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RPlog:Back in the Good Ole New Republic

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Orson Too short, not handsome, and a little too old. What's lacking in looks has to be made up for with something strong on the inside: determination and persistence, a certain grit evident in the look sent by his slate gray eyes. Lines around this human male's mouth and eyes tell of hard days and decisions in his past, each one a new crease in an otherwise young man's face. He is smaller framed, though quite stout with a barrel chest and strong shoulders. Still, he's not overly muscled, simply in good physical shape. Dark hair is kept in a simple style but is more often than not in a disheveled state. A few lonely gray hairs touch his temples. He might be around forty standard years old. He has a larger nose, on a round-shaped, bold face that is quick with a grin but usually caught up in

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circa 10 ABY

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Orson's Warning

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It doesn't take long for Jessalyn to find someone who is looking for her once the weary group of travelers arrives on Corellia.

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Uwannabuyim, Corellia

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Orson Too short, not handsome, and a little too old. What's lacking in looks has to be made up for with something strong on the inside: determination and persistence, a certain grit evident in the look sent by his slate gray eyes. Lines around this human male's mouth and eyes tell of hard days and decisions in his past, each one a new crease in an otherwise young man's face. He is smaller framed, though quite stout with a barrel chest and strong shoulders. Still, he's not overly muscled, simply in good physical shape. Dark hair is kept in a simple style but is more often than not in a disheveled state. A few lonely gray hairs touch his temples. He might be around forty standard years old. He has a larger nose, on a round-shaped, bold face that is quick with a grin but usually caught up in a shade of thoughtful. He is wearing fur pants, thick white, large and billowing at the legs. A black tank top covers his thick barrel chest; while fit and stout, he is not overly muscled. A gray scarf encircles his waist, evening the dark and light on the man and helping keep his clothes in place. It has been knotted on one side and trails almost all the way to the ground. Soft-soled but thick boots cover his feet. An oversized set of goggles are strapped to his head, stretchy material securing them in an 'X' shaped band around the back of his skull. The lenses are tinted rose red. 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. Simon 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. 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 relatively tall for a human woman, with long-boned limbs and a natural grace amplified by her skills. 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-hewn 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. Rislyn: The most noticeable aspect of this young woman is her athletic build. If it weren't for the graceful way she carried herself, more would call her stocky. Instead, the average word used is muscular. Her chestnut hair reaches to the nape of her neck. The layered style has a purposeful wind-blown look with locks sticking out every which way. Her eyes are a deep brown similar to her hair. Crystals of gold within her brown eyes twinkle and catch the light. Her skin is a gentle golden that draws all her features together, including her lightly freckled nose and full russet lips. Under her black leather spacer's jacket is a white cropped shirt. The shirt seems to be soft in material and reaches just barely to the top of her pants. Her pants match her jacket but do not appear nearly so worn. Strapped around her waist is a belt complete with pouches and blaster holster. To complete her outfit are worn black leather boots. They have been polished lately, but it is obvious this pair is her favorite. As the ship descends into the cloud cover above Corellia's surface, Jessalyn watches with growing excitement, flipping a few switches and listening to the whine of the sensor readouts as they grow closer to the glittering lights of Coronet City far below. She glances over at Orson, then at Simon behind her, not trying very hard to shield her thoughts. Even without the Force, though, the sparkle in her eyes shows how eager she is to be reaching their destination. "I want to try to contact Princess Leia or someone else in the New Republic," she mentions offhand. "I'm sure they've been wondering what the hell happened to me." "Princes Leia, the Jedi Luke Skywalker's sister," Simon muses. He purses his lips as he looks from Jessalyn to the view offered by the viewport. Drawing in a deep breath, he lets it out slowly before continuing, "I'm sure that they have been troubled by your disappearance, Jessa. Especially when they know that it was in my company that you left." The return to Corellia is less eventful than the departure, Coronet City's busy spaceport having forgotten the mostly nameless crew and ship. The group has made a round trip, but their very natures and the links which bind them together have changed a lot in the past two weeks. Love. Meaning. And above all, hope. It's on all their minds in some form or another, good outcomes and bright futures just barely ... out of reach, for now. Ship Captain Orson Tighe stretches out his hand. The saucer-shaped vessel turns, droplets racing along the transparisteel cockpit as the YT-1300 lances a gray cloud pregnant with rain. "That shouldn't be too difficult," Orson comments, adrenaline just now leaving his body. He'd had a good opportunity for reflection and training on their short trip, but couldn't help but wonder... Simon provides the name immediately. How would Luke Skywalker figure into this? Jessalyn's obvious reverence for the Jedi Master would make things difficult for both Simon and Orson, perhaps. The skyline of Coronet City appears, and the ship is manuevered in, settling into space lanes and moving along in an orderly manner. "Some discretion is called for then?" Orson asks, glancing to the pair as the ship settles. "Discretion is almost always wise," Simon says, bringing a hand to his chin and rubbing the hair there thoughtfully. He leans forward to look a different direction through the viewport. He says, "There was a time that I had thought to help a woman named Eva Sargent from a wasting death in the hospital on this planet. It went poorly, for I did not observe as much discretion as I should have." Straightening, he looks to Orson again and says, "It does not matter if you serve the Jedi, or Talon Karrde, or simply yourself. Caution is never a poor decision." "Eva Sargent?" Orson asks as he turns, hands moving of their own accord over the console. "I know her. Why was she ill, what was the matter with her?" The mechanic cuts his steel gray eyes to Jessalyn and then back at Simon. Soon, the Uwannabuyim is settled in its place, repulsors whining softly down in pitch as they slow. In the distance but visible through the cockpit glass, the nose of Simon's ship peeks out from around a corner. "We'll keep things quiet then." He can't help but recall the last time he had said something similar and Simon had practically flipped over tables in the Dig, searching for Morganna. He couldn't help but wonder how discreet he would be with the Skywalkers involved. Simon also cuts a glance toward Jessalyn, but only for a moment. It was Orson that had asked the question, after all. Turning back to the stout man, he says, "Eva Sargent was under the spell of a Sith device. I do not know the extent of what happened to Eva Sargent, but it was clear that she was in pain. Cort Stasus is also under the spell of the device, but he seems to grow stronger rather than weaker, as had been the case with Eva Sargent." "I see," the mechanic intones, turning fully and perching on the edge of his seat. "She is still in pain. Still weak," Orson confesses to Simon, hesitant with the words. "Something about her mind isn't right. What does the device do?" Some noises drift fore, compartments opening and closing in the back, the 'fresher being activated. The normal routine for beings about to set out planetside. Instead of laying out his wardrobe or planning his activities, Orson is instead engaged in conversation about a Sith device, little pieces of information falling into place. The thought summons a wry smile to his lips. "I do not fully know, ... Orson," Simon says, tripping slightly over not adding title or respectful preliminary to his name. Such a backwards society, but that had been Orson's request. He frowns, his brow furrowing at the news of Eva Sargent's condition. "Cort Stasus is very protective of it. I believe that he uses it to learn the secrets of what the Sith learned in their attempts to twist and abuse the True Source. Some of these things Cort would teach me, if I would open myself fully to his lessons." Stepping toward the aft of the cabin, Simon says, speaking over his shoulder, "Do you know where Eva Sargent is? Is she on this planet, as she had been when I tried to help her before?" Orson gives Jessalyn a meaningful look, only angling his head fractionally when Simon turns his back. A little burst of nervous energy rolls off of him, through the Force, though he intends the exact opposite. "I do know where she is," the man admits, dropping his hands in his lap with resignation. 'Well it's time to stand up' his grunt reads, so he does so, resting a hand on the back of either seat. "She's asked me for help, some time ago. When we were still on the asteroid, I left there for a meeting with her. But no, she's not on this planet." He doesn't supply where exactly the businesswoman is, but then, the broad-shouldered mechanic was simply following Simon's advice: use caution. Orson had already shared what he knew about Eva Sargent with her, but Jessalyn was not aware of the connection with Simon. For the moment she's grateful that the Selas will not read her thoughts; she manages to keep her expression smooth even while reeling inwardly at this news. She shares Orson's look when Simon has his back turned to them, rising from her seat and angling her body to move between the two men and aft. "C'mon, let's go," she says impatiently. For some odd reason, she has nothing to add to this conversation, it seems. Stepping out of Jessalyn's way, Simon gives her a curious look, then schools his features into a more blank expression. There was something these two knew that they held back. Orson's breathing rhythm had altered. Jessalyn's heartbeat had momentarily sped up. These things he would not have noticed, except for the heightened sensitivity he felt after his time on Myrkr. He dreaded what it would be like to be around a large group of people. Letting out a soft sigh, he asks, quietly, "Where is it that we plan on going, discreetly? Is it the business that you had mentioned before, ... Orson?" Orson weaves aft, stepping into the crew stateroom and talking from behind a partially closed door. "Well, I don't need much discreet help with that. But I do need to take care of a few things for Karrde when I get a few moments," his muffled voice explains. Orson steps out from behind the door, wearing a normal -- mostly -- pair of pants and tugging on his mohair jacket. His crown hangs limp in one hand, and he hits a wall control that dims the lights in the ship. "I don't really have other plans. Continue training. I'll check with Karrde soon if he has something for us. Otherwise ..." The mechanic shrugs and triggers the ramp controls, putting his crown on, jewels dangling madly. The ramp pops open with a bizarre shudder and he steps for it. While the two men continue their discussion, Jessalyn has withdrawn to the cabinet were her belongings were stored, her thoughts drifting to her own concerns as she makes sure she hasn't left anything behind, including the cutting of a particular flower she had remembered to bring along with her. It's safe in its stasis container, and she zips her satchels shut before slinging them both over her left shoulder. "I'll be discreet," she says to them aloud. "But I'm going to contact the New Republic representative here, that much is certain." They may not share her faith in the Jedi Order, the New Republic, or the Jedi Master himself, but her own heart is solidly certain in her loyalty. If they want to play on her side, they were going to have to accept that. She lifts her eyebrows and smiles at them as she starts down the ramp, boots clomping metalically on the steep descent. Standing in the central ring, looking after Orson and Jessalyn, Simon feels suddenly awkward in that he didn't have much to do in the way of preparations. He no longer had a spare shirt or robe. His only spare had been destroyed by blaster fire on this planet not that long ago. Plucking up the bottom of his shirt, he looks at the fraid hem. At least it was reaonably clean; he'd brushed out his clothes when he'd arisen that morning. Turning his attention in the direction Jessalyn had gone, Simon says, raising his voice, "For the safety of us all, it would be better if I am not present when you meet with your New Republic contacts, Jessalyn Valios. They have a long history of thinking that I am here to do harm." Orson leads the way, but circles back around to the bulky old YT-1300 they've come in on and activates the ramp after Jessalyn and Simon have stepped away. Queerly, the ramp snaps closed quickly instead of the normal slow pace that ramps choose, and a loud pop trembles through this part of the starport. "At least your ship wasn't impounded," Orson comments cheerily, motioning at the outline of Simon's vessel. Right where it had been left. Wary eyes sweep through the tangle of ships, people, and cargo, halfway expecting to find the animal-like Kacela lurking there. Nothing. Yes, they would do well to exercise caution. Rislyn has been in this starport day after day hoping someone or something could help her search. It's like she's been all over this planet and no one can tell her anything. Oh, she had huge clues about what she should be doing. But no solid leads. And so far the beings in this space port have been like the rest of the NR Intel team, useless. She sighs loudly and looks down at the holo in her hand. It's a plam sized lady, standing on the card in Riz's hand. The lady is a shapely redhead, with long legs. And no one in this entire starport has ever seen her before. "Come on." She says to the green being infront of her. "Think back. You are here everyday, surely you saw her leave with someone." The alien is quickly becoming annoyed with the older teen but she remains persistant in getting any information out of the creature. Well aware of the quickness with which Orson's rigged hatch closes, Jessa hops several steps out of the way as soon as she hits the tarmac, glancing around the starport in the direction of Simon's ship when the short mechanic points it out. She shields her eyes with her free hand, then gives the Selas a curious look. "Don't worry about that, Simon. You're with me now." As if this explained everything, she gives a little shrug. "Where should we go first? Are you tired?" The long-legged redhead puts her hand on her hip, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she searches the faces of the beings milling through the starport, wondering if she should try to call up a transport, and where they should go if she does. As usual, Simon took the time to grab his rose carved staff before stepping down the ramp after Orson and Jessalyn. He stands at the base of the ramp, looking around the starport with a cool, calculating gaze. That is, until the ramp slams shut behind him so suddenly it causes the Selas to jump. He hadn't been paying as much attention to the ship as Jessalyn, apparently. Brandishing his weapon as if ready to use it, he looks left and right for the source of the sound before he realizes what it was. Shaking his head, he turns back around and looks at Jessalyn with an embarrassed look on his face. "I suppose that wasn't very discreet," he says under his breath. In a normal tone, he says, "I do not care where it is we go, as long as it is not... too confining." Angling his antennae, Orson Tighe steps out into the main concourse, looking to flag some sort of transport. However, the main flow of traffic is not as heavy as it is on some days, and it's only a short walk through the maze of landing struts and busy traders before one reaches less busy streets. "We can probably get a transport this way," Orson predicts, turning his back to the pair as they move into the starport proper. "Where will you go to contact your people?" the mechanic queries, looking over his shoulder at Jessalyn. "The Capital Building seems like a good place to start." The green alien stares at Riz for a while and shakes its head. At the same time it continues to pack the cargo hold of the nearby freighter. "Look, I know you know things. We've had talks before, Narge. I really don't want this to get ugly." She threatens even though the large being doesn't seem in the least be worried about the girl. Rislyn gives up for a moment and lets the thing load some stuff. Then she finally asks, "Okay, fine. I'm asking for the last time. Have you seen her?" Riz pokes the holo in the being's face as he makes another pass to pack supplies. The green beast blinks it's many eyelids and then points to a newly landed ship. "You mean her?" It asks. Riz jumps off the crate and smacks the alien in the stomach. "Great stars! You were going to let her walk right by weren't you?!" The being doesn't seem to mind the girl's violet outlash and just continues packing as Riz yells, "Jessa!" And runs after the group she's with. Sensing Simon's sudden spike of alarm when the ramp startles him, Jessalyn gives him an affectionate, sidelong glance, unable to help but laugh. Not very discreet, no. She follows after Orson, reaching out to take Simon's hand at the same time, pulling him along with her. "The Capital Building sounds like a good place to start," she agrees with the shorter man. But then, she hears her name over the clamor of the spaceport and pauses, looking around for the source and trying to recognize the voice. "Oh! Rislyn!" she says with surprise. She was certainly the last person that Jessalyn had expected to find here. Simon looks at Orson with a blank look as he speaks. He really did not care where they went to meet Jessalyn's people. He was certain that no good could come from him speaking with New Republic people again, despite Jessalyn's assurances. He'd been lucky with Bazil McKenzie, but he knew his luck wouldn't extend to New Republic strangers. His line of thought shatters in the moment. He looks with a start in Rislyn's direction as she yells Jessalyn's name and begins charging down on them. Fortunately, he notices Jessalyn's recognition before doing anything rash and particular indiscreet. He gives Jessalyn's hand a squeeze, then says, "A friend of yours, I assume?" Discreet indeed. "Hello, we're here," Orson greets Rislyn, smiling in spite of himself. He doesn't make an obvious play for her attention though, simply bobbing his head in her direction and stepping over to Simon's side. "Someone call the news people," he murmurs quietly, stuffing hands into a seam on either side of his mohair jacket. Pockets. One hand withdraws and he takes a look at its contents: a smaller-sized datapad. "I should see about that meeting. I could go ahead and get that done. Looks like you guys might be tied up a while." Orson watches Simon for a reaction, but reorients his shoulders to make it clear he's speaking to both he and Jessalyn. And the younger girl. Rislyn waves when she sees Jessalyn stop and recognize her, but she continues to hurry in her direction. In her strange excitement she starts talking before she even gets to the group. "You would not believe the mess it's been trying to find you." She pauses and offers and apologetic smile to both Orson and Simon. "And now you just randomly walk into the very starport where I'm questioning people about the last day you were seen here." She holds up the holocard as if for proof and then shuts it off and sticks it in her pocket. She masks the real reason she was looking for Jessalyn. "I've completely smashed my swoop. And the credit flow has been cut off." She uses her hands to help her explain. "Mom, said the last place you'd been was planetside so I had to run down here to get you. I thought you might have just disappeared." If she heard Orson's comments she doesn't act like it. Instead, she keeps the teenage forefront of everything in her life is first priority and should be for everyone else too. "Yes, a friend," Jessalyn assures Simon under her breath before the young girl reaches them. She pauses to consider Orson's words, as well, though the sudden teenage chatter makes it a little difficult to focus on either one very well. She gives Rislyn a curious look even while addressing the mechanic. "Sure, go ahead and do what you have to do." She fishes a comlink out out of her trouser pocket and hands it to him. "Buzz me when you're ready to meet up again. We should get a place to stay for the night." To Rislyn, the redhead gives a slight smile, shaking her head. "I'm afraid I don't have much time to work on your swoop, Riz. Did you try asking some of the other techs? Is Fender still around?" It had been years since she worked in the Support Corps, and she finds herself wondering what had become of her comrades. "I wish I could help you. I have to find someone, myself." With a furrowed brow, Simon listens to Rislyn speak, his frown growing with certain words. He didn't care for the device she used to carry around Jessalyn's stolen visage, and he certainly didn't care to hear that an apparent friend of Jessalyn was involved in swoops, the sporting event that seemed dedicated to exalting the technological cancerous infection that had a stranglehold on this society. A bitter taste was on his tongue. Releasing Jessalyn's hand, he takes a step away from the Jedi while at the same time putting up mental barriers. He didn't care to share this particular comfort with Jessalyn just now. "I think that I will make sure that the ship I have been given charge of is well," he says, donning a crooked smile that doesn't touch his eyes. He bows slightly to Rislyn, then gives Jessalyn a more genuine smile. He starts to open his mouth to say something to her, then shuts his mouth tight. There was another way. Reaching out to the True Source, Simon closes his eyes for a handful of hearbeats and stretches out to Jessalyn's mind. //You know how to call me if you need me// he sends, his mental touch light enough to almost be non-existant. When he opens his eyes, he gives Jessalyn a quick nod, then turns to walk toward the _Tortured Soul_. Orson reaches up and pulls his hand along one antennae, like an insect trapping one of its extremities for preening. "Okay," the mechanic says with a shrug, to Simon's back as he moves off toward the Firespray. He accepts the comlink from Jessalyn with a cool nod, but is compelled to grin at Rislyn. "You all have a good time, I'll catch up in a few hours," Orson says, giving Jessalyn an evaluating look -- will you be okay? -- before turning and flagging down a ride into the fringes. "Really?" Riz perks at the statement Jessa makes about having to find someone herself. "It seems a lot of people are being looked for recently." She says vaguely. Her voice sounding much more mature than the act she's been putting on. But immediately a girlish smile wipes across her face. "I think Fender's around. I can't say for certain. I just got back a few weeks ago from my vacation." She doesn't meantion that it started over two years ago. "I haven't spent much time in the maintance area." She shrugs. As she watches the others walk away, Rislyn lets the teenage facade fall and grown woman looks back at Jessalyn. Her voice is low in hopes it wont be picked up by anyone but Jessa. "What is going on? I've been assigned to find you. All we know is some Sith as taken off with you and then the news shows Karrde is in trouble with the Empire over something serious, I assumed that had something to do with you. And Luke is gone and all I can think is what kind of mess have you gotten yourself into." The bubbling expression she was holding earlier is now totally taken over by concern. Too many things are pulling on Jessalyn's attention at once, but she does her best to balance them, outwardly masking her surprise at Simon's mental touch. She deftly returns it, letting him feel her inward smile as she impresses her thoughts upon his mind. _Thank you_, is all she says in reply, but its meaning is multiple. Free to give her attention to Rislyn now, Jessa blinks a few times as the girl's demeanor quickly changes. "You were -- -assigned- to find me?" she asks dumbly. "Are you... wait." Discretion, she reminds herself, using her other senses to observe the truth about this woman's role, and her face falls. "Luke is still gone?" she repeats, letting it sink in as she grasps onto Rislyn's arm for support. "You would not believe what has happened to me in the past few weeks. But this is not te place to talk about it. Can you help me get a message to Councilor Organa-Solo?" Rislyn nods quickly. "Of course. I haven't had an audience with her in my life, but that doesn't mean I can't get one." She smiles brightly. "And I'm almost sure she's on the Chancellor." Then she frowns a little, "But I don't see any reason why you can't get an audience with her. You'd have a better chance getting through her people than I would." Riz is really starting to worry about what is going on. She eyes first the direction Simon went and then the way Orson did. "Maybe I should know a little about what is going on here. I'm not saying I don't trust you, but I'd like to know before I get the Princess involved either. Jessa follows Rislyn's gaze toward her companions, feeling a twinge of guilt inside her, not wanting to worry about them without her. But, Orson especially, so vulnerable as he walks projecting his newfound abilities like a beacon. It wasn't hard for Jessa to recall who they ran into during their last sojourn on Corellia. She almost projects her thoughts to him along those lines, but something stops her... All at once something falls like a curtain over her mind, blanking her physical perceptions. At first she suppresses it, not wanting to look upon its face, but the Force can be a very demanding thing, and she actually sways on her feet as her eyes close. The sensation is so strong she feels that time itself has stopped, opening like a chasm in front of her, and she can barely keep her mental footing. Through the Force, a vision, a swirling, roaring tornado of Darkness that has her ensnarled like a dainty insect trapped in a spider's web, waiting to be devoured by its guardian. Nothing about the vision makes sense or seems familiar, and she's too terrified to examine it as closely as she should. As soon as she's able to open her eyes without falling over, she does so, her complexion considerably paler than it was a moment before. "Let's... let's find a better place to talk. Did you say that the Chancellor is here?" Rislyn's eye bluge as Jessalyn sways and she reaches out ready to catch her if she looses her balance. When she becomes herself again, Riz just stares at her for a moment. "Um, yet. It's docked to CEC. I didn't bring a ship down, but we can take the CEC shuttle up." She motions to the ugly shuttle. But doesn't say anything else. She doesn't know enough about what is going on to know what to say.