Mandalore - Disturbing Delays

The Players : Paul Nighman, Urio'kosh, Shenner Veery

Introduction

Still waiting for word of when they can go, what is going to happen, Paul
is beginning to grow fitful, his mind casting about suspiciously on this
hostile planet.  There is more than what appeared on the surface, and the
Corellian has the uneasy sensation that he and Shen have been tossed
between two divided factions of Mandalore.  It's only a question of which
uses them or tears them apart first.  He has, however, grown to associate
Urio'kosh with bad news, and this encounter proves to be no exception to 
that rule.

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Glancing up from his bunk, Paul closes the aged book in his hands gingerly, 
  the pages and binding clearly having seen better days. His eyes flicker over 
  to the bunk next to his where Shen lies sleeping fitfully. His gaze shifts 
  back, and in an attempt to leave her rest undisturbed, he rises slowly, 
  walking slowly toward their visitor.

Urio'kosh makes no further motion to proceed forth as he sees the Dr. stand and 
  approach. He stands near the doorway, placing his hands behind his back and 
  awaits. His gaze drifts from the approaching human male to the female 
  asleep. To the well trained eye, Urio'kosh's expression shifts from his 
  normal hard-lined stoic uncaring one to a more soft and gentle one. But as 
  his gaze reverts back to the approaching figure, he shifts his weight upon 
  his feet and re-asserts his couldn't-care-less expression.

Still holding the leather sheathed tome in his hand, Paul slows as he nears 
  the man. "Good evening," he murmurs in greeting, inclining his head in 
  conjunction with his words. He considers the Mandalorian curiously, clearly 
  a touch surprised by his presence, but waits patiently for clarification to 
  be offered ... should he be so lucky. His head turns fractionally to look 
  back at the sleeping redhead, perhaps to insure that she is -still- sleeping 
  .... or perhaps because he cannot help but do so.

Urio'kosh nods slightly towards the Dr. He offers the familiar Mandalorian 
  greeting of "Nava Choi" to the Dr. He shifts his body so as to fully face 
  the human. Not shifting his gaze from the Dr.'s, he says, "Would you mind 
  stepping outside so that we do not disturb your companion while we speak." 
  He does not make any motion to indicate the sleeping beauty, he does not 
  even attempt to gaze once more in her direction. He keeps his gaze upon the 
  Doctor, standing uneasily still.

Shenner, indeed, dozes, though her face is creased by a small and anxious 
  frown.

Gesturing with one hand toward the doorway, Paul murmurs softly, "Certainly," 
  waiting for the Mandalorian to lead the way. His gaze is steady, calm, 
  without a hint of concern or uncertainty.

Urio'kosh presses the controlling mechanism for the door and opens it up. He 
  motions for the human to proceed outward.

A slight frown crosses Nighman's brow, but with a philosophical shrug, he 
  takes the first steps to leave the room and get this mysterious conversation 
  under way. He manages to effectively stifle the urge to take another look 
  back at the bunks against the far wall, heading out into the light.

Urio'kosh walks out behind the human male. He turns so as to ensure the 
  closing of the hangar door behind him. But as he does so, his gaze falls 
  once more to the figure soundly asleep. He hesitates just for a moment as 
  he stares before closing the door. Clearing his through, he turns and 
  address Dr. Nighman. "We received an urgent communiquŽ just a few minutes 
  ago. I was urged to inform you of its contents immediately."

Urio'kosh folds his arms across his chest, drawing out the conversation even 
  further, observing the human for its response.

Paul doesn't miss that last glance back to Shen, but the Mandalorian's words 
  are more arresting than his interest in the redhead. "Alright," he responds 
  soberly. "I'm listening." His head cocks in interest, arms folding over his 
  chest, trapping the journal there.

Urio'kosh says in Mandalorian, "The Circle of Elders is currently holding a 
  meeting. They are being urged to reconsider canceling the expedition you 
  came here to embark upon. By first light, their decision will be made known."

One brow raises curiously, not certain if he is surprised by the news that the 
  expedition was going to be canceled, or by the fact that it is now being 
  reconsidered. "If the Elders believe the expedition to be ... well, that it 
  isn't important enough to continue with after all this effort by so many 
  people, what, if I may ask, as brought on this change of process?" There is 
  a slight pause as hazel eyes remain curious and direct, "Or perhaps the 
  question should be, -who-."

Urio'kosh directs his gaze away from the human. Instead he looks leftward to 
  the horizon, and gazes upon the stars barely visible there. "There are those 
  that believe this expedition is a fools quest, that nothing will be found. 
  Furthermore, there are those that believe that nothing will be gained from 
  this, even if something is found. They hold that the past is gone and all 
  that remains is the now and what will come. there is no need to soil what 
  which will be with the horror of what has been..." He trails off and turns 
  to look once more upon the human, "Those are -who- you ask about. They are 
  the one's who would see this expedition ended before it begins.

The human's eyes remain steady on the Mandalorian before him, thoughtful. He 
  seems to take a moment, as if there is much he would like to say and much he 
  would like to ask, but he lets the leaves of his thoughts settle before 
  raking them in. "When I was first asked to come, I was skeptical at best. 
  Most sites either yield little or nothing due to the ravages to time and 
  races. Later, I began to suspect, to wonder ... and for a scientist, that is 
  enough to want to look. Now, I am willing to believe and ready to be 
  disappointed. In some ways I am anxious to be wrong ... because I fear the 
  consequences if I am right. However, regardless of -what- I find, this 
  journey is important -because- it is revealing Mandalore's past. There is no 
  way to build a future without a foundation .... if you don't know what's 
  underneath you, you will never know how to fortify against it ... how to 
  strengthen and fix the soil from which you all spring, whether willingly or 
  not." Glancing over at the horizon, the barren landscape, Paul asks bluntly, 
  "If the -who- are those who would stand in the way of making Mandalore 
  stronger for her mistakes, then -what- is it that allows them to question 
  their plans?"

Urio'kosh looks to the xenoarcheologist, "You, a self-proclaimed scientist, 
  should know the answer to that question readily..." His voice trails off. 
  After a few seconds, he utters slowly in a low husky tone, "Fear...." He 
  does not move or sway as he speak, remaining perfectly still in his adopted 
  stance, "Fear still lingers in every Mandalorian's heart, fear that one 
  misstep will bring everything we have accomplished in these past few decades 
  crashing down. No one want to relive the suffering my people endured in the 
  past. And yet, here we stand today, on the verge of bringing that very past 
  back for into our midst, perhaps only in the words of legend, but then 
  again what if...."

"What if .... " Paul echoes softly with a somber nod. "I do understand ... 
  Mandalore's history is not my own, but I have seen many cultures struggle to 
  rebuild from a shattered past. What I fear, and I think it is a greater 
  concern, is that if the past is left to lie undisturbed at this time where 
  great care is being taken not to repeat it ... it is there, rotting and 
  fetid for your future to discover, to use, to corrupt, and to make all of 
  the same mistakes all over again." Shifting his arms, dropping them to his 
  sides, Paul's right hand clenches about the tome held there. "In order to 
  rebuild, the past must be faced and dealt with, otherwise it will only 
  continue to overshadow everything you have strove for."

Urio'kosh says, "But this comes as no surprise to me. This attempt to 
  dissuade the Elders of allowing this expedition has been discussed for 
  weeks, even prior to your arrival. Yet even I didn't expect it to be carried 
  out so soon. Perhaps it is more than coincidence that the meeting was 
  convened almost as soon as word of his arrival was received."

This time the questions tumble forth before he can consider them and decide 
  upon their proper order. Leaning forward, the hazel eyes narrow with 
  interest as he queries, "Then the Elders were initially in -favor- of the 
  expedition? Or were they not consulted in the first place and it was only 
  recently brought to their attention? They were split?" Then there is a pause 
  as Paul considers the last thing that Urio said, and rocking back slightly, 
  he asks, "Who has arrived?"

Urio'kosh says, "I will address your question in the turn you presented them. 
  The Elders sanctioned this expedition, albeit reluctantly, against much 
  opposition. But as the cycles passed and there was no word as to if it was 
  indeed to be carried out, the opposition has been lobbying for the Circle of 
  Elders to withdraw their approval. And it is not surprising that they would 
  have re-doubled their efforts in the last hours and called the Elders to 
  convene and listen to their arguments on last time...one last time before 
  Grathix of Stur'ttrakath arrives."

It's hard to tell what the Corellian thinks of that statement. His eyes 
  flicker subtly, part in acceptance with a hint of surprise, and with a 
  strange mingling of relief and increased concern. "He's free then," he 
  murmurs softly. Looking down at the soil beneath his feet, Nighman sighs 
  before raising his gaze once again. "Will he be given the opportunity to 
  speak before the Elders reach their final decision?"

Urio'kosh shakes his head, "No, he will arrive upon the latter part of the 
  day. The Elders will have made their decision by then."

Nighman opens his mouth to say one thing, but then halts, closing it briefly 
  before asking an entirely different question. "Where do -you- stand in all 
  of this?"

Urio'kosh says, "My position in the matter is not in question, here, Doctor 
  Nighman. I am here to prepare this expedition and guide it to its ultimate 
  consequences, regardless of what you or anyone else says. That is where I 
  stand and that is what I will do."

The Corellian considers the Mandalorian hard, dissecting the words carefully 
  before replying. "Then, on your honor, you are here to lead this expedition 
  should it be approved? To aid it's members in the recovery of whatever 
  artifacts we can find?" Sighing softly, Paul draws a hand back through his 
  hair, the golden brown strands shifting and ruffling lightly with the 
  passage. "You see, I am in a delicate position here ... because other than 
  Dane and Kairne, there is no one that I trust here to be honest with me. 
  After all, I'm only human ... barely tolerable by Mandalorian standards. If 
  you are here to aid the expedition, to make it a success, then I am 
  grateful. However, I do not know -who- you answer to ... which side of the 
  equation. That is why your position in this -does- matter. It -has- to 
  matter."

Urio'kosh says, "Perhaps it does matter, Doctor, but it matters only to you. I 
  am not here to baby-sit you, or tell you everything will be alright, or to 
  assuage your fears. If we will find what you say we will, then you have 
  better things to worry about than my presence....but make no mistake about 
  it Doctor, my presence will be there through it all. I will face whatever 
  you face."

The man's face hardens, the eyes grow colder and there is a moment of silence 
  before he replies. "If you think I'm asking for my hand to be held, then you 
  do not understand me at all. I doubt you understand anything about other 
  races, and that will most likely prove to be Mandalore's downfall yet again. 
  You are already following in your ancestors footsteps." Taking a breath, 
  Paul walks past the Mandalorian toward the door of the hangar, not even 
  addressing him to his face. "Your presence will be there, that much I 
  already knew. As for what you face, I doubt it will be anything like what I 
  will face. Beyond that, I don't think we have anything else to say to one 
  another." He stops at the door, considering the lock for a moment. It was 
  never sealed against him before, but that doesn't mean it isn't now. He 
  reaches forward to open the door, half expecting it to refuse his actions.

Urio'kosh turns about, giving his back to Dr., Nighman, "Good night Doctor. 
  Rest peacefully." is all he states as he begins to make his way towards 
  another hanger.

Opening the door, Paul enters back into the small hangar, his grim expression 
  hidden from the Mandalorian's view as they move away in opposite directions. 
  He allows the door to close behind him, leaning against a wall and smacking 
  his forehead with one palm. "Great Mr. Ph.D. .... now he knows -exactly- 
  where you stand and what to expect from you, and what have you got? Zilch! 
  You should just resign your commission right now and get work scrubbing 
  floors or something." Glancing over toward the still silent bunks, the 
  Corellian indulges himself in a moment of weakness, sliding down the length 
  of the wall and dropping his head to his knees, sighing deeply in 
  frustration.

One of the bunks might be silent, but it's not unoccupied; Shenner is sitting 
  up on it, and as Paul enters the room, she stares quietly at him, her gaze 
  pensive.

"Paul?" Shenner's voice is soft as she calls out into the darkened room, and 
  reserved, restrained... wary.

The bowed head snaps up, and something is very sharply and softly uttered, 
  with the cadence and tone of an expletive. There is a brief moment where the 
  Corellian considers just staying where he is, but that will only invite 
  weakness. Pushing up and off from the floor, Paul's steps are strong and 
  determined as he strides over to where Shen is sitting. Leaning one arm 
  against the wall, the other settles on one hip, his head askew to one side 
  as he glances down at Shen. "Hey, what are you doing awake? You've hardly 
  slept at all."

"I couldn't get comfortable," Shenner admits bluntly, though without too much 
  embarrassment. Her voice is soft and gruff. "'Sides... heard you leave, was 
  a bit worried."

Shrugging negligently, Paul mutters, "We just didn't want to disturb you .... 
  it seems like the Elders are being encouraged to cancel our little trip ... 
  and the forces against us want to convince them before Grathix, who is 
  apparently on his way, can arrive and place his case before them." Although 
  is tone is light, almost conversational, there is a rough burr in the back 
  of his throat, as if he were clenching or was coming down with something.

"Ah, farkin' great," Shen mutters. There's a noise of her shifting, rising off 
  the bunk, and she draws nearer to Paul in the darkness, but only near enough 
  to lean against the wall near the sound of his voice. "So we know what side 
  our host's on, yet?"

"I'm afraid that diplomacy and espionage are -not- my strong points ... I 
  probably revealed more than I gained," he mutters a touch derisively. "I'm 
  not even sure -who- is our host here .... The only people I have clue -one- 
  about on this venture is you, me, and Dane. Kairne is pretty close ... I 
  don't think he'll actively betray us, but I still don't know where his 
  interests and allegiance lie." There is the soft sound of the man shifting 
  in the dark, turning so his back now leans against the wall. This is 
  followed by the soft plop as the book that had been gripped so tightly 
  before is tossed to his bunk.

Shen is silent as Paul speaks, and for a few beats afterwards. Then, at last, 
  she murmurs, "Huh. Well, looks like the Plan's still in effect, then. Mouth 
  shut, eyes open, hand on the blaster, and shoot anything comin' at us." She 
  sounds almost wry, without any sign of nervousness in her voice.

Nodding in the darkness, Paul's eyes gleam slightly, narrowing. "Yeah ... I 
  should start following my own advice." Passing a hand through his hair, his 
  eyes suddenly focus on Shen intently, his thoughts clearly running through 
  some process before he blinks and pushes off from the wall, settling himself 
  down on his bunk, staring out into the increasing black of their 
  surroundings.

"Well... so," Shen says softly into the gloom, her form better distinguishable 
  as vision adjusts. "You wanna take watch or shall I?"

The head turns, eyes still narrow and a frown marring his brow. Paul finally 
  mutters, "Your call."

The bardling considers, then, perhaps surprisingly, confesses, "Guess it 
  better be you... I'm jumpy and that's a piss-poor state to be on watch. 
  'Less you're jumpier 'n' I am, I guess... You wanna go two shifts of four 
  hours, or should we do two hours, yah think?"

The eyes don't stray, but there is a strange light in them - something thought 
  but not spoken. "Four hour ... otherwise we won't be worth a damn .... if 
  one of us can't keep up for the whole four, they can always wake the other 
  early." There is a short pause before he adds, "I don't think we need to 
  worry much now ... nothing is likely to happen to us here and now. Besides, 
  everyone seems to be partial to you."

There's a faint flash around Shen's mouth, as the girl smirks. "Yeah? Funny, I 
  coulda sworn nobody around here except you and Dane thought I had any right 
  to be here." She blows out a breath and flops back down onto her spartan 
  bunk. With just a touch less bravado to her voice, she promises, "I'll try 
  to get to sleep."

The Corellian doesn't expand on his comment, but watches as Shen settles down 
  on the bunk. Despite his better judgment, he rises from his bunk, standing 
  next to Shen's and looking down at her. Dropping to his haunches, he reaches 
  over, touching her brow lightly, pushing a loose tendril aside.

Shen smiles wanly at that touch to her brow, lifting her hand instinctively 
  towards Paul's fingers. Her hand hesitates a moment, closing only briefly 
  around Paul's, and trembling slightly. Then, as if embarrassed, she starts 
  to duck her hand away.

Moving quickly, Paul catches that hand firmly, tightly, his eyes locked to 
  Shen's reassuringly. Despite his assertions to the contrary, he raises that 
  hand, turning it over. He holds it still like that for a moment, then drops 
  a kiss to Shen's open palm before raising his gaze to her's again. "Sleep," 
  he commands gently, "I'll be sitting right here."

Her intake of breath isn't very audible, but it's sharp enough to be detected, 
  all the same. And her voice is a touch rougher, a burr somewhere in the back 
  of _her_ throat, now, as she promises, "I will, Paul. Don't forget to wake 
  me up, okay?" Her hand clings to his, her grip tightening unconsciously at 
  his tender gestures.

"I won't," he assures her, returning the grip. The hazel eyes are bright, but 
  shuttered, as if he were filtering out certain thoughts. Leaving his arm 
  lying on the bunk close to her, Paul settles against it's side until he is 
  comfortably seated, his gaze shifting to consider the darkness, as if it 
  might tell him something of vital importance.

The girl shifts herself, then settles again, her slender hand still gripping 
  the Corellian's larger one. _He's here,_ she thinks to herself, and even if 
  she can't exactly curl up in his arms, even if she can't whisper her worries 
  into his ear, the touch of his hand is comfort of a sort. Shen remains 
  quiet, and after a time, her breathing finally slows and deepens.

The Corellian keeps Shen's hand firmly in the grip of his own, even after her 
  fingers slacken as sleep overtakes her. It's ironic how their needs are 
  becoming more and more intertwined, even if neither of them is aware of it. 
  Turning back to her face now that it is safe to do so, Paul's features twist 
  uncomfortably, and leaning over he drops a tender kiss at the corner of her 
  eye. He hovers for a moment, wanting far more from her ... and from himself. 
  Slumping back down in self denial, he continues to watch her face fretfully, 
  feeling his control over the situation they have found themselves in 
  slipping away grain by grain.

She might have strove for bravado in her spoken words, but now that Shenner 
  slumbers, her face seems younger in the darkness, vulnerable, worried. The 
  girl sighs, a bare breath of an exhalation, at the feather-light kiss... and 
  she sleeps on, as the hours begin to creep by, apparently oblivious to 
  Paul's immediate worries, yet frowning in her sleep with worries of her own.

Though his face rests close to hers, the Corellian doesn't sleep, his ears 
  alert on their environment even if his eyes are not. The other free hand 
  occasionally reaches up to brush aside a stray lock or to trace the girl's 
  features with a feather light touch so as not to wake her. At first his 
  thoughts run over and over the same track, berating himself for bring her, 
  for letting things go this far, for being such an idiot, for saying too much 
  ... but after awhile the soundtrack strays, fretting about all of the 
  strings that have become unraveled in his life ... Mandalore, Jessa, his 
  father, Alx, the Bolt... After awhile it becomes a blur and reaching over 
  with one hand, Paul shakes Shen's shoulder gently, as he realizes they are 
  slipping toward the sixth hour.

She snaps awake, murmuring huskily, "Paul? 'Smy watch?"

"Mmmm-hmmmm," he agrees somewhat groggily, releasing the hand he had held for 
  so long and gingerly pressing against the bunk to aid his rise from the 
  floor. Shuffling over a few steps he sits down heavily on his own bunk, lying 
  down only a moment later.

Shenner slips up to her feet, stretching, moving almost unthinkingly after 
  Paul. She glances at the palely glowing digits of her chrono, and frowns -- 
  six hours, not four, have elapsed. But she doesn't protest, and instead, 
  simply leans over Paul's bunk and pauses... then, she leans down very close 
  to his ear and whispers -- in Corellian -- "Sleep well, k'chaiya..."

The eyes flutter open and something intelligible is muttered in return before 
  they drift closed, the head burying itself against his pillow and arm. The 
  Corellian's back rises and falls with his ever deepening breaths.