin gold chain. Finishing off the ensemble is well-crafted pin shaped 
  in the form of a black lion; it is fixed onto the left side of the collar of 
  the silk shirt. He has doused himself sparingly with one of Coruscant's 
  favored colognes.
 Currently, a thick, dusky brown corduroy jacket graces his upper torso and 
  sweeps slightly past his hips in length. Black gunmetal of a military issue 
  blaster can be seen underneath the jacket, tucked away into a snug holster.
                -=-=-=-=-=-=<<Carried Virtual Objects>>=-=-=-=-=-=-
=> DD6 Blaster Pistol 

"Uh-huh." The response isn't coated with sarcasm or disbelief. Just a tad bit 
  of amusement. Gavin offers up a sly wink with careful grey eyes as he 
  replies good-naturedly, "Well, it'd take some kind of talent to impress a 
  crowd like this. I'm lookin' forward to the performance." He carries a faint 
  Coruscant accent, underlying his words. Taking another drag of his 
  cigarette, he prompts from Ariani, "Another whiskey for me, too. Make it a 
  double."

Ariani cheerfully provides this, as such is her job. Shenner, in the meantime, 
  belts down her shot of Corellian brandy without so much as blinking; this 
  done, she looks the man with the cigarettes and whiskey up and down, her 
  wide, slim-lipped mouth curling up on one end. A response to a challenge? 
  Perhaps, if the spark in her eyes is any sign. Her only vocal answer, 
  though, is a sidelong query to the woman behind the bar: "They done 'Kessel 
  Run' yet, 'Ani?"

With a straight face that doesn't quite hide the amusement in her own gaze, 
  the older woman drawls, "They've been savin' it for you, kid. Go get your 
  guitar."

Allowing himself a throaty chuckle in amusement, Gavin drawls, "Good luck, 
  'kid'. I'm sure you'll knock their socks off. And mine, too." Another idle 
  wink accompanies the statement. Shifting cigarette from right hand to left, 
  he snags the double shot in his free hand. Giving you one last glance, his 
  head goes back as he slams the shot down his throat. Not even a grimace.

Up on the stage, the five musicians already performing fling interwoven layers 
  of fast, pounding sound out into their audience, the horns and the drums 
  making the backbone for slicing chords coming out of the keyboards of the 
  Twi'lek Aa'leet. Rekkie, Loren, and Aa'leet's massed voices rise up in 
  wailed harmony over cheers and impromptu bursts of random sung words from 
  the crowd. And through it all, Shenner rises, smiling ferally at the fellow 
  at the bar and drawling, "You might wanna move over by the heating unit, pal 
  -- don't want your toes to get cold."
And with that, she rises lithely up off her stool, setting off on a path 
  through the bar to a door towards the back of the place. Through this she 
  vanishes, and in short order emerges again, a big guitar slung off one 
  slender shoulder, a thing of smooth plastic and polished wood, acoustic 
  strings as well as an amplification circuit for added power. Several of the 
  patrons, seeing her pass, call out shouts of approval. She doesn't take the 
  stage, though, as long as the current number is going on; only when the song 
  reaches a thunderous finale and the crowd roars its appreciation does the 
  redheaded girl leap up to join the others on the stage.

"She likes showing off, doesn't she?" Gavin poses the question to Ariani with 
  some level of humor. If he is bothered by any of your comments, he doesn't 
  show it. He does, however, show some level of interest in the band and the 
  performance that is about to take place. Lips press down on the cigarette as 
  he inhales deeply of the smoke.

The prediction of the bartender isn't off base; while the dark-haired, 
  blue-eyed young Corellian manning the drums doesn't exactly keel over with a 
  heart attack, the sight of Shenner in her form-fitting black provokes a 
  triple take out of him. Emma the waitress can be seen to pout noticeably at 
  the young man's reaction as she scurries about on her business. And Ariani, 
  with a look of knowledgeable amusement, says cheerfully, "Her music's about 
  the only thing the kid shows off -- but she's entitled. She's boosted our 
  average weekly intake by a third ever since Ms. Laarken signed her on."

And in the meantime, up on the stage, the band's leader, tall and 
  golden-haired and hazel-eyed Rekkie Sheldon, cuts in on her neck mike with a 
  teasingly drawled, "So I guess you folks want the kid to take the next one?"

Shouts of glee from the throats of a dozen different species -- including a 
  stentorian bellow from the Barabel at the end of the bar -- are Rekkie's 
  answer. With a bow over her own guitar and a flash of the hand to the girl 
  in black, the older woman yields the center of the stage to the newcomer. 
  Shenner powers on her own guitar, pins the audience with a gleaming green 
  regard, and barks out over her own mike, "'Kessel Run'!"

"So what is her name? Shen...?" Gavin almost shouts the question over the roar 
  of the rather eager and excited audience. Grey eyes gauge the audience and 
  he nods to himself, before replying, "Yeah. She sure does seem popular. I am 
  guessin' it is justified." Still, his tone shows that he is reserving 
  judgement. Angling a little, he taps the cigarette over the ashtray as the 
  shot glass is turned upside down and propped up on the bartop.

"Shenner," is Ariani's reply, her own voice's volume raising so her customer 
  can hear her. "Shenneret Veery!"

And Shenneret Veery, slinging her guitar into place before her, growls out a 
  rapid-fire count over her mike. When she hits four, the band launches into 
  song with all the power of a YT-1300 lifting off. One verse in and it's 
  obvious what this song is about: smuggling, fast ships, and one of the most 
  famous stretches of space, the black-hole-warped sector called the Kessel 
  Run. Shenner's voice is a low one singing as well as speaking, but when she 
  starts her lyrics, she hurls them forth with power and clarity while her 
  hands start pulling out agile chords from her guitar.

"Oh, right. I caught that before." Gavin clucks his tongue in a 
  self-depreciating chuckle, then lapses into silence as to hear the 
  performance. Sucking down grey fumes, the Coruscant native eyes the stage, 
  mostly, but does spend a healthy amount of time surveying the audience and 
  gaining general reactions.

Two guitars and the Twi'lek female's keyboards provide the swooping, swerving 
  rhythms that to the imaginative in the audience can evoke a smuggler 
  freighter, perhaps with a squadron of Imperial TIE fighters in hot pursuit. 
  The drums, now that Loren's managed to haul his attention back to the matter 
  of making oud percussional noise, are the fired shots exchanged between 
  smuggler and pursuers; the horns, belting out a steadily louder and more and 
  more ominous pulse of minor chords, are the black holes themselves. Over the 
  top of the instruments the four musicians who have voices free to sing fire 
  off the lyrics: Shenner on the verses, with Rekkie, Loren, and Aa'leet 
  coming in on the choruses in four-part harmony. The song might be riotiously 
  loud -- but its rhythm doesn't falter, the singers' voices are in tune, and 
  the girl with the red hair and green eyes commands her voice, her guitar, 
  and the center of the stage with a restless, fiery energy.
To the less imaginatively inclined in the crowd... or perhaps the simply 
  inebriated... the band is loud. They're rhythmic. And they're a helluva band 
  to dance to. In fact, several of the younger humans and humanoids in the bar 
  start claiming unoccupied floor space to do exactly that, while the six 
  musicians deliver their anthem to speed, sly piloting, and adventurous 
  flight.

Battered lips twist into a thoughtful repose as Gavin listens to the ongoing 
  set. Appreciation for the music and quality of the singer is evident in his 
  grey eyes, but as usual for this Special Forces New Republic officer, his 
  attention tends to wander over the crowds. He continues to try and pick out 
  individuals who are of interest or who appear to be...suspect.

Most of the crowd is what you'd expect in a place like this -- sentients out 
  for a good time, imbibing their favorite intoxicants, or in some cases 
  smoking them. There's a sabacc game going on at a back table, a portable 
  interference field activated for the freezing of the cards, though its hum 
  is drowned out by the pulse of music filling the air. Young humanoids remain 
  clustered in a vibrant mass of people near the stage, genders fairly evenly 
  mixed; from the look of them, their moods are high and buoyant, responding 
  to the unfettered energy from the redheaded singer as she in turn responds 
  to them.

With the general level of noise it's rather hard not to miss the band. The 
  sabacc players aren't paying active attention to them; nor are Ariani and 
  Emma and the rest of the bar's staff, as they go about their business of 
  distributing drinks to all and sundry. But only two individuals seem to be 
  eying the stage with active disdain, a couple of slumped figures claiming a 
  side booth along a wall. A pair of young men, disreputable of appearance; 
  they're drinking, and the smaller of them periodically fixes a pair of 
  narrowed, shifty eyes on the girl on the stage.

Gavin is a watcher by nature; an observer by profession. Grey eyes are focused 
  on the pair at the side booth as he chain-lights his seventh cigarette of 
  the night. Extending those senses that are second nature to him, he tries to 
  gain a surface idea of what emotions might be playing on the hearts and 
  minds of those two figures. Aside, he queries of Ariani, when he can get her 
  attention, "Know either of those two?" He dips his chin in the direction of 
  said booth.

On the stage, the tempo getting faster and faster, the music getting wilder, 
  'Kessel Run' roars into its finale; the last verse drops hints of a dashing 
  pilot and a Wookiee copilot that leaves absolutely no doubt that in addition 
  to being a general rowdy celebration of illicit speed and stolen goods, this 
  little ditty's got particular adventuresome pilots in mind. "Eleven and a 
  half parsecs!" bellows out Shenner breathlessly, and she's answered with 
  delighted cheers before the band is off again into its next number.

The smaller of the two young men can be seen to smirk to himself at the song's 
  finish, while the larger, looking a little hazy about the eyes, frowns 
  between the singer and his companion. There's a sense of waiting to this 
  pair, of predatorial expectancy -- or perhaps at least to the smaller of the 
  two, for that big burly fellow has been putting down more than a few drinks 
  tonight. Ariani, in the meantime, once she has a chance to have her 
  attention caught, leans over to the chainsmoking customer. Undaunted by the 
  reek of whiskey and tobacco about him -- he hardly smells worse than the bar 
  in general -- she peers off in the indicated direction, squinting through 
  the smoky air. "What, them? Yeah... I think so. They been in here before."

Of all Gavin's abilities with the 'force', it is his fundamental understanding 
  of emotions and thoughts that is his strongest ally. Before even he 
  comprehended his ties to the force, he was able to utilize that aspect of 
  it. And so he continues to scrutinize the pair, even as he inquires of 
  Ariani. "Mm. Know who they are? Exactly?" He couches the words in a 
  nonchalant sort of tone, as he continues on, "Smaller one reminds me of my 
  brother." Grey eyes are fixed on the pair through the haze of smoke.

"Coupla rowdy sorts," the woman behind the bar says as indifferently as she 
  can manage while making herself heard over the pulsing rhythms of 'Elf 
  Glade' -- no less energetic in tempo than the previous, this new melody's 
  still an entirely different animal, fey and elemental where the song that 
  had gone before was simply full of life. Shenner plays more guitar in this 
  one, especially during the bridge, when her slender hands prove she's 
  entirely at ease with that big instrument she's got slung off her shoulders. 
  She stands with her black-shod feet placed wide, her gaze fixed 
  challengingly on the audience as she growls out her song.

And Ariani, in the meantime, goes on, "They've gotten in trouble in here a 
  time or two, but they know better than to pull anything. Last time I had 
  their backsides arrested, and Wil damn near got his hand sliced off." The 
  bartender grins, a feline sort of expression, and turns to fire off a 
  bubbling, violently purple brew to a little alien who's just scurried up to 
  the bar.

"Trouble?" Gavin does not waver in his attention on the pair, though he makes 
  a good show of watching Shenner's performance. "Sounds like my brother 
  alright." He grinds out his last cigarette in the tray as he queries, 
  "Bounty hunters, maybe? Or just a pair of over-eager gun happy types?"

Ariani lets off a contemptuous snort, but only when the little alien scurries 
  off with his drink. "Not bounty hunters as far as I know; pickpockets, more 
  like." Her dark reddish eyebrows go up, as she adds dryly, "Why the 
  curiosity, pal?"

"Oh huh?" Gavin blinks a few times, playing off the role as a dumb-founded 
  planetside tourist. "Um, well, I miss my brother. He always got himself into 
  trouble, too." There is truth to those words, coated in the deception he 
  weaves as second nature. Intelligence training. Shrugging his shoulders, his 
  mind is still receptive to stray thoughts that may cross the minds of the 
  pair at the booth. "Anyway, how about another shot?"

Ariani is certainly willing enough to keep shelling out alcohol as long as her 
  customers behave themselves, and so far, this one is doing so. The two off 
  in that booth are behaving, too, at least to all intents and purposes; the 
  big one with the burly shoulders and less than bright expression, at any 
  rate, is applying himself to a large tankard of beer. But the little one 
  watches the singer, Shen Veery, with an unflinching, narrow-eyed gaze, and 
  he keeps watching her, through the rest of her second song, and on into the 
  next.

The set continues on. The night, while not yet quite old, begins to grow 
  rather seasoned, and the six musicians on the Sandbar's stage do a fine job 
  of keeping their crowd entertained and working off a lot of the intoxicants 
  they're putting down in energetic dancing. Some of the songs are handed back 
  to Rekkie Sheldon, some -- like 'Faerie Queen', a duet for which Shenner 
  trades off her guitar for a dark-wooded, silver-stringed harp with which 
  she's _almost_ as comfortable as her first instrument -- belted out between 
  the two lead singers, and some sung in round through all six voices in the 
  band, ranging from Aa'leet's bell-clear soprano clear down to the 
  floor-rattling bass of the big dark-skinned horn player Tethra. Once or 
  twice, as the night gains its seasoning, Shen Veery shifts off to somewhat 
  gentler songs, but each time she sings a ballad, it's with an odd twist to 
  her youthful face and a distance to her eyes that doesn't quite match up 
  with her mellifluous vocals.

At this point, Gavin stops actually indulging himself in the alcohol, though 
  it does indeed disappear for the sake of appearances. Though not down his 
  throat. If one were to check the floor at his stool, they would notice the 
  remains of his whiskey. Lapsing into silence, for the moment, he now spends 
  most of his time alternating his attention between the show and those two 
  special 'fans'.

The bigger of the pair is looking hazier by the end of the band's second set; 
  the smaller one, though, has been watching the stage with all the unwavering 
  patience of a raptor bird, and when his big companion unthinkingly tries to 
  lurch to his feet and cheer along with the rest of the increasingly weary 
  but overall happy crowd, he might be noted to grab him by the shirt and yank 
  him back down into his seat. The big burly fellow shoots his compatriot a 
  dismayed look, and then wilts under an unheard but palpably sharp barrage of 
  scolding, delivered with furious, barely controlled gestures.

Nobody in the bar notices them, however. The crowd is pretty much uniformly on 
  its feet, cheering and clapping, and in the cases of other species, making 
  the noises appropriate to their kinds and cultures. Shenner, Rekkie, Tethra, 
  Karm, Aa'leet and Loren take their bows, and with that, the redheaded girl 
  and her guitar leave the stage, surrendering the lead of the group back to 
  the golden-haired woman from which she'd borrowed it.

Pushing himself off of the stool, Gavin ambles in the direction of the pair by 
  the booth. He makes all the right gestures and yells at the top of his 
  lungs, like any ardent fan. Yet, his goal is to close in on the twosome in 
  case either decides to get 'anxious' as Shenner passes them.

Anxious? Not necessarily -- though there's decided unease in the bigger, 
  drunker of the pair. From the smaller, there's something sharper, far more 
  intent; resentment of some kind, though perhaps not focused on the singer 
  per se. Still, he is squarely intent upon her, and the ratty-looking little 
  man grabs his friend and starts hauling him out of the bar. By the time 
  Shenner emerges from the storeroom sans instrument, the two of them are 
  gone, but they've left a definitely flavor of Purpose lingering behind them 
  for those who have the senses to detect such things.

Gauging the situation at hand, Gavin simply nods to himself, before wandering 
  back to his spot at the bar. He settles back on the stool and picks up his 
  pack of cigarettes, anew. Another one is lit and propped between waiting 
  lips.

"Way to knock 'em dead, Shen," comes Ariani's approving call, along with a 
  dryly appended, "And I saw Loren ogling."

"Tell him to ogle your sister," Shenner retorts pleasantly as she reaches the 
  bar and the alcove where customers and several of the staff have been 
  leaving winter garments. A Horansi stationed within produces the girl's 
  thick blue coat and her long gray-and-green striped scarf, and as the singer 
  starts shrugging into her garments, she casts off a few lopsided grins and 
  thank-yous in approval of her performance.

The rest of the band, in the meantime, starts dispersing off the stage for the 
  break before their third set; Shen, before the drummer can catch up with 
  her, fastens up her coat and calls to 'Ani, "I'm outta here! See ya tomorrow 
  night!"
With that, then, the girl is gone. Out into the night, and provoking a surge 
  in that sense of Purpose that colored the passing of the two young men out 
  of the bar.

You leave The Sandbar, entering the fresh air of Fountain Square.
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.'
        Wandering the square throughout the day are Caspar Marines; some 
  off-duty and enjoying their downtime while on-duty commandos in full armor 
  and uniform keep watch over the area. Despite the commandos' aggresive 
  appearance, they are viewed with admiration and respect from most of the 
  citizens, some of them even joking and talking with families. The night sky 
  above is filled with puffy white clouds with snow falling quickly coating 
  the area and forming drifts where it can collect.
                 -=-=-=-=-=-=<<Real Objects>>=-=-=-=-=-=-
=> IGNews Terminal - Caspar
=> Mail Terminal: Caspar
                  -=-=-=-=-=<<Visible exits>>=-=-=-=-=-
 <SA>ndbar leads to The Sandbar.
 <S>outh leads to South Mergansar Ave. - Plaxton City.
 <E>ast leads to East Blake St. - Plaxton City.
 <N>orth leads to North Mergansar Ave. - Plaxton City.
 <W>est leads to West Blake St. - Plaxton City.

Gavin leaves the SandBar.
Gavin has arrived.
Frowning to himself, Gavin pushes out of the stool as he moves to follow you. 
  "Damn...thought she'd grab another drink." His pace is a bit hurrier as he 
  navigates the crowd, hoping to catch you before you've gone too far.

Drinks, apparently, are not on the singer's agenda now that she's done with 
  her performance. Out she goes, into the night and into the snow; her 
  blue-coated figure does pause briefly, though, as she encounters the 
  weather, and she might be noted to turn her face up to the sky for a moment, 
  as if surveying the snowflakes coming down. She sets off at a determined 
  stride, moving with relative assurance across the new accumulation, heading 
  for Mergansar Avenue where it runs north out of the Fountain Square.

Flicking grey eyes skyward, Gavin curses his luck as he sets off in pursuit. 
  "Bloody weather. I miss Coruscant." His pace is swift and tracking isn't 
  something terribly difficult in this weather, with all things considered. He 
  moves on you as fast as decorum will allow.

It's not too terribly difficult to catch up with her, either. The young woman 
  scoops out a pair of gloves and jams them on over her hands, but she also 
  pauses to scoop up a handful of snow out of a clean drift. Grinning to 
  herself, she packs it together into a ball. Only when she straightens up 
  again does she realize she's being approached, and as she sees the stranger 
  drawing near, she drops her snowball. The unguarded look leaves her face. 
  "You lookin' for me?" she calls out expectantly.

"Yeah, actually I am." Gavin closes the distance between you and him with a 
  few more, brisk steps. His hands are at his sides, away from the blaster. 
  His nice corduroy jacket is unfortunately becoming rather damp, and black 
  hair is plastered to his head from the snow. "I figured I'd show my thanks 
  for the show with a word of caution."

The singer hasn't pulled on the hood of her coat; snowflakes dot her russet 
  hair, and her eyes are still in open view as she sweeps a stare up and down 
  the man before her. "What word of caution would _that_ be?" she drawls. 
  There's a note of disbelief in her voice, and some in her eyes, too. Perhaps 
  she thinks she's having her chain yanked.

"If you take an usual route home, change it. Tonight. Because two to one odds 
  says an ambush is being laid for you. By the pair in the booth. The sour 
  ones. Big guy, drunk a lot. Small guy, hawkish eyes. Kept watching you all 
  night like no one's business." Gavin explains the situation in a no-nonsense 
  tone. "I am guessing you either pissed them off, or they are lookin' to 
  'party' with you without your consent. Or maybe something else entirely."

Shenner takes all this in, her dark red brows knitting in low over her eyes, 
  her gaze sharpening. "Yeah?" Her tone is cool, bordering on suspicious, and 
  along with the sardonic glint in her stare there's an unspoken flare of _Oh 
  great, not -again-..._ And then she rolls those green eyes, turning and 
  starting to tromp off again through the snow. "I dunno what your game is, 
  pal, but I ain't playin'. Go on back into the bar," she calls as she starts 
  to move off, "and tell Loren he already tried this lame excuse for goin' 
  home with me twice this freggin' month already!"

"Do I look like a guy who plays games or acts as a messenger boy to love-sick 
  drummers?" calls back Gavin as you turn your back on him. He does not move 
  from the spot where you have left him, but instead says simply, "If you've 
  got a blaster, keep it loose and ready. Best of luck to you, lady."

The redheaded singer whirls around, scowling. "You look like somebody who 
  oughtta go mind his own karkin' business," is her immediate unthinking 
  response, but something in the man's bearing stops her short. She snaps 
  another look up and down his tall frame, and then demands, "You workin' for 
  Miz Laarken, then?"

"No. I don't." Gavin's tone is simple, unadorned and without guile. "My 
  employer isn't affiliated with the club, at all. I'm just taking the night 
  off, so to speak." Grey eyes focus on your face, before he adds, "I work in 
  the security business. Its why I noticed the two who took an interest in 
  you."

_Security,_ the girl thinks; _yeah, okay, now he feels like it._ Shenner 
  considers this, wary as a young wildcat, but after a moment she says 
  grudgingly, "I'll keep an eye out." She turns again, pauses, and glances 
  back once more. "Thanks," she concludes in low gruff tones.

"If you want, I can escort you home." No double meaning. There isn't even the 
  hint of it being a 'come on'. "Free of charge," he adds with a wry tone. 
  Gavin holds his place, even as snow continues to accumulate on his black 
  hair and jacket.

Stalh walks into the square from the east.
Stalh has arrived.

That holds Shenneret Veery long enough for another wary, speculative 
  inspection of this black-haired stranger, self-proclaimed security officer. 
  She considers Gavin thoughtfully, and then lifts up that pointed chin of 
  hers a bit, asking, "Just to see me safe home?"

Stalh looks at you for a moment.

"Just to see you home," agrees Gavin. Precise, simple and to the point. He 
  finally pushes a hand up to brush the snowflakes from his hair. "Shall we 
  get moving? I'm getting a little wet." Still, he holds himself well for a 
  man who has been standing out in the foul weather without any sort of 
  adequate protection for the last several minutes.

If nothing else, he is greatful to be in disguise and out of the eye of the 
  public - even if it is in the uniform of his former unit, the Execution 
  Squad, 'Whirlwind'. Stalh's eyes flicker to the sentients in the fountain on 
  this wet and miserable night. The rain sweeps his blonde locks over his eyes 
  for a moment and in brushing them away his gaze rests upon a familiar face in 
  the distance, the street-rat from his past. Non-chalantly he makes his way 
  closer to the the woman and her male companion who does not interest Stalh 
  at the moment.

She _should_, considers the musician, tell him no; she knows three different 
  ways home, after all, and if someone really _is_ on her tail tonight, 
  Shenner's fairly confident she can shake them without much effort. But 
  something about this black-haired fellow has at least succeeded in keeping 
  her attention, and something she can't exactly name to herself seems to let 
  a bit of her guard down. "Sure," she says then, "knock yourself out." And 
  she turns to tromp off through the snow, jamming her gloved hands into her 
  coat pockets.

Grey eyes, flat and unemotional, pick out Stalh's approach. Unlike the other 
  man, Gavin takes great interest in the approaching figure, though a 
  carefully crafted facade hides any obvious signs of his intent. 
  Half-listening to Shenner's response, he dips his chin in a nod and replies, 
  "Lead the way." One hand slides comfortably into the pocket of his jacket, 
  while the other settles neatly into the folds of his coat.

[And northward the musician and her escort go...]

You head towards the Bridgewater Park.
Bridgewater Park, Residential Area -- Plaxton City
        As the trees tower above, a broad drive cuts into a cleared out plot 
  of smoothly paved concrete and carefully groomed grass. While most of the 
  building fronts are fairly clean and modern, several old, well-kept houses 
  and apartment towers of majestic architecture are interspersed among them. 
  Well-groomed trees line the main street which becomes a stone-set bridge 
  that spans a twisting, rocky river. The air is fresh, the setting is quiet, 
  and the citizens are friendly.
Streets Here: Minutes Road, Riverview Terrace, Newcastle Circle. The night sky 
  above is covered with fluffy snow clouds which cover the buildings and 
  benches with snow and drifts line the sides of the streets.
                 -=-=-=-=-=-=<<Real Objects>>=-=-=-=-=-=-
=> 88 Newcastle Circle -- Divk's House
=> 6 Minutes Road (006) -- Underground Cottage
=> 122 Riverview Terrace -- Ronnie's Villa
=> 119 Riverview Terrace -- Jamison Residence
=> 123 Riverview Terrace(123) -- Aerilaya's Domain <AD>(#9659Ven)
=> 111 Minutes Road - E V E C T E D
=> 123 Newcastle Circle -- Rekkie Sheldon's House(#6474en)
=> 4 Minutes Road -- Raj's House
=> 121 Riverview Terrace (121) -- Nicole's Flat
=> 115 Minutes Road, (212) -- Jack's 'One Cred' Motel
=> 25 Newcastle Circle -- Linda's House
=> 116 Minutes Road, (311) -- Elomin's Studio
=> 120 Riverview Terrace (2nd Floor) -- Webb's Residence <WR>
=> 10 Newcastle Circle -- Randel's Home
=> 113 Minutes Road, (209) -- Konkhra's Flat
=> 117 Riverview Terrace (117) -- Kadgie's House
=> 113 Minutes Road, (207) -- H'Ghelim's Flat(#1108LO)
                  -=-=-=-=-=<<Visible exits>>=-=-=-=-=-
 <NE> North-East leads to Bluffs Residence -- Plaxton City.
 <S>outh leads to North Mergansar Ave. - Plaxton City.

Gavin arrives from North Mergansar Ave.
Gavin has arrived.

Public transports there are aplenty in Plaxton City, but evidently, Shenneret 
  Veery doesn't choose to make use of them. If the business at the Sandbar is 
  as brisk as the bartender claims, it surely can't be a matter of money; 
  perhaps, then, it's the weather? Shenner seems to like it well enough, at 
  any rate. She sets off at a steady pace and keeps it as she heads northward 
  into the residential district. And she keeps a distance from the stranger 
  who's volunteered his way into her company for the evening. _What's his 
  deal, anyway?_ she thinks as she goes, but since he's behaving himself, 
  she's willing to cut him a bit of benefit of doubt. Only when the street 
  sign for Newcastle Circle comes into range does she at last slow, pointing 
  to that sign and speaking up for the first time since she'd left the square: 
  "That's my street. We can part ways here, pal. Strangers don't get to come 
  to my door."

"Fair enough. I wasn't looking for any extras." Though a playboy by heart and 
  heritage, Gavin knows when not to try and charm the ladies. This isn't the 
  time or the place for it. Offering up a passing smile, he tips a finger to 
  his forehead in a salute of sorts, before stepping away from you. "Good 
  night, Ms Veery." He pauses, then adds, "Oh. My name is Gavin. Gavin 
  Hollister. Maybe I'll catch another one of your shows, sometime." Doing a 
  final scan of the area with cautious grey eyes, he backs away from you and 
  fades into the snowy night.

Shenner lingers at Rekkie's front door for a moment or two, peering after
  the departing figure of the man who'd volunteered to walk her home...
  and unable to quite know what to make of him. No, she thinks, he's nothing
  like the lovesick Loren... but what he is like, other than the general
  feel of 'security' that rusty but still-present thieving lore has provided
  her, eludes the young musician. As she finally slips bemusedly into the
  house she shares with Rekkie Sheldon, all she has to consider is the man's
  behavior, which seemed circumspect enough. But there's also his looks,
  which set off in the young bard an edgy reaction she can't quite bring
  herself to try to identify. And his name, which she mutters to herself as 
  she locks the door behind her. "Huh. Gavin Hollister..."

[End log.]