Log Date:
	6/13, 6/17/97

Log Cast:
	Ariana Millikin, Han Solo

Log Intro:
	His recovery from his six-month-long imprisonment practically
complete, Han Solo has been a restless man, torn between cooling his heels
on Calamari and tearing off to Etti IV to try to determine what happened
to his missing friend Chewbacca, and what happened to the _Millenium
Falcon_. Aware that in his younger days he'd have headed for Etti IV
in less than an eyeblink without hesitation, Han is disturbed at his own
reluctance to leave Calamari, unsure whether it's because he doesn't want
to leave Leia's side; he tells himself that he trusts the NRI to do its
job of tracking down Chewbacca and his ship if they still exist to _be_
tracked down. More disturbing to him are the suspicions that maybe, just
maybe, he doesn't want to leave because part of him is afraid he's no
longer up to the challenge of blasting to and from an unfriendly planet...
and another part is scared that there's no Wookiee and no _Falcon_ left
for him to find.
	Fretful and restless, Han has begun working off his energy by
combing the streets of Coral City, ostensibly to find a gift for Leia,
mostly to try to sort out his tangled thoughts. A stop in the Briny Deep
Tap House, though, has gotten him another encounter with Ariana Millikin,
an officer he's met a couple of times before -- the last time being less
than sociable for either of them. And now....

----------
A signal from the entrance to the Solo residence indicates someone has 
  arrived. If there is a pause, the signal will chime again.

To their relief, the guards that keep watch over the Solo suite on the NR base 
  have been allowed to relax their vigil somewhat -- now that the Solos are 
  permitting visitors. Nevertheless, when the wall communit by the door flares 
  up with a male voice demanding, "Yeah, what is it?", the two sentries can't 
  quite prevent themselves from looking momentarily skittish.

Ariana pauses, sighs, and calls, "It's Ariana Millikin, General Solo. You 
  know, the ice queen?"

After a moment, the door slides open and stays open, held there by the tall 
  dark-haired man standing with his hand on the door controls. He isn't 
  frowning, but he clearly looks surprised to see this particular visitor. 
  "Uh... can I help you?" Solo's tone isn't hostile, but it is slightly wary, 
  more confused than anything else. His hazel eyes ask quite clearly, without 
  words, 'You got a reason for being here?'

Ariana lifts her hand, from which dangles a bottle of exceptionally bright 
  amber fluid. She says nothing, because the label says it all: Corellian 
  Single-Malt Whiskey, with a 16-cycle-old date.

Both of Solo's dark eyebrows go up over widened eyes, and a startled, lopsided 
  grin crosses his face. "Well," he says after a moment. "You got my 
  attention. C'mon in."

Ariana walks in, removing her jacket and tossing it to one side. "Her 
  Highness is out, I take it?" she inquires as she looks around.

"Resting," Solo answers, as he waves you off towards the half-circle couch in 
  the middle of the room.

Ariana settles on the sofa, perched on the edge with arms resting on her 
  knees. "I'd imagine she has good cause to rest."

"Yeah," says Solo consideringly, eying both you and that whiskey bottle. His 
  voice slightly roughened, he adds, "She's had a hard time lately."

Ariana presents the bottle and a grin a Corellian smuggler could be proud of. 
  "I hate whiskey."

Solo smirks, but looks amused, and as he accepts the bottle he pops the 
  stopper out and inhales the scent of the stuff inside. It doesn't make his 
  eyes water, but he _does_ blink rapidly for a moment or two, then he tells 
  his visitor, deadpan, "You should, sweetheart. Foul stuff. Foul." As he 
  speaks he wanders over to a shelf, turns over a crystalline shot glass and 
  pours himself out a measure of the stuff. He belts down the shot, issues one 
  firmly approving nod, and finally looks back rather more benignly at you. 
  "So. What's on your mind?"

Ariana's flinty eyes follow Solo's movements around the room, a wry smile of 
  bemusement curving her lips. "You know," she observes, without addressing 
  what the Corellian asked, "My father used to call that stuff liquid 
  carbonite. Don't mind if I have just a taste, do you?"

Although his mouth tightens for a brief instant at the mention of carbonite, 
  Solo doesn't bat an eyelash as he pulls a second shot glass off the shelf, 
  fills it, and hands it over. "Far be it from me to quibble with the lady who 
  brings the booze," he answers, drolly. He then plops unceremoniously down 
  onto the couch, studying Ariana candidly.

Ariana takes the proffered glass and, after procuring a measure of the amber 
  fluid, nestles it in her palm and returns Solo's regard evenly. "Endor." 
  Yes, that's an incongruous comment.

Solo gives another crooked grin. "Crawls with furballs."

"Short help's better than no help at all," Ariana counters with a faint grin. 
  "I seem to recall that."

Hazel eyes softening, but _only_ a bit, the Corellian chuckles. "They did 
  alright for furballs," he says magnanimously.

Ariana tosses back the drink, swallows, gives herself a moment to recover, 
  then grins for real. and says, "tchooka reeop Rappup choooka wuba dee whub 
  choooka nappi dee. de choooka tchooka reeop- Rappup glwah nappi kippa de."", 
  in Ewok.
Ariana adds as she pours a second set of shots for you and for herself as 
  well, "They said that a lot, you know."

A burst of laughter from Solo, then. "Yeah? Which part of that was discussin' 
  how to have us for dinner?" He swirls whiskey around in his glass, eyes 
  lightening.

"Actually," Ariana answers as she watches you, "it translates roughly to 'We 
  will never forget the Golden One and his friends. Long will they live in the 
  hearts of Ewoks.' I learned them pretty well, considering how many months I 
  was on Endor."

"Ah," says Solo, dropping his gaze to the glass in his fingers. He might, just 
  might, be vaguely embarrassed and trying to pretend he isn't. In a slightly 
  gruffer tone, he repeats, "They did alright, for furballs."

Ariana says, a light laugh in her eyes, "I think they said the same thing 
  about us, General."

Solo smirks again, mildly, then abruptly amends, "Captain."

Ariana's eyebrow lifts a bit. "Captain? Resigned the old commission, did you?"

"They don't need me as a General, sweetheart," Solo murmurs, between swallows.

Ariana hmmms. "You know, of course, Solo, that you're needed no matter what 
  they call you, and you're a leader, no matter what you call yourself."

Hazel eyes lift again, to study you. "Needed to do what?"

Ariana laughs a bit and gets to her feet; sitting doesn't suit her. "People 
  look to you for decisiveness, for gutsy action. We always will, because 
  that's the kind of person you are. That's why Princess Leia loves you. 
  Well...one of the reasons."

Solo is perhaps made uncomfortable by this stranger speaking so personally of 
  him; he actively winces on the word 'decisiveness', and the wince holds 
  through 'gutsy action'. "Brought me whiskey to tell me this?"

Ariana shakes her head. "Nope. I brought you whiskey because you deserve 
  better than ale all the time, and you saved my life on Endor, in case you 
  forgot. Which you have. Which I haven't."

The Corellian blinks, taken by surprise. "What?" he blurts.

"Hell, Solo, you and Chewbacca and that Walker saved our collective butts, in 
  case you can't remember that far back," Ariana explains breezily. "I'd 
  already gotten hit once and was in the process of trying something really 
  damned stupid when you came up with that good idea of getting the doors open 
  again. Amazing for you it was."

He doesn't actually _say_ 'oh', but it shows plainly enough in his face, and 
  something vaguely resembling a smile crooks his mouth. "Welcome," he 
  mutters, sipping at what's left of his glass's contents.

Ariana watches Solo for a long moment, then says, after a pause, "Everything 
  will be all right, sir. You'll see. Where Chewbacca is concerned, things 
  will be fine. Trust me."

The Corellian looks up and smirks a little. "You sound like you're tryin' to 
  sound like me."

Ariana smirks back. "No reason to be insulting." Then, expression growing a 
  bit more serious, she adds, "I can't tell you more than that...just know 
  things are being looked into. Have some faith."

Faith? An alien concept, perhaps, to a man who once told a young Jedi-to-be, 
  "Hokey religions ain't no match for a good blaster at your side, kid." Solo 
  can hear his younger self in his head delivering that very line, and he 
  doesn't let on to his visitor that faith, for Han Solo, lies in a reliable 
  weapon, his ship's controls opting to choke on him at the _most_ inopportune 
  moments (his ship!), and a Wookiee at his side... not in intangibles, in 
  people whose names and faces and skills he does not know doing a job that by 
  all rights ought to be _his_. Nor does he want to consider that what faiths 
  he does possess have been shaken -- badly. Intellectually aware that some 
  polite noise to his woman who has made an overture to him is called for, he 
  cracks a wan grin, unaware of his bleak gaze dropping hints about his inner 
  thoughts. "Yeah, well," he bluffs, "Never did like sneakin' around. Ask 
  Luke, he'd tell yah, sweetheart..."

Ariana grins a bit, briefly. "I remember hearing about your exploits. You're 
  more of the direct approach sort of man. Except for that trip to Endor; that 
  was sort of backdoor. But..." She runs fingers through her hair, sighing 
  expansively. "Do you want me to be direct, Solo?"

His eyebrows going up, Solo peers at you. "I _don't_ like sneakin' around," he 
  says by way of reply, gruffly. "You got somethin' to say, out with it."

Ariana chews on her lip briefly. "All right. We're looking into Chewbacca's 
  disappearance. We'll find him. And...damn it. I work for Intelligence, 
  Captain Solo. High up in it. I don't tell people since my cover's for Diplo, 
  but if you or the princess need anything, I wanted you to know where you 
  could get help. I watched you two and Calrissian and Skywalker put 
  yourselves in danger time and again for the cause of defeating the Empire, 
  and I want to help...hell, I don't know. Pay you back somehow."

Hazel eyes widen, but only just slightly; other than that, the Corellian seems 
  unfazed by the revelation of your true employment. Perhaps searching for 
  words, he does not answer for a moment or two, and only when he finally 
  speaks can the suspicion that you have just startled him be gleaned. 
  "Thanks," he mutters, his voice rough.

Ariana rests a hand on her blaster, eyebrow cocked. "What?" she asks, a bit 
  defensively.

Solo offers another faint grin. "Trustin' me to tell me that," he says 
  finally, waving a hand at the same time, as though trying to mitigate the 
  words even as he utters them. "I... ah... well, thanks, okay?" And he 
  glances off, looking vaguely embarrassed.

Ariana shrugs. "No reason to thank me, Solo. It's purely a payment of debt. 
  You and your wife and friends have contacts I don't have. You get your 
  fingers in things I don't. All I'm interested in is getting rid of the 
  Empire, once and for all. Utterly. Just consider yourself a means to an end 
  rather than getting all flustered. I can't see how something I say would 
  affect a hero like you anyway." A bit of sarcasm there? Naaaah.

At that, Solo's faint grin vanishes off his face. Rebuffed, he restoppers the 
  whiskey bottle, and retorts curtly, "You want a hero, you're lookin' in the 
  wrong apartment, sweetheart. Thanks for the whiskey, and the news. I'm sure 
  a clever NRI agent like you can find the door on her own." He sweeps up to 
  his feet, turning away dismissively, striding to the window to glower out it 
  at the view.

Ariana, with a snort, says, "Spare me the wounded ego, all right?" as she 
  makes her way toward the door, then stops and turns around. "You know, you 
  give off a great impression of a devil-may-care kind of guy. Too bad it 
  doesn't fool anyone who can see you're too damn busy kicking yourself for 
  everything that goes wrong in the Republic to be of any use any more."

Han's reply is less bitingly sarcastic than simply coldly neutral, as though 
  he's slamming down doors around his sentiments, now. "Then the NR don't 
  bloody well need me for anything useful, does it, sweetheart?" He doesn't 
  bother to turn around.

"Bullshit." The word is just as cold as his statement. "You just want to feel 
  you're not needed so you can shirk the responsibility you took because you 
  wanted to impress Leia."

The Corellian whirls, scowling, jabbing his right index finger forth at Ariana 
  as though it were a blaster he'd just drawn with all the speed for which 
  he's renowned. "Listen, doll," he growls, "you wanna play junior 
  psychologist, go earn yourself a license. Till then, get the hell out of my 
  apartment, and take your booze and your cheapshot icequeen commentary about 
  me, my wife, and our relationship with yah!"

"Oh, yeah? Well...well...well..." Ariana's hand is also raised, as if she has 
  drawn that finger-blaster in a shootoff with the Corellian. Unfortunately, 
  as she and her temper stumble about for a proper rejoinder to this remark 
  from Han, her anger has a moment to cool and her thoughts turn, for an 
  instant, away from whatever it was that sparked her ire into existence. (It 
  doesn't take much.) Her mouth works for a moment, no words coming out, then 
  she lets her hand fall loosely to her side. An expression of dismay blooms 
  red in her cheeks as she realizes what she was doing, and, aghast, she says 
  quietly, "This is not why I came here..."

"No?" retorts Solo testily, brows lowered over narrowed eyes, "You sure 
  _sound_ like you're on a mission to rip my head off, sister!" His hands 
  clench, held taut at his sides now; his entire frame radiates distrust.

Ariana's shoulders slump. "Sometimes," she sighs, "I forget every bit of that 
  expensive education I got when I was younger. Look, I really am sorry. You 
  have a way of...just...of just...of irritating the mynock spit out of a 
  woman." A pause, then she adds quietly, "I watched you for weeks on Hoth. 
  You're a natural leader in addition to being a natural pain in the 
  asteroids...and I respect the hell out of you. I guess I came here to 
  apologize and instead I lost my temper. Again. I'm sorry."

Still poised as if he's about to shoot something -- and the young officer 
  before him _is_ the closest target in range -- Han Solo nevertheless holds 
  his tongue through her admission and her apology. Wary now of offering any 
  thanks for compliments dealt him, and warier still of actual compliments, he 
  finally replies gruffly, "Apology accepted." His stance relaxes, but only 
  somewhat.

Ariana waves off that comment and scoops up her jacket. "I could never be a 
  tenth of what you and Leia are to the Republic. A hundredth. I'm an idiot for 
  even trying. My best to the princess, Captain; she'll always be Alderaan to 
  me." That said, she heads again, more purposefully for the door.

Not in the mood to debate respective worth to the NR, Han simply glowers. And 
  says only, "Don't forget your whiskey."

Ariana says without turning around, "Keep it. At least you can say my visit 
  wasn't a total loss."
Ariana departs the suite.
Ariana has left.

[End log.]