Log Date:
	6/30/99, 7/1/99, 7/5/99, 7/6/99, 7/7/99, 7/8/99

Log Cast:
	Webb, Shenner, Jairen, Subedei, JimClevall

Log Intro:
	Back in what seems now to Shenner to be Ye Olden Days before the
war that raged across Caspar, she'd once confessed to her friend Jonathan
Webb that she didn't know how to swim very well. He had promised to teach 
her -- and at the time, she'd been made nervous and shy about the notion of 
his seeing her in a swimsuit, but ready to trust him and go through with it.
But then Webb had gotten himself captured by the Empire, and then the war
had come along... and, well, Shenner hadn't exactly forgotten about the
incident, but it had seemed to her that there were other priorities to 
take care of.
	Now, though, an unexpected argument with Webb has had an even more
unexpected aftermath. He's shown up at her apartment in the middle of the
night to find her drunk and achingly lonely -- and has not only stayed the 
night with her, but has also begun to show signs of potent attraction.
	And now, a few days after that alarming little incident, the Lieutenant
has abruptly reminded Shen of his promise to help her with her swimming. And
the redheaded bard, nervous and shy and wondering exactly what has happened
between her and her friend, has agreed to meet him on Hideaway Beach...

----------
The occasional wave pushes its way up the beach past Webb's feet, before 
  flowing back out to sea. He presently faces off to the west, looking out 
  towards the middle of the bay. Behind him, far enough back so as to avoid 
  meeting the persistent waves, a small driftwood fire glows faintly, rather 
  than truly burning. It serves as a handy beacon to guide his expected 
  company to him... a dim spot of orange among the silvers and blues casted by 
  the moonlight.

Her carisak over her shoulder, stuffed with a couple of towels, a thin robe, 
  and a change of clothes, Shenner comes ambling out onto the sands more or 
  less on time. Green eyes sweep their gaze up and down the beach before the 
  glow of the fire is noted... and then she homes in on it readily. "Hiya," 
  she calls off softly, as she comes into earshot. Firelight glints off her 
  russet hair, and her face is a pale oval against the darkness.

Webb slowly half-turns, peering over his shoulder at you. Though details of 
  his face are initially difficult to make out in the dim light, somehow it's 
  not all that difficult to picture a faint smile spreading across Webb's face 
  as he answers in soft-ish tone, "Hey you."

"Y'know," Shen drawls as she tosses down the carisak nearby and hunkers down 
  by the fire, glancing up at you, "I kinda wondered if you, uh... remembered 
  what you'd offered. Glad ya did. So..." And she rises again, squaring her 
  shoulders. "How do we do this?"

"First step," Webb begins to explain in a vaguely professor-ish manner as he 
  steps up past the reach of the waves, approaching the glow of the fire. The 
  professor-ish manner vanishes rather quickly as his grin broadens, "I think 
  the first step is getting you wet."

Webb
You see before you a human male who you would guess to be approximately in his 
  mid-twenties. He stands just a touch under six feet tall, with a rather 
  wirey build. His eyes are grey in colour, with just a hint of blue. His hair 
  is of a shade somewhere between blond and brown, and could appear to be 
  either depending upon the light of the room. But if you'd met him on the 
  street right now, it'd probably be quite difficult to coax yourself to focus 
  upon him for long enough to determine that much, for his appearance is that 
  unremarkable.
At present, he wears a grey T-shirt with a pair dark khaki shorts and a pair 
  of beat-up old running shoes... perfect attire for a lazy summer day. A pair 
  of wire-rim, mirror lensed sunglasses hang from the collar of his shirt when 
  not worn.

Shenner clears her throat, and takes a moment to look the young man before her 
  up and down, a bit taken aback by his casual attire -- arguably the most 
  casual attire she's ever seen Jonathan Webb wearing. "Well," she coughs, "I 
  can handle that. Hold a moment..." And, just a trifle nervously, she begins 
  to strip. Off comes the khaki shirt -- but to reveal this time, rather than 
  a tank top, the top half of a golden-colored swimsuit.

Jairen arrives from the street.
Jairen has arrived.

Webb's eyebrows arch up ever so faintly, and his mouth opens ever so slightly. 
  The normally unfazeable Marine might have just gawked, though his composure 
  comes back rather rapidly. After all, the sight of Shenner in a swimsuit 
  wasn't entirely unexpected, and is indeed one of the less shocking potential 
  outcomes if swimming is in order. "You umm... had any instruction at this
  before?" Webb inquires, somehow avoiding the temptation to stare.

In the dim light of the driftwood fire, Shenner and Webb might be only 
  somewhat distinguishable from a distance. But the redheaded musician is 
  still nevertheless slightly nervous as she strips down to the swimsuit she's 
  put on under her clothing. Her khaki shirt is shortly followed by her boots, 
  and then her camo-colored pants -- leaving her, at last, wearing nothing but 
  that one-piece, body-hugging garment she's bought herself. It's not as 
  revealing as many garments intended for swimming, but it's certainly enough 
  to give the impression that for all her fiery temper, for all the muscle 
  she's put on keeping herself fit in the last several months, there's still 
  not much in the way of bulk to her slender frame. Not entirely comfortable 
  with meeting her companion's gaze yet, she avoids looking Webb in the eye 
  while she straightens up, undoing her braid, intending to wrap her hair more 
  securely around her head. "A little," she admits. "Only swam twice in my 
  life, though, and the second time... was kind of unexpected. I can sorta 
  tread water and paddle around a little, or at least I could first time I 
  tried. Been a while, though."

Shenner(#3773POACF)
This is a human female perhaps somewhere in her early twenties. She stands at 
  about 5'6" in height, with a lean, fit musculature adding substance to an 
  otherwise frail-seeming build. Her skin is the pale hue of most of the 
  galaxy's human races, with a scattering of small freckles adding detail to 
  her fine-boned features. Her hair is a rich dark russet; red-brown brows and 
  lashes set off her large and luminous green eyes, and she looks out at 
  everything she encounters with a keenly intelligent intensity. Those eyes, 
  along with a walk, stance, accent, and mannerisms seemingly more suited for 
  a brash street tough than a slender young woman, 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 in nothing but a swimsuit of a warm golden hue, a body-hugging, 
  one-piece affair cut semi-modestly at her legs and arms and neck, leaving 
  some things to imagination... but not all. It is still more than apparent 
  where the curves of her body are. When she is clad this way, the length of 
  her slim legs is accentuated as well. At the moment, for purposes of 
  swimming, she's bound up her hair in two braids looped about her head and 
  clipped securely just over the nape of her neck, and she's removed her 
  customary jewelry.

Jairen comes striding up the way, probably to spend some time in the little 
  cove that looks over the water. His keen hearing picks up Shenner's voice 
  from still a ways off and he pauses. The voice he recognised, but could not 
  understand all the words. He stops for a while to watch the two figures, 
  then heads up into the cove area, sitting on a rock and continuing to watch.

Webb finally gazes at Shenner in a rather appraising manner. This sight before 
  him is of course rather different from the usual image which he associates 
  with Shenner, though certain aspects aren't entirely unexpected, like the 
  sight of Shenner with her hair let down. "Hmm..." he comments, "Normally one 
  starts with simpler stuff... learning how to just float, for instance." As 
  his gaze traverses from the tip of Shenner's toes, up to eye level, he 
  quirks a faint smirk. "It's kinda relaxing," he states, as if to reassure 
  while he begins to move slowly to the water.

Shen's hands split up her braid into two parts, and quickly wind and bind it 
  around her head, getting that russet mass up off her neck. "Yeah," she says 
  gruffly, falling into bare-footed step next to the Marine, "I guess I kinda 
  remember, but I, uh, guess I could use some practice."

Jairen continues to watch idlely from his post up above, quietly musing over 
  who knows what.

Some people have a tendency to step into water hesitantly as if they expect it 
  to bite them. Webb is quite the opposite, and walks out into the water as if 
  it isn't even there, until it finally starts to slow his stride once he's 
  about knee deep.

The singer, on the other hand, approaches the surf gingerly, peering down at 
  the foamy edge of the water as if not quite accustomed to the feel of wet 
  sand beneath her toes. Then Shenner squares her bare shoulders and wades in 
  in the soldier's wake, doing her best to look as nonchalant as she can. Hey, 
  she can handle this! No problem!

Subedei arrives from the street.
Subedei has arrived.
Subedei tries to enter the hovershuttle to go to the lighthouse, but finds 
  that it is locked.
Subedei leaves the beach behind and heads back into the city.
Subedei has left.

Webb turns about once he's gotten to where the water almost comes up to his 
  chest (give or take a few inches of deviation for the rising and falling of 
  the water). "Okay," he says hesitantly, "We'll start fairly close to 
  shore.... with something fairly simple." Slowly, Webb just leans back, and 
  exhales his breath slowly as he murmurs, "You float better when your 
  relaxed." Without so much as a splash, the rotates from standing to floating 
  on his back in a slightly arched position, as if his arms and legs were just 
  allowed to dangle. After about 10 seconds of floating there motionless, he 
  suddenly reverts to upright, slowly rising up from the water to stand again, 
  "I'll help you the first time," he explains to Shenner, holding out his arms 
  just beneath the water, "You'll lean back onto my arms, and I'll slowly 
  lower them away. You can sink a little if you're not relaxed and stable, but 
  I won't let you sink too far, okay?"

Subedei arrives from the street.
Subedei has arrived.
Subedei tips his hat in passing, acknowledging those gathered here.
Subedei tries to enter the hovershuttle to go to the lighthouse, but finds 
  that it is locked.
Subedei leaves the beach behind and heads back into the city.
Subedei has left.

"Right," Shen mutters as she sees someone go by on the beach, "this _is_ 
  public territory..." She nods, though, as she makes it out into the water to 
  join her companion. "Okay. Right. Relax. Float. I can do that." The 
  redheaded musician blows out a breath, and then steps around to get herself 
  into position for Webb to support her. For a moment, she pauses in 
  consternation, a memory tugging at her, but she banishes it swiftly and 
  instead tilts herself backward towards the Marine's arms.

Jairen continues to watch the pair playing around int he water when he's not 
  staring off into space contemplatively.

True to his word, Webb's arms remain in place to accept Shenner as she leans 
  back into his arms. Slowly, he crouches down until his chin is level with 
  the water. This of course means that he's practically whispering into your 
  ear as your head is lowered to the water, "Just let your arms and legs go 
  limp. That'll help keep your face out of the water... tilt your head back."

That soft voice so near her ear tickles, and for a moment, Shenner is inclined 
  to squirm... but so far, this sounds more or less familiar. "Got it," she 
  answers back, trying to blank her thoughts and let her limbs go slack as 
  advised. Soon enough, her head angles slightly backwards, and she's bobbing 
  there on the top of the water. And she repeats huskily, "Got it..."

"Just... like... that," Webb murmurs as the pressure of his hands supporting 
  your back slowly diminishes, until his touch is so feather-light beneath 
  your shoulder-blades and the small of your back that there must be more 
  supporting you than him. For half a minute or so, he leaves his hands there 
  to support you, and keep you from drifting, before he inquires over the 
  lapping of the water upon the beach, "How do you feel?"

_Nervous,_ is Shenner's immediate thought. Just beneath the surface of her 
  memory is a recollection teasing at her consciousness, which she ruthlessly 
  supresses; this isn't Mandalore, after all, and she's not struggling to keep 
  afloat to keep herself from dying in a water trap. This is Caspar, a trusted 
  friend is here to keep watch over her, and she's... "Nervous," comes her 
  sheepish admission, "but I'm dealin'..." She blows out a sigh, making her 
  body relax, if not her mind.

"You'll be alright," comes Webb's immediate response as the hand beneath your 
  shoulder finally drops away, leaving you with the sensation of 
  near-weightlessness, save for the reassuring touch of his hand in the small 
  of your back. "You're doing good..." Out of the corner of your eyes, you 
  think you might see him doing that one thing that he does, where he bites at 
  his lower lip in a faintly nervous fashion. Now, the last time that 
  occurred, there was a kiss involved, wasn't there...

It _is_ oddly soothing, hanging there in the water, letting her mind go blank 
  and her arms and legs slump limply as they will. After a few moments Shen's 
  mind begins to relax along with her body, as the sound and scent of the 
  waves wash over her along with the sensation of being held up by the 
  ocean... and that one small touch beneath her back. Then she catches a small 
  glimpse of that expression of yours, and automatically she tries to look in 
  your direction -- just enough of a motion to throw herself off-balance. 
  "Whaa--"

Webb's hand quickly rises up beneath your shoulders before you can dip too 
  far, keeping your face from becoming submerged. "It's okay," he murmurs in a 
  calm, hopefully reassuring tone, "Not going to let anything happen."

The young woman lets out a slightly shaking breath, and then smiles, a brief 
  flash of white in the gloom. "I, uh... guess I remember floating. Think I 
  should practice it a bit more or move on to something else?"

It might occur to you, that either the water level has risen slightly due to 
  the tides, or Webb has steadily been edging towards deeper water, for now 
  when he stands, the water reaches his collarbone. Once again, you are mostly 
  being supported by the water, though Webb's hands remain in place to correct 
  you if you start to sink or tip. After a moment's pause he inquires, "You 
  comfortable with going underwater a bit?"

For several seconds Shenner does nothing but focus on floating... and she lets 
  herself drift readily enough with her companion's guidance. It hasn't, 
  actually, occurred to her to check the water level yet since she's trying to 
  move no more than absolutely necessary -- but she does start again, just a 
  little, at the new quesiton. "Underwater," she repeats, a trifle taken 
  aback. "Uh. Never done underwater. But, well, sure...."

JimClevall arrives from the street.
JimClevall has arrived.
JimClevall leaves the beach behind and heads back into the city.
JimClevall has left.

Webb nods a little and says oh so matter-of-factly to you, "Okay..." as he 
  slowly eases you back to upright, shifting the positioning of his hands to 
  one upon either side of your waist, "Put your hands on my shoulders... let 
  me know when you're ready. I'll make sure you get back to the surface." 
  Somehow, it seems that this isn't the method by which he would /always/ 
  teach swimming. Thus far, it seems awfully un-Marinelike. It also occurs to 
  you that if the water is up to the base of his neck, it's even higher to 
  you, and right now your feet don't quite touch the bottom.

This last little fact does, indeed, note itself in Shen's awareness as she's 
  moved about in the water. For a second or two, consternation flashes across 
  her face -- though perhaps this is a bit tough to see in the dimness of 
  evening -- and then she grasps your shoulders, swiftly. Just swiftly enough 
  to suggest that on some level, being in water deep enough that she can't 
  quite touch bottom is enough to disconcert a girl who didn't bat an eye at 
  jumping out of a shuttle thirty miles in orbit. "Okay," she mutters, 
  reflexively starting to kick her feet.

"Okay," Webb answers with just a bit of a nod, and murmurs to you, "Try to 
  keep your eyes open," before he slowly starts to lower himself below the 
  water, taking you under with him.

_Eyes open?! Now wait a minute--_ Shenner has enough time to think that, but 
  not enough time to _say_ it, not when it quickly occurs to her that holding 
  her breath is probably a good idea. She sucks in a hasty lungful of air just 
  before she feels herself dip below the surface of the water... and more 
  nervousness wells up in her. It's dark underwater at night, and slight 
  though it is, the sting of salt water against her eyes is enough to fluster 
  her into trying to breathe. She splutters, then flails a hand up to hold 
  over her mouth and nose, determined not to give up immediately. _Suns, this 
  is weird..._

Webb is rather quick to detect your distress. You were perhaps underwater for 
  a second or two before he has brought you back to the surface. "You 
  alright?" he asks, obviously having decided to err on the side of caution.

Another small splutter, and then Shen bobs her braided head. "Yeah," she 
  rasps, tasting salt. "Yeah. I'm fine..."

Webb gives you a few seconds to recover from the experience as he gazes across 
  the incredibly short distance between your face and his. Finally he 
  inquires, tightening his grasp about your waist ever so slightly, "Wanna try 
  again?"

Despite the low evening light, it's easy enough to see Shenner steadying 
  herself. Somewhere under the water her feet brush lightly against you, and 
  she shifts an arm to get better purchase on your shoulder as she tries to 
  keep her mouth and nose above the waves. "One more time," she mutters, but 
  she pauses for a moment, doing nothing but gazing back at you. Then she 
  catches herself and pulls in her breath again, nodding to show she's ready.

Webb once again starts the process of immersing the two of you, proceeding 
  slower this time as he lowers himself down so that he's essentially kneeling 
  upon the sand beneath the water, pulling you down to the bottom with him.

This time, Shen is a bit more prepared. But still little bubbles escape her as 
  she submerges and wrestles with the idea of trying _not_ to breathe, while 
  simultaneously trying to orient herself in the alien situation in which she 
  finds herself. Sight is not reliable, not underwater in the dark; hearing 
  seems unreliable as well. Only touch and gravity give her something on which 
  to focus. One arm goes round her companion while she fumbles experimentally 
  with the other, testing the feel of the bottom with her palm once she hits 
  it with her knees.

Webb actually exhales a tiny stream of bubbles as well, some of which crawl 
  along your face in a vaguely ticklish fashion as the two of you sit upon the 
  seabed in a manner suspiciously reminiscent of an embrace. It's actually not 
  as completely dark as one might have initially suspected, for the moon is 
  bright enough to penetrate the depths to the bottom in ares this shallow. 
  The slightly turbulent surface of the water breaks up this incoming 
  moonlight into dancing rays of dim, silverly light, which casts reticulated 
  patters upon the sandy bottom. Webb is faintly visible too, obviously... 
  rather blurry though. Some details are discernable, like the fact that his 
  eyes are actually open, and the gentle swaying motion of his hair as it is 
  moved back and forth by the flow of the water. Many tiny spots of blue-green 
  luminescence can be seen, darting to and fro in the water... probably some 
  form of tiny organism.

As her eyes adjust, slowly, Shenner's irrepressible sense of excitement at 
  anything new displaces her nervousness. Her head turns this way and that as 
  she tries to take in everything she can see in this new environment. She 
  tries to grin, unthinkingly -- and again loses her hold on her breath, in an 
  explosion of bubbles.

It's difficult to lose /all/ of your breath just by grinning underwater, but 
  still, the sudden increase in the volume of bubbles coursing from your mouth 
  prompts Webb to start to push you back to the surface as he pushes up off of 
  the bottom with his feet, causing the two of you to bob to the surface like 
  a cork. Your face breaks the surface a moment before his does.

Shen comes up with a splutter -- and a laugh, this time. "Oops," she croaks, 
  the grin now firmly in place as she flails around again, trying to regain 
  her balance in the water. "Guess I gotta practice."

Webb chuckles softly as he reaches up to brush a few stray soggy locks of your 
  hair away from your face as he leans in to murmur into your ear, "You seem 
  to be getting more comfortable with it."

The singer blinks salt wetness out of her eyes, still grinning. "Saw more that 
  time..." But she pauses, though, as that hand comes up, and as you draw 
  close enough for that murmur. Very conscious now of the hands at her waist, 
  she whispers back, "Now what...?"

"Good question," answers Webb, in a tone which would seem to imply something 
  along the lines of 'yeah, I can live with this', with reference of course to 
  the soggy bard in his arms.

Interesting how this doesn't appear to have anything to do with swimming. More 
  interesting, arguably, how this doesn't appear to be very significant to 
  Shenner. Also very conscious of how her arms have gone round her tall 
  companion, she remarks softly, "This is, uh, the part where I practice my 
  paddlin' around?" It might be noted, however, that she hasn't tried to move.

"I think that would be a good next step," murmurs Webb as his fingers glide 
  across your damp face and into your hair, pushing back those strands which 
  have escaped from your braid. The brush of sand against your feet tells you 
  that he's coaxed you back to slightly shallower water for this part.

Moving. Oh yes, she's moved. Shenner had been mostly paying attention to those 
  fingertips on her face, to the feel of waves rolling over her body, and to 
  the feel of those hands at her hips. Now, though, she also registers a 
  firmer contact of her soles to the sandy bottom. "I... remember just sorta 
  kinda paddlin' around the first coupla times I did this," she muses. Then 
  she shifts herself in the water, getting her feet up behind her. Her hands 
  are last to break contact with you, and they do so reluctantly; at last, 
  though, she's paddling clumsily there in the water and trying to turn 
  herself towards the shore. "Like this..."

Webb's movements through the water are somewhat more graceful. After you slip 
  from the embrace of his arms, he pushes off of the bottom to parallel you. 
  He actually seems to be somewhat less bouyant than yourself, in spite of 
  having had many more hours spent in the water than yourself, thanks to his 
  somewhat denser body structure. Still, his movements seem almost seal-like, 
  and he produces hardly a ripple as he follows along beside you, occasionally 
  dipping beneath the surface... at one point he passes right underneath you, 
  brushing against you ever so slightly as he does, before he resurfaces on 
  the other side.

Shen, apparently, has indeed had a little bit of practice moving about in the 
  water. As long as she's paddling she seems to have the hang of keeping 
  herself afloat fairly well -- though the incoming waves throw her off track 
  every so often. But still, she relaxes after a time, and lets out a noise 
  between squeal and giggle as you skim by underneath her.

Webb slowly rolls onto his back, propelling himself alongside of you with his 
  feet, while his outspread arms stabilise him and help him change directions 
  so that he easily floats alongside you. "Bah. You're a natural," he 
  comments, "What did you need lessons for?"

The singer's damp features crinkle up in self-deprecation as she clumsily but 
  doggedly paddles there alongside you, managing to shift herself more or less 
  into the proper position for treading water. "Wasn't sure I could do it 
  again," she mutters sheepishly.

Webb arches an eyebrow faintly at that assertion, and abruptly changes the 
  subject as he manuevers himself in front of you and tilts himself upright to 
  hold his position by treading water, "Is it just me, or are you ticklish?"

"What? What's that got to do with--ohhhh no! No way, pal!" Shenner starts 
  doing her level best to paddle away, but for all that she's gotten the hang 
  of keeping herself afloat, she _hasn't_ yet mastered dexterity or speed 
  while swimming. "Don't even think about it!"

Webb dons his most preposterously innocent expression, as if he'd /never/ 
  think of tickling you even if he lived as long as certain short, wrinkly 
  green aliens. This is the expression that he maintains flawlessly, even as 
  he slowly disappears beneath the water, leaving barely a ripple behind him.

Uh oh. "Don't you _do_ this!" Shenner yells, twisting about awkwardly in the 
  waves, and then half-paddling, half-leaping for shallower water. It occurs 
  to her to wonder which way the tide is going, a fact of which she has no 
  idea in the slightest, and this prompts her to try to get back to a place 
  where she can stand up safely as soon as possible.

Being underwater, if Webb can hear your shouting, it's probably awfully 
  distorted. Seconds tick by with nary a sign of him, allowing you to reach 
  water shallow enough to stand in. After all, he seems not to be the type 
  who'd chance inadvertently drowning you. Approximately 20 seconds have 
  passed since he dove beneath the waves, and he still seems to not be coming 
  up, although whatever just touched your lower leg certainly does feel like 
  his hand. Or at least, seeing as there aren't any other mischeivous Marines 
  down there, he's /probably/ the obvious culprit.

Shenner leaps reflexively, trying to spin around in reaction to that contact, 
  crying out, "Nooo, no, pal, no way -- where the kark are ya?" Not seeing you 
  behind her, not quite willing to go underwater to check, she sweeps an arm 
  forward through the water to try to see if you're lurking there under the 
  surface.

Well, he's down there somewhere, for as soon as you turn about, he abruptly 
  releases your leg, and brushes by against your leg. Your hand fails to 
  locate him as you sweep through the water... he must've darted out of range, 
  seeing your hand reaching for him. Of course, from his vantage point, he is 
  probably better aware of what you're up to than vice versa. The instant your 
  hand has passed, a movement can be seen in the water in front of you, and 
  you feel yourself grabbed about the waist and lifted off of the bottom as he 
  bursts up out of the water, gasping for a breath before he asks, "Miss me?"

A startled little shriek bursts out of Shenner, immediately followed by a 
  vigorous insistence of "No tickling! No tickling!" And she wriggles about in 
  your grasp in an instinctive attempt to regain her feet -- or at least her 
  balance.

Though this intriguing discovery doubtlessly presents all sorts of 
  possibilities for implementation in the impish workings of Webb's mind, you 
  find that you aren't being tickled, at least not yet, as he slowly lowers 
  you until your feet can touch the bottom once again. "No tickling," Webb 
  agrees, albeit apparently with some reluctance.

Warily, the musician peers up at you, trying to ascertain the sincerity of 
  that promise. "Good," she mutters then, grateful to have the sandy bottom 
  beneath her feet... but not yet releasing the hold she'd gotten upon you. As 
  she stands there in the water with waves rippling around her lower half and 
  the cooling night air touching her upper, it occurs to her that your 
  proximity is her best bet for avoiding being chilled. Still, though, she 
  sets her shoulders and adds staunchly, "Not that I'm ticklish or anything, 
  just... doesn't help me learn to swim much!" Yeah, that's it. That's a good 
  story!

Tickling? Who needs tickling in /this/ situation? Webb's somewhat goofy 
  expression does slowly fade his more characteristic calm. Slowly, he edges 
  closer to you, asking softly, "You getting cold?" as his gaze turns up 
  towards the lunar illumination.

"A little," Shenner admits, her voice softening in turn.

Webb turns his head slowly in the other direction, meeting your gaze with eyes 
  turned faintly luminescent by the glow of moonlight catching the greys of 
  his irises. He offers forth a tiny, brief smile, before looking over to the 
  beach, "We could get the fire going again?"

The damp young woman standing before you nods then, grinning crookedly. 
  "Sounds good." Moonlight shimmers off her, too, bringing out red glints in 
  her now thoroughly soaked hair, otherwise seemingly an indefinite shade of 
  dark. "Gettin' a little nippy out here..."

Webb nods faintly in agreement with the assertion that things are getting a 
  bit on the nippy side, "Must be where all of these goosebumps and shivers 
  are coming from, eh?" Of course, there are /other/ possibilities as to the 
  origin of such alleged phenomenae, if they in fact exist.

Shenner turns to wade out to the beach, but as she goes she glances over her 
  shoulder, her expression wry and significant... and perhaps just a touch 
  nervous. But her attention moves swiftly to the campfire, and in moments, 
  she's out of the water, droplets streaming down off her pale limbs. "Cold," 
  she gasps, hastening across the sand to the driftwood fire and her 
  belongings stacked up nearby. She dives first for her towel.

Webb stands there waist deep in the water for a few seconds, watching you wade 
  towards shore, and bites his lower lip for a moment as you emerge from the 
  water. Finally, he begins to follow after you, not quite as hurried as you 
  are, but not exactly taking his time anymore either. He is shivering faintly 
  by the time he reaches the fire, but rather than fishing for his own towel, 
  his first activity is to add more tinder and a few more pieces of driftwood 
  for the fire, carefully avoiding dripping water onto the embers and 
  extinguishing the few flickering glows of orange that remain by the time the 
  two of you return to the fire. Seconds pass, and slowly the glow begins to 
  give way to an actual, steadily growing flame.

With that, her towel wrapped about her shoulders, Shenner hunkers down by the 
  little fire, visibly drawn by the renewed circle of warmth it puts forth. A 
  small sigh escapes her, and finally she looks your way, a smile tugging at 
  one side of her mouth. "This was fun," she ventures.

Only now that the fire has begun to crackle softly does Webb begin to search 
  through his pack for his own towel, which he runs through his hair, and over 
  his face to keep rivulets of water from running down his nose in a 
  distracting fashion. His hair looks decidedly rumpled once he drapes the 
  towel over his shoulders, and he quirks his own lopsided smile, "Definitely 
  not a run of the mill evening..."

"Thanks for helpin' me practice," Shenner says earnestly, that hint of 
  sheepishness returning to her voice although her green gaze lingers upon 
  you. "I... guess I needed somebody to keep an eye on me... 'case I got 
  nervous in the water or somethin'." She shifts position as she speaks, 
  drawing her knees up to her, holding her hands out palms forward to the fire.

Webb gives a faint, quick nod as he leans over to rummage through his pack, "A 
  lot of learning it is just practice," he peers up at you momentarily, before 
  he begins to rummage through his pack again, before he starts to furrow his 
  brow, looking conspicuously as if he just forgot what he was looking for, "I 
  think next time, I gotta bring a couple of snorkels and masks, so you can 
  really get a good look at what's down there."

"Snorkels?" Shenner asks blankly. "What the kark's a snorkel?" She quirks her 
  head, just enough to try to peer over at what you're doing; this is followed 
  up with her scooting around the fire, just a bit closer.

Webb finally digs out his t-shirt from the bag, then a couple of plastic 
  containers which contain mysterious foil-wrapped objects and other items of 
  (so far) mysterious origin, "Breathing tube... allows you to keep your head 
  underwater, and still draw air from the surface. You use a mask with them so 
  that things don't look quite so blurry." Another object emerges, namely a 
  smallish metal pot into which Webb has packed several various utensils and 
  culinary implements. His commentary shifts topics, as his actions could very 
  well be considered curious, "I seem to remember that I said I'd cook you 
  breakfast... then I kinda forgot... um... once we actually decided to get 
  up."

Shenner blinks, first at the items being drawn forth from the bag, and then at 
  what you begin doing with them. "Oh," she blurts, expression threatening to 
  soften all of a sudden. "Well... um... whaddya got? Need help?" For a moment 
  the young musician considers, and then she rises just long enough to snare 
  her own pack, which she promptly drags around the fire over to where it can 
  be within easy reach as she sits down beside you.

Webb opens one of the foil packets just enough for you to get a peek at its 
  contents, which would appear to be decidedly vegetable in nature, and to 
  cover a fairly broad assortment of local vegetables. He closes the packet 
  back up, then places it into the embers at the edge of the fire, before he 
  opens the pot, pulls out a folded up tablecloth (or something which shall 
  serve similar purposes), and spreads it onto the sand, "Umm... hmm. Let me 
  know if any of these packages start to emit ugly black smoke," he quirks a 
  faintly devlish grin, then picks up the pot and trudges down to the waves to 
  fill it with seawater.

"Wow," remarks Shenner, looking rather impressed by the impromptu dinner. Then 
  she blinks yet again as you head for the water. "Hey! What's up with that, I 
  thought seawater isn't potable...?" Potable! Shen does, indeed, have a 
  vocabulary, and every so often it shows.

Webb grins and nods ever so faintly, before he explains, "We can't drink it, 
  yeah... /but/," he says ominously, and lowers his voice as if it were some 
  remarkable secret, "We can boil stuff in it, particularly the local 
  crustacea." He returns to sit at the fireside, before he selects a stable 
  area upon which to place the pot. A few stands of kelp can be seen floating 
  in the water, "We're not eating the green stuff either. It /is/ edible, but 
  right now, it'd be a little salty. It /will/ flavour these guys a little 
  though." The last mysterious sealed plastic container is opened, revealing 
  two reasonably sized, slightly threatening looking aquatic crustacea with 
  spines and pincers and the like. If Webb felt like it, he could be dumping 
  these creatures into the pot while they were still wiggling. These ones, 
  however, are packed in what used to be ice, but is now partially melted. 
  There's also about several smaller crustacea, which look significantly less 
  threatening than their larger bretheren. Into the pot they all go, with 
  several wedges of citrus for good measure.

Throughout all of this activity, Shenner watches with increasingly impressed 
  eyes. She nods in comprehension at the explanations about the water and 
  seaweed -- but whistles aloud at the sight of the crustacea. A smile flares 
  out across her face as she breathes, "Holy suns, pal... this is one helluva 
  breakfast."

Webb smirks lopsidedly as he puts the lid back onto the pot, "Well, it's not 
  exactly breakfast, but morning is a while off..." before he realises that 
  such explanations are obvious and silly, and he grins sheepishly, "Still 
  cold?"

With the fire crackling merrily now, Shenner has placed herself as close to it 
  as she can get without actually putting her toes in ash. Still, though, her 
  hair is damp and so is her back, and she rises up to her knees to begin 
  toweling herself off more thoroughly. "Some," she answers in gruff, soft 
  tones, "but I'm gonna hafta get dryer before I put my clothes back on." Her 
  head bows a bit, her gaze averting.

Webb ahs faintly and diverts his gaze too, momentarily, although his diverts 
  more in a downwards direction towards your swimsuit-clad body, then down to 
  your legs. Flashing a shy smile, he move just a little closer, sliding 
  around behind you, murmuring, "Umm... yeah," before he leans forwards a 
  little to peer over your shoulder at the fire, and hesitantly wraps his arms 
  about your waist. "Better?"

At the contact of those arms Shenner pauses, and the earlier threat of 
  gentling in her expression now is made good upon: her gaze softens visibly. 
  Backlit by firelight, the towel held loosely at her shoulderblades, she in 
  turn takes in the sight of you, tousled hair, tousled clothes and all. The 
  smile that tugs at her mouth this time, for once, works at both ends... and 
  as she smiles, Shen mutters shyly, "This is good."

Webb
You see before you a human male who you would guess to be approximately in his 
  mid-twenties. He stands just a touch under six feet tall, with a rather 
  wirey build. His eyes are grey in colour, with just a hint of blue. His hair 
  is of a shade somewhere between blond and brown, and could appear to be 
  either depending upon the light of the room. But if you'd met him on the 
  street right now, it'd probably be quite difficult to coax yourself to focus 
  upon him for long enough to determine that much, for his appearance is that 
  unremarkable.
At present, he wears a pair of olive green shorts which seem to suitable for 
  swimming. He may be sandy, damp, or show other signs of having recently 
  parkten in aquatic recreation. Upon his right arm, in a location that would 
  normally be hidden by a t-shirt, is a tatoo of a single suspiciously Caspian 
  looking star with a ring of five small worlds. Over this is emblazoned a 
  stylized 'winged blade' insignia, with the motto, "To Adapt and Overcome."

Slowly, Webb nods his head in agreement with your assessment of the situation. 
  From past experiences, there seems to be a certain set of situations which 
  will conjure forth anything remotely resembling shyness in Webb. His own 
  mouth curls slowly to answer your smile as he peers in a slightly sidelong 
  manner into your eyes, occasional reflections of firelight dancing in their 
  depths. "It is good."

And that's the whole thing, really. The time and place and company in which 
  Shenner now finds herself are all surprisingly good. Almost alarmingly so. 
  Her gaze dips down to take note of the fact that the Marine whose arms now 
  encircle her is in a distinct state of shirtlessness. For all that Webb 
  might not be the most muscular of men, still, a soldier in prime physical 
  condition -- this particular soldier, in fact, for a number of reasons -- 
  makes for a physique to seize and hold the attention of Shenneret Veery. 
  Unsettled, edgy attraction flickers across her expression as she brings up a 
  hand to touch that bare right shoulder, and then the tattoo further down the 
  arm.

There is time to be passed while water boils and food cooks, and as the meal 
  seems remarkably low-maintenance while it's actually cooking, Webb's 
  attention is free to wander to other tasks, like this whole embrace which is 
  looking more and more like the ideal way to pass the time. Faint hints of 
  nervousness, but not lack of willingness, are detectable in Webb's 
  expression from time to time as he ponders this situation, lowering his eyes 
  to study you as you conduct your own visual explorations. "So, umm... I've 
  been thinking about you... a lot," he murmurs, blushing slightly as he 
  suspects that he may have in fact sounded silly.

It has been some time since she's been this close to a man with his shirt off 
  -- and even longer since a man to whom she's drawn has spent time with her, 
  cooked her a meal, and said things that in their sweet simplicity are far 
  more prone than any wry flirtations she might receive in the Sandbar to 
  calling out the vulnerable part of her so rarely shown to anyone. Sheer 
  physical presence keeps Shenner where she is and her hand upon your arm, but 
  those murmured words draw her gaze back up to your face. "Guess... that'd be 
  mutual then," she replies huskily.

Webb's eyebrows rise ever so faintly, in an indication this response which you 
  have just given him was neither 100 percent expected (hoped for, perhaps) 
  nor taken for granted. And it seems that these words have brought out a hint 
  of sheepishness to him - a sort of a quirky awkwardness which carries its 
  own sort of charm, but might provoke outright shock from various recruits 
  and such who dismiss Webb's humanity as either nonexistant or horribly 
  warped in various fashions. Some might laugh. Some might decide it's time to 
  give up Corellian Brandy cold turkey. Ah, romance...

For her part, Shenner hasn't ever much doubted that the man before whom she's 
  kneeling has had a gentler side, not since she saw him crafting a 
  sea-creature out of water and sand. But the change in his behavior that 
  she's seeing now, for all its allure, is setting off little nervous alarms 
  throughout her system -- along with the feel of his arms around her middle. 
  _Walk sharp, street rat,_ a more rational corner of her brain advises, 
  shying away from whatever has possessed both the singer and the soldier and 
  seems bent on changing them both. _Too much, too soon! Don't go there!_ 
  Another part of her, though, is fascinated by the way his gaze is resting on 
  her, and its urging is sweeter and stronger despite being of lesser volume. 
  And so she compromises, grinning awkwardly, taking refuge in humor. "But, 
  um... do I even wanna know what you've been thinkin'? I mean, all kindsa 
  things come to mind, whether I karked up the key and tempo on that last 
  piece I did in my last set, whether I-I got any prayer of eventually 
  smacking Jair into next week with my sword..."

In the back of Webb's mind, almost as soon as he figures out that this feels 
  rather good, a certain level of wariness sets in. It's not sufficient to 
  prompt him to turn tail and run. But proceeding with a touch of caution 
  certainly couldn't hurt. After all, he has numerous, rather vivid memories 
  about how incredibly cranky he can make any woman who dares to actually care 
  for him. Well... maybe not /every/ woman... after all, certain ones also 
  kinda die on him too. Yes, humour seems to be a safe refuge, "I'm thinking 
  that if someone had told me a few months ago that this was where I was 
  headed..." His grin quirks a little wider, though he's not sure how to 
  finish that sentence. One has to admit though, something about this seems a 
  little unbelievable.

"What, cookin' crabs for a cranky sword-swingin' street rat bar singer?" 
  Shenner quips. Her hand lingers upon her companion's arm, but that's just 
  one hand accounted for. Not entirely certain what to do with the other, the 
  redheaded musician glances down at her left hand's mate, before tentatively 
  bringing it up to rest on Webb's other shoulder. "Yeah, I'da laughed myself 
  sick too."

"I don't know about /that/ part," Webb comments as he turns to peer at the 
  aforementioned seafood to make certain that it's not boiling over, "You see, 
  I actually /like/ to cook, so the culinary part was pretty much inevitable."

Despite the urgings of her more rational self, Shenner can't help a crooked, 
  charmed smile. "I had no idea," she murmurs warmly -- before she shies back 
  into teasing. "Damn good thing I like seafood, I guess!"

Webb grins faintly, and looks at his wristwatch for a moment (it is after all 
  waterproof, shockproof, and supposably more survivable than he is, although 
  the manufacturer has in all fairness, never met Webb prior to making that 
  guarantee), and announces, "They ought to be ready in about five more 
  minutes... So..." he peers back to you, seemingly impressed by your affinity 
  for seafood, "Yeah, some people can get a /little/ intimidated by this kind 
  of culinary fare." Gee... whoever could be afraid of what looks like a 
  large, spiny, ugly, bug with nasty looking pincers?

"You shoulda seen some of the stuff I've seen people eat on Tatooine," Shenner 
  confides then, her grin broadening. "'Sides, how can you live near an ocean 
  and not like seafood? It's nummy." Entirely at odds with her casual 
  discussion of oceanic edible organisms, her gaze remains on Webb's face. 
  Before she can quite think to stop herself, she lifts up her hand, more 
  towards his face, but her fingertips pause before reaching the line of his 
  jaw.

Webb's awkward grin fades slowly at the touch of your hand upon his cheek. 
  There's no attempt made to withdraw... it's just that his expression has 
  managed to take on a touch of seriousness. His eyes seem to have widened 
  slightly, becoming more expressive of his thoughts, or at least of their 
  intensity. "Hmm..." is all that he can really comment of the present 
  situation, before he starts to lean his head closer to yours, narrowing the 
  proximity between your lips and his.

Shen's hand lingers fleetingly against the side of your face, even as she 
  draws in close enough for lips to meet and kiss. As she moves, her towel 
  slips down unheeded to land in an untidy heap at her knees.

Webb pauses just an instant before his lips meet yours... it's not exactly 
  second thoughts, but more like taking a moment to appreciate the situation, 
  before his lips cover that last little bit of distance to make that first 
  gentle touch.

Contact. And it would seem that Shenner has some idea of what she's doing; her 
  mouth's motions against yours are deft and sure and soft. Still, though, 
  uncertainty makes her draw back almost as soon as she's drawn near, and she 
  seeks your gaze with her own, her eyes seeming full of a need for 
  reassurance. "So, uh... you're okay with this?" she whispers then.

Webb bites his lower lip for a moment as he gazes across the now incredibly 
  short distance between your eyes and his. After a moment, he slowly nods, 
  and whispers back to you, "Yeah... I..." he bites his lower lip for just a 
  moment before he murmurs, "Depends. Do you know what you're getting into? I 
  mean... my line of work... it can make this kind of thing difficult."

Ohhhh dear. Dangerous line of questioning, this. Louder alarm bells sound in 
  the back of Shenner's mind, and she gives in enough to them to inquire 
  hoarsely, "Wh-what're we gettin' into?" Her arms have come up to curl around 
  you, and the fingers of one hand have made it to the nape of your neck.

Webb takes a deep breath. Honesty time... but perhaps, it is better if this 
  kind of thing is adressed up front, rather than giving you nasty surprises. 
  "Well, for starters," he begins, "There'll be a lot of good-byes. I won't 
  always be able to tell you where I'm going. Sometimes I won't even be able 
  to tell you how long I'll be gone. And each time, there's a possibility that 
  I might not come back."

Those softly uttered statements take Shenner aback. Intellectually, she's 
  known from day one that her soldier friend -- and for now that word will do 
  her till she figures out whether there's one more appropos -- has had a 
  perilous and always potentially fatal job. She's worried about him more than 
  once. But none of these issues were foremost on her mind; now, she struggles 
  for words for a moment or two, before she blurts, "But... wait. Wait. I..." 
  The fact that she's about to actually give voice to this draws a sudden 
  blush across her face, but she goes through with it. "Last I checked, it 
  seemed like you were kinda... spoken for."

Webb shrugs his shoulder faintly, though it seems like he can't exactly regard 
  this question, or its answer as casual in any regard. "She left," he 
  mutters, as conflicting emotions well up at the thought, "Her uncle is an 
  Imperial spook. My team captured him at the end of the war, when he was 
  trying to take her back. Zapping her Uncle kinda made her mad at me. And 
  when the guy found out about our relationship... well, he wasn't happy with 
  his niece." But no, that's not the whole story, or at least, that's what his 
  eyes say during the pause of several seconds that follows, "That, and I'd 
  had at least two spells of absense... to go who knows where to do who knows 
  what. The fact that I could've been running amok, unknowingly wiping out her 
  friends and relatives who she left behind didn't sit well with her. Then..." 
  his expression seems to be falling into one of faint despair, "Peace came... 
  supposably. She gave birth. We had to let her uncle out. His first move is 
  to kidnap her daughter. He tells her if she ever wants to see the kid again, 
  she has to straighten up and fly right and quit associating with rebel 
  scum." His teeth clench together, indicating more than a residual bit of 
  frustration, "And that was that."

And all of this, on the heels of another rejection, another departure, the 
  story of which -- also delivered on the beach under moonlight -- still 
  lingers vividly in Shenner's recent memory. Words are inadequate; with a 
  bard's inherent grasp of what to say when, she doesn't even try to offer any 
  vocal condolences. Her eyes take up the task for her, turning liquid on this 
  man's behalf, and both her hands come back forward to cup his face between 
  them.

Webb sighs faintly, trying to sound composed, as if relating a historical 
  example in a lesson on military tactics, rather than talking about losing 
  someone who he apparently genuinely cared about, "I... I, of course, had 
  been called away again... to deal with the seeds of a crisis that culminated 
  in this little assassination. When I got back... there was a message from 
  her that explained the whole thing... said goodbye. What it came down to, 
  though she was trying hard not to say it, was that I wasn't there when she 
  needed me." Composed, he's not... not entirely at least. As he says the last 
  sentence, a shudder runs through him, as if a blaster bolt were passing 
  through his flesh.

"C'mere." That's all Shenner says, then, and this is in a soft whisper. Her 
  arms slide back down to wrap around you, to draw you back to her, but this 
  time her intent is to hold rather than kiss. One of her hands lifts up to 
  begin stroking your hair. "C'mere."

"And, umm... she was also kinda... technically... umm. Married... or engaged. 
  Never did confirm which. Probably had something to do with why she went 
  back," a faint smirk crosses Webb's expression, indicative of the fact that 
  he's aware that he may have just described the utterly worst case scenario 
  in the field of dating redheads. Though he appears to not be on the verge of 
  breaking down in any fashion - he's either still sort of numb, or he's had 
  too much time to think about it before telling you - he does seem willing to 
  lean into the embrace. Another sigh escapes his lips, before he murmurs into 
  your ear, "So umm... that's kind of something I'm wary of."

Shenner is content with the intimacy of holding you close, of giving you a 
  shoulder on which to rest as this story is relayed. And at last, she breaks 
  her silence, whispering back as she smooths your hair, "I ain't married. Or 
  engaged. That's for damn sure." She swallows hard, feeling obligated to 
  offer a confidence in kind for what she's just been told -- and there's a 
  memory niggling at the back of her head, anyway. A memory that makes her go 
  abruptly still. Then, her voice odd, she asks, "When did I... tell you about 
  Paul?"

Maybe he's trying that humour thing again, but as you inform him that you're 
  not married, Webb lets out what sounds like a small sigh of relief. At the 
  question about Nighman, he arches his eyebrows, then furrows them as he 
  ponders that, "You never did, I don't think. Name associations have come up 
  though... like when your Jedi friend showed up, I kinda figured he was 
  looking for you, but he says he's actually looking for this Paul. But he's 
  looking for Paul because he wants to find you. Umm... this Luke guy..." He 
  has trouble getting to the bloody point, doesn't he? "Besides, umm... when 
  you were talking about the movie... well, most of the other archeologists 
  that I've heard of are a bit to professor-ish to make halfway decent 
  adventure movie characters. Scientific wild-ass guess..."

Shen pulls back from you enough to smile weakly as she meets your gaze with 
  her own. "Pretty good guess," she rasps, her eyes very full now. There's 
  unmistakable old memory there. "Paul told me the guy who wrote _Thieves of 
  the Sacred Scrolls_ did it after he and Paul got real drunk and Paul spun 
  him a load of bantha dung about what he does for a livin'." Then she pauses, 
  her mouth twisting, then settling into a small stoic line that does nothing 
  to offset that palpable recollection in her eyes. "Though in... some ways, 
  the guy kinda nailed it, too."

Webb murmurs a soft 'ah' sound, and seems to have taken measures to alter the 
  situation so that you are leaning as much on him as he is upon you, and 
  indeed goes so far as to dare to try to coax you into his lap. He does this 
  slowly, cautiously, as if in hearing this, he suddenly came to the awareness 
  that he is handling a decidedly fragile object - your heart.

The singer is thusly cajoled, by the small subtle gestures of your hands, and 
  she settles down into your lap exactly as if a small wild creature might 
  venture out onto an unfamiliar branch. Touching her brow more or less to 
  your own, her eyes closed and her arms still looped about you, Shenner says 
  hoarsely, "Anyway, that's... old history. I ain't seen Paul in... a year and 
  a half, except for that one night he showed up in the Sandbar. Luke didn't 
  say nothin' about lookin' for him, but maybe... I dunno, maybe he thinks 
  Paul might know where Jessa is. It's Jessalyn Luke's lookin' for. It's, uh, 
  Jedi stuff..."

Webb emits another soft 'ah' sound at the mention of 'Jedi stuff', accompanied 
  by the wince/smirk expression that usually accompanies his thoughts about 
  'Jedi stuff'. Of course, with your eyes closed, you feel, more than see the 
  change in his facial expression as he nuzzles against you lightly. His own 
  gaze has begun to drift lower, peering down at your body as it rests against 
  his, before he spies a spot where your collarbone is exposed by your 
  swimsuit, and leans his head down to brush a kiss against it.

For once, Shenner's neck is not occupied by that silver-and-brass necklace 
  that seems usually permanently affixed there -- and for Shen, its absence in 
  conjunction with Paul Nighman's presence in the conversation, and 
  _especially_ in conjunction with that kiss placed at that sensitive portion 
  of her skin, it's enough to make her draw in a slow inhale of breath. Her 
  face turns to your hair, and for a few moments she thinks of nothing but the 
  saltwater scent of it as a little shiver ripples through her.

With this response, his lips seem inclined to linger there for a while, 
  planting soft, delicate kisses along the exposed skin that covers your 
  collarbone, picking spots that are particularly alive with hidden nerve 
  endings. At one point, his lips meet up with the cloth of the strap of your 
  swimsuit, as it arches across your shoulder. This seems to povoke a moment 
  of consternation in him, before he slowly reaches up and proceeds to 
  carefully move the strap aside, pushing it a few inches down your shoulder, 
  away from your neck.

Ohhh dear. Being kissed is one thing; in the months since she's set foot on 
  Caspar, Shen has let herself kiss two men, not counting the one who now 
  holds her in his arms. But a man familiarizing himself with portions of her 
  skin that to date have still only been so intimately explored by one other
  person is something quite different. She freezes in startlement even as 
  her pulse speeds up and that ever-diminishing corner of rationality in her 
  brain throws out an alert... but, two heartbeats later, the thought of _The 
  hell with it_ overrides that last gasp of reason. The temptation and the 
  appeal of the moment are far too strong. And so Shenner twines her arms more 
  securely around you, her head tilting sideways to give better access to the 
  curve that runs down the side of her neck and along her now bared shoulder.

Webb's eyes turn upwards, though without him actually retreating from the 
  space that his lips have claimed upon your shoulder and neck. Methodically, 
  he continues to follow an easily anticipated path, back up your shoulder 
  towards the side of your neck. He's careful to proceed in a manner which 
  will allow him at least occasional glimpses of the expression upon your face.

The young singer's eyes have closed, but lightly. If there is a way to 
  describe the set of her features, that way might be nervous, uncertain 
  pleasure -- the sort of expression one might get when not entirely sure if 
  an unlooked-for delight won't vanish like an ion trail dissipating in a 
  starship's wake. Shenner is trembling ever so faintly now; her fingers move 
  up to push a little more deeply into short fair hair, and she appears to 
  have picked up a slight hitch in the rhythm of her breathing.

An occasional, gentle nip is now interspersed with the kisses that Webb plants 
  upon the side of your neck, then up along the contours of the side of your 
  jaw. Webb's lips seem to be zeroing in upon the soft spot at the very bottom 
  of your earlobe, and taking their agonizingly sweet time getting there. When 
  his lips finally touch your earlobe, you feel his hands slide up the back of 
  your shoulders, actually starting to hook into the shoulder straps of your 
  swimsuit again, in a fashion that's downright ominous. It occurs to you that 
  you can now hear a low sizzling sound in the background. It also occurs to 
  you that despite any suspicions, it's not the two of you. The sound 
  continues for about 30 seconds, before Webb finally snaps back to the real 
  world. He startles abruptly, pulling his hands back, and blushes rather 
  brightly, "Umm... dinner must be ready." Sure enough, the pot has begun to 
  boil over, and the sizzle is the water meeting the hot embers of the fire.

It would seem that despite Shenner's frequent belting out of decidedly bawdy 
  songs in the Sandbar -- hells bells, she knows seven racy ditties about Han 
  Solo alone, one of which drops all sorts of interesting innuendoes about 
  that particular famous smuggler and his Wookiee partner -- there is 
  something distinctly shy about her when this kind of attention is lavished 
  upon her. Those subtle little quivers still course through her frame, and a 
  tiny wordless sound escapes her.... just as the pot begins to intrude upon 
  what's going on. What? Where? Oh... right.... "Dinner," she repeats, just a 
  trifle dazed.

Sometimes, in situations like this, it is difficult to tell who exactly is 
  shivering. After all it is possible to feel that tremble, and believe that 
  it's purely the action of oneself, or conversely the other. Webb discovers 
  at this moment, as he gently extricates you from his lap so that he can 
  attend to the food, that his own hands are in fact shaking, as is shown when 
  he picks up the pot by its handle. The rattle is rather audible, until 
  through what seems to be no small effort of concentration, Webb manages to 
  stablise it. Slowly, he tips the pot to drain off the water into the sand 
  (in a manner so that it'll flow /away/ from you if it's not just absorbed by 
  the dry sand). You catch him taking in a deep breath, and letting it out 
  slow so as to calm his quickened pulse, and so that he won't spill things 
  all over as he sets the pot upon a pot-holder in the midst of the blanket 
  that serves for a table-cloth at this picnic.

Flustered, Shenner takes several moments to try to steady her own composure, 
  and when she realizes that the straps of her suit have been dislodged, a 
  deep blush sweeps across her cheeks. With that, she turns to pull out a 
  short, light robe of patterned blue terrycloth from within her tote bag, 
  pulling it on over the golden swimsuit. Then she glances shyly back to you, 
  and asks, "Anything I can do...?"

Webb takes a moment to pull on his own t-shirt. After all, the air around him 
  does feel relatively chilled once he no longer has the warmth of a 
  swimsuit-clad bard to draw upon. At the deepening of your blush, his own 
  cheeks seem to flush a slightly redder hue as well, "I have tongs around 
  here... um... /somewhere/," he looks about, donning a faintly quizzical 
  expression, "We kinda need them to fish the packets of veggies out of the 
  fire."

"Right," Shenner says briskly, raising up on her knees again, loosely tying 
  the belt of the robe about her waist. Her gaze still lingers on you, 
  however, even as she starts searching about to help locate the object in 
  question. "Not in your pack, or under it?" Just to be sure, she checks under 
  _hers_.

Though supposably searching for the elusive implement, one would think by the 
  way that his gaze constantly returns to you, that Webb actually expects to 
  find it somewhere under your robe. Or, of course, there could be /other/ 
  explanations for that behaviour. "Uh..." is about all he can comment as he 
  lifts his own pack to search beneath it. By some coincidence, they turn up 
  beneath your own pack once it has been moved. "That's them."

Shenner grins sheepishly, plucking up the tongs and turning inquisitively to 
  the wrapped packets in the embers of the fire. "Where you want me to put 
  'em?" she asks, cautiously rescuing the first of the packets and then 
  peering back at you. Her glance shifts for a moment to the blanket, and it 
  occurs to her that perhaps she could just set the veggie packet down 
  _there_, but she glances back to you again regardless. Perhaps seeking 
  input, hrmm?

"It's supposed to be flame retardent," answers Webb after a bit of a pause, 
  before he gestures to the thin blanket to clarify, without going into any 
  other claims that the manufacture may have made towards this plain looking 
  blanket's capabilities to repel water, keep a body warm in freezing weather, 
  or resist tearing and cutting. "So, umm... yeah. Just set them down here."

Nodding, Shenner sets down the first packet and then rescues the second, 
  placing them side by side. "They ain't smokin'," she observes, one end of 
  her mouth curling up. "Smells pretty good, huh?" And even as she utters 
  this, it strikes her that this is true: the scents of the vegetables and the 
  boiled crustaceans blends in for her quite nicely with the fresh salt tang 
  of the air and the smokier odors of the campfire. "Seafood, veggies.... 
  howsabout somethin' to drink?"

Webb blinks a few times at the request for a drink, "I, uh..." he rummages 
  through his pack again, before pulling out two plastic bottles, "How does 
  seafood, veggies, and lukewarm thyma juice sound?" A sheepish grin spreads 
  across Webb's face as the realisation that not everything was /perfectly/ 
  planned.

Shenner's eyebrows go up. "I dunno," she replies, her gaze meeting yours, the 
  grin still lurking about her mouth. "I ain't ever had thyma juice. Is it 
  good?"

Webb ponders that question for several moments, before he begins to speak 
  hesitantly, "Welll... that depends upon your point of view. /Some/ sentients 
  think it's pretty good. And it's a nutritional gold mine..."

Shen's grin gets a little broader. "Why do I detect a 'but' here?" she asks, 
  her voice still low and just a bit shy, but a spark of humor lightening her 
  eyes.

"It's got a kind of a bitter tang to it," answers Webb, as he shakes up one of 
  the bottles. Webb furrows his brow faintly as his gaze lowers to the bottle, 
  "Actually, it's more cranky and abusive than bitter."

Shenner snickers then, some of the strangeness that she's been feeling in your 
  presence all night easing with the more familiar camaraderie. "Here," she 
  says bravely, holding out a hand. "Gimme. Lemme try this stuff."

"Well, I don't know," Webb starts to caution, before he trails off, then 
  passes over the bottle, "Don't say I didn't warn you." His attempts to 
  appear serious are replaced momentarily by a rather substantial smirk.

If there's any surefire way of getting Shen Veery to do something, it's to try 
  to hint that she might want to reconsider doing it. The singer shoots the 
  soldier an arch glance, then promptly opens the bottle and takes down a 
  hearty swig of the stuff.

Well, umm... it's certainly everything he made it out to be, and then a bit 
  more. The bitterish aftertaste is definitely there, along with several 
  others that can be a little too strange to identify. It has a thickish 
  quality to it, kind of like most vegetable juices, which leaves one with the 
  impression that a layer of the stuff has just adhered to the inside of one's 
  mouth. "Yum?" inquires Webb, before taking a sip from his own bottle, and 
  wincing faintly.

Er. Well. Never let it be said that Shen Veery won't also gamefully swallow 
  anything she's been rash enough to put her mouth in the first place. Oh, 
  sure, she won't swallow _some_ things, like coolant fluid, but on the other
  hand some of the drinks they serve on Tatooine aren't much above that. Here 
  and now, though, she swallows down the entire gulp, her features screwing up 
  a trifle oddly. Then she runs her tongue over her lips, and finally demands 
  half-amazedly, "What's _in_ this sludge?"

"It's umm..." Webb scrutinises the beverage for a moment, holding it up so 
  that he might peer at the label, "It's..." Webb's brow furrows as he 
  realises that whatever race bottled the juice, he can't read it's writing. 
  Finally, he ventures forth a statement, doing his best to sound like he 
  knows what he's talking about, "It's blue."

To this, Shenner can't help but laugh out loud. "Well," she says, sitting up 
  straighter and lifting her own bottle. "Seafood, veggies, and blue. Sounds 
  like a dinner." And once again, her gaze lingers on your face in that odd 
  uncertain mix of familiarity and bashfulness and attraction.

Webb raises his own bottle, pushing it forth in a motion of a toast, until it 
  clunks against your beverage bottle with a slightly absurd (for the 
  situation) plastic on plastic sound as he states, "To new experiences... 
  blue and otherwise," with a hint of a wink, before he passes you the 
  necessary shell cracking implements for the meal.

"Hear hear," Shenner replies, grinning widely at the plastic clinking... at 
  the incongruity of drinking vegetable sludge in conjunction with crustaceans 
  boiled over an open fire and vegetables foil-baked in same... and at her 
  companion. The singer's not often taken on the challenge of dismembering a 
  sea creature for her dinner -- but this new experience, like so many others, 
  she takes on with her chin uplifted and shoulders squared. Fingers a bit 
  burned by trying to unwrap still-warm foil are answered with a mock-squeal. 
  And in between consuming her meal with a vigor born of utmost approval for 
  everything that now surrounds her, Shen finds herself babbling about 
  whatever happens to come to mind: eating seafood on Calamari, the layout of 
  Aa'leet's new apartment, the latest defense pattern Jairen's taught her with 
  the sword, an idea tugging at her brain for a song.

For all of its more interesting qualities, the thyma juice does seem to have 
  one redeeming benefit - even lukewarm, it is oddly refreshing, which might 
  explain why Webb seems to consume it with a certain amount of 
  sort-of-enthusiasm. He also seems significantly more adept at dismembering 
  the crustacea which have found themselves as dinner. He eagerly demonstrates 
  techniques that work, how to break apart and crack the legs and claws in a 
  manner which leaves the tender meat most accessable, and how to open the 
  body shell (and the all important lesson of which parts to eat once the 
  shell has been opened). In between bites of crabmeat and vegetable, he talks 
  about certain details of his life - or at least, the portions which don't 
  fall into the 'if I told you, I'd have to kill you' category. This includes 
  an enthusiastic explanation as to why he has finally chosen to retire his 
  venerable E-11 rifle in favour of the new SA-51 line. He also makes 
  reference to far less lethal things, like descriptions of the local aquatic 
  fauna, and where the best places are to watch for porpoises. He describes 
  various paintings and drawings that he's been working on in his free time, 
  and his varying levels of luck at his attempts at /gardening/ of all things. 
  Thus far, his best luck, as he explains it, has been with an ugly, obscure 
  little plant that only /looks/ dead, survives in less than ideal light 
  conditions, and is capable of surviving weeks of Webb forgetting to water it.

It has been some time since Shenner has been able to talk so freely, on so 
  many topics, with another person -- especially one of the opposite gender. 
  In the midst of this newfound conversational freedom, especially at the 
  revelation that her companion has been gardening (_gardening?!_ The look on 
  Shen's face, at this, is priceless; you might as well have just told her 
  that Princess Leia Organa-Solo likes to paint herself pink and bellydance in 
  the middle of New Republic council meetings), she doesn't notice in the 
  slightest that something all too often tangled in a hard little knot within 
  her has relaxed. Nor does she really notice when dinner is consumed and the 
  dishes are left to lie dormant as topics flow back and forth, from weaponry 
  to music to art to plants and back again. It _does_ however begin to dawn on 
  her that with this particular man, she's often had the ability to find 
  something to talk about. Tonight, though, something is different. Something 
  is new. And in the middle of listening to Jonathan Webb's voice -- never 
  mind the subject to which the conversation has now flowed -- she finds 
  herself stopping, staring at him in a kind of wonder, trying to figure out 
  exactly... what _has_ happened here?

Yeah, gardening... and the more he explains it, the more sense it almost seems 
  to make. Of course, given his resources to work with, it's not exactly a 
  garden, but more like a few pots with various fungoids and alien plants that 
  can survive Webb's lack of 'green thumb'. But still, he's making things 
  grow, which kind of presents a sort of counterbalance to making things die. 
  Still, you did catch him blushing sheepishly once he noticed the expression 
  that you donned upon receiving this tidbit of enlightening information. And 
  of course he notices, because frankly, he's been studying you every bit as 
  intently as you've been watching him. Often he displays this sort of placid 
  yet charmed expression as he gazes across at you. The driftwood fire 
  meanwhile burns itself down to embers and ash, yet still supplies some 
  warmth. Eventually, the conversation leads to the question from Webb, "So, 
  uh... you want me to walk you home?" asked in a sort of awkward sense which 
  seems appropriate for someone a little younger than his actual age. 
  Apparently, such overtures are not the sort of thing which he routinely 
  makes.

That stops her, striking her oddly. 'Walk you home?' Isn't that, Shenner 
  wonders in a giddy rush, the kind of thing the young hero usually asks the 
  young heroine (and sometimes vice versa) in all her favorite holovids? It 
  strikes her further that she has never been asked such a thing, _ever_, in 
  this particular way -- though her mind halts on and revels in the newness of 
  the experience. For once, comparison to the past action of a certain 
  Corellian xenoarchaeologist does not occur. "Sure," she says, awkward but 
  ridiculously pleased. Without looking away from you, she gestures more or 
  less in the direction of her belongings. "I, um... better put my pants and 
  my shoes back on, at least..."

Webb grins faintly, obviously quite pleased with this answer, lapsing into his 
  own moment of giddiness as a bit of nervous excitement slips into his tone 
  of voice, "Okay. Umm... yeah, that's probably a good idea, unless you want 
  to create a bit of a stir when you're going by the Sandbar and have every 
  male who lays eyes upon you fall for you instantly..." Webb's voice trails 
  off, as if he suddenly forgot where he was going in his train of thought, 
  before he begins to gather up his own gear, taking a moment to fish warmer 
  attire from his pack, in the form of a flannel long-sleeve shirt which he 
  pulls on over his t-shirt, and a pair of black sweat-pants which he pulls on 
  over his now-dry swimwear.

Whoop! Under certain circumstances -- like, for example, _now_ -- it is 
  amazingly easy to make Shenner blush. And when she does, it's obvious; such 
  are the perils of being a redhead. And arguably, one of the very best ways 
  to get Shen to turn red is to compliment her. She turns immediately scarlet 
  even as she grabs for her clothes, mumbling gruffly, "Aaaah... tryin' to 
  gimme an ego as big as Loren's?" She had grown dry a long time ago, 
  fortunately, for tugging on pants is rather easier when your legs aren't 
  wet. Still, though, from the way Shen's gaze rivets itself intently on what 
  she's doing, you'd think she was trying to pilot an A-Wing for the first 
  time, without a manual.

Webb's grin spreads a bit wider at the comment about Loren's ego, "Now that 
  would be interesting," though he doesn't necessarily mean that in a sense 
  where he would like to see a Corellian ego implanted into your personality. 
  After all, it just might be possible that one of the reasons why he seems to 
  find you so appealling is the fact that you're not so full of yourself as 
  some women in these parts. Blanket, pots, and a small bag of meal related 
  refuse are quickly packed away with his towel into his pack, which somehow 
  still seems to look a little too small to have held all that just went into 
  it. Snapping shut the closures to secure its cargo, Webb comments aside to 
  you before your blush can be given a chance to fade, taking on a tone of 
  unshakeable sincerity, "Still, umm... you really are a fascinating, 
  /beautiful/ woman, Shen Veery."

Shenner has been called beautiful before -- but seldom enough, and long enough 
  ago, that having it happen again catches her entirely by surprise. And as 
  for being called fascinating, well, she's not sure that's happened before, 
  _ever_. She's managed to stand, pants on, boots tugged onto their 
  appropriate feet, but she forgets to reach for the strap of her tote bag as 
  she freezes there, blood rushing anew into her cheeks. "Thanks," she hears 
  herself mumble, "you're... pretty karkin' fine, too..." Oh dear. Sliding 
  right down to the bottom of the scale of bardic eloquence, aren't we?

Though of questionable eloquence, that remark nevertheless brings another grin 
  to Webb's face. In fact, some might be daring enough to consider a remark 
  like that to be downright touching in its own special way. And as daring 
  might be a term a term which would have Webb's picture next to its 
  definition in a dictionary, one might almost think that you just charmed him 
  a little more. Emitting a soft, faintly nervous chuckle, he hauls his pack 
  up onto his shoulders, somehow making the plethora of contents seem 
  feather-light (relative to many of the loads which he's carried on his back, 
  it probably is).
Tentatively, Webb extends a hand, and looks up towards your face in a slightly 
  expectant manner. Once again, you catch him biting his lower lip as he waits 
  to see if you will place your hand into his.

Indeed she does; in fact, she does that before remembering to retrieve her own 
  pack. Then, flustered but not releasing her hold on your hand, Shen stoops 
  just enough to grab hold of her tote bag's strap, hoisting it up to sling 
  over her head. Her eyes return to you as she straightens, grinning and giddy 
  and wondering wildly if this is the feeling that the heroines of those 
  aforementioned holovids are meaning when they babble about feeling like 
  schoolgirls. _What the kark is that supposed to mean, anyway? I -am- a 
  schoolgirl, ain't I?_ What comes out of her mouth, though, is a husky, 
  "Let's go...?"

[To be continued...]