Private Deeds Endure

[Vara Maji]

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.”

​

 

[Kjartan Hammer-Hand]

---

---

​

MYTHOS FLEET | BUUREENAAR’GAM MEDBAY
TAG: Vara Maji​

​

KJARTAN HAMMER-HAND​

THEME​

​

“RAARGH!” A furious roar burst out from Kjartan as he fought against the arms of his men to charge at the Sith schutta who cleaved his forearm from his body. When her lightsaber struck free his limb, pain racked his entire side. Yet the adrenaline pushed him onward after his companion tackled her to the side. He was about to charge after her to finish the job, yet his strength would expend itself struggling against the frantic force retreat.

“LET ME GO!” he roared, his feral rage filling his veins as bloodlust began to take over. Yet, his blood would run cold as a familiar voice echoed in his memory - as though frozen in time.

<“The data is on the way out.”>

<“It’s been an honor, vod. It’s been an honor to serve.”>

“NO! NOOO!” His reckless fury turned into an equally reckless impulse to charge in - to brave the inevitable death of the Spirit Breaker in some vainglorious notion of rescuing his warriors through strength of will alone. His own voice melded into the muffled noise of implosion around him, where his rescuers had thankfully taken control of the situation despite his temporary madness.

*****

They saved his life, despite himself. Yet the same feeling welled up within Kjartan’s heart now that formed the very hour of his rescue. A feeling of guilt that he had survived, and they had not.

Of the hundreds of warriors who boarded the Star Destroyer, nearly a third did not come back. Kjartan was not new to ordering others into situations they would not return from. But he was not accustomed to defeat.

Kjartan Hammer-hand was a figure people rallied around, and leaned upon for his skill and good fortune. While their objective was ultimately accomplished, the bitter taste of defeat was laced all throughout this ‘victory’ - due to the loss of several vode he had fought and bled alongside for years, and also due to the loss of his own left forearm, along with its accompanying hammer.

The span of time that followed his rescue was a blur, for he passed out aboard the boarding pod from the trauma and exertion of it all. He awoke submerged in a bacta tank, an oxygen mask fastned over his face. Tubes were attached to his form, pumping supplementary fluids within his body as it healed throughout the day after his experience. He was removed from the tank, cleaned by a medical droid, and led into the main medbay where several crewmen cast concerned, yet relieved glances at him; several whom patted his undamaged shoulder gingerly in support. He would not fully appreciate until later that many feared he was dead when he was led unconscious into the medical bay.

Shortly after being seated into a cushioned inclineable chair, the medical droid began deadening his freshly healed stump, and fitting him with a cybernetic limb. It all seemed very hurried to him, having only just suffered the loss of the appendage. Yet the old pirate resigned himself to the process, losing himself in the hazy memory of the day prior.

As the droid set about its work, a familiar voice could be heard off to the side.

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.”

Soberly, Kjartan looked in the direction of the voice and offered a wearily faint and forced smirk. “Aye... I’m... I’m glad I look the part now.”

In very uncharacteristic fashion, that was all the old pirate had to say about the subject. His eyes skimmed over to the foundling, a distant pain in his eyes which betrayed the show of levity lining his lips via a smile. “I see you got into a bit of a scrap yourself lass. You almost look like a proper warrior.”

​

 

[Vara Maji]

THE FOUNDLING
The Mythos Fleet | Aboard the Buureenaar’gam | Medbay
TAG: Kjartan Hammer-Hand

In My Head​

Soberly, Kjartan looked in the direction of the voice and offered a wearily faint and forced smirk. “Aye... I’m... I’m glad I look the part now.”

Her heart sank deeper as if cast from lead, into a depth she seldom discovered when the Night was at its darkest. When it all seemed to come crashing down. Where nightmares abounded.

But in the end, Day always banished the Night.

And she did not concede in the face of it.

Her smile grew, spanning ear to ear in her bullheaded obstinance instead of letting up. The renewed warmth on her lips reached her eyes this time. The faintest glint danced in the crimsons of her gaze. She reached for a vacant examiner’s stool beside her, and pulled it closer. The synthetic leather rasped a soft squeak under her armored weight as she sat down at his bedside.

In very uncharacteristic fashion, that was all the old pirate had to say about the subject. His eyes skimmed over to the foundling, a distant pain in his eyes which betrayed the show of levity lining his lips via a smile. “I see you got into a bit of a scrap yourself lass. You almost look like a proper warrior.”

His words drew a chuckle out of her. She looked at him, her snout bowed down. “Almost.” The durasteel elbow pads dug into the meat of her thighs as she sat with her legs wide apart. “The stars above know am still the same mutt y’flung aroun’ like a karkin’ doll that one time.” She snickered, tone lowered out of respect for the peace of their wounded. Vara’s snout tipped for a nod. ”Heh… Y’remember that chit?” She straightened where she sat, a hand reached for her warbelt in search of something.

Gods knew she’d like a cigarra right about now. Or a joint. A piece of heaven between one's lips. She could almost feel the spice wrap her in the warmest embrace even now.

Or was it the stimpack just kickin’ in..?

Digits found what the woman of many vices really sought in that moment by feeling alone. Clamping around her canteen, its contents sloshed around like a raging tide as she pulled it up in front of her. The cap slid off the threads spiraling around the mouth with a soft metallic creak. The Harpy held it out toward him.

Her head tipped to the side, her smile dimmed to something warmer. ”Tihaar,” she warned, in case the Pirate Lord expected to taste water. ”Manda knows y’could use a drink.” Her tone was bereft of the usual sly and playful edge as she offered him the only thing she had at her disposal at that moment.

Not a fool’s empty words of encouragement. Not a zealot’s vows for vengeance.

But companionship.

​

 

[Kjartan Hammer-Hand]

---

---

​

MYTHOS FLEET | BUUREENAAR’GAM MEDBAY
TAG: Vara Maji​

​

KJARTAN HAMMER-HAND​

THEME​

​

It was rare for Kjartan to be in a bitter mood, but this was one of those days. In a vacuum, he probably would have stared in silence as the medical droid did its work on his arm, only to drink his fill in silence within the privacy of his chambers. His mood was almost dark enough to try and shun the foundling, so that he could take solace in the silence of solitude.

Yet, the pup had a way about her; a quality that tugged upon his heart when the darkness surrounded it.

“Almost.” The durasteel elbow pads dug into the meat of her thighs as she sat with her legs wide apart. “The stars above know am still the same mutt y’flung aroun’ like a karkin’ doll that one time.” She snickered, tone lowered out of respect for the peace of their wounded. Vara’s snout tipped for a nod. ”Heh… Y’remember that chit?”

Despite himself, a chuckle escaped his lips. “O’course I do. You needed to learn a lesson an’ I was happy to oblige.” As he spoke, Kjartan observed Vara reach for something at her belt. His eyes watched greedily as she produced a canteen, and his lips broadened into a genuine smile when she offered it to him. Her identification of its contents was almost entirely unnecessary, for he highly doubted she’d reach for water at a time like this.

He accepted the canteen and pushed it to his mouth as his head cocked back. The liquor slid down the back of his throat with its familiar burn. He wiped the residual moisture from his lips with his index finger.

”Manda knows y’could use a drink.”

“Don’t I karkin’ know it...” He let out a breath of relief as the heavy drought washed over his senses, coincidentally at the same time that he twitched as the droid began attaching the arm to his stub. “OI!”

Kjartan gave the droid a dirty look, as though he’d knock the clanker’s head off of its shoulders if he could. But thankfully, the tug of pain indicated the droid was done attaching the arm. It tested the nerve endings of his fingers with a gentle prod of its needle, which resulted in 5 soft pin-pricks causing Kjartan to gingerly react. He flexed his fingers, and regarded the cybernetic limb with a detached wonder - as though it were a mere demonstration or aesthetic upgrade. Yet his expression soon morphed into grim acceptance, and a measure of... appreciation. “You know, Gel Karn did a damned good job with this. If I had to have any other arm but the one I was born with, well... this one will do.”

The droid’s monotone voice chimed in. “I have downloaded the technical specifications and operational functions of this cybernetic, Lord Kjartan.”

‘Lord Kjartan?’ he mused to himself. T’was jarring, yet it made sense. The Catechisms of the Enclave forbade teaching the Mandalorian tongue to anyone except Foundlings, and so it would seem that whoever programmed this med droid took that prohibition literally.

“It will take some time for your nerve endings to properly integrate with the inputs of the arm, as well as for your neural pathways to compensate. You’ll probably feel a low-grade migraine near the end of each day. Might I suggest-” Before the droid could finish its sentence, the Hammer-hand took another pull on Vara’s borrowed canteen. He let out a sigh, and the droid hesitated a bit before proceeding. “...a low dosage pain medication?”

“I’ll be fine.” Kjartan replied, a smug grin of satisfaction on his lips.

“Very well!” the droid responded, oblivious to the subtext of it all. “Here is a packet which will explain the advanced features of your arm. Please review at your leisure.”


​

 

[Vara Maji]

THE FOUNDLING
The Mythos Fleet | Aboard the Buureenaar’gam | Medbay
TAG: Kjartan Hammer-Hand

In My Head​

She was getting through.

One word and laugh at a time, he was starting to become more like his usual self again. The pain in the Pirate Lord’s eyes was diminishing. Not erased. No. For even someone with the luck of the devil on them such as she, that was a level of bewitchery well within the supernatural. The question whether such power was within anyone’s ability, was something Vara could not find an answer to.

And she likely wouldn’t.

Despite himself, a chuckle escaped his lips. “O’course I do. You needed to learn a lesson an’ I was happy to oblige.”

A chuckle he couldn’t help himself with. The amused rumble of his tone drew her away from dwelling further. Her lips peeled back. The crooked smirk of a trueborn thug. Rough and predacious. ”...Safe t’say teachin’ ain’t yer forte,” the inflection gave it all away. Sisterly warmth outshone the smile of a vagrant. ”Cuz I ain’t learnt chit, mutt!” A snicker rolled from her throat, their private laughter easily melted away into a background hum.

And then the alcohol completely won him over.

He had taken her offer with the greed of an ardent drunk – game recognize game. He reached towards the canteen. Digits closed around it, and the canteen seemed a size smaller in his wide palm. He damn near tore it away from her hands.

His eagerness drew a hearty giggle from her core. She watched his restoration in silence. Her glee unbarred.

The sharp – yet brief – exclaim of pain drew her eyes onto the medical droid. Curious crimson eyes watched it, mending imperfect flesh and bone with the precision of steel. Each snap of its iron mandibles against meat and sinew, every nanometric cut of the laser scalpel, it etched the Pirate Lord’s testament to sacrifice into stone.

His deeds endured.

And so would he.

He watched him acquaint himself with the replacement. Her brows hiked up at the level of dexterity. It was almost that of flesh, in the elegance in which his new steel appendages moved.

He flexed his fingers, and regarded the cybernetic limb with a detached wonder - as though it were a mere demonstration or aesthetic upgrade. Yet his expression soon morphed into grim acceptance, and a measure of... appreciation. “You know, Gel Karn did a damned good job with this. If I had to have any other arm but the one I was born with, well... this one will do.”

The Harpy nodded. Her snout flared in a puff of breath. “Let’s hope none of us ever needs his talent.” The usual slyness of her tone had given way to something far more serious than she’d like.

The droid cut in. Her sharp ears flicked to attention. Her crimson gaze settled onto its emotionless faceplate.

The droid’s monotone voice chimed in. “I have downloaded the technical specifications and operational functions of this cybernetic, Lord Kjartan.”

“It will take some time for your nerve endings to properly integrate with the inputs of the arm, as well as for your neural pathways to compensate. You’ll probably feel a low-grade migraine near the end of each day. Might I suggest-” Before the droid could finish its sentence, the Hammer-hand took another pull on Vara’s borrowed canteen. He let out a sigh, and the droid hesitated a bit before proceeding. “...a low dosage pain medication?”

“I’ll be fine.” Kjartan replied, a smug grin of satisfaction on his lips.

“Very well!” the droid responded, oblivious to the subtext of it all. “Here is a packet which will explain the advanced features of your arm. Please review at your leisure.”

She watched it turn around, waddle away in an imitation of a human’s gait towards another operating table. Its help was now needed elsewhere.

The Harpy’s eyes settled back onto her comrade’s. ”Well then!” The stool creaked as she stood up. Humor lined the rough edge of her voice once more. ”Y’gotta be starvin’ after all’a this. I know I am,” She tucked her helmet closer under her arm, before extending her left hand towards him with an overexaggerated gesture of her idea how a palace royal blood went about it. ”Wouldja care t’join me at the messhall, Mi’Lord?”

It took her an immense display of will not to break the poker face.

But she was getting close.

The second he stood, and accepted her hand, Vara slid her hand up to his forearm. Her hand squeezed with a warrior’s grasp. And she already moved. A sharp pivot of her heel mailed her shoulder against his. The mountain of a man barely would have budged, but that was not the point. The gesture issued no challenge or a question of strength.

Some things need no words.

Not between warriors.

The Harpy lingered there for a breath longer, before she pulled away. She nodded towards the exit, a lopsided smile on her lips. “Come on,” she turned towards the sensor doors. “It’s Shaak Roast day,” Of course, she knew the fleet’s universal menu by heart. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. “We better not be late, y’already know it’s gon’ be great!”

​

 

[Kjartan Hammer-Hand]

---

---

​

MYTHOS FLEET | BUUREENAAR’GAM MEDBAY
TAG: Vara Maji​

​

KJARTAN HAMMER-HAND​

THEME​

​

Kjartan’s gaze settled upon his mechanical arm for several moments after the droid departed, focusing on moving his wrist and digits and getting used to the phenomenon of modern technology. Such t’was not new of course; for mechanical limbs had been around for centuries at least, if not longer. Yet even still, Kjartan had learned to appreciate the simple moments in life, and in this case it was the wonder of being made whole despite being torn apart.

His reverie was interrupted once again by Vara.

The Harpy’s eyes settled back onto his comrade’s. ”Well then!” The stool creaked as she stood up. Humor lined the rough edge of her voice once more. ”Y’gotta be starvin’ after all’a this. I know I am,” She tucked her helmet closer under her arm, before extending her left hand towards him with an overexaggerated gesture of her idea how a palace royal blood went about it. ”Wouldja care t’join me at the messhall, Mi’Lord?”

The functions of his body appeared in tune with Vara’s voice, as his stomach rumbled at the mention of food. He glanced down as his mechanical hand grasped his gut out of reflex. “Yeah I think you’re right. How could I refuse such a noble offer?” He grinned as he handed her back her canteen and kipped up to his feet. A stray gust of wind brought a further realization to him, confirmed when he glanced down.

He wasn’t wearing any pants, and it soon became very obvious that the title of ‘Hammer-Hand’ had more than one meaning for the man...

His eyes met Vara’s with a blankness that soon turned into a roguish grin. “Looks like you finally got what you wanted pup. Enjoy the view while you can.” He gave her a wanton wink as he reached for his clothes, which were folded neatly at a nearby table by the medical droid. He removed the robe and allowed it to slide to the floor as he reached for his pants first. He slowly dipped into the trousers and pulled them up with a deliberate, well practiced motion.

Next was the shirt, a loose fitting tunic made from some pelt native to a far-flung planet. He looked around, with a slightly forlorn tone returning to his voice. “My armor must be in my room... kark.” It was obvious that the warlord felt even more naked than he was a moment ago, without his armor. Yet, he pushed through the initial feeling and subjected himself to Vara’s grasp as she pulled him gently onward.

The Harpy lingered there for a breath longer, before she pulled away. She nodded towards the exit, a lopsided smile on her lips. “Come on,” she turned towards the sensor doors. “It’s Shaak Roast day,” Of course, she knew the fleet’s universal menu by heart. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. “We better not be late, y’already know it’s gon’ be great!”

“I can’t really say no to that, hehe.” Kjartan responded. Although cheer had largely returned to his expression, darkness returned as they walked through the ship’s passages. He glanced over at Vara as they carried on. “Y’know, joking aside pup... I’m glad you’re here.” His head dipped slightly. “I... I almost lost myself, on that ship.”

Those words hung in the air for a moment, with only the sounds of both their footfalls punctuating the stillness. “Some good men died to save my life, even though I ordered them into a situation that cost them theirs.” His eyes were forward, as if he were glancing back into those spare moments aboard the Spirit Breaker. “I’m not new to leading warriors, nor even suffering their loss. But honestly, I’m not accustomed... to losing so much.” His lips tightened.

After several moments passed, he glanced back over to Vara again. “I’ll be alright, soon enough. But it’s fresh, and I... I need to be better. Not just for me. But for everyone.”




​

 

[Vara Maji]

THE FOUNDLING
The Mythos Fleet | Aboard the Buureenaar’gam | Medbay
TAG: Kjartan Hammer-Hand

In My Head​

Hunger was starting to take her hostage, too.

Thankfully the Pirate Lord made his decision, encouraged by the rumbling in his stomach. ​

Yeah I think you’re right. How could I refuse such a noble offer?” He grinned as he handed her back her canteen and kipped up to his feet.

Vara dipped her snout in a quick nod as she accepted the canteen. It found her lips in the next breath. Her head tipped back, knocking down what remained. The familiar burn of the spirits trailed down her throat. A satisfied sigh escaped her as she tucked the canteen away. Only then did she catch him rising to his feet.

Crimsons widened. A cackle pressed behind her fangs, begging for escape. But she allowed it no freedom while she fought tooth and nail to hold his gaze. She dared not to take a peek and satisfy her curiosity.

“Looks like you finally got what you wanted pup. Enjoy the view while you can.” He gave her a wanton wink.

The Foundling couldn’t hold it back anymore. A brief chuckle left her. She shot her hand up to her maw, balled to a fist to suppress her laughter. ”Careful!” A small cough. She cleared her throat. ”Now I don’ make pickin’ on the cripple a habit, but if you keep this up? I might just make an exception.” The Harpy shot back with a smile. A wink of her own followed right after. ”Y’still ain’t gettin’ fed by me, big dog. Go bark up another leg.”

Her eyes drifted towards her webgear as the Hammerhand got dressed. She reached for a pouch at her warbelt. Leather brushed softly against her gauntlet while she produced a cigarra. It was quick to find its place between her fangs. His words of his armor drew a nod from her. The Harpy turned towards the exit as he joined her.

The medbay behind them, she moved in leisurely strides alongside him. A zippo in her hand, the metal lid clicked with a practiced flick of her wrist. The flintwheel jittered at the brush of a thumb, and a flame danced from the eyelet in the next beat.

Her ears flicked to attention, listening to the Pirate Lord when he bared his soul.

“Y’know, joking aside pup... I’m glad you’re here.” His head dipped slightly. “I... I almost lost myself, on that ship.”

Those words hung in the air for a moment, with only the sounds of both their footfalls punctuating the stillness. “Some good men died to save my life, even though I ordered them into a situation that cost them theirs.” His eyes were forward, as if he were glancing back into those spare moments aboard the Spirit Breaker. “I’m not new to leading warriors, nor even suffering their loss. But honestly, I’m not accustomed... to losing so much.” His lips tightened.

Another flick of the wrist. The lid cleared the flame with a clack.

Only their footfalls cut through the silence between them now. She pulled a breath, inhaling the smoke. The sharp focus in her crimsons drifted. Smoke poured from her nose while she tucked her snout closer to her chest, dwelling on his words. It didn’t take long before his burden made her own feel small. She’d be lying to him if she said she understood what it truly meant to lose so many. Not that she was unaccustomed to loss, by all Hells no.

But calling these shots… Deciding who lived and who died, and living with that decision until death.

She was yet to be cursed by the mantle of leadership.

Words gathered behind her lips after a beat. Hollow reassurance. The sort meant to soothe wounds that never truly closed. The thoughts were done away with as quickly as they arose. ”What’s done is done,” The Harpy finally spoke. Bitterness dulled the usually sharp edge of her tone. ”... Only thing that matters now is what we decide to do from here,” The Harpy said matter-of-factly.

After several moments passed, he glanced back over to Vara again. “I’ll be alright, soon enough. But it’s fresh, and I... I need to be better. Not just for me. But for everyone.”

”Good,” she plucked the cigarra from her fangs. She looked up, crimsons held his gaze. ”‘Cuz we still got us some whoresons t’kill ‘n’ I ain’t havin’t it without’cha.” A lopsided smirk split her maw. She held out the smoke for him to take a draw.

She let the smoke and her thoughts carry her to the messhall.

The tantalizing scents of today’s menu quickly overwhelmed the tobacco clinging to her armor. Inside the large hall were rows of steel tables lining down the hall with benches on either side. Empty, save for a few kin grabbing a bite. The chow line to their flank, she moved. Reaching for a tray, Vara passed it to the Hammerhand and grabbed another one for herself before walking down the serving line. ”Wolf 1’s alright, by the way.” Signy Bralor 's callsign. Vara gave him a wink while she helped herself to several large pieces of Shaak roast. ”‘N’ before y’ask-.. No idea what ship she’s on right now, but she’s alive ‘n’ well ‘n’ with the fleet,” she clarified, hoping it was enough to soothe the man’s worries he may had about his daughter.

He could use a slight boost in morale after all.

​