Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Entering The Dreamscape

Point Nadir
Comet Resh 9376
This was far from one of her usual haunts.

Places like this, shadowports as they tended to be known as, were as wretched as they got, backwater planets or asteroids where nigh on anything was game. Smugglers used them as a place to dock between or during runs, black markets typically ran amok, spice traders were rampant, as well as even less favorable forms of trafficking, and even beyond all of that, even if such illicit activities were well disguised, typically the places stank of blood and alcohol.

As she walked through the Crown Court the sights of men and women laying into one another in shockboxing arenas caught her attention before she could know any better, and with a grimace she quickly looked away but not before seeing some poor soul lose a couple of teeth. She put her head down, hastening her steps as she entered the Trade District.

Believe it or not, what Asha was here to acquire was not technically illegal... Merely difficult to procure. She figured that her contact had to have been into more shadier dealings to choose this hunk of space rock out in the middle of nowhere for them to do their exchange, but she hadn't really asked many questions nor did she plan to once they came face to face. No, a simple cut and dry transaction would do. She patted her upper jacket pocket, feeling for the credit chip which lay there, and let out the breath she had been holding.

She had set her chrono upon landing, and the face of it seemed to hint at it being crunch time provided she didn't muck up the settings. She wasn't known for being the best with random pieces of technology such as this, but it didn't pay to be late to a meeting.

Her eyes scanned the room, in search of the man she was here to meet but she didn't have much of a description to go by... Just that the man would be recognizable by the old military medal on his lapel.

Easy, right?
 
Amongst the rubble of sin, hidden between this thug and that smuggler, sat the small figure of a boy wrapped in tattered and stained rags. He sat knees to chest, and his head buried in his arms as they rested on his legs; hood obscuring all notable features except a few straggling silver hair, almost seeming the line the poverty that he visually reeked of. On his back was a sword, nearly the size of himself, but one that oozed something dark; the only notable dark side presence on the entire station, and one that was potent enough that even those not sensitive to its depth seemed to keep a wide girth.

He’d been there for days, averting those molten electrum eyes to the floor; never to draw attention to himself. It had been nearly eighty-six hours since he had been sober, and the thought of that scared him; as every moment he was the chanting came back. Day in, day out; never ceasing as an artifact he summoned from the depths of hell sought to drag him back down. Perhaps he didn’t have a name, but the one many knew him by seemed to become more real by the day;

The Slave. A slave to his own ambition.

His heart rate was slow by this point, death sticks and some other cocktail of illicit drugs pulsed with each passing beat. Calling him a mess would be putting it lightly, but he sat with ears as wide as they could, forever waiting for the passing word of a rogue force user to pass by. He imagined he’d track them down, demand they help him overcome what sought to tear him down; but every passing moment seemed to tear that idea from him, moment by moment.

Eyes fluttering, dreams fading, his head bobbed in the darkness; barely keeping himself awake. Even his sleep wasn’t safe, after all.

[member="Asha Hex"]
 
Surprisingly enough it had not been too difficult to find the man with the adorned lapel.

He seemed somewhat antsy, eager to get the transaction over and done with, and as a result the deal was completed in record time. Just a few minutes at most, before he left with a fist full of credits and she... a plant. It was small, within a tiny planter, housed within a mini enviro-box that would ensure it remained at an optimal climate, with the right conditions, until she could transplant it into the greenhouse at Ceto. From there, once it flourished into a more prime state, clippings could be sent to the various enclaves they had across the Galaxy.

Just a little something to help.

So much stress and worry over a plant. Something that wasn't even illegal, yet was still so difficult to come by. She shook her head at the ludicrous nature of it all and turned to head back toward her ship. It was then that she sensed it, the toxic anomaly within the shadowport. It turned her stomach, making her feel nauseous, and yet even so she had an urge to seek it out. The Force liked to push her in certain directions, and she half expected it to send her scampering off in the other direction...

Instead it sent her feet into action, leading her across the busy, grungy cave-like structure in search of the source.

Imagine her surprise then when all of that corruption seemed to emanate from one being, one who looked like little more than a beggar down on his luck, crippled and sat in place. She might have thought him an anomaly, that it was not him at all but the ground upon which he was sat or the rock at his back that was causing the odd tangent in the Force, but as she looked upon him from several feet away, on the other side of the walkway, she could sense otherwise.

Sometimes your eyes did not match reality, sometimes they fooled you into thinking something wasn't as dangerous as it was or vice versa.

She could not decide how to feel about the boy on the floor.

But she also could not bring herself to look away. Perpetually urged on by the unseen force which bound the Galaxy....

[member="The Slave"]
 
The Slave was idle for sometime despite this strangers staring, his breath shallow and empty. Every few moments, he’d twitch and adjust; only to be interrupted by the casual passings of a drunk that couldn’t feel the sense of danger that was next to him. His foot met the ragged fiend on the floor, and a drunken slur came forth;

Oy! Watsh wher’ y’ sittin’!”, the drunk stammered out with rage.

Golden eyes glanced past dark rags as a few strands of silver fell in his face. The energy around him seemed to blister, raise in temperature and pulse as his jaw began to clench. A more sober man may have ran, but not this fine gentlemen with a bottle in his hand. The distant cry of strain from a garter let at least those with sense know that the spaceport they were on was beginning to feel the tension; even if they weren’t.

This malignant energy, this boy with a pale face began to stand, pushing himself up with a volatile mixture of violence and anger. On his face he wore wrath, an emotion he was very familiar with, and in his hand he would offer a fate; one destined for pain. All this became obvious in only a matter of moments;

Yet as his lips began to move to say something, the drunkard above The Slave brought a glass bottle down on his head and collapsed the young man. The energy surrounding him fell from hot to cold, and everyone seemed to go about their business. The drunkard spit on the boy, and began to stumble away once more in search of a different, less blood covered bottle.

On the ground, he lay limp, head bleeding as he fell into an unconsented slumber. So much for the discerning danger he posed only a moment before.

[member="Asha Hex"]
 
It all seemed to happen in slow motion, to Asha at least.

From the drunkard stumbling over to the downtrodden figure, sending a kick to the boy, and then the tension in the air that had the tiny hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention, toxicity in the air that left her breathless and trembling as it threatened to unbalance her typically neutral state... Something which had never before happened, and sickened her to her very core. Then he rose, or began to, his anger palpable, and Asha began to move forward though even her own motions seemed to be playing out as slowly as humanly possible.

As though her body and mind and the world around her was disconnected somehow.

Before she had taken even a step or two it was over.

On the ground the silver-haired boy lay. Already the drunkard was walking away and being the lawless place that it was nobody seemed to so much as bat an eyelid or try to stop him. Asha wasn't so stupid as to cause further confrontation in a place like this, nor was she one for violence, but if there was one thing she did know it was how to help those who were injured. At least... A little. As such her attention was immediately placed upon the boy.

She hurried over to his side, time returning back to normal as she reached the man who was bleeding and unconscious. Not a good mixture, head trauma was dangerous especially if one slept.

Not daring to move him until she could fully assess the situation, she turned her pack from her back and began to rummage through it, kneeling on the ground to block the boy from the sight of the others and to stop her legs from shaking. Last time she had tried to help a stranger who reeked of the darkside so strongly like the slumbering boy before her she had been taken as a slave. Forcing herself to banish those memories from her mind she let out a shuddering breath and focused.

The medkit she kept on her person was running low on supplies, she knew that the moment she pulled it forth from her pack. Her planter now lay at her side, she didn't dare to put it in her pack lest the flower inside be compromised, her full attention now on finding one small ampule which she knew lay inside the kit.

As she pulled it free the almost amber liquid sloshed about. It was tiny, yet surprisingly enough it held enough anti-shock to treat two concussions. Squinting her eyes she realized it had already been partially used, and cursed under her breath. Hopefully there'd be enough inside to stave off concussion... Then she could deal with the matter of the wound.

[member="The Slave"]
 
Eyes rolling, The Slave’s eyes fluttered ever so slightly as he glanced up to the young girl above him. If it weren’t for the head injury, he could have swore she seemed familiar. Perhaps the way her hands moved to cradle his head, or the fact she simply moved against him without an ill thought in mind. He thought about those moments, passing by in the distance with the faintest of attention…

Star filled nights, piano music playing in the distance; all together a beautiful memory he couldn’t help but feel pain as he remembered. Not only in the cranium it seemed, but in his heart, and she’d witness him visibly cringe though the reason wouldn’t be obvious. It was memories long gone, all which he’d rather avoid than dwell on.

It took a few moments, but the vial seemed to help him stay awake; at the very least avoid the swelling and bruising that was likely happening inside his skull. Gritting his teeth, closing his eyes, and weakly pushing Asha aside, he rolled from her to his knees and held his head. Perhaps she avoided him getting completely knocked out, but the pain he felt wasn’t exactly preferable to sleeping; no matter what that slept implied.

He grumbled out a few words as he held his head;

Leave… Me alone…”, surely the words of an injured child too convinced of his own well being, a mixture of pride and ego.


[member="Asha Hex"]
 
As many did when they were delirious the boy was quick to reject any further treatment once the anti-shock was in his system. Truth be told in that moment she was more grateful that she had managed to administer the drug than anything else, and as such she wasn't going to put up a fight immediately. The head wound needed to be looked at, of course, but she remained wary to begin with. Both hands raised, once the instruments used to administer the drug were set aside, in order to try and show him that everything was okay.

"Shh," she said, eyeing him cautiously, "I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Asha, you've been injured and you're bleeding from your head. If you lose much more blood it will be damaging to your health... Please, let me patch you up and then I'll leave you be. I promise. I'm a medic, okay? You can trust me..."

Very slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal, she shuffled closer to him, keeping her hands in plain view and empty at all times. Who knew just what he was capable of, after all, the boy had smelled of taint and she had felt the static surrounding him just prior to the bottle landing on his skull.

"Try not to move too quickly, you might fall..."

[member="The Slave"]
 
Bleeding? From his head?

The Slave offered her only a confused look, half cocking a furrowed brow before blood fell into one of his eyes. Almost instantly, he shut them and put a finger to it, letting it stain his nearly ivory skin with crimson heat; only then did the heat of the wound and pulsing of the blood force his vision to blur. He sighed as he fell onto his rump, and his breath began to grow more ragged as he realized the state he was in.

It wasn’t often he was injured, and this didn’t sit well with him.

Instead of becoming more defensive however, he seemed to remain still. Not calm, as his chest began to heave, but a sense of panic began to ride over him. For whatever reason, the sith wasn’t in the position to see his own blood; and he simply stared at the bloodied fingers in front of his face. It was quickly obvious he was going into shock.

I…”, he said quietly between breaths.

Beyond that, he didn’t have a response. He’d glance to her momentarily before going silent once more, his lips moving only to pretend to word something, but failing to truly finish whatever they meant to.

And there he sat, quiet and in fear. The pure essence of the child he was inside.

[member="Asha Hex"]
 
She could see the symptoms begin to form before her very eyes once the blood had been noticed. The quick yet shallow breathing, skin which was turning somewhat clammy, eyes which zoned in on a specific spot yet remained rather unfocused... Shock was nothing new to Asha, she had experienced it first hand during the period of time she had been enslaved to Aellin, and then again with Nik; she hadn't realized at the time, of course, not until she had calmed down enough to think rationally once more. For the most part she'd been forced to simply wait it out (though with Nik she had fallen completely unconscious in the end, so she supposed that didn't count)

Honestly, in that moment her mind completely skipped over the regular procedure for dealing with shock. If she could have gotten him back to her ship she would have, as strange as it may have sounded had she brokered the idea to him she knew her tea of all things would help bring him out of it. But there was a more pressing matter in that moment, namely his head trauma.

Taking full advantage of his now immobile state she quickly rummaged through the medkit and pulled out just a couple of things: something to clean the blood from around the wound, a field cauterizer, and an odd glue like substance which would cover up the wound once it was burned shut. Easier than a bandage, especially given the location of the wound.

"This may hurt a little," she warned, "But I'm out of painkillers... Forgot to restock. You can yell at me for that later, okay?"

Leaning up she took some of the gauze-like cloth which had been rolled into the medkit, the only fabric like substance within it, and began to clear away some of the excess blood. With the wound properly visible she took up the cauterizer and quick as she could without being imprecise she drew the small laser it emitted down the length of the laceration. The smell it created was disgusting, tiny fibers of hair which hadn't quite been able to be moved were singed, not to mention the skin itself, but soon enough the blood flow had stopped and only that which had already escaped remained to stick to his stark white hair.

After that it was an easy job, simply applying a thin layer of the glue-like substance to form a barrier over the cauterized wound. Hopefully that would stem the spread of any sort of infection, at least until he could see an actual doctor.

Dropping the equipment back into her medkit, she noticed just how bloodied her hands had become. Her already pale skin seemed to worsen for a moment, it wasn't so much the sight of blood - no she had gotten used to that in her short lifespan - but the memories that arose which caused it. But now was not the time, she knew. He was still in shock.

"I think you should come with me, just for a little while; don't worry, we won't leave Nadir..."

Closing up the medkit, replacing it to her bag, and wiping her hands off on her already ruined trousers, Asha made sure she had left nothing behind while she spoke. Then, and only then, did she begin to rise, trying to lift him up with her though in his state it was likely harder than it might seem. Dead weight was never fun to deal with.

[member="The Slave"]
 
[video]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4Dqp3W2RkQ
[/video]

He struggled to stand, but less so than she might have thought. He still had some stature to him, despite being below the galactic average; but something else seemed to draw his weight from her supporting crutch. Despite the shock, the blood and the pain that was still very present in him, he turned and moved to grab a fully wrapped sword, who’s handle was the only thing visible.

Departing from her hold, he fell once more, but quickly held it tight to his chest like it was some sort of comfort. Only when it was secure did he stand once more, and allow himself to be guided by her, all the while his incandescent pupils wide and poorly balanced steps carried him with her.

In the distance, a very faint music seemed to play. Unfitting of a space station, it was the distant and hollow cries of an organ; the kind you might find on the aged nobility houses scattered across the numerous feudal planets still present on the galactic plane. It was mournful, quiet, and most important; encroaching on their attention. It could be helped but to focus on it, ever so slightly as they walked back to her ship.

The Slave would make no further struggles or comments until they were at their destination. He’d never seem comfortable, nor entirely out of the shock.
 
He pulled free, trying to stand of his own volition, only to stumble back to the ground. It took every ounce of willpower she had to refrain from helping him back to his feet, and instead she wanted in anticipation as he pulled himself back up from the ground with the help of what seemed to be a crutch of sorts. It stank of the Force, corruption, and though she managed to avoid wrinkling her nose she did take note of the pommel and pondered over what lay beneath the wrapping. Instinct told her it was a sword of sorts, but honestly he didn't look strong enough to wield it if it was.

It didn't matter to her, she wasn't afraid of bringing a weapon onboard her ship. Even though she was a pacifist at heart Asha did not go anywhere without her own lightsabers. They were useful for her training exercises, and as she had thought time and time again if the need ever arose for her to use them it was better for them to be on hand, and for her to know how to use them, than it was to go into hardship without.

He was silent the whole trip there, though he largely supported himself and was mostly just guided by Asha through the various strips and out to the hangar bays carved into the asteroid they were presently floating within. There it was, the Prophet, eagerly waiting for her as it always was. The ramp lowered seemingly without instruction, and she helped him all the way up into the main body of the ship. From there it was a quick trip down to the crew quarters. After all, it didn't actually have a formal medbay.

Not yet at least.

She bypassed Caedyn's quarters, meant for a copilot, and instead stepped into the passenger bay which housed a couple of bunks. Encouraging him to lay down, she finally took real notice of the eerie noises which seemed to have accompanied them from the main area of the Shadowport. Only now did she realize it wasn't apart of the musical scene of Nadir. How odd... Her eyes drifted to the wrapped pommel, but still she kept quiet and held off on the questions. Wouldn't make sense to question him anyway, he was barely with it.

"I need you to lay down, okay?" she said, as she reached to one of the spare bunks for a pillow with which to prop up his legs and encourage full circulation through his body. It wouldn't eliminate the shock completely but at the very least it would help the process along until she could go into her own quarters to brew him some of her tea which purposely countered such things.

"My name is Asha, remember?" At this point she was trying just to attract his attention, to draw his mind from the pit of shock it had fallen into, "Do you have a name, love?"

Once, or more so if, he settled she could head on out to grab what she needed - and clean up a little. But first she had to make sure he wasn't going to unintentionally hurt himself.

[member="The Slave"]
 
The music deafened as he laid it down near the edge of the bed, and moved to rest. All the while, his movements only seemed coaxed when he was guided by her, the stiffness in him becoming more obvious by the second. He didn’t peak up at her mention of her name, but she caught a glance from his wide eyes stare as she asked him what his name was.

My… name?”, he asked quietly. More a mutter to himself than a response to her.

He seemed to think about it for a while, a lasting void of silence sitting between the two as he thought. His hands, all the while, seemed to clench and unclench against the blankets on the bed; almost going in sync with a very slow heartbeat. Perhaps it was in tune to his own, but the fact that his shock seemed more like a psychotic break at this point didn’t seem to reinforce any good will she might have had for him.

Eventually, he spoke again; betraying his usual silver tongued demeanor to offer a whisper of a retort, something so subtle and mundane that if she had her focus anywhere else, she wouldn’t have heard the words leave him lips.

I… don’t have one…”, he’d form.

And so the nameless man sat, staring at the ceiling. The only thing that gave even a clue to his condition besides the crimson stain in his alabster hair, was the purple bags beneath his eyes, and the golden hue of his irises. He’d been awake too long, on the wrong side of destiny for twice that; and even in his current state he seemed to give off a creeping darkness all its own.

[member="Asha Hex"]
 
"You... Don't have a name?"

Asha could not quite place her finger on why it was that his statement bothered her like it did. It pawed at a piece of her which lay deep inside, one which longed for normalcy and acceptance and to her having a sense of identity was apart of that. She had never really noticed before now how much weight she had placed in something as simple as her name, she knew that it did not make her who she was, it did not shape her personality, and yet everything she was and everything she would be could be shrunk down into just two words. Asha Hex.

The very idea of not having that name came close to repulsing her.

"But... Everybody needs a name..."

Her face betrayed her perplexed state even more than the words themselves did, her tone laced with remorse for the boy with no name. To have no name likely meant having no family, nobody who cared enough to give him an identity. Asha had only ever known her Father growing up, there had been no mother, or siblings, or grandparents. Just the two of them. And when she lost him for a brief time during those years locked away with Aellin, and even upon her return when he refused to even acknowledge her existence, she had felt empty, not at all herself. Alone in a Galaxy far too large for her to comprehend.

"Well then, we'll have to give you one won't we?"

She realized in that moment that she had quite forgotten the fact that the poor boy was still in shock. No, more than simply shock he seemed to be suffering from a bout of insomnia on top of all of that. Taking the pillow she had gathered from one of the other bunks she gently set it under his knees to provide his legs with elevation, and then took a step back.

"I'm going to go and get something which should make you feel better. Try to stay awake. I know it might be difficult to focus right now, but try okay? Why not try to think of a name in the meantime? It might help you keep from falling asleep. You can have any name you want, you know? Any at all..."

It was taking every ounce of willpower Asha had in those moments alone with him to stave off the corruption which was seeping from him. He wasn't someone to be messed with, she wasn't a fool she had come far since Thule and the ignorant events which had taken place there and landed her in the lap of a Sith of all people, yet at the same time it was her duty to render aid. Indiscriminate aid. And from the looks of it, from all of the information she had gathered on this boy so far, he seemed moreso misguided and without direction than anything else.

The Darkside had a way of luring in such downtrodden individuals, men and women who saw a quick fix of power to be the answer to all of their problems. Of course she did not know much about him at all. The sooner he was better the sooner she could be gone from this place. She simply could not leave him out there in a pool of his own blood and still have a conscience or a snippet of morality left within her body.

As the door to the guest quarters opened to let her through the ginger fur of little Azrael made itself known as it prowled into the room. No doubt the kitten was searching for Caedyn. She wasn't certain if the boy would appreciate having a cat about the place so she scooped him up before he could cause too much of a problem and carried him with her toward her quarters. The guest quarters door quietly locked as she stepped out and ventured further down the hall, just an extra precaution.

Who knew what she was dealing with after all.

[member="The Slave"]
 
Trust was hard to come by in this realm, and The Slave was one of the many who could be trusted as far as they could be thrown. In all senses of the word, The Slave was a bastard; a cruel, deplorable, personification of sin and destruction. He was cancer in the galaxies psyche, perhaps from sheer willpower and ambition; yet where he lay now he could easily be confused for the careless foot soldier in untold amounts of stories. A nameless figure, not because of lack of care, but because he simply didn’t deserve the focus.

Where The Slave stood, he was nothing but an ambiguous figure caught somewhere between life and death. Too late to be ignored, but too close to death to do something about; the sort of individual you’d avoid at all costs, but inevitably be hit by a choice they made or an action they caused. They were a hurricane of emotion, a force of nature, all wrapped into the pearly face known simply as The Slave.

A nameless facade of a man, flesh wrapped tight against bone to hide the disgusting past beneath.

With eyes fluttering, he began to develop a cold sweat as he lay where he was. He may be in shock, but he could feel the metaphysical pressure building outside his psyche. It was only a matter of time before the dreaded staff attempted to take his mind from him once more; hopefully he could be prepared to handle it by the time she came back.

[member="Asha Hex"]
 
It did not take her long to reach her room and grab the few things she required. Boiling water, the kind that usually took a while and would brew the perfect sort of tea, was on tap, so she added a large helping into the teapot after adding in the leaves and allowed it to begin the seeping process. Whether or not he would actually trust her enough to drink it remained to be seen, she could understand how odd it must seem for her to treat his shock with a hot beverage, and if the tables were reversed she might have suspected foul play herself. Then again, Asha had just wasted a bunch of her supplies on a complete stranger. Hopefully that would be enough to instill some faith in him.

Probably not. He wasn't exactly all there mentally right now, and it seemed to be for reasons far beyond simply being glassed.

As she returned back to her room, precariously balancing the full teapot with the accompanying cups now hanging from her belt, she could sense the build up of power permeating her ship. Had she not spent years aboard the Graveyard, a darkside nexus full to the brim with ageing corpses and a lunatic Force User holding her captive, she might have choked and succumbed to it. But if there was one thing Asha was good at by this point, it was remaining within the Bendu. She was probably even better at it than Jericho, not that she'd openly admit as much to her Father. He didn't need to know the details of what she'd faced out there.

The door unlocked and opened at her arrival, and Asha was quick to set the teapot down to avoid any spillage. Her eyes drifted over to the nameless boy who had begun to sweat, looking much worse for wear. She was torn at this point, keep him around to make sure he recovered, and find out more information, or let him go the moment he could stay upright. She didn't want to risk whatever wrath he had been about to expel to the drunkard.

You are a Hex; Hex's don't give up so easily.

"I brought you some tea," she said, keeping her eyes trained on him for a moment or so more, "It will help, I promise. Did you decide on a name?"

She wasn't actually expecting him to respond, truth be told. That he was awake at all was good enough for her, and if anything she expected him more so to scoff at the notion of tea helping any than anything else. And she wouldn't blame him were that the case.

[member="The Slave"]
 
The Slave sat up as he came to his senses, albeit extremely slowly. His vision blurred and contorted before falling lazily back into focus, the faint edges of the girl in front of him maintaining their shape in destabilized fragments. It was the first time The Slave had actually recognized somebody was with him, despite his previous responses. Shock was still with him, but it has lessened just enough so he could begin to focus.

Her words however were still faint and muffled, the sound they made almost bouncing off his ear drums with no response. He felt underwater, in both his exasperated breathing and the fact her voice was so distant; not to mention the pulsing pain that was slowly finding its way to his head. The only thing he truly noticed was the tea she offered him; and with it a kind gesture.

Drinking it, he could suddenly feel the clarity that it imparted upon him; but with it he could too feel the rush of blood reaching the wound in his head. It did not bleed, but it stung far worse than the pain he felt in his ears only a moment before. Groaning, he moved to rest the tea cup in his lap and hold his head tight.

At the very least, getting him out of shock brought back some of the facilities in his protective nature. The Darkstaff’s presence seemed to subside, if only for the moment.

Where am I?”, he groaned out slightly.

[member="Asha Hex"]
 
It was strange to see it happen right before her eyes.

Asha had not fully tested the capabilities of the teapots imbuement. Sure it should have worked in theory, but it wasn't as though she had someone on hand following its completion who just so happened to be in shock, or having an anxiety attack, so she had very little to gauge its success by. When she had drank from it she had felt its calming properties, but that could easily have been a placebo effect. She really liked tea, after all, it soothed her in a way that very little else could manage.

So to watch the man finally come to his senses was astounding. She almost wanted to grab a datapad and take research notes, but that seemed... Inhumane. She would definitely be making mention of it somewhere once all of this was said and done though.

The darkness which had begun to seep into the room was somewhat expelled, not entirely but it was less intoxicating than it had been and allowed her to breathe a little more freely. Though she had not been too worried, for if the literal Darkside Nexus that was the floating Durasteel Graveyard had not seeped corruption into her then a few minutes amidst whatever had caused it wasn't likely to do so without direct interference. She wasn't entirely certain if it was the boy himself, unless he had a really firm rein on it when a little more conscious. He was definitely on the darker side of the spectrum, however.

"You're onboard my ship; you suffered head trauma, and I wanted to make sure you would be okay."

She noticed how he winced and immediately remembered that she hadn't given him any form of painkiller. Mostly because her travel medkit had been out. Thankfully her ship was much better stocked, and so she rose up and moved to a panel in the wall. An emergency medical kit lay behind it, there was one in each room though only the one in her bunk and Caedyn's ever saw any real use which meant that this one in particular was fully stocked.

"Do you have any medicinal allergies?" she inquired, pulling out a few things from the kit before returning back to where he now sat. She removed the teacup from his lap, and turned on a small light - attempting to briefly shine it in his eyes to check for any sort of blowout in his pupils.

As an afterthought, figuring that much of what had been said up until this point had not exactly stuck with him, she added, "I'm Asha, by the way. Don't worry... I know what I'm doing."

Mostly.

[member="The Slave"]
 
Uh…”, The Slave thought for a precarious moment. He dragged the time out for an answer, mostly from the pain he felt in his head; most likely because he couldn’t completely focus on an actual answer than anything else.

No, I don’t.”, he finally sputtered out through painful flashes of red behind closed eyes.

The air on the ship was cold, and although it likely wasn’t on purpose, the pain in his head magnified the sensations on ever nerve across his skin. It felt like he was on fire, simply from existing in the moment; and a soft shiver ran up on his spine. It seemed like forever before Asha had spoken again, but he at least mustered up the strength to look back at her this time, although winced.

Let’s hope you’re right.”, though it was only a moment before the light was flashed in his eyes. For a moment, she’d notice the dilation in his pupils, but he cringed and almost swatted away the light; its intensity forcing his gaze shut once more as he groaned in pain.


[member="Asha Hex"]
 
While his eyes proved to be dilated she knew that the anti-shock would finish its course through his system soon enough so she wasn't particularly worried about concussion at this stage. There were other causes, of course, other than the head trauma, yet just to be safe she decided on the perigen in place of the other painkillers she had grabbed from the kit.

"Lift your shirt sleeve, please, either arm... I have something which will take the edge off your pain." The benefit of utilizing the patch was that it was quick to enter the bloodstream while causing little - if nothing - in the way of drowsiness. If she could keep him awake until anti-shock had run its course then she'd be happy and he'd be safe.

"You told me you don't have a name?" she inquired, as she waited for him to even comply or refuse her request, curious as to whether this was genuinely the case or if it had been the shock and trauma speaking. "You can leave as soon as I'm sure the concussion is gone, I'd rather you didn't try to before that time."

Stepping back once the patch was administered, if he allowed it to be of course, she looked him over and finally checked for any other signs of injuries he may have incurred at the hands of the drunkard or otherwise. He still seemed sickly and pale, a light sheen of sweat coating his skin, which made her frown. She'd seen that before in someone who had gone cold turkey after ingesting a whole slue of drugs. Some narcotics would hinder the natural healing process of injuries, especially ones on areas such as the skull where there was minimal mass between the skin and the skull. Mostly when it came to blood thinners.

"Have you taken any narcotics in the past few days?" she asked, her tone cautious. He seemed to still be injured to the degree that he remained largely incapacitated but she didn't trust that he wouldn't lash out in one way or another if provoked. It wasn't as though the question was too far fetched. Shadowports such as this one were renown for black market trades and the supply of illegal - and in many cases dangerous - narcotics.

[member="The Slave"]
 
The Slave seemed to retract at her ideas of pain numbing devices. Not because he was opposed to the drug, so much as he knew the drowsier a medicine made him, the worse it would be for everyone aboard the station. He couldn’t afford to take anything that would dull his senses, as the amount of pain he felt perhaps annoyed him, but it kept him alert. His offered in a mocked tough retort, obviously a poor attempt at showing constitution;

No, I’m fine.”, he said as he continued to hold his head and wince.

You told me you don’t have a name?”, she said.

His heart seemed to skip a beat as she said those words, but why? It was no secret to him or anyone else he didn’t have a righteous name he could go by, but why did her words make him cringe even harder than the pain already made him do so? Was he desperate for the chance at such a triviality?

The Slave brushed the intrusive thought away as he simply shook his head. He didn’t bother answering her inquiry, only pass over it with silence. Whatever she had said next didn’t seem to connect to him either, but he moved to cross his legs and close his eyes, letting the pain pulse in tandem with his heart.

Have you taken any narcotics in the past few days?”, she had asked.

Of course he had, wasn’t that obvious? The aggression in his inner monologue subsided as he considered the fact that she only asked because it was obvious. He simply nodded in response, and continued to grimace; both eyes shut as he looked inwards.


[member="Asha Hex"]
 

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