Log Date:
	7/20/97

Log Cast:
	Lechtim, Bec, Han Solo, Jessalyn, Assorted NPC Technicians, Luke

Log Intro:
	Han Solo has never pretended to understand the Force; it's only
been in recent years of his life that he's even begun to acknowledge its
existence. He's thought, though, that he understands his friend Luke
Skywalker, for all that the kid possesses abilities that a simple
Corellian smuggler can't explain.... but at the moment, Han's never
understood Luke less, after the younger man has tried to talk him into
not accompanying him, Jessalyn, and Leia to Imperial-occupied Tatooine --
on the grounds that Luke believes Leia needs to study the Force without
distractions, including her husband. Incensed and hurt, Han has blown up
at Luke, and has spent the better part of the following day on Yavin
in one prolonged temper fit, as Skywalker makes the last preparations
to go to Tatooine.
	And in the meantime, the personnel of the Yavin base aren't ignorant
of what's going on, either, when it comes to their CO Jessalyn Valios....

----------
Lechtim looks at you for a moment.

Bec is standing -right- next to Jessalyn. The major's face is a delightfully 
  deep shade of crimson as Bec smiles winningly down at her. "It's nothing to 
  be embarrassed about, Major," he says with reassuring cheerfulness. 
  "Everyone here thinks it's terrific."

His face set, annoyed, and stony, Han Solo stomps down the entry ramp of his 
  vessel, stalks around to the side of it, and ducks beneath it, wielding a 
  hydrospanner and a small welding torch as if he's about to singlehandedly 
  fight off an Imperial fleet. The Corellian plops down underneath the 
  _Falcon_, opens up a panel in her hull, and goes to work, making sparks fly 
  and some rather loud and impressive noises.

Jessalyn chokes once more, her face still red and flustered. "Terrific?" she 
  splutters, apparently unable to manage anything else although her eyes are 
  wide and expressive of a thousand other words.

A couple of technicians, who've been milling about smartly while trying to 
  overhear the conversation between their newly minted Lieutenant and their 
  CO, move to the side at the sound of the maintenance on the Falcon. One of 
  the braver souls peers back underneath her to try to see just what under the 
  twin moons of Yavin could produce that noise. The freighter has been a 
  source of fascination for the tech crews all day, after all.

Evidently either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring any observers, the 
  Corellian under the battered old freighter, now crouching beneath his 
  vessel, is bathed in a shower of sparks as the welder he's gripping in his 
  gloved hands does its work. Hazel eyes shielded behind a pair of goggles, 
  Solo glowers at the hull as if he'd like to be drawing out sparks from it 
  from the force of his stare alone.

Jessalyn looks at you for a moment.

"Well -sure-," Bec continues. His ingenuous smile is joined by a concerned 
  furrow of the brow. "Don't you think so? I'd thought that you'd both agreed, 
  and all. He doesn't seem like the type to just snap his fingers and say 
  spread 'em." The technician winks, and knocks Jessalyn lightly in the 
  shoulder. "If you ask me," he says. "I think you're an excellent choice. 
  Jedi Skywalker's got to have kids for the sake of the Republic. Someone's 
  got to help out with that. Why not you?"

Han_Solo's head snaps briefly in the source of the conversation at the word 
  'Skywalker'. But his glower just deepens, and he leans into the welding with 
  more force now, sending even more sparks spattering down around him to the 
  tarmac beneath his feet.

Han_Solo(#1491POUAx)
This tall, rangy man moves with the loose and confident motions of a fighter, 
  someone accustomed to getting into tight situations... and getting quickly 
  right back out of them. His brown hair is cut pragmatically short, but is 
  thick enough to hold a hint of a wave, framing a set of ruggedly handsome 
  features that have finally lost the last traces of youthfulness and are 
  solidly into weathered maturity. A long scar crooks across his chin, adding 
  another touch of ruggedness to his face. Sharp-gazed hazel eyes, prone to 
  shift tint depending on his clothing, miss very little that crosses their 
  line of sight, and he typically speaks in a lazy almost-drawl.
He is clad in a form-hugging blue jacket over a white shirt tucked into darker 
  blue pants, which are in turn tucked into a pair of scuffed but serviceable 
  black boots. Down each side of his pant legs runs a single red stripe. 
  Around his waist he's wearing a slightly askew utility belt; secured to both 
  it and his right thigh is a blaster holster, in which rides a sturdy 
  blaster... when, at least, it's not in his hand.

The technician who'd ventured closer to the Falcon takes a few more steps. 
  "Afternoon, sir," he calls over the sound of the welding. They apparently 
  raise 'em stupid here on Yavin. Either that, or brave.

Jessalyn lifts a hand slowly to rub her forehead, amazed at the heat of her 
  skin. She swallows hard, staring at Bec in disbelief. "I think there's been 
  a mistake," she blurts, stumbling somewhat over the words and not really 
  sounding very convincing in the process.

Bec just chuckles, taking a step back from the obviously distraught major. 
  "It's all right with me if you want to say so, ma'am," he says. "Like I said 
  before, it's none of my business, or anyone else's."

Solo slides a glower in the direction of the adventuresome tech long enough to 
  determine that that 'sir' had been, indeed, aimed at him. He takes one hand 
  off the welder so he can lift his goggles, revealing a pair of decidedly 
  anger-bright eyes, and answers curtly, "Afternoon," even as the sparks keep 
  flying down around him.

"Quite a ship you've got here, sir," the tech says, placing a tentative hand 
  against the hull. It's tentative not because of any prudent concern over 
  Solo's reaction to fingerprints on the Falcon, but because of a fear that 
  any number of pieces might break off at any time. "Need any help? A bunch of 
  us just got off shift."

Jessalyn manages to regain at least a bit of her composure, and tightens her 
  arms over her chest as she peers up at Bec. "It's not that it's a big 
  secret," she says slowly, flicking her gaze from the new lieutenant and over 
  toward the Falcon. She frowns a little and goes on, "But I'm afraid that 
  you're simply wrong about the reasons for why I'm going on this trip with 
  Luke and the princess."

Solo's expression, for the briefest fraction of an instant, considers turning 
  more amiable at the compliment -- well, it might not be a compliment, but 
  he's willing to be magnanimous -- to the _Falcon_. But the moment the tech 
  reaches the phrase 'need any help?', which is, rather neatly, timed just 
  about when Jessalyn reaches 'going on this trip', the Corellian's features 
  turn livid instead. "No," he answers, in a dangerously bland tone, "I don't 
  need no help. Thanks." The implication is clear: get out of my face.

Bec's eyebrow fly up over the tops of his glasses. "The princess?" he says. 
  The princess? He darts a glance over at Solo. If Luke's taking Leia off to 
  this little romp in the swamp, that would explain the scowl under the 
  Falcon. "All three-- Wait. There's got to be some mistake."

Jessalyn actually laughs this time. "Of course there is. That's what I'm 
  trying to tell you."

The technician's friendly smile disappears in an instant, to be replaced by 
  the thin-lipped, wide-eyed expression of a subordinate who's just been 
  insubordinate on a base where the second in command just filed thirty-seven 
  counts of insubordination immediately before going AWOL in a stolen Y-wing 
  with blaster bolts burning at his tail. He scuttles back a few steps. "No, 
  sir. Sorry, sir."

Bec chews at the corner of his lip, pondering the possibilities. Jessalyn's 
  going -somewhere- with Jedi Skywalker and Princess Leia in order to do 
  -something-. "This is Jedi stuff, isn't it?" He says after a moment.

At any other time, Solo _might_ lessen that furious scowl. Now, however, he 
  returns to the welding with a vengeance, sliding the goggles back into 
  place. The hot rain of sparks picks up in its tempo, casting out erratic 
  bursts of briliance. A few moments later it ceases, only to be replaced by 
  some disturbingly creaking noises as the pilot goes to work with the 
  hydrospanner, realigning the gun in the exact center of the ship's belly.

Jessalyn smiles with a bit of relief and nods her dark red head, the wild 
  curls falling into her eyes. "It is," she says simply, shrugging.

As Solo's goggles go back on, the technician creeps closer again, silently, 
  peering up into the ship's innards. The rest of the shift has gathered 
  around the perimeter of the Falcon, and the circle of support corps 
  personnel shrinks slowly as it advances on the ship, drawn by the insatiable 
  joint curiousity of thirty-odd mechanics.

The creaks and groans from beneath the freighter continue a bit longer, then 
  they stop as well -- perhaps ominously, for the sound that replaces _them_ 
  is that of Solo's boots thokking against the tarmac as he emerges from 
  underneath the ship, aiming for the entry ramp, sparks in those hazel eyes.

Bec nods, once, not about to ask why the major's involved, nor why the 
  princess is involved. He trusts the Legendary Luke Skywalker implicitly in 
  all matters but hair care, and doesn't consider it his place to question 
  even that aloud. "All right then," he says. "I'll just tell the rest of the 
  base you're off to be trained in the Force." With a wink, he changes 
  subjects. "About this new officer..."

Two or three techs scurry out of the way as Solo emerges, leaving him a clear 
  path to the ramp. The rest turn his way breifly to watch with detached 
  interest. But the pilot isn't nearly as interesting as the ship.

With an expression that suggests that he's trying to do an impersonation of 
  his tall furry co-pilot, and with a low throaty growl in the direction of 
  the techs that dare to meet his eye, Solo stalks right up the ramp, his 
  boots ringing out with metallic noises as he passes. Once inside, his 
  baritone voice hollers out, "Kark it, Chewie, I _did_ fix it right this 
  time, okay?!" He is answered by a strangely merry-sounding, drawn-out bark.

Not even thinking that Bec could be joking, Jessalyn smiles slowly in 
  response. "I've got his information back in my office. Pilot experience, but 
  he's also got great computer and decryption skills. I think he'll fit in 
  quite nicely here. Formerly in the military, as well."

A few more moments elapse before Solo emerges again, but this time on _top_ of 
  the _Falcon_, aiming for the same area of the ship that he'd hit beneath her.

The tech under the Falcon reaches out with en exploring hand to poke at the 
  repair so recently accomplished by the Falcon's owner. Several blue sparks 
  arc off the gun mount, and the tech yanks his hand back, shaking the fingers 
  and then poking them into his mouth. "Ow," he mouths to the rest of his 
  strangely quiet companions. One of them shakes her head quickly and waves 
  the advance scout out from under the ship.

Bec starts walking toward the shuttle again, frowning thoughtfully. "You 
  really think we need someone else, then? I have to admit, you surprised me, 
  Major, when you agreed with me about Verin. I didn't think--" He pauses, 
  gathering his thoughts. It takes longer than usual this time. "I'm awfully 
  sorry about his leaving like he did, ma'am. I only intended to give you my 
  opinion. I think I was right, but if I wasn't then I can't help but thinking 
  that we just sent a bad message about the Republic."

Sparks fly again from atop the old freighter, for shorter bursts this time. 
  When he is done, Solo vanishes down through the hatch... only to be heralded 
  again by the sound of his boots, as he comes stomping down the entry ramp, 
  this time sans goggles and tools. His gaze, unshielded now, cuts a swath 
  across the hangar, till it comes to rest on Jessalyn and Bec, and he aims 
  for the two of them, now.

Techs scurry out of Solo's way once again, and disinterested gazes rise up to 
  follow his path. When it's clear that he's headed away from the Falcon the 
  circle of personnel breaks up into two loose mobs which gather, one on each 
  side, at the foot of the Falcon's ramp. Thirty-dd pairs of eyes peer up into 
  the corridor.

Jessalyn turns slowly as she senses Solo's approach, looking up at him 
  curiously as she lifts a hand to salute casually. "General," she says 
  quietly.

A large furry brown head pokes into view down the ramp, and a string of 
  whoof-whurf-whuffs greets the lot of technicians, before the furred figure 
  vanishes once more.

"Where can I buy booze on this base?" Solo demands, without greeting, without 
  preamble, and without a return salute.

Bec's salute is crisper that Jessalyn's since he lacks familiarity with 
  General Solo on any level but that of 'avid reader of his unauthorized 
  biography'. It falters on the way down, though, at this wholly unheroic 
  question from Solo.

The appearance of the Falcon's co-pilot, or at least his head, elicits a flock 
  of grins from the technicians gathered at the ramp of the ship. The point, 
  beck and nod at the entry way, in case any of their co-workers missed it.

Jessalyn clears her throat and shrugs, gesturing back toward the base. "Ought 
  to be some wine or beer in the dining hall. And..." She hesitates, tilting 
  her head as she looks him over and studies Solo's expression. "I've got a 
  bottle of Corellian back in my quarters."
Jessalyn's comlink beeps and she picks it up, turning it on and mumbling into 
  it.

Solo's expression, decidedly unheroic, decidedly peevish, and decidedly 
  sullen, does a very good job of relaying a general impression of -- well, a 
  very angry General. "Brandy, whiskey, or ale?" he barks to Jessalyn.

"There's wine and beer in the dining hall," Bec supplies. "And I've got some 
  Rykellian Ale in my footloc--" He cuts himself off, since the major's 
  already disclosed one source of unauthorized inebriation on the base. No 
  need for him to make his known too. "I think it's whiskey," he says quietly 
  to the general.

Jessalyn doesn't react to Bec's disclosure, instead concentrating on Solo's 
  oddly angry tone. "Brandy," she corrects.

"How much will you charge for the bottle?" demands the Corellian.

Bec hrms. Pretty raw brandy, if that's the case. But an innate sense of 
  self-preservation prevents him from pointing out that he's sampled it, let 
  alone found it lacking. And besides that, Solo's behavior is perplexingly 
  unlike what he'd expected. Bec tilts his head to the same angle as 
  Jessalyn's, and regards himcuriously.

Jessalyn smirks, planting her hands on her hips and squaring off against him 
  in a decidedly Corellian posture. Perhaps it's instinct. Or Jessa just knows 
  how to respond to angry Corellian men. "Your company while I drink it," she 
  replies in a light tone, her green eyes dancing merrily.

There's a soft *clink* by the Falcon's gangway, and a fluttering of 
  technicians. Several turn their backs on the rest and form an opaque line. 
  The rest whisper and scuffle around behind them. The clear words 'it wasn't 
  -me-' float out, as well as 'get the welder'.

Solo stares at the Major, considering this, then smirks back, sardonically. 
  "I'll have to get my good shirt washed," he answers. But that clink 
  distracts him, and his head swings round in the direction of his ship; his 
  eyes narrow in suspicion.

As a unit, all of the techs forming the barricade smile winningly.

Bec, who until recently was a member of this particular band of technicians, 
  clears his throat. "If you two are headed back to the major's office, I'll 
  just take my leave, then."

Jessalyn chuckles lightly and shrugs. "If you like, General. Can always toss 
  it into the refresher." Glancing over at Bec, she shrugs and smiles. "Join 
  us?"

Knowing an attempt to sling bantha dung when he sees it, Solo stares 
  piercingly at the line of technicians, distracted away from the two officers 
  beside him. Looking now as though he intends to interrogate each and every 
  one of them, the Corellian starts to move, towards that line of winningly 
  smiling mechanics.

Bec is not so far removed from that line of winningly smiling mechanics that 
  he'd simply leave them to their fate. "I'd love to, major," he says a little 
  more loudly than usual. "General?" He kicks Jessalyn very lightly in the 
  boot. Your squad's in peril, major. It's up to you to save their hides.

Jessalyn clears her throat loudly to get the attention ofthe techs oggling the 
  freighter. "Excuse me, people. Look but don't touch, okay?" She swings her 
  gaze swiftly back to the general's retreating form and adds, "The offer 
  won't last forever, sir. I have a few things I need to take care of so if 
  you're still game..."

Han_Solo turns, scowl still affixed on his lean face, and eyes Jessalyn 
  sullenly. "All right," he finally grumbles out, after a last look over his 
  shoulder at the crowd of technicians.

Jessalyn smiles winningly as well, turning her head slightly to whisper 
  something at Bec.

The technicians by the Falcon's gangway alternately shuffle their feet, clear 
  their throats and peer over their shoulders at the others behind them, 
  performing mental calculations at lightning speed, comparing the amount of 
  time it's going to take Solo to finish his approach and the length of time 
  it's going to take their team of expert welders to reattach the latch on the 
  handrail. Things are looking grim until Jessalyn calls the general's 
  attention back to the booze. Way to go, CO. See why they're so proud to work 
  for you? It's got nothing to do with the fact that you're going to be 
  carrying Skywalker's love-child.

Bec's posture doesn't alter, his smile doesn't waver, and the gleam never 
  leaves his glasses. "Yes ma'am," he says through his shiny white teeth.

Jessalyn beams proudly, clasping her hands behind her back. "Shall we, 
  gentlemen?" she smiles, nodding toward the small clearing nearby as she 
  already starts to head that way.

His scowl settling down to a dull ember, Solo nods shortly, and stalks after 
  the two younger officers.

Jessalyn heads towards a clearing faintly visible to the east.
Jessalyn has left.

Bec heads towards a clearing faintly visible to the east.
Bec has left.

[Off through the Yavin jungle to...]

You head into the CO's Quarters.
CO's Quarters, Military Support Operations.
A small but comfortable looking chamber, dominated by a large window cut 
  through the thick stone of the eastern wall. A long narrow table sits 
  decoratively before it, topped with more vases of the courtyard roses. A 
  narrow bed covered with pale green and off-white patterned blankets and 
  pillows rests against the northern wall, with a small bedside table next to 
  it that supports a lamp and a datapad. A pair of similarly patterned 
  upholstered chairs are arranged near the window.
                 -=-=-=-=-=-=<<Real Objects>>=-=-=-=-=-=-
=> Jessalyn
                  -=-=-=-=-=<<Visible exits>>=-=-=-=-=-
 <W>est leads to Headquarters Office, Military Support Operations.

Bec arrives from the HQ Offices.
Bec has arrived.

Jessalyn keys in the code to her quarters and leads the others inside, pausing 
  just inside the doorway to let them pass into the room in front of her. She 
  smiles a little and gestures toward a few chairs situated near the window. 
  "Please have a seat."

Bec, being the youngest, er, lowest ranking officer in the room, hops up on 
  the table to sit, carefully avoiding the vases and leaving the chairs for 
  the older folks. His feet, he swings in front of him. "So, am I going to get 
  a room like this, now that I'm an officer?" he asks. Mybe a little small 
  talk with his brandy will lighten the general up.

Han_Solo's gaze slides left, slides right, noticing the location of the one 
  exit out of long unconsicous habit. He then nods shortly to Jessalyn, and 
  flops unceremoniously into one of the upholstered chairs, glaring daggers at 
  the far wall.

Jessalyn shifts her shoulders uneasily and makes a direct line for the 
  cabinets where several bottles of wine and the promised brandy are laid out. 
  She uncorks the bottle and pours the contents into three cut crystal 
  glasses. Her most brilliant smile is still on her face as she returns to the 
  chairs, settling into one after handing the others their drinks. "No," she 
  answers succinctly to Bec, cradling her glass in her hands and leaning back.

"Thank you," Solo barks out gruffly, and promptly begins to nurse the glass's 
  contents.

Jessalyn scowls and quirks a brow, looking from Bec to Solo and back again. 
  "Charming, isn't he?"

The Corellian smirks. "You asked for my company, sweetheart, I didn't promise 
  to come with songs and dances." He pauses to eye the brandy in his glass, 
  his gaze critical, before rolling one shoulder in a shrug and downing the 
  rest of it without even blinking.

Bec smiles back at Jessalyn's reply, since he hadn't expected a room like 
  this, and wouldn't have wanted the upholstery anyway. "Thanks," he says as 
  he takes his glass. He hasn't worked up the nerve to drink it yet. "And I 
  think," he offers, "That there are a lot of different forms of charm."

Jessalyn chuckles despite herself and sips the brandy appreciatively. 
  "Indeed," she agrees with Bec. Not even reacting otherwise, she reaches for 
  the bottle and holds it up in Solo's direction, offering more. "It's from 
  Coronet. Vintage '97 -- for my birthdate."

The hazel regard comes back to Jessalyn, and then to the bottle. Solo smirks 
  again and lifts the glass by way of reply.

Jessalyn shrugs and tips the bottle, refilling the general's glass and keeping 
  her mouth shut this time.

The second glassful follows the first, and when the glass is empty, Solo rises 
  and sets it down somewhere nearby, not paying attention to where so long as 
  the surface is flat. He then stalks towards the door, muttering, "Thanks, 
  sister, I'll find my own way out."

Bec's feet keep swinging in the silence, as he too nurses his glass. While the 
  bar scene back home might have been his forte, he's never been much for 
  socializing with legends, expecially when all he can think of to ask is 'So 
  what's your problem?' It somehow doesn't seem profound enough a question to 
  bother the general with. When Solo stands up, however, Bec slides to the 
  floor as well, and nods a farewell to his back.

Jessalyn sighs and gets to her feet, watching Han leave. "Of course, General. 
  If you see Luke, will you tell him I'm ready whenever he is?"

"I ain't talkin' to Skywalker," growls Solo, and with that, he's out the door.

----------
Interlude:

	Unwilling to return to the hangar deck and face either the horde of
techs who had been ogling his ship -- or the possibility of running into Luke
-- Han stalked off into the surrounding jungles for a time, exploring almost
at random, taking in the almost unfamiliar feel of fresh air. He knew he'd
been horribly rude to Jessalyn Valios and her junior officer, but at least
for now he couldn't bring himself to care. Or apologize.
	After some time, however, stubborn determination reasserted itself, as
well as the desire to return to the secure refuge of working on the _Falcon_.
And so....

----------
Remote Landing Pad
This is a large, grey platform with black burn marks that could only be made 
  from ship's engines. At the far north of the platform, there is an entry 
  ramp leading to a set of blast doors which have long since corroded and are 
  blocked by a cave-in of the mountain into which they lead. Surrounding the 
  landing pad is a ten foot high, hi-voltage fence. All around you are the 
  forests of the planet, and you barely are able to catch glimpses of ancient 
  stone structures hidden deep within the foliage of the lush jungles.
                 -=-=-=-=-=-=<<Real Objects>>=-=-=-=-=-=-
=> Artoo
=> Luke
=> STARFIGHTER: Corellian YT-1300 -- Millenium Falcon
=> STARFIGHTER: Sienar Lambda Class Shuttle -- Starshine
=> STARFIGHTER: Sienar Lambda Class Shuttle -- Whitewing
=> STARFIGHTER: Incom T-65B X-wing -- Skywalker
=> Trade Panel: Yavin IV
                  -=-=-=-=-=<<Visible exits>>=-=-=-=-=-
 <W>est leads to Civil Offices - Yavin.
 <S>outh leads to Control Tower - Yavin IV.
 <E>ast leads to A Small Clearing.
 <N>orth leads to Ancient Roadway.

Han_Solo comes stalking down along the ancient roadway to the north, glowering 
  at the landing area as he comes into view. He arrows straight for the 
  _Falcon's_ landing ramp, jaw set, shoulders squared, eyes hard.

Bec emerges from the foliage from the east.
Bec has arrived.

His footsteps snapping out sound as he comes onto the landing pad, Solo heads 
  straight for the _Falcon_, his gaze focused on his ship and nothing else.

Bec wanders back to the landing pad, a considerable while after he left it. 
  From the weave in his step, he may have finally taken a sip of the Corellian 
  brandy served earlier, or he may have toasted his promotion with a goodly 
  supply of the dining hall's weak beer. Whatever the case, he's whistling a 
  highly off-key rendition of 'The Emporer's Harem' and toting a hydrospanner 
  like he means business. His path looks likely to intercept Solo's, if it 
  doesn't veer too far off course any time soon.

The Corellian is not, however, paying attention, as he blazes a path first 
  with his gaze and then with his feet. Ten meters to the _Falcon_ and 
  closing...

Bec would have made it past the Falcon's owner with inches to spare, had he 
  not noticed the legendary ex-smuggler at the last minute and halted in his 
  path to salute him. "Evening, sir," he says with a salute.

Solo only slows, casting a sidelong glance at the younger man. The scowl 
  across his face shifts for a moment, as he considers what to say in 
  response; at last, he settles for a grunt of a reply, as he resumes aiming 
  for the _Falcon_'s entry ramp.

Luke is under his X-Wing with Artoo. He's pushing various items up into the 
  cramped cargo hold of the small craft while Artoo supervises the placement, 
  "I know, I know Artoo.." Luke reassures the little droid. Turning and 
  peering out from under the craft, Luke calls out, "Han!" before dropping the 
  box he'd been hefting and darting from under it.

_That_ makes Solo pause, just as he hits the lowered ramp, one gloved hand on 
  a support beam. Two seconds elapse before the Corellian barks, "What?" He 
  does not turn around.

Bec smiles broadly at the grunt. That's much, much closer to the proper 
  behavior of Han Solo, as chronicled in his unauthorized biography. That 
  sharply barked question, directed to Skywalker, is even better. He settles 
  back to watch the discussion.

Luke is moving fast until he spies Solo's demeanor. He slows, letting out a 
  sigh bedraggedly, "Han, look." he says pleadingly as he moves over to stand 
  behind him. "About earlier, I didn't mean what I said ok? It's just very 
  important to me right now." Is that a whiney tone in Skywalkers voice? Nah.. 
  couldn't be.

With his face safely turned away from Luke, Han can allow a brief pained 
  closing of his eyes. His head, too, lowers a little, before he lifts it 
  again and tosses off over his shoulder, "Yeah, Kid, you made it real 
  clear-like how important is."

"Have I ever asked you for any special favors?" Luke asks pained. He blinks 
  then adds, "Nevermind, bad example."

Solo does turn, then, though he keeps one hand on that support strut. He is 
  scowling, still, and he drawls sarcastically, bitterly, "Thought we finished 
  this discussion, Junior. Go on, go to Tatooine, far be it from me to 
  distract you kids!"

Luke just stares incredulously, "I can't believe you're taking it this way." 
  he murmurs glancing at the tarmac, "Maybe I didn't explain it well. I don't 
  have Leia's ability in making an eloquent and persuasive speech you know. 
  This is all new to me Han." he kicks at a rock near his foot, sending it 
  skipping off to bounce noisily off a stack of barrels. Sighing again, 
  "You're my friend. Trust me on this ok?"

"What the hell way am I supposed to take it when my _friend_ tells me I'm not 
  as important to my wife as the Force?" hollers Han, eyes heated. "That 
  thanks, but no thanks, we'll just head off to an Imperial-occupied planet 
  without you, sorry, don't need yah, Solo, don't call us, we'll call you?! 
  Thanks a helluva lot, _friend_!"

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Luke answers a touch defensively, 
  "What's eating you Han?"

Jessalyn emerges from the foliage from the east.
Jessalyn has arrived.

For perhaps a picosecond, another flash of hurt passes Solo's gaze, before he 
  squelches it with another smirk and a drawled, "Eating me? Why should 
  anything be eating me? I'm _fine_!" Seeing Jessalyn come into view, Solo 
  smirks again, and adds, "There's one of your pupils now, _friend_, don't let 
  me distract you from your training!" He whirls, and starts stomping up the 
  entry ramp.

Luke lets out an exasperated breath of a noise and moves toward Solo perhaps a 
  half an inch, then just slumps.

Jessalyn approaches from the east, a large brown leather bag slung over her 
  shoulder. She walks with a slightly pronounced wobble, not explained 
  entirely by the weight of the bag throwing off her balance. She notices the 
  group gathered nearby, seems to consider which of them she'd rather 
  approach, and ends up just stopping in her tracks and peering at all of them 
  with red-rimmed eyes.

Luke turns to give Jessa one of those sickly looks. You'd expect the same 
  expression from someone who'd just watched their pet get squished under an 
  armored transport. "I don't know what to do about him." he murmurs.

Han_Solo, undeterred, stomps right into the _Falcon_, fuming.

[Han stalks into the cockpit of the _Falcon_ and hurls himself ungraciously
 into the pilot's chair, ready to do some serious sulking. Then, after a
 few minutes....]

Luke pages: Your comlink bleeps, "Han."

You paged Luke with 'No answer for a moment or two. Then, grudgingly, Han's 
  baritone comes across with a barked, "What?"'.

From afar, Luke's voice comes over hesitantly, "Listen, bring Leia to the 
  rendezvous point in a few days?"

You paged Luke with 'A few more moments of silence, perhaps as the Corellian 
  considers the inherent apology behind that offer. It is with a strangely 
  dull voice that he finally replies, "Yeah, Kid. Whatever."'.

From afar, Luke begins gently, "Han. I'm sorry about what I said." The link 
  clicks off to static.

[End log.]