Galdaart
Member
He wasn't exactly quick to leave the bunk. Yeah, he had heard what went down on 'Shaddaa between the Doc and Vee. Couldn't say it bothered him much, what with the doc no longer breathing. He was thankful he'd done some good work, but much beyond that, he couldn't say. The doctor -- Bernie -- had been a mercenary, hippocratic oath be damned. And he had fracked with the wrong girl, one time too many. Far as Sate was concerned, he got what was coming.
See -- this was the weird thing. After the doc had been aerated with a few new holes, the Dustie realized how tired he was. Sure, he had passed out a bunch over the last couple of days, but straining to remain awake and fighting off injury and thuggery to stay alive was hard work. Just try it someday. Actually, don't. Not if you don't have to. So, finding himself alone with the comfort of hyperspace travel and the soft motion of the ship beneath him, he had fallen into a peaceful sleep, waking a few hours later, cold in the deep black. All was quiet on the ship, and when he rose, he found the bacta patches dry and peeling, as was their intended purpose when the bacta had been absorbed and the accelerated healing completed.
Peeling the patches from his arms, face, neck and shoulders, he padded softly to the door to the cabin and shut it, removing the rags he had been wearing and tossed them in the refuse incinerator, along with the remains of the bacta patches. Stepping into the 'fresher, he turned on the overhead light and looked at himself in the mirror. There was a little new scar tissue at the corner of his left eye -- not bad considering the orbital bone had been broken. The fresh, pink skin on much of the left side of his face was devoid of beard growth, standing in contrast to the rest of his face, which was badly in need of a shave.
Rummaging through his meager belongings, he found his razor, and did what was necessary. Next was the shower. Damn, but he smelled like a wild animal. There was still bruising and discoloration over much of his torso, but the bones had knitted and were well on the way to healing, thanks to the Doctor's work, and the infusion of plastoid to much of his skeleton. He chuckled momentarily, silently dubbing himself 'plastic man' like some kind of half-assed super-hero. The shower was hot, and comparatively luxurious. He let the steam do its work, aiding and soothing muscles that had been overworked for far too long.
He looked at the naked form that greeted him in the mirror. He was a little malnourished, having spent too long off-world, and he wasn't an adonis in the traditional sense. But he worked hard, and carried the muscles and scars of his trade. His hands were rough, and his shoulders broad. Not bad for a formerly half-dead man.
Drying himself quickly, he pulled out some clothes and dressed himself for the deep dark of space travel, before leaving the little cabin and taking a quick look around the ship. More time for that later. He made his way slowly to the flight deck, and found Vee asleep behind the controls. According to the navacomp, they were still several hours from their destination. He cleared his throat softly.
Feel like a mug of caf?
[member="Vee H'rel"]
See -- this was the weird thing. After the doc had been aerated with a few new holes, the Dustie realized how tired he was. Sure, he had passed out a bunch over the last couple of days, but straining to remain awake and fighting off injury and thuggery to stay alive was hard work. Just try it someday. Actually, don't. Not if you don't have to. So, finding himself alone with the comfort of hyperspace travel and the soft motion of the ship beneath him, he had fallen into a peaceful sleep, waking a few hours later, cold in the deep black. All was quiet on the ship, and when he rose, he found the bacta patches dry and peeling, as was their intended purpose when the bacta had been absorbed and the accelerated healing completed.
Peeling the patches from his arms, face, neck and shoulders, he padded softly to the door to the cabin and shut it, removing the rags he had been wearing and tossed them in the refuse incinerator, along with the remains of the bacta patches. Stepping into the 'fresher, he turned on the overhead light and looked at himself in the mirror. There was a little new scar tissue at the corner of his left eye -- not bad considering the orbital bone had been broken. The fresh, pink skin on much of the left side of his face was devoid of beard growth, standing in contrast to the rest of his face, which was badly in need of a shave.
Rummaging through his meager belongings, he found his razor, and did what was necessary. Next was the shower. Damn, but he smelled like a wild animal. There was still bruising and discoloration over much of his torso, but the bones had knitted and were well on the way to healing, thanks to the Doctor's work, and the infusion of plastoid to much of his skeleton. He chuckled momentarily, silently dubbing himself 'plastic man' like some kind of half-assed super-hero. The shower was hot, and comparatively luxurious. He let the steam do its work, aiding and soothing muscles that had been overworked for far too long.
He looked at the naked form that greeted him in the mirror. He was a little malnourished, having spent too long off-world, and he wasn't an adonis in the traditional sense. But he worked hard, and carried the muscles and scars of his trade. His hands were rough, and his shoulders broad. Not bad for a formerly half-dead man.
Drying himself quickly, he pulled out some clothes and dressed himself for the deep dark of space travel, before leaving the little cabin and taking a quick look around the ship. More time for that later. He made his way slowly to the flight deck, and found Vee asleep behind the controls. According to the navacomp, they were still several hours from their destination. He cleared his throat softly.
Feel like a mug of caf?
[member="Vee H'rel"]
