"Cuyan'ika"
THE FOUNDLING
The Mythos Fleet | Aboard the Buureenaar’gam | Medbay
TAG:
Kjartan Hammer-Hand
In My Head
Survival.
Its guises were many. But to Cuyan’ika, it first came to her in waves of pain. Embraced her fur on all sides like a blanket too thick.
Armor and hide, both were marred with fresh scars. Each carried a tale of their own. All of it a witness to her mettle.
Vara sat idly at the examination table. Her bodyglove tied around her waist, durasteel cuirass resting on the edge of the medical bed. The white of her crop tanktop blotted with pools of blood. Her crimson eyes followed the baar’ur’s touch under the white fluorescent lights. She lifted her arm, in spite of another flare up of pain. The cool kiss of bacta spread across her fur shortly after. Soothing, like a cool glass of water in the bristling heat.
The bacta laced bandage wrapped and sat snugly atop a lightsaber wound on her midriff. <“Good,”> cloth swished in a final knot, wringing out a gentle breath from her maw. His calloused grumble offered little warmth, yet the sympathy was unmistakable. <“Don’t get yerself killed now,”> her kin said as he turned and stepped away.
Her snout dipped for a nod. ”Thanks, doc.” she reached down, untying the bodyglove, and slipping its top back on. The familiar weight of her cuirass and the webbing found their place on her once again. Her gaze trailed after the season medic. His boots scraped across the durasteel as he turned towards her with a pivot.
Her eyes glinted at the sight of an auto-injector in his grasp.
She tipped her head to the side. Lips peeled back to a crooked grin, a golden fang winked under the bright lights. The needle found purchase with her neck a moment later. The injector faintly hissed in the next breath.
Relief washed over her instantly.
Pain quickly became a fading memory. Another breath poured from her lips, tranquil and content. ”That’s the stuff…” She reached a hand up to her neck. Long slender digits, calloused through years of back-breaking labor, caressed the needle’s kiss while she stood up. The durasteel floor rushed up to meet the soles of her boot. She reached for her helm at the edge of the examination table, tucking it under one arm and took her leave from the examination room.
The door before her split across the center. The halves peeled away into the floor and the ceiling with a soft hydraulic hiss. She straightened, her footfalls guiding her back into the wider medical wing.
More of her kin poured in. Their severity differed. Some could only walk with help. Some were rushed inside on stretchers and gurneys. Blood marked the otherwise pristine, clean floor. The coppery scent filled her snout with every breath. Pained groans and yelps cut through the din amidst the shouts for a medic.
They all bled today. Wounded. Battered, yet unbroken.
But the sight was not any less damning to witness...
Her pace let up. Her heart sank, wide-eyed gaze shifting past faces and helmet visors. The sinkhole in her core grew. A wordless prayer. Please. Not anyone I know-...
And then, she saw him.
The faint glimmer of hope she’d not find a friend here was quickly swept away. The infamous Pirate Lord. The master of the Buureenaar’gam. Each tale of his spoils a legend of their own.
Kjartan Hammer-Hand
.
A man larger than life, she’d never thought any harm could ever come to him.
And yet here they were.
The Harpy moved, each step taken in deliberation. Her eyes shifted to the bloody stump where his arm once was. Even now she could feel the lump in her throat grow larger as she carried herself with a lopsided grin, the light of which failed to reach her eyes. Vara stopped beside him. Her eyes lingered on the cybernetics before settling on him again. ”...Suppose you’re halfway lookin’ like a real pirate now, huh?” A chuckle rolled from her throat. Hoarse and rough. ”Yer ooonly missin’ the peg leg.”
Its guises were many. But to Cuyan’ika, it first came to her in waves of pain. Embraced her fur on all sides like a blanket too thick.
Armor and hide, both were marred with fresh scars. Each carried a tale of their own. All of it a witness to her mettle.
Vara sat idly at the examination table. Her bodyglove tied around her waist, durasteel cuirass resting on the edge of the medical bed. The white of her crop tanktop blotted with pools of blood. Her crimson eyes followed the baar’ur’s touch under the white fluorescent lights. She lifted her arm, in spite of another flare up of pain. The cool kiss of bacta spread across her fur shortly after. Soothing, like a cool glass of water in the bristling heat.
The bacta laced bandage wrapped and sat snugly atop a lightsaber wound on her midriff. <“Good,”> cloth swished in a final knot, wringing out a gentle breath from her maw. His calloused grumble offered little warmth, yet the sympathy was unmistakable. <“Don’t get yerself killed now,”> her kin said as he turned and stepped away.
Her snout dipped for a nod. ”Thanks, doc.” she reached down, untying the bodyglove, and slipping its top back on. The familiar weight of her cuirass and the webbing found their place on her once again. Her gaze trailed after the season medic. His boots scraped across the durasteel as he turned towards her with a pivot.
Her eyes glinted at the sight of an auto-injector in his grasp.
She tipped her head to the side. Lips peeled back to a crooked grin, a golden fang winked under the bright lights. The needle found purchase with her neck a moment later. The injector faintly hissed in the next breath.
Relief washed over her instantly.
Pain quickly became a fading memory. Another breath poured from her lips, tranquil and content. ”That’s the stuff…” She reached a hand up to her neck. Long slender digits, calloused through years of back-breaking labor, caressed the needle’s kiss while she stood up. The durasteel floor rushed up to meet the soles of her boot. She reached for her helm at the edge of the examination table, tucking it under one arm and took her leave from the examination room.
The door before her split across the center. The halves peeled away into the floor and the ceiling with a soft hydraulic hiss. She straightened, her footfalls guiding her back into the wider medical wing.
More of her kin poured in. Their severity differed. Some could only walk with help. Some were rushed inside on stretchers and gurneys. Blood marked the otherwise pristine, clean floor. The coppery scent filled her snout with every breath. Pained groans and yelps cut through the din amidst the shouts for a medic.
They all bled today. Wounded. Battered, yet unbroken.
But the sight was not any less damning to witness...
Her pace let up. Her heart sank, wide-eyed gaze shifting past faces and helmet visors. The sinkhole in her core grew. A wordless prayer. Please. Not anyone I know-...
And then, she saw him.
The faint glimmer of hope she’d not find a friend here was quickly swept away. The infamous Pirate Lord. The master of the Buureenaar’gam. Each tale of his spoils a legend of their own.
Kjartan Hammer-Hand
.A man larger than life, she’d never thought any harm could ever come to him.
And yet here they were.
The Harpy moved, each step taken in deliberation. Her eyes shifted to the bloody stump where his arm once was. Even now she could feel the lump in her throat grow larger as she carried herself with a lopsided grin, the light of which failed to reach her eyes. Vara stopped beside him. Her eyes lingered on the cybernetics before settling on him again. ”...Suppose you’re halfway lookin’ like a real pirate now, huh?” A chuckle rolled from her throat. Hoarse and rough. ”Yer ooonly missin’ the peg leg.”
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