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Author	Topic: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version)
Frostfyre Registered: Oct '99	Date Posted: 12/19/02 9:48am Subject: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version) - Date Edited: 12/19/02 9:50am (1 edits total) Edited By: Frostfyre
	Okay, people, I'm back! (And it's good to be back.) As promised, I have begun posting the rewritten version of "Elementary" You probably won't notice many big differences for awhile, if you're an old fan. ;D If you're new, let me introduce myself and my story. The name is Frostfyre (Frosty for short) and I am not only a lifelong SW fan, but also a fan of Sherlock Holmes. So, a couple of years ago, when this all started, I was bit by a plot bunny: what if Holmes met up with some Jedi? What if there were Jedi in Victorian London? It sounded like fun, so here is the result. *Disclaimer: I am not a historian. I am a history buff, but not of the Victorian era. So please don't get upset if there are inaccuracies. I know there are. For one thing, I'm not British, and I've never been to England in my life. (Romania I can tell you about. I lived there. But England, not yet. ) Dialect, etc. is gleaned entirely from my limited knowledge. Enjoy the story. Don't get hung up on details. (I don't. ) Enjoy!! ____________________________________ "Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan" The sound of a door slamming and feet pounding up the stairway alerted me that my friend and erstwhile housemate, Sherlock Holmes, was returning home after a night of doing who knows what on the foggy streets of London. I had returned to our rooms at 221B Baker street from paying a call to my fiancée, Mary, the night before, to discover no sign whatsoever of Holmes. Though I am by no means the genius at deduction that he is, I came to the conclusion that he had found something entertaining to pursue, and promptly went to bed. I had long ago learned that sitting up and worrying would only cost me sleep and irritate Holmes. He hated sentiment, even of the brotherly sort. Now it was well after nine in the morning, and I was in Holmes’s cluttered study, enjoying an after-breakfast cup of tea Mrs. Hudson, our landlady and housekeeper, had brought up to me, and perusing the morning news. Having been alerted by the commotion on the stairs that Holmes had returned, I did not bother looking up from the paper as the door burst open. “He’s back, Watson!” my friend said enthusiastically. He was slightly winded, and as I looked up from my reading, I could see that he had forgotten his hat. His black hair was sticking up in spots, and this, combined with his sharp, prominent features and mostly black clothing, made him rather resemble a crow that had gotten caught on the wrong end of a windstorm. “Who is?” I asked, though I could only think of two ‘he’s’ off the top of my head that could get Holmes so worked up. One was his archenemy, Professor James Moriarty, and the other was Moriarty’s henchman, former spy Colonel Sebastian Moran. And though Moran was, in his own way, nearly as dangerous as Moriarty, Holmes’s obvious state of agitation made me place my money on Moriarty. He’d defeated Moran once, but only managed to foil Moriarty’s schemes thus far, and Holmes didn’t get this excited over someone he’d already beaten. Holmes flung his long frame into the wicker chair he favored and lounged as only Holmes can. He ceased resembling a wind-tossed crow and became a rumpled cat instead, grey eyes narrowed on some ineffable secret. “Oh, come now, Watson. Surely you can guess.” I sighed. There were days when it seemed to me that my whole purpose in Holmes’s life was as a whetstone on which to sharpen his wits. But at least this time I could be reasonably sure that my guess would be the correct one. “Moriarty?” “He has been spotted in Woking!” Holmes leaned over the side of his chair, rummaging through the accumulated clutter. After a moment, he emerged triumphantly with his pipe. Stuffing it with the vile shag he favored, he continued. “He’s keeping a very low profile. No doubt he has some new, nefarious scheme to hatch!” He sounded disgustingly excited about it. This, from a man who scoffs at the Whitechapel murders as ‘unimaginative’ and ‘boring’. It is little wonder that Scotland Yard is none too fond of him. “And you, of course, are going to foil it.” I shook out my paper, trying to look disinterested. As fascinating as Holmes’s adventures can be, and as much as I usually enjoyed them, I’d no desire to tangle with Professor Moriarty again. He was probably the one man on the planet I would cheerfully tie to a rock and toss into the Thames, and not feel a single twinge of remorse. “Of course,” Holmes replied, with that maddening arrogance of his. He lit his pipe and puffed contentedly at it for several moments. I did my best to ignore him. It was odd, but the times when I found him most insufferable were when he was on the high of a new challenge, or when he was at the very bottom of boredom, and consoling himself with his hypodermic needle. I hated boredom the worst, since it drove him to indulge in that vile habit of his, but when he was feeling arrogant he could be downright offensive. “Do you think you will catch him this time?” “We shall see.” His eyes were alight with the prospect of a challenging hunt. Sometimes, I wonder if he really wants* to catch Moriarty. *** Holmes left a little while later, dressed as a singularly messy old beggar. I had noticed, over the years, that he tended to favor the elderly in his disguises. I’d asked him about it once over dinner, and he’d explained: “My features lend themselves far better to age than youth, Watson. Also, people tend to dismiss the elderly, and that can be a great advantage. And,” he added a little irritably, “I make an extremely ugly young woman.” “That hasn’t stopped you before,” I had murmured, recalling a particularly appalling evening gown and hairpiece stashed among his disguises. “But people remember a very ugly young lady, Watson. I’d rather not use that too much. Better to be an ugly old lady, or an old man. In all honesty, I prefer being an old man. Until they invent more comfortable clothing for women, I’d rather not disguise myself as one too often.” Dinner conversations with Holmes are so interesting. After I had seen my friend off, I finished my paper, and went downstairs to see if I could wheedle some lunch from Mrs. Hudson. She was a short, plump woman of indeterminate age, kind-faced and cheerful, with warm blue eyes and a full head of silvering blonde hair. She mothered Holmes and I indiscriminately, though it drove my friend to distraction. He hated people being protective of him. As for myself, I found her endearing. She reminded me of my own mother, God rest her soul. “Good afternoon, Doctor,” she greeted me as I entered the kitchen. Her hands were covered in flour from the bread dough she was kneading. “Mr. Holmes is off again, I see.” Holmes would have left through the back door in the kitchen. It would have been extremely odd for a grungy old vagrant to be seen leaving through the front. “Yes. It seems that Professor Moriarty has been spotted in London.” She frowned a little. “The Professor? Well, now, that can’t be good. I suppose this means Mr. Holmes will be keeping late hours again.” Mrs. Hudson shook her head. “And here I was just getting used t’ having a full night’s sleep.” “Don’t worry yourself, Mrs. Hudson. Holmes is perfectly capable of handling himself.” I didn’t sound convincing even to myself. “Ha,” she said scornfully. “And he’ll no doubt be dragging you along with him soon.” I hadn’t thought of that. I would have to speak to Mary, so she wouldn’t be upset with me if she didn’t see me as often over the next few weeks as she did now. She knew what Holmes was like; I was certain she’d understand. All the same, I found myself fervently hoping that if Moriarty really was in London that Holmes could find and stop him quickly. I was fonder these days of domesticity than I was of crawling through London’s seamy underbelly. -----signature----- There are worlds out there where the sky is burning, and the sea is asleep, and the rivers dream. People made of smoke and cities made of song. Somewhere there's danger, somewhere there's injustice, somewhere else the tea's getting cold. -The Doctor
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Jane Jinn Registered: Jan '00	Date Posted: 12/19/02 10:01am Subject: RE: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version)
	You're back? Already? What a pleasant surprise! Great to see you again! I can't wait to read the ending of this story, but I'll happily start at the beginning again. There were days when it seemed to me that my whole purpose in Holmes’s life was as a whetstone on which to sharpen his wits. How true, Watson! And I liked the line about Holmes preferring to be an old man, because of how uncomfortable women's clothing is. -----signature----- Mostly retired now Just making the occasional guest appearance
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Nat Registered: Jan '02	Date Posted: 12/19/02 11:04am Subject: RE: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version)
	Woohoo! Here we go again for this great adventure! -----signature----- Cueille le jour "You want to go home and rethink your life." Obi-Wan Kenobi - AOTC Garen Groper
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Jadis_Ionian Registered: May '01	Date Posted: 12/19/02 11:59am Subject: RE: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version)
	It's even better the 3rd (or 4th, I've forgotten how many times I've read this) time than the first! Dinner conversations with Holmes are so interesting. I can imagine! Jadis -----signature----- Something wicked this way comes...
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Shezan Registered: May '01	Date Posted: 12/19/02 1:35pm Subject: RE: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version)
	What a spiffy nice new thread!!! [Gets popcorn, sets "active topic notification" at 365, and sits back happily] -----signature----- Shezan MoV, ITTT, DGOTS, member of Wrenga Jixton's Virtual Blondies Club "You don't want to sell me death sticks. You want to go home and rethink your life." - "Hitchhiker"-Thrawn/Wynssa Starflarehttp://boards.theforce.net/message.asp?topic=7352065
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Frostfyre Registered: Oct '99	Date Posted: 12/19/02 1:44pm Subject: RE: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version)
	I don't want to spoil you all, so don't expect multiple posts in a day (I have to make sure not to catch up to myself!) but...well, I can't resist. Merry Christmas. ;D ______________________ Holmes returned later that afternoon, and I could see immediately from the rigid set of his features that he was troubled about something. Knowing that he would be impossible until he’d gotten it out of his system, I immediately asked what was wrong. He snarled at me for a few minutes, no doubt hoping to start a fight, but when he realized that he wasn’t going to get a rise from me he relented. “I spoke to Mycroft this afternoon. His people have been keeping an eye on Moriarty for some time.” I raised my eyebrows. “I didn’t know your brother’s, ah, office was watching the Professor.” “Neither did I,” Holmes growled. “It appears that Sebastian Moran was once in the employ of the Foreign Office. During Afghanistan,” he added with a meaningful look at me. As if on cue, my shoulder twinged. “And now that he’s working for Moriarty, it seems that the Professor is suddenly taking an interest in things political.” He steepled his fingers, resting his chin lightly on their tips. “I shudder to think what would happen if Moriarty ever got his hands on state secrets. Or someone with real power.” Holmes frowned, and I could fairly hear the gears in his mind whirring. “I wonder if that’s what he’s after—perhaps he’s looking for a hold on someone in the Cabinet. He certainly isn’t above blackmail.” Neither are you, I thought, but did not say it aloud. It disturbed me, sometimes, how very much Moriarty and Holmes were alike. If it were not for Holmes’s deep love of humanity I would not have been surprised if he had become another James Moriarty. They were both brilliant far beyond the ken, not overly troubled by scruples, and driven by their brilliance to be the best. Fortunately for Holmes, he sought to be the best criminal investigator, not the best criminal, and he allowed his relative casualness about certain laws to be governed by an underlying set of unshakeable morals. Moriarty, from what I had seen, had no such compunctions. He also had been around far longer than Sherlock Holmes. Holmes had turned thirty-three earlier in the year, though he looked older, and I had placed Moriarty to be of Holmes’s father’s generation. He had experience on his side. “Is Mycroft going to help?” “Not actively,” Holmes said with a wry smile. Holmes claimed Mycroft was far smarter than he ever dreamed of being. I was inclined to believe this, simply because Holmes was never humble about anything concerning his abilities. Otherwise, the two brothers could not have been more different. While Holmes was constantly driven to do things, almost to the point of being hyper, Mycroft was the laziest man I’d ever met. He was enormously fat, and more often than not preferred to stay either at his apartments or his club and direct the efforts of his underlings from a comfortable armchair. He was officially some sort of accountant, but I had learned quickly that his ‘accounting’ had very little to do with money and a great deal to do with international relations. His ‘firm’ was barely even known to the Foreign Office, it seemed, and one of his duties was to keep an eye on them. A guardian for the guardians, as it were. “He’d rather have me do his work for him,” Holmes continued. “I suppose I don’t mind, but this time he’s not going to get it for free.” I blinked. “You’re going to make your own brother pay you for the privilege of chasing a man you would chase anyway? And you don’t think Mycroft won’t know that?” Holmes flashed me one of his rare, genuine grins, transforming his ascetic features. “Oh, Mycroft knows, and it’s irritating him to no end. But he’ll pay me, because he knows he owes me. I pulled his fat—if you’ll excuse the rather crude term—out of the fire a few years ago. He may be smarter than I, but his laziness gets him into trouble every now and then.” I shook my head, smiling. “He’s not going to speak to you for months.” “Oh, he’ll reconcile himself to it soon enough, especially if I catch Moriarty. Though he may not forgive me for not letting him have the credit, like I usually do.” He peeled off his fake nose and dropped it absently into his beggar’s cap. “I’m going to go clean up, Watson, and then you and I are going out for a walk.” “I don’t suppose it’s social?” I asked, a sinking feeling settling in my stomach. “That depends on how you define ‘social’, my friend.” He paused in the doorway. “Bring your revolver.” -----signature----- There are worlds out there where the sky is burning, and the sea is asleep, and the rivers dream. People made of smoke and cities made of song. Somewhere there's danger, somewhere there's injustice, somewhere else the tea's getting cold. -The Doctor
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Shezan Registered: May '01	Date Posted: 12/19/02 1:55pm Subject: RE: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version) - Date Edited: 12/19/02 2:10pm (3 edits total) Edited By: Shezan
	His black hair was sticking up in spots, and this, combined with his sharp, prominent features and mostly black clothing, made him rather resemble a crow that had gotten caught on the wrong end of a windstorm [...] Holmes flung his long frame into the wicker chair he favored and lounged as only Holmes can. He ceased resembling a wind-tossed crow and became a rumpled cat instead, grey eyes narrowed on some ineffable secret. "Oh, come now, Watson. Surely you can guess." I'd forgotten your utterly felicitous turn of phrase. These as as good as anything Conan Doyle has ever written! I can just picture Jeremy Brett in your story... -----signature----- Shezan MoV, ITTT, DGOTS, member of Wrenga Jixton's Virtual Blondies Club "You don't want to sell me death sticks. You want to go home and rethink your life." - "Hitchhiker"-Thrawn/Wynssa Starflarehttp://boards.theforce.net/message.asp?topic=7352065
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Nat Registered: Jan '02	Date Posted: 12/19/02 2:04pm Subject: RE: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version)
	I'm delighted to read more so soon! We have been waiting for so long, it all looks like a dream! -----signature----- Cueille le jour "You want to go home and rethink your life." Obi-Wan Kenobi - AOTC Garen Groper
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PadawanKitara Registered: Dec '01	Date Posted: 12/19/02 9:20pm Subject: RE: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version)
	I am so happy to see you are back. My mom loves this story. It's the only fan fic she'll read. My boss' daughter and son-in-law just went to Romania on a mision (actually a few months ago), I wonder if your paths crossed? -----signature----- Courtier of the Royal Order of Shambling Dufi We are Dufi...Resistance is Futile! UCLA BRUINS
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messicat_kenobi Registered: May '02	Date Posted: 12/20/02 4:05am Subject: RE: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version)
	Awesome stuff. It's great to read this story again! -----signature----- Seriously, there's no capital M in messicat so stop putting one there.
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Shaindl Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 12/20/02 7:59am Subject: RE: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version)
	Hello! waves Small confession - I read the original version and just loved it, although I found it after you left and didn't leave a review as a result. I'm so very happy to see you're restarting this. It's so original and incredibly well written. I ignored your original version for a long time, although I love both series, because I just didn't believe they could work together. And so I was astonished - and mightily pleased - to find out just how well they work together. You're a writer of rare talent to be able to bring together two such different universes into such an enjoyable whole. I absolutely cannot wait to see where you take us with this. Wonderful, wonderful work (and I'll be leaving reviews this time around)! Shaindl -----signature----- Halfway Moment - Qui, Obi, Anakin AU - http://boards.theforce.net/The_Saga/b10476/20110461/?0 - UPDATED JULY 3!
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Sarah_K Registered: Jun '01	Date Posted: 12/20/02 12:34pm Subject: RE: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version)
	Merry Christmas to you too! And thanks for starting us off so soon!! Honestly, I can't wait to read this again -- even though I sort of already know what to expect. I haven't reread it for quite a while, and I keep bumping into snippets of clever writing and bits of humor that make me pause and either nod appreciatively, or else chuckle, as the case may be; a reaction springing equally from both enjoyment and memory. Such gems as: “My features lend themselves far better to age than youth, Watson. Also, people tend to dismiss the elderly, and that can be a great advantage. And,” he added a little irritably, “I make an extremely ugly young woman.” I think I will most definitely have to copy this off so I can reread it in the future. Great to have you back, and I look forward to more with jittery anticipation! And don't worry, of course we won't get spoiled by multiple posts a day... Sarah >^,,^< -----signature----- "Better to keep silent and be thought a fool than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt." http://www.mellon-nin.5u.com (non-slash Aragorn/Legolas fansite) Cameron was cool
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Frostfyre Registered: Oct '99	Date Posted: 12/20/02 12:53pm Subject: RE: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version) - Date Edited: 12/20/02 12:55pm (1 edits total) Edited By: Frostfyre
	Aw, thanks, you guys! You just make me feel all warm and fuzzy. And now we get into the story! ;D ________________________________ Woking, compared to, say, Whitechapel, isn't all that bad. Lower middle class, as it were. It could be dangerous at night, though, and I kept my hand in my coat pocket as Holmes and I walked down the street. My old Army revolver was a comforting weight. It was not yet full dark, and there were still a number of people out and about in the chill autumn twilight. Hansom cabs and carriages clattered over the damp cobblestones as people returned home from work or those with more money passed through on their way to parties and other entertainments. As an open carriage full of brightly dressed young women and their escorts passed I found my thoughts wandering toward my upcoming nuptials. Mary still wanted my opinion on linens for the wedding breakfast. I'd initially told her that it didn't really matter to me one way or another what the linens looked like, but she'd become so put out with me for some reason that I had agreed to help. I wondered if I could use Holmes and Moriarty as an excuse for getting out of it, then dismissed it hastily. I would have to have a death wish if I were stupid enough to put that to my fiancée. A small noise from Holmes drew me from my thoughts. The street was nearly empty now. He'd slowed his pace, and caught my sleeve as I drew ahead of him. "Over there, in that doorway." A small jerk of his head indicated which doorway. Trying not to appear too obvious, I looked. At first all I could make out was a vague person-shape in the deepening shadows. Initially, I thought it was a woman, for the figure was heavily draped in something flowing. Then it moved, and I realized that it was far too tall and broad-shouldered to be any such thing. A man, then, but very strangely dressed. The flowing drapery appeared to be some sort of robe, dark and unidentifiable in the poor light. I caught a glimmer of pale fabric underneath as he moved. "What is it?" I asked Holmes softly. He shook his head. "I'm not certain. But he's being stalked." A flick of his eyes, and I noticed another shape, standing very still in the heavily shaded mouth of a nearby alley. As far as I could tell, this one was more conventionally dressed. "What are we going to do?" I hissed. "Nothing, for the moment." He drew me to the side, into the shadows of another doorway. "Just watch. I want to see this play out." "But Holmes, if that man doesn't know he's being—being stalked, as you put it, shouldn't we—" "He knows he's being watched," my friend said softly. For once, I forbore asking him how he knew that and turned my attention to the robed man. After a moment, I thought I understood. There was a furtive tension in his movements that suggested he was aware all was not well. It was like watching a drama, so captivating was the tableau, but it was not a comfortable one. The knowledge that it was real, and not knowing how it would end was maddening. After a long moment, the robed man moved at a half-run towards the other side of the street, his hand darting beneath his robe. Another movement caught my eye. The second man had withdrawn a strange object that looked vaguely like a pistol, though it was unlike any gun I'd ever seen. He raised his arm, and I felt Holmes stiffen beside me. I, too, tensed, ready to distract the armed stranger. The other man seemed to sense the threat; he turned as he neared the street corner, and started to draw his hand out of his robe. Then, without warning, a carriage rounded the corner. I could hear the driver's curses clearly as he hauled back on the reins, trying to avoid running down the man standing in the street. The horse reared with a ringing cry. The robed man turned to see this new danger, and a flash of green light coupled with a strange whine flared from the alley. The man in the street staggered forward, the horse's front hooves barely missing his skull, and fell heavily to the ground. The driver just managed to twist his animal to the side so it would not crush the fallen figure. The horse squealed in pain and protest, and the noise was like a catalyst. It was as though we had been frozen in place before, but now Holmes darted forward. I moved as well, but towards the fallen man, while my friend took off at a long-legged run towards the alleyway. I could see that the driver gotten down from the cab and was hovering near the still form on the cobblestones. "Don't touch him!" I shouted as the driver bent over the man. He jerked back at my authoritative command as though burned. I dropped to one knee on the grimy stones, wishing that I'd thought to bring my bag with me. A quick examination told me that he had, fortunately, broken neither neck, back, nor skull in the fall, and that it was safe to turn him over. He had a deep gash on his forehead, and a bruise was already darkening his left cheekbone. I checked his pulse, and ran my hands over his legs, arms, and ribs. The thick layers of clothing made a thorough examination difficult, but I doubted that he had done more than crack a few ribs. The wound in his shoulder, however, was another matter. It looked more like a burn than a wound, raw and ugly. At least it was mostly cauterized, and the bleeding was minimal. I had seen far, far worse in Afghanistan. "It was an accident, guv'nor!" the cabby gasped. I spared him little more than a glance. "'E's-'e's all right, ain't he?" "He's been shot," I said shortly. "Shot! I didn't--" "I know that," I snapped. "Please be quiet." “Is—is ‘e dead?” the driver asked in a very small voice. “No, but he’s hurt pretty badly.” I wrinkled my nose at the smell of burnt flesh and cloth. What the devil would have produced a weapon like that? I’d seen flash burns caused by gunpowder and the like in my career, but those were all the result of close contact. Holmes returned, slightly breathless. “I lost him,” he said grimly. “Whoever he was, Watson, he knew what he was about. I could find no trace of him." He looked down at the unconscious man. "We should take him back to Baker Street. You can treat him, and I can discover what that little drama was about.” “Very well. My good man,” I said, and drew the driver’s horrified gaze from the unconscious man to meet my eyes. “Help me load him into your carriage.” The cabby complied, muttering worriedly beneath his breath the whole time about misfortune and the wrath of God and so on. I ignored him. Holmes, however, quickly grew impatient. "Come, Watson. My shoulder blades are starting to itch. I don't like presenting myself as a target, and in this neighborhood that is a very likely possibility. Oh, for Heaven’s sake, man, pull yourself together!" This last remark he addressed, rather unkindly, to the poor driver, who was wringing his hands as I arranged my new patient on the carriage seat. He was quite young, and I gathered that this was the first time he'd almost killed someone. Feeling sorry for him, I tried to calm him down, but it took a few chilling threats from Holmes before the man got a hold of himself enough to drive. At last, however, we were off, leaving behind the shadows and secrets of Woking. -----signature----- There are worlds out there where the sky is burning, and the sea is asleep, and the rivers dream. People made of smoke and cities made of song. Somewhere there's danger, somewhere there's injustice, somewhere else the tea's getting cold. -The Doctor
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Nat Registered: Jan '02	Date Posted: 12/20/02 1:19pm Subject: RE: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version)
	Awww... Poor Obi-Wan. I already knew this scene of course, but now it's like rediscovering it. -----signature----- Cueille le jour "You want to go home and rethink your life." Obi-Wan Kenobi - AOTC Garen Groper
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Sarah_K Registered: Jun '01	Date Posted: 12/20/02 1:57pm Subject: RE: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version)
	Aha, a twist! Mahala O'Kelley (or was it O'Kelly?) is most noticeably absent from the cab in question. Wonder what that little difference will lead to... rubs hands together eagerly I feel like I'm on a treasure hunt! Sarah >^,,^< -----signature----- "Better to keep silent and be thought a fool than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt." http://www.mellon-nin.5u.com (non-slash Aragorn/Legolas fansite) Cameron was cool
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Shezan Registered: May '01	Date Posted: 12/20/02 6:09pm Subject: RE: Elementary, My Dear Obi-Wan (the revised version)
	Aahhh, the damp cobblestones of East London... All of this is, naturally, terrific. What the devil would have produced a weapon like that? Small quibble: surely you mean "What weapon would have produced a wound like that?" But that's really splitting hairs. More, more! -----signature----- Shezan MoV, ITTT, DGOTS, member of Wrenga Jixton's Virtual Blondies Club "You don't want to sell me death sticks. You want to go home and rethink your life." - "Hitchhiker"-Thrawn/Wynssa Starflarehttp://boards.theforce.net/message.asp?topic=7352065
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