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| - Simon Of average height and fair coloring, the young man before you has dark brown hair and eyes of a color somewhere between blue and gray. His hair is parted and cut short. His eyes are deep-set, looking more ready to draw his brow into a deep frown than a warm smile. For facial hair he wears a well groomed goatee and mustache, trimmed short and of the same deep color as the rest of his hair. All in all, the man's demeanor can be summed up in a word: intense. The man before you is dressed in earth tones. Light tan, loose fitting trousers are tucked into soft leather boots that come up to just under his knees, and are tied tight with brown, leather chords. Tucked into the top of his pants is a simple shirt of a matching color. Over this is a loose wool tunic of dark brown, covering his arms completely and hanging down below his waste. It's comfortable clothing, suitable for most climates and cultures. Strapped diagnolly across his chest and back is what appears to be some sort of harness. It's worn in the way some people wear a bandolier, yet there is nothing attached to the device. A long shaft of cylinder rises over his left shoulder, a rod sheathed where some warriors sling their sword. Drew Tall, leggy, blonde, Drew seems at a first glance. She is still young, somewhere mid to late twenties, and stands somewhere around 5'10". Her honey blonde, wavy hair usually seems wind-blown and frames her face in shoulder-length layers. Her bedroom eyes are of a grayish, peridot green, her skin is a peachy tan, and her nose is freckled. She has the kind of body an athlete would have, good shoulders, coltish legs, a narrow waist. Her cheeks have a constant blush to them, much like some who live in cold weather; her nose seems to have been broken sometime, it is a tad long and slightly hooked. She wears a standard spacer's outfit. Loose brown pants reinforced at the knee with darker leather, tucked into soft ankle boots, and a light blue, stretchy shirt under a a tan vest. Her hair is braided at the back of her head, Alderaanian-style. Orson This stocky human male stands at only about five feet, thick arms, chest and fingers making up somewhat for his diminutive height. Dark hair is kept in a utility-conscious style, clipped short to his round skull - prominent specks of white hair pepper the sides. A too thick brow and angled face help the impression of heaviness about the figure; the face is complete with a broad nose and large square teeth that appear to be just a little crooked when his wry smile reveals them. Small folds of skin around his eyes and mouth indicate more years than his vigorous face would otherwise show. He is wearing neutral gray trousers, made of a thick fabric, only remarkable in that they represent hylomorphic "pants". A simple but heavy jacket, made of similar but darker cloth, hangs on his shoulders. Where it parts in front, a form-fitting white shirt with straight stripes shows itself. Dark boots round out the wardrobe. Despite its simplicity and economy, every garment is clean and well-kept. Even if unassuming, details are important to this man. Karrde This stocky human male stands at only about five feet, thick arms, chest and fingers making up somewhat for his diminutive height. Dark hair is kept in a utility-conscious style, clipped short to his round skull - prominent specks of white hair pepper the sides. A too thick brow and angled face help the impression of heaviness about the figure; the face is complete with a broad nose and large square teeth that appear to be just a little crooked when his wry smile reveals them. Small folds of skin around his eyes and mouth indicate more years than his vigorous face would otherwise show. He is wearing neutral gray trousers, made of a thick fabric, only remarkable in that they represent hylomorphic "pants". A simple but heavy jacket, made of similar but darker cloth, hangs on his shoulders. Where it parts in front, a form-fitting white shirt with straight stripes shows itself. Dark boots round out the wardrobe. Despite its simplicity and economy, every garment is clean and well-kept. Even if unassuming, details are important to this man. Calculation has many guises, from the narrowing of eyes in sharp thought to the greed of a credits lender tallying interest rates. The guise of it in this man is difficult for the average being to define. He is tall and slender, not muscular or intimidating by mere brawn, with an economy of movement that hints at some calculation of how close his hand is to his blaster, or where he's standing in relation to his environment. Dark hair, worn a tad long and streaked a little at the temples with silver, compliments a neatly trimmed goatee and mustache to give an overall impression of care in appearance, another calculation in the visual. His voice, more often than not, is carefully modulated on the calmer ends of sardonic, wry or amused. But the eyes are the window to the soul, and this human's are of an ice blue, sometimes diamond hard, sometimes affecting disinterest, but the seat of the motives of the whole rests behind them. Intelligence sparks there, ambition burns alongside it, and awareness guides both as surely as a swordsman facing opponents in shadow and in light. He's dressed in sandy browns, typical of the area, with dusty pants and boots, a loose long sleeve shirt of a rust color, and a thin cloak with a hood over all. Jessalyn The composure of this young human woman is probably the most striking thing about her. Though otherwise unassuming, her expression is one of surprising coherence and calm, belied only by the slightly mischievous gleam in her leaf green eyes. Shining dark red hair falls in unruly silken waves down to the middle of her back, framing her wide cheekbones and smooth, pale skin not as fragile as most redheads'. She is wearing a loose, cream-colored tunic made out of some light material, scooping low beneath her startlingly white throat and showing off a thin silver chain set with a rough but shiny blue-green stone that rests just below her collarbone. The tunic is belted at her narrow waist and the full sleeves end just above her pale slender wrists. She wears a pair of tight, dark brown pants tucked into knee-high black leather boots, both complementing the best pair of legs in ten parsecs. Lehec First thing that captures the eyes, is this man's unnatural eye and hair color. His eyes are hard, yet soft, as they give off a silvery glow. His hair ,cut short, reaches the top of the ears while parted down the middle....but the hair is white with seemingly grey stripes flowing through it. Once finished staring at his eyes and hair, you notice he is wearing a form of combat armor. The armor is a dull black breast plate and leg armor with silver shoulder pads and black armored gloves. On the left breast is engraved a golden sword with two red lighting bolts crisscrossing, one over the sword and the other under forming an X. Clipped onto his shoulders and attached by a chain to his breast plate, he wears a brownish black cloak which seems to offer no other protection than against the weather and possibe prying eyes. In its own way, the ship is a prison to the one called Simon Sezirok. Occasionally moving between the various corridors and compartments on the ship, the brown haired man is really just moving from one cell to another. To leave would be to bring unnecessary danger upon himself and those that he travels with now. All that's left for him, then, is to busy himself with the task of keeping busy. Usually, it's meditation that Simon chooses to fill the hours of waiting. Today, however, meditation is simply not enough. His mind wants to wander uncharacteristically, and without proper focus, meditation can yield no enlightenment. Abandoning the tranquility of the cargo area once more, Simon lets his feet wander, carrying him into the main corridor. His countenance is a reflection of a deep calm within his mind. If Mira were around, she might comment on how much Simon looked the way he used to look before things went so badly. Drew is at the holochess table again. The display is off though, and she is using the table for what seems to be...bookeeping. Her long, long legs are perched precariously on a chair across from her, one long, long arm relaxed and hanging off the side of the chair. A portable computer terminal is open in front of her. Datapads, girl, table, they're all in a relaxed, mussed-up state. Drew has the kind of face and posture that seems unwilling to be unfazed by anything. Thus far, the holochess table had seemed to be a great source of entertainment for the other people that shared this ship with him. The one called Orson seemed particularly interested in the device, though from what Simon could sense during meditation, Drew spent almost as much time near it. Her presence near the entertainment center comes as no surprise to Simon. Walking liesurely, Simon approaches the long limbed woman and says in a friendly tone, "Good day, Drew." He frowns slightly. He'd met very few people with such simple names. Mira was one of those few. He continues in his slurring, alien-sounding accent, "It is good to you again. Tell me... have you seen Jessalyn Valios today? Was she in better spirits?" Drew blinks up at him but, aside from that, she is unruffled by his appearance. "Hello, Simon." She shakes her head, smiling. "Only briefly, but I couldn't tell what mood she was in." She presses something on the computer console that makes the screen go blank, then continues, "She should be somewhere in the ship..." Nodding slowly, Simon takes on a contemplative look and takes the seat across from Drew. Jessalyn was somewhere else on the ship, giving Simon an excellent opportunity. He says after a moment, cocking his head slightly and turning his inquisitive look upon the blonde woman, "You are a woman. Tell me... what would you have a man do to gain your favor?" Simple questions. Always better to start with the simple questions. Drew's grin widens sheepishly at the question. That's very out of the blue. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back thoughtfully, "Um." She squints at some random spot on the table, then looks back at Simon. "That's a funny question... Hard to answer, because it all depends on the woman. You'd have to be more specific." There /are/ a few things she could say, regarding Jessalyn and Simon, from seeing them that last time, but how do you tell tactfully tell a man, and a Jedi, that he's being creepy? If Simon was some other sort of Force User, he might pluck Drew's thoughts from her mind and know underlying message of what she was saying. Since he's not, and his experience with women is well below average, he simply takes her words in stride, nodding with a confused look that furrows his brow. "Well," Simon says, leaning forward in his seat, "I need to find a way to convince Jessalyn Valios that fighting me is only going to cause problems for both of us. Our destinies are intertwined more strongly than any two lovers. She does not see this, so perhaps if I convince her in a more... normal... fashion?" Drew isn't very sure if she's the best person to ask. But being the only other female available must have not given Simon any other choice. She pauses, pondering that. "Maybe it's having a grandiose notion about destiny that is the problem. If someone came to me telling me we're destined to be together, I would think he was crazy." She grins, "It must be different for you." Er...what else to say. "If you believe that you're destined to be together, that all she has to do is come to her senses, then it might be better not to push it. You know, make it known that you're available but not, well, impose yourself?" "It's not that simple," Simon states. He raises his right hand from where he'd set it on the table and gestures with it as he speaks. "The True Source... what the Jedi call the Force... has a certain timing about it. It demands that certain actions happen at certain times, and to oppose the natural order of things is to try to stand motionless against a flooded river. You will be swept away with the wash and rush, and could be hurt. Something is going to happen soon between Jessalyn Valio and myself, something neither of us can avoid. If she is not prepared to stand with me, then we could both fall together. If keeping her from harm means convincing her in a more normal fashion, then I will do this, if it can be done quickly." This might be more than Drew can take in one bite. She leans back a bit farther, hrrms to herself, still with that slight smile. Finally, she replies. "I think setting those kinds of restrictions negates the normalcy of it. Y'know?" This is the kind of conversation she should be having with a drink. Her eyes glance about her, then settle on Simon. "But, if you want to know how I think you can make a better job of it... Respect her space. Be polite. Be honest. If she's not going along with what you want, she must have her own reasons for it, and she might accept your advances if you look like you are respecting that." Respect. It was something that he'd found little directed toward himself, and thus had been showing less and less for others. It seemed like the natural way of things, in this civilization. If respect was going to get him what he needed, though, he could bend his neck and bow and scrape with the best of him. Drew had a good idea. "Yes," Simon says, nodding, a smile spreading on his own lips. "Yes, that would probably do well. I do have a respect for Jessalyn, after all. I sense a strength within her, and she has shown herself to be spirited. I would not wish to share the yoke with a woman that was meek. I will do as you say, Drew, and be polite and respectful in all things. It is easier to steer the beast of burden with honey than it is to steer the beast with the prod, is it not? Respect. Yes." He trails off, his eyes focusing on a spot on a wall, but his mind looking elsewhere. The Uwannabuyim rattles suddenly as her hull comes apart, some of the sickly green-tinted flourescent light filtering into the ship through first a narrow crack and then an open maw as the boarding ramp lowers and admits Orson. His face is hard, his gaze inward, and his look pensive. He's just returned from some business on the asteroid. The mechanic-businessman pauses and looks between the trio. He couldn't shake the nagging sense of trouble that haunted his guests, but, with Karrde on the way, things were looking better. "Oh, Simon. There you are." He speaks as if he's been looking all over for the other man before flashing a familiar smile to Drew and a cool look to Lehec. Orson reaches up to rub his jaw, the quantity of looks he's having to conjure putting his flexible face through a workout. Drew doesn't have much else to say to Simon but, she's suddenly doesn't feel all that happy about giving the man advice. Her head tilts slightly, thoughtfully, as she studies him for a brief moment. I mean, describing a girl as a beast having to be led somewhere isn't a good sign. Er... That train of thought is interrupted by the sound of the loading ramp lowering and Orson's arrival. She watches him enter, the smile returned, in addition to a quirked eyebrow. He doesn't look very happy. Lehec watches Orson walk in and try to act as though nothing is wrong. "I guess with this group we always seem rather gloomy and stuck in thoughts." He says to himself. He then returns to staring at the walls in hopes of forgetting the advice that Drew just gave to Simon...all he knew is that that probably wasn't the best idea around. With the entry of Orson, Simon rises from where he'd been sitting across from Drew, giving his robe an unnecessary tug to straighten it. Respect. An echo of Drew's advice rings through Simon's mind, and it occurs to him that perhaps he should practice this new tact before applying it to Jessalyn. Placing his right fist into his open left hand, he bows at his waist to Orson, his eyes remaining fixed on the man. He says as he straightens, "Orson. I am at your service." The whole gesture is done with a certain precision and familiarity, like an old ritual done many times in the past. The Ritual of Greeting completed, Simon smils a friendly smile to his benefactor, then says in a more normal, congenial tone, "You have been looking for me?" Lehec's comment he ignores for now. He wasn't always gloomy and stuck in his thoughts. He turns his blue eyes toward the former New Republic marine, his smile still on his lips but no longer exactly touching his eyes. He wasn't ALWAYS gloomy. Orson doesn't walk with a swagger, but it's not precisely grace balanced on two feet either. Still, he straightens noticeably, the small man micromoving to imitate the gesture. He's not ashamed to try it, obviously, but he doesn't make it a grand movement lest he get it wrong and cause some offense. "Yes," he returns, again matching Simon's tone and mentally adding this new quirk of behavior to the running list he's keeping on the un-Jedi. "We've had my man aboard, but I think you were in the back. Karrde." He pronounces the word precisely, as if he's just revealed a great piece of valuable information to Simon. "He should be coming in a moment." With that, the squat man takes a step to join Drew, checkglancing toward the cockpit as a good mechanic/captain might do. Drew scootches to the side to give Orson room at the holochess table, still watching Simon curiously. She glances at Lehec, who hadn't spoken up yet, and beams him a small smile too. Smiles over to Drew saying, "Hello. Sorry I have been day dreaming for a while. For once its rather boring around here and i want to savor the passing moments." He flashes a smile over to Simon though its doubtful he saw it. "Karrde," Simon repeats Orson's statement. He purses his lips and frowns slightly. He knew the name, and could even conjure a face to match it. When last he'd seen the man, they'd shared words, though at this point in time, Simon couldn't remember what Karrde had been saying. What he could remember, however, was feelings of apprehension toward what the other man would do. He had been certain that the goateed fellow would double-cross he and Cort some how, escorting them to their executor for a bag of silver. He says, looking at the others in the room with him, "He should be here in a moment, you say. Alone?" As if in answer, there is a whine of the ramp operating, and then sounds of movement; sounds made, perhaps, intentionally loud as if to annouce an arrival without anyone getting too paranoid. A minute later, Karrde strolls up said ramp, face set into his usual deadpan. Oddly, it's Orson his gaze seeks out first, before sweeping the others. Different assortment today. "Am I interrupting anything?" he asks, as if the party has just been hanging out smoking bongs on his ship, and not planning massive destruction. Which, really, can be mixed, but. Orson slides in beside Drew at the cramped holochess table, but takes the edge of the seat to give his associate some room. "Is there a problem?" Orson studies Simon's scowl critically, his eyes narrowing a little to take in the whole breadth of the other man's facial landscape. While Orson is playing tourist on Simon's face, the ramp activates and he has no time to explain Karrde's trustworthiness or otherwise reassure the quirky Simon. He moves to stand when Karrde enters, but touches the overhanging lip of the holochess table. It's too much trouble to slide over and then stand, so instead he nods profoundly at Karrde. "Not at all, I was just announcing your arrival. Karrde, Simon. Simon, this is Karrde." Drew's way is blocked, so she gives Karrde her usual greeting. A huge smile. To somehow relieve the cramped feel of the room, she begins to pick up the datapads strewn on the table, and shut her computer console. This is again the time to be quiet; she gives Orson a meaningful look, and that's all. At the sound of the ramp activating once more, Simon is almost certain before he turns that he knows who it is. Orson's words confirm, of course, if Simon's own memories hadn't been confirmation enough. Nodding to the new arrival, Simon folds his arms across his chest and says, a touch coldly. "Yes, we have met before." He pauses to turn his attention toward Orson and Drew. Respect, she had said. Sighing, he turns back to Karrde and says, forcing a smile to spread across his lips, "It is good to see that you are healthy and well, Talon Karrde." Jessalyn better appreciate Simon's effort. "Thank you," Karrde replies to Simon, inspecting him with almost the same sort of dubious air. He also remembers the last time they spoke, and it was about suspicion and betrayal. And here was Cort's lackey, asking for help? The galaxy works in odd ways. "But my continued health is so hinged on other surprising factors that I've stopped going to my doctor for regular checkups," he continues dryly, settling to stand at some safe distance from Simon. "What can I help you with?" Orson slouches a bit to maintain equilibrium in the cabin, scoring a goal for team sloppy to compensate for Drew's sudden spurt of straightening up. He turns his head and watches Simon's reaction, not speaking lest Karrde interpret some explanation here as advocating their peculiar ideas - whether that's the case or not. At that moment, almost on cue, the door to one of the staterooms whisks open and Jessalyn appears, her usual wild hair pulled severely back from the pale outline of her face, and secured at her nape with a silver clasp. She steps forward into the corridor and moves to stand with a straight spine next to Simon. Her head inclines in greeting as she says, "Mr. Karrde," and folds her hands, allowing the Selas to do the talking for now. Drew leans her elbow on the table, and her chin on her palm, looking at them all silently. This is one of those moments where she wishes she could read minds. Watching Simon and Karrde gives her an inkling though... This is tense. Wow. She glances at the slouching Orson; it's interesting for her, now that they're on the same eye level. Something in Karrde's words makes Simon think that the wry man was saying something funny, but Simon's sense of humor isn't exactly in alignment with the rest of the galaxy. In response, Simon simply cocks his head to one side, giving Karrde a curious look as he concentrates on the question put forth. He says, finally, "I seek what I sought before, Talon Karrde. The destruction of the Death Star, and an end to the callous, indirect attack on the True Source." It's then that he realizes that Jessalyn has made her approach and has stood by his side. Turning smoothly toward her, he bows his head to her in a greeting, giving her a sincere, congenial smile. Respectful. Karrde squints faintly and resettles on his feet, crossing his arms on his chest. Jessalyn is given a polite nod while he mulls a response to Simon. It's plain and simple, but with no plain and simple answers. "I see," he finally remarks. "That seems to go along with my own efforts, moreso than when we last met. I would be glad of your help, but what do you bring to the effort?" He lifts an eyebrow, including both him and the red-headed woman in the questioning. "Your firy desire for justice? Do you have a plan?" That's the question he really had, after all the pondering in the past few hours. Orson extends a finger and traces a line on the holochess table between a square of contrasting dark and light. That, along with the connotations of strategy, make it seem an appropriate symbol for this meeting, though Orson doesn't typically think on that level. This whole affair has been a lot of Trouble, but Karrde was here and would know what to do. Something about Karrde's tone is comforting to Orson. There was a possibility of some cooperation here, that much he could decipher. He's heard Karrde's not-giving-a-centimeter voice and it sounded a little different, he thought. Suddenly, Orson leans to Drew and lifts his hand to whisper loudly at her. "I need to talk with you about the cell's operation, by the way. Remind me later. I need some help." Drew's response to Orson is a meaningful look, her head makes a small nod from its perch on her palm. Her eyes return to the three having the discussion. Jessalyn tilts her head to the side, her expression grave as she considers Karrde's questions as well as his disposition. "The truth is, no one can succeed against the Empire without cooperation. The New Republic is helpless without the Jedi -- their battle station will need to be taken from the inside. That will be our job." There she halts, drawing a breath, and glancing at Simon as if to allow him to finish the explanation. What did he bring to the effort? For a moment, Simon nearly reaches toward his lightstaff and draws it forward. It had been a well recognized symbol of what he could do, all over the place. But this wasn't the place to be drawing weapons, when peaceful discussions were taking place. Simon gives Jessalyn another smile as she speaks, her words an echo of his own thoughts. For a moment, he fears that, perhaps, she had done as the other Jedi had tried to do, and invaded his mind. But no... Jessalyn knew better than that, and it was much nicer to believe that their coordination in this effort was simply a reflection of the natural order of things. As she finishes speaking, he turns back to Karrde and says, "There will be Sith aboard the Death Star, and any group that should enter to strike at the heart of that terrible monster will need to be small. You will need us to deal with the Sith, at the very least." "To be fair to the New Republic, I think they did pretty well the first two times without you, Miss Valios, and from the outside," Karrde notes dryly. "Us mere mortals can manage to put action to hope. If indeed you believe in y our stated faith in cooperation, kindly step off your pedestal." It's sharp words spoken urbanely, but the words of the woman aroused some irritation in a man who gets by without Jedi in his organization. Looking now to Simon, the gaze is a tad more level after the tweak to his mood of willingness. "And you will need a number of things, sir. One, finding the Death Star. Two, getting onto it to do your deeds. I'm of the opinion that you're rather dependant on a great many other people for both of those, which is why you're here. Your weapons and skills are fine and all, but you're still standing on a smuggler's ship, which I believe is rather far from being dropped into the ideal spot from which to enact your firy desire for justice." The sharpness is now in tone, and he narrows his eyes at the target of his realism. "You're missing steps, and I haven't seen anything about how you're to help me in my phase of this effort. Finding it. Then others are ready. If Miss Valios' opinion of your greatness holds, the ramp is that way, and good luck to both of you." Orson lifts a hand to touch his lips, slightly closing his eyes. Maybe it /was/ the not-budge-a-centimeter voice. Something about the extended comments from Karrde are rousing, and he stands. But he doesn't get very far, leaning against the bulkhead at the holochess table and crossing his arms against his chest. Drew, being a New Republic veteran herself, doesn't seem pleased by Jessalyn's comment as well. She leans back and looks at her. Not unkindly, that's probably beyond her, but guarded nevertheless. She watches Orson get up and guesses he's thinking the same thing. Then Karrde. She opens her mouth to say something, frowning, but then shuts it again. He said it all very well already. "There was a Jedi helping the Rebellion the first two times, in case you have forgotten," Jessalyn says quietly, her gaze steady and unflinching. "And you've been known to seek the assistance of those gifted with the Force when the time is warranted. The Empire will not allow an external attack to threaten them again. Of that you can be certain." She shakes her head sadly, taking a step forward, gesturing with one slim hand. "I've seen Valak's power firsthand, Mr. Karrde. I've been his victim as well. Together, we can all formulate a coherent plan. If you don't want to accept the help of those who can make a difference... then we're all doomed." Giving his robe another, unnecessary tug to straighten it, Simon takes a step toward the ramp. Karrde had not only proven Simon's point about the lack of respect the people of this civilization gave to each other, he'd spoken a wisdom in regards to parting company. Jessalyn's words stop him, though. Honeyed as her words may be, Simon's words carry a hint of winter as he says, "A spearman doesn't tell the bowman how to do his job. I may be gaining a reputation, Talon Karrde, but yours is known enough. Since we met, someone told me that you dealt in information. I deal in something else. If you want my help getting your information, then maybe you can ask for it. Do not expect me to do your job, though. I do not fly ships, I carry a staff." Karrde holds up a hand as Jessalyn speaks and steps forward, commenting evenly, "I haven't sought Jedi help for anything, actually, as it tends to blow up in my face, and don't try to be Valak's only poor victim without knowing my history. I really advise you become better informed before speaking, it will save you further embarrassment." He's trying to be patient, but people who make wild assumptions about him and then try to base their plea for help on them... well. The smuggler chief turns as Simon moves, and he reasons mildly, "You're not listening, Simon." It's almost kindly, and carries no condescension. "You're asking me to trust you with my life. You're also asking me to assume that just because you wield this True Source or the Force, that it will somehow make everything better. Skywalker is far, far more wise and realistic than that, in the times I've known him. He understood that certain things need to happen to give people such as yourself their time to shine. If I had that time right now, I would be speaking differently, but right now I'm trying to gain that for people such as you." He pauses thoughtfully, flicking a glance to Jessalyn, and Drew and Orson. "The sheer amount of unwillingness to understand here hints at problems. Perhaps it is best that we both go about this separately." Regret? Perhaps. But the man holds to his opinions, that the pair of Jedi are missing the point through their overconfidence, and that since Talon can remember, anytime he dealt directly with Jedi, he always ended up getting the short stick. No, this was too important to mess up, so. "Good luck. If I need you, I'll call." Orson purses his lips and speaks up finally, having accepted what Karrde's saying. "I can give you a ride, if you need it," Orson speaks up. His tone is more directly regretful, but he wouldn't go so far as to make a stand for, to him, an abstract cause. "Well, most anywhere. A couple of places would to be difficult." He shrugs at the pair and grows quiet again. Drew just blinks a couple of times at Karrde, then looks at the Jedi. That was worse than she thought it would be. When Orson speaks, she backs him up with a brief nod. It's the least that can be done anyway. "Anyone that assumes that the True Source will smooth over the rough edges is backwards and a fool," Simon says, the frosty edge no longer audible in his voice, yet his tone firm just the same. He raises an admonishing finger to Karrde and continues, "As for Skywalker..." Simon purses his lips and nearly spits before stopping himself. He shakes his head, trying to clear the momentary flare of anger that filled him. This was not about Skywalker, and it wasn't going to be. He says, "I believe that it is you that is unwilling to understand, Talon Karrde. We are here displaying a foolish level of trust, putting ourselves at your disposal. This trust you are throwing away at a whim. I for one am a warrior, standing ready to swear to help you in our mutual cause. If I leave here, do not bother calling. I will not offer you my trust again so lightly." The flame-haired woman puts a gentle, placating hand on Simon's arm, shaking her head and glancing up at him briefly before returning her attention to Karrde. "Of -course- I am not Valak's only victim. That's what I'm trying to say. The entire galaxy needs to be protected." Jessalyn spreads her hands wide. "If you wouldn't mind indulging me, if for a moment before we go, what is it that we do not appear to be understanding?" The smuggler chief merely... gazes at Simon a long moment, is own frustration and anger suspended in wonder at the man. It's not admiration as a curious form of disbelief in what he's hearing. But then, Karrde reminds himself, Simon doesn't know the full story of what is going on, and that is the difference. He hasn't shown his full sabacc hand. "I, however, will offer it," the smuggler says quietly, watching Simon. "And even now, the trust you gave won't be violated. And Miss Valios..." he continues, in the same quiet tone. "You don't understand that for a long time, me and mine have done what we've done without Jedi at all. Quite a few people in this galaxy, oddly enough, come to me for help, and I help them. Without the Force. We're in the same fight already, even if neither of you realize it, and have been for a while. But it is such that I demand a level of cooperation that isn't about someone being the sole hero of a battle just because they can make things float, or about discounting that a great many other people are risking everything they have and are to destroy the Death Star and bring Valak to heel." He pauses, frowning at the woman, his statements orbiting too close to home. "I don't like the level of friction here and won't hang my life on it, nor the lives of my people and the lives of the organizations depending on -all- our efforts. It's as simple as that. I wish you both the best in applying your considerable talents toward the goal. Hopefully we'll meet again at the victory party," he adds with a slight smile, before stepping back to make leaving easier for the pair. Orson, the coordinator of this little party, doesn't seemed miffed - perhaps disappointed that some sort of compromise couldn't be reached. It's like bringing a date home to the parents and finding that they can't get along at all. Two different aspects of life to be reconciled in a meeting like that. And, while this is bad, and Orson seeks resolution, well, Karrde is in the parents role and Orson still lives at home. He looks at his dates. Need a ride home? "Uh, the offer for a ride is still good," he says without looking at Karrde. "Thank you, Orson," Jessalyn says, her shoulders slumping slightly as she turns in his direction. "Perhaps the best thing to do is find Luke, after all. Wherever he is." She offers a faint smile in Karrde's direction, meeting his gaze, and perhaps trying to pierce beneath the unwavering veneer. What else can she say? For a moment she understands the appeal of the Dark Side, of compelling others to one's own will, never having to negotiate or plea, but shaping people and events. But she cannot coerce or compel, she can only try to understand. "Thank you for hearing us out... I hope that you will... reconsider your plans, Mr. Karrde. And good luck." Frustrated from the incredible waste of time and breath, Simon diverts his eyes from Karrde to Orson, then Jessalyn. The man was a sheep-headed fool, and clearly looking for glory rather than results. Thinking of the opportunity lost at this point makes Simon's stomach twist. Letting out a sigh, he turns and takes a step in the direction Jessalyn had moved.
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