[FO] Aftermath

[Kuzo]

Continued from Oderint Dum Meuant

D O S U U N

Doctor Irajah Ven didn't know if it had been worth it. In fairness, she wasn't sure if it was ever obvious in the immediate aftermath. Win, lose or draw, the dead piled up and the injured called out in pain, hoping for relief. Whether that was healing or oblivion was never clear until it was too late.

The petite woman had been injured herself on Mustafar, but the only lingering sign of it was a slightly distant expression and the bandage across her forehead. The gash and concussion were fairly easy to address, after all.

Not everyone else had been so lucky.

She moved slowly through the halls of the military medical facility in Avalonia. Men and women, brought from Mustafar, Barkhesh, Rutan, Asmeru, filled the beds, spilling out into the halls in some wings of the hospital. Blaster wounds, burns, broken bones, lost limbs and worse. Some would be here for only a day or two. Some would require extensive time in bacta or reconstruction. Some would never leave these halls.

Though Dakon had suggested she remain in bed herself (along with several others for that matter), Irajah had shaken off their concerns. She had work to do. Patients.

Had it been worth it?

She frowned as she paused for a moment in a doorway. [member="Pharazon Draken"] was still unconscious. She glanced over the monitors as she moved across the room. He should be awake now. Slowly, she sank down onto the stool beside his bed.

"Come on. You can do this," she murmured softly, dropping her head into her hands. "You can do this."

​There was silence for a moment, punctuated only by the occasional blip of the monitor.

​"Just wake up," she whispered.

Spoiler

[member="Natasi Fortan"] [member="Preliat Mantis"] [member="Jude Falkrowe"] [member="Madlyn Sol"] [member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Suravi Teigra"] [member="FN-999"] @ANYONE ELSE WHO WANTS TO

 

[FN-999]

He suddenly woke up. He was laying down on a bed, and there was some doctors near him. Then he remembered what happened. The invasion, the cannon blast, two of his men carrying him away. Well, it wasn't the first time he had been hit directly by a blaster cannon. In fact, it was about the sixth or seventh, he couldn't tell if the one on that freighter while he was a boy counted. He found that he was in white clothes, and his armor and shirt were sticking out of a nearby crate.

His body stung all over, and he felt like the pain would never stop. Whenever he tried to move any body part more than a foot, he got extensive pain.

"Just lay down and let us help." the doctor said.

Even though he wanted to see what happened to the rest of his men, they were probally in the medical rooms too and so lay down patiently as multiple doctors walked around him.

[member="Irajah Ven"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Irajah Ven"]

Some Sith could draw strength from others' despair and suffering: gauche at best, psychopathic at worst, comparable to looting the wounded. For all the techniques that Ashin Varanin had learned in the last half century, she'd never bothered to learn that one. The aftermath of a battle was no time to be so disrespectful, regardless of the cause being defended.

S.S. Shamballa, registered to New Habat University, could carry a significant amount of bacta, and this hospital needed it all. Thousands of casualties hailed from Asmeru, Barkhesh, Mustafar, and nearby theatres. The hospital's supplier had prevailed on a First Order flag officer to draft the nearest available transport - in this case, a science frigate from Varunda Nine. Alazhi studies could wait: Verkuyl's prime export took priority today.

Now the hospital's staff were offloading high-grade bacta and kolcta, the Shamballa sat inert, and Ashin had a few hours to kill. The solemnity of the affair kept her from, say, trying the food and fashions of the capital. Instead she lingered on a balcony accessible by hospital visitors, looking out over the Avalonian nightscape and feeling oddly helpless. Though she'd never been one for sensing fine detail, she felt pain radiate from inside the building. For reasons she didn't quite understand - perhaps impatient with ploys and artifice in the face of suffering - she allowed her Force presence to become detectable. Her constant Quey'tek concealment relaxed. The moment seemed to demand honesty.

 

[Preliat Mantis]

Preliat lay on the gurney, ushered into the hospital. He was burnt. The slugs to his chest, the first shot compromised his armor, and the second- the second bullet tore through his chest, right below his collarbone. He could barely breathe. He had a collapsed lung. He was fading in and out of. He felt weak- probably from the blood loss. The rush to the field hospital couldn't treat him. All they could do was do their best to stabilize him. He was still wearing the clothes he was shot in.

Preliat opened his eyes, and was taken aback by the brightness of where he was. Then, he faded back into the blackness. He was clinging to life by a thread.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Typically he wouldn't have bothered to lump himself along with all of the other wounded soldiers in a general hospital, he'd usually let his wounds be taken care of my his own personal physicians and doctors. This was a special occasion, however; for the Dark Lord wished to pay a surprise visit to someone who would not even dare bring herself within his presence willingly.

That was why he was wearing a special amulet that nullified his insidious presence in the Force.

He sat wearing it alongside a rather plain looking hospital gown on an exam table with his legs swung over the side and swaying slightly, his hands gripping the thin paper that covered it. Besides the various cuts, bruises and thumb-sized hole in his abdomen the Dark Lord wasn't all that worse for wear until you took a good look at his face. The entire right side of his face was a mess of scarred burn tissue, most of it so far destroyed that his cheek bone, teeth, and part of his cranium was exposed. The grievous wound wrapped around the right side of his face and up around the back of his head, and hair no longer grew in those places where the follicles had been seared away.

And so he waited patiently.

[member="Irajah Ven"]​

 

[Ashin Varanin]

The pain radiating from the hospital proved difficult to ignore. After a few minutes on the balcony, Ashin realized why: some of it was familiar, from a very old memory. She gave it another couple of minutes' thought, and some memory enhancement, a skill for which she'd always had a knack. She eyed the Dosuun cityscape at night, then turned and left the balcony.

***​

A handful of mind tricks got her into the triage ward, at least temporarily. Medical triage wasn't a subject which she'd ever understood conclusively, but Spencer had told her it was fairly simple in principle. It came down to prioritizing those who could be saved. Some of these people had been rushed here on any available ship, from the space wreckage at Asmeru or the ugly fight at Barkhesh. Stims and other short-term measures had worn off. Ashin insulated herself from their emotions as she wove her way through the triage ward one simple mind trick at a time. At last she stood over an injured man, a wreck. She might not know medical triage, but she knew how to break a human body: he had a collapsed lung and serious blood loss.

"What have they done to you, Wolf," she murmured.

"Ma'am, you can't be in here," said a voice behind her.

Ashin didn't turn, only gestured between herself and the simple white bed where the dying man lay. "I'm authorized to be here."

"You're authorized to be here."

An idea came to mind: less radical than giving him a new body, but less likely to get her noticed in the long run. Less likely to cause complications. She gestured again. "The triage assessment was wrong. This man will live if you start work now."

"But we've tried everything for him-"

Ashin turned, eyes blazing. "This is [member="Preliat Mantis"], the Wolf of Manda'yaim. You can and will save him." She made the mind-trick gesture again, a two-finger swipe, this time hard and aggressive, and the trauma nurse took a sharp breath.

"I can and will save him."

"He is your priority. Spare no expense."

"He is my priority. We will spare no expense."

Ashin bared her teeth and stalked past the nurse. "Get back to work."

***​

​

Five minutes later, she was back on the balcony, staring out at the nightscape with a grim smile on her lips.

 

[Raziel]

[member="Ashin Karrde"]

"You never cease to be interesting," a quiet voice washed over the balcony. It would be hard to describe the man who came to lean on the railings a few metres away. His scrubs didn't quite match any of the hospital uniforms: orderlies, or nurses or doctors. If one looked closely at the ID badge on the belt they would notice it lacked any actual embedded security chip. It was good enough that no one paid him much attention.

"Then again," he said with a subtle tilt of the head, "lecturing?"

Ashin had once come very close to killing him in a prison facility. She didn't know that yet. Her history fascinated him. Perhaps that was why he was here. Or perhaps it was the fact that she'd provided a hefty fraction of his profits in intelligence data and that the Alliance had been cracking down on independent intelligence agents operating within their space.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Raziel"] surprised her as usual; as usual, she tried not to show it; as usual, she didn't quite succeed.

"If you mean my conversation inside just now," she said, assuming he'd have known about it by now in one way or another, "I fought beside him once. Not a friend, but someone whose capabilities I respect. It offends me to see him broken and abandoned."

She turned away form the city of Avalonia and focused on the nondescript man. Her eyes wanted to slide away from him. In the balcony's lights he struck her as colorless, and that struck her as apt. "If you mean my work at the university, the only lecturing I do is when postdocs try to run my ship. My job is far more interesting than that."

One eyebrow rose. "And speaking of jobs, how's business these days?"

 

[Raziel]

[member="Ashin Karrde"]

"The times they are changing, as the old song goes," he replied. He put no inflection into the words to match the tune. Raziel didn't turn to face the Sith Empress either. Dark green eyes stayed out on the horizon. Every so often they twitched, as if discovering something fascinating out in the city.

"Lots of new little empires springing up. That means lots of walls and people desperate for a peek over the other side. Have a few links into the Sith Purebloods that have started making noise. Unfortunately they trust aliens about as much as this lot do," he seemed relatively unconcerned about being so candid in a public place, but no one seemed to be listening.

"Plenty of demand, not enough supply right now."

 

[Pharazon Draken]

[SIZE=11pt]Blasters barked from all directions, scenes of horror and fire blasted into focus only to disappear in a fraction of an instant. Bodies littered every surface, white armoured Stormtroopers, implacable helmets forever staring skyward with their armour torn asunder, finely clothed nobles lay eternally still, blood seeping into and staining the rich fabrics of their exquisite Hapan style dresses and suits. Pharazon ran, he knew not where to, or what from, he could only feel the horror at his heels, all around him, the burning of his powerful and massive leg muscles, the crackling and ozone tang of blaster bolts surging past him, only centimetres away from his body. His First Imperial Stormtrooper armour was battered, broken, and bloodstained, his blaster rifle burned in his wounded and hands as he desperately spat shot after shot in hopeless defiance against the seemingly innumerable eldritch foes that assailed him. Sweat flowed freely across his pale skin and adrenaline flooded his veins. He ran on, as fast as he had ever ran before, over bodies and brimstone, blood and fire. For what seemed an eternity he ran, the scene of horror and carnage never changing, flat and desolate in its all consuming expanse.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]No matter how fast he ran Pharazon could feel his body slowing down, failing him, imperfect. His cybernetic fingers fell off first accompanied by a scream of pain from his mouth that seemed amplified by a thousand voices. Then his old scars opened, leaving a trail of blood from his body to the pulsating and burning ground. Then, finally, his right leg exploded outward, sending him to his knees, a tortured scream on his lips, now the only sound to be heard in the silence, in the blackness. He tried to speak, but no sounds emerged, he tried to move but no muscle would budge. He closes his eyes and in an instant the bodies, the fire, the blood, the screams were gone. There was no light in the void, until a solitary figure emerged.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Brilliant and radiant was the figure in its terrifying and imposing perfection. Pharazon blinked again, the figure was now within two metres of him, silent and majestic, yet blinding and terrifying. The figure emanated power in great waves that Pharazon could not comprehend how he felt, washing over him, consuming him. It was joined by seven other figures of varying forms, shadow as opposed to the brilliance of the first. They encircled him, omnious, silent, yet familiar. Pharazon opened his mouth as to speak but could not. Time passed, Pharazon could no longer keep track or ascertain how long he sat there, on his knees, body shattered and broken.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]The eternity ended, the silence lifted, the figure spoke with a voice to shatter armies, to bring nova to the stars themselves.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Rise”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]***********[/SIZE]

Pharazon’s eyes snapped open. Pain washed over his body, he could not feel his right leg, his cybernetic fingers were detached. His vision was near blinded by light after being closed for so long. He blinked rapidly, eyes bloodshot and watering but rapidly adjusting to their new surroundings. [SIZE=11pt]A [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]hospital[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]… [/SIZE]the thought moved sluggishly through his muddled mind as he tried to place himself. He looked around, medical equipment, a bed, a ...Doctor.

“Doc...Ven… Where is… Where am…” he wheezed weakly, voice little more than a hoarse whisper, unable to properly vocalise the word doctor. He could not remember much about Doctor [member="Irajah Ven"], but the familiarity her name inspired in him was comforting. His head and eyes drifted away from her, back to his pillow, he looked down over his body, moving down inch by inch toward his legs… his leg. His eyes fixed on his right leg, exposed and uncovered, only that it was heavily bandaged and stopped just above where the knee had been. My leg… [SIZE=11pt]Pharazon’s mind whirred. Though Pharazon’s leg had been shredded below the knee by the anti-tank round that had missed his command speeder and hit his leg in combat against the Galactic Alliance military on Mustafar, his knee and joint [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]had[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt] been so damaged that the medical officer of the 189th Stormtrooper Grenadier company and friend of Pharazon, Henry Dagon, had been forced to amputate the remnants of his right leg from just above the knee joint down.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“No… no no no no” Pharazon began desperately muttering, growing more incoherent with every word [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]that left his lips. His body began shaking, his heart rate soared. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“No... please no!”[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt] he began wailing, tears flowing freely from his eyes, sobbing breaking up his incoherent cries. He was inconsolable, his body deformed and horrifically scarred, forever marking him, in Pharazon’s mind at that moment, as imperfect, a freak, more creature than man. Soon his words turned entirely to wails and moans of utter grief and anguish, as he thrashed his body against his bed, ignoring the pain beginning to assail him from the bruises on his body despite the sedation.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Had his mind not been muddled and confused, he never would have let another living person see him like this, not even his beloved sister. He would never have let anyone know how deeply and profoundly scars and wounds to his body affected him, how closely tied his entire sense of self was still attached to the Hapan traditions of beauty and his own obsessive and all consuming desire for perfection. However, if no one could see him, this physical outpouring of grief would have still happened, if only quieter.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]And so he cried, lost to his pain and to the returning memories of knowing, somehow[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt], that he had failed his sister, because he was not powerful and strong enough. The feeling that he was imperfect consumed him, more profoundly than any experience he had ever experienced before.[/SIZE]

 

[Kuzo]

Irajah didn't have the luxury of simply letting herself sit there with [member="Pharazon Draken"]. There was nothing she could do for him there- for that matter, she didn't even know exactly why she was reluctant to continue on her rounds. But she had work to do, other patients waiting for her. Of course, if anyone would understand duty, it was the man lying on the bed. She sighed, pushing dark curls out of her face and leaning back. Had he heard her? She'd probably never know.

Just as she was getting ready to stand and continue her rounds she stopped halfway off the stool. Standing up fully, she leaned over so he could see her better as his eyes opened, a relieved smile flickering across her face.

“Doc...Ven… Where is… Where am…”

"You're safe," she said softly, reassuringly as possible. "We got you back to Dosuun. You're in the military hospital here, and they're going to take good care of you- no, no, hey, look at me-"

But he'd already looked down.

She knew the scene in his head, the way the emotions played out- she knew that mantra of no intimately and personally. Not only as a doctor, observing it in her patients.... but as someone who had been through the same thing.

Quickly, she leaned over, tapping a series of keys on the machines he was hooked up to, administering an additional sedative. It would take a moment to kick in. Then she offered him something that she hadn't been given. When she had woken up to discover her leg, arm and several fingers simply gone, she'd been met with anger, recriminations. Blame.

Instead, she reached out, taking both of his hands with hers and squeezing them tightly. She couldn't have stopped his physical thrashing, even if she had tried. So she didn't, just holding onto his hands with grim determination, offering the only thing she could- a presence.

"Hey, look at me, Pharazon," she repeated, her voice firm. "I know it doesn't feel this way, right now, but it's going to be okay. It's hard, I know, maw, I know, but we're going to get you patched up- it won't be the same- it never is- I know- I know what you're going through- but I promise you, it *will* get easier.... with time. And it's okay if, right now, it's not okay. You're not broken. You're not ruined- and you're not alone."

She couldn't read his mind of course, even if in that moment it might seem like she was. She simply knew, because she had felt all of those things as well.

She held his hands while he wept. It was all she could do.

 

[Preliat Mantis]

Monster. You're a monster.


The voice in his head spoke to him. It wasn't his own. It wasn't Dredge's. It was hauntingly beautiful- and terrifying. It sounded remotely like Aditya- but hers was more raspy, more calloused in her words than most. It rang in his ears. And it told him he was dying. Men only heard angels when they were dying. And he knew he was a bad man- but a monster? Was he really a monster? Was he truthfully a bad man? The tattoo on his back, a Shriek-Hawk, burned. It was burning his skin. It hadn't burned since he got it done so many years ago. Why now? He opened his eyes.

Bright sun. Desert sands. Someone called his name. It was [member="Silas Mantis"]- his brother. He was young. So was he- again. His brother pointed at a distant animal of which he forgot the name of. He raised the rifle. He was back in Dromund Kaas when he pulled the trigger. Fighting the sniper on the building. He threw him off. He was falling again. He landed on a pile of ashes. Somewhere in there, mixed with the ashes of timber and of home, lay his wife and child. Buried. Dead. Finally dead. They escaped hell, only to die in it.

He screamed when he came to. Doctors came rushing over, pushing him down. They were cursing and talking- he shouldn't have been alive. He blinked and looked around rapidly. Somewhere, he felt it. The presence of death. The thread turned to a rope. Preliat began to no longer cling to life- he was holding it in a headlock. Preliat had no business being alive. He had no ties to the living world, other than his clone children now. And they had done fine without him, and if he died- they would continue to be fine. Preliat held onto life by anger alone. For those touched by the force, when he awoke, it wasn't a fire of rage and anger in him, it was a volcanic eruption. He disturbed the force when he awoke. He looked around the room, before passing back out. He started to fade again, but the doctors began to rush to aid him. He wanted to remain alive. That's what it came down to. He didn't have a reason to live. He didn't need one. He just wanted to.

[member="Ashin Karrde"]

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Barkhesh had been a bust as far as the news went, but Lydia didn't mind. She didn't get shot, her cameraman didn't get exploded, and Lydia called that a good day. But troubling news from Mustafar put her on the back foot as soon as her shuttle landed in Avalonia. The battle had largely ended, but no one seemed to be able to locate [member="Rolf Amsel"]. Lydia heard it throw the grapevine that the Colonel had been engaged at the Mensix Mining Facility and had, according to her unofficial source, been injured. She was distressed, and in times of distress it was best to find something to do to keep busy, so Lydia called the hotline and spoke to an officer assisting with the medical relocation, and almost immediately regretted it.

"What's the name of the officer you are inquiring about?" asked the beleaguered medical consultant.

"Amsel," Lydia said, then spelled the name.

"Rank?"

"Colonel," Lydia replied, pacing up the central aisle of the shuttle. She caught the eye of her pilot, who gave an inquisitive look. Liddy shrugged her shoulders at him. The consultant asked for a serial number, and Lydia suppressed a sight. "I don't know his number, all right, I'm just trying to find out where he has been transported. He was injured at Mustafar -- please, can you just tell me where he was taken?"

"Are you family?"

Lydia hesitated. "Not... exactly."

"Then I'm sorry. Look, best I can tell you is there's a hospital set up on Dosuun where they're taking some people from Mustafar," the consultant said. "You might want to check there, but -- I can't say more."

"Where?" Lydia asked. "Where on Dosuun?"

"Just land at the spaceport in Avalonia and follow the signs. If there's nothing else..." The consultant disconnected, and Lydia glared at her communicator in irritation before tucking it away in her bag and turning to the cockpit. "Are you staying or do you want to come with?"

 

[Pharazon Draken]

[SIZE=11pt]Pharazon continued to weep, continued to thrash about as [member="Irajah Ven"] clasped his hands. Mind subsumed in hatred and disgust for himself, refusing to accept his injury as an injury. He felt flawed, he felt weak, lesser, yet confused and unstable. It took some moments for the additional painkillers Doctor Ven administered to take effect, but slowly and surely, his body began to grow still as he felt blissful numbness spread throughout his body and slowly returned his body to the bed. Silent tears still flowed freely down his cheeks, flowing over the great scar on his face that he also felt so disgraced by.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]As he felt the sedatives take effect, he still moaned in anguish as he let his eyes return to face Irajah. Her words were muddled and Pharazon had difficulty understanding them, but forced whatever mental faculties available to him to focus on her, to understand. Her tone was firm, but undeniably compassionate, empathetic. [/SIZE]“How can this… ever be…”[SIZE=11pt] he struggled but could not form the words or the [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]sentence[/SIZE][SIZE=11pt] he had in mind, throat still painfully dry and sore, voice still weak and not all together there. “...Shame…” he whispered, eyes downcast at his right thigh and wincing slightly as the significant bruising on his chest made speaking too much for him even with the painkillers still taking effect. That did not stop his face from once again contorting in emotional agony, this was the most vulnerable he had ever been for years and even drug addled his mind refused to calm down. It refused to allow him the peace to come to terms with his injury.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]So he wept quietly, weakly clasping Irajah’s hands with his own great hands. The sedatives began to take full effect and his body completely relaxed. He fought to stay conscious, but it was a futile effort. Slowly his eyelids began to drift lower and lower over his emerald eyes and his weak grip began to lessen on the Doctor’s hands. His massive and muscular chest began to rise and fall regularly, his breathing deepening. He knew he was about to lose consciousness, darkness edged in on his vision, so he squeezed the Doctor’s hands one last time and looked up at her.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“I…” he mumbled, battling the oncoming abyss. “Thank...you” he forced himself on, making his throat and mouth form the words, not wishing them to be unsaid. Amidst his grief and confronted with his perceived weakness and darkest hour, Irajah Ven, a doctor he hardly knew had sat with him, comforted him with no disdain, no contempt, no scorn. He could have never expected that from anyone else. As grief stricken and irrational as his mind was, it recognised that.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Come back...please” he whispered weakly, pitifully, knowing somewhere in his mind that she likely was on duty, before his eyes finally closed, and his hands started to slip free from her grip.[/SIZE]

 

[Garett Van]

Zero sat on a stool in the barracks, alone just how she liked it. With being alone it would afford her a moment to get out of her battered armor, as well as check the bruises she sustained in the fighting. Taking off the battered armor leaving herself in her body suit, she tossed the ruined pieces aside and places the ones that were still intact into her foot locker at the foot of her bed. With all the bulky armor off, and being in a more comfortable situation, she moved over to her bed, and laid down on it. Still in a bit of pain from the fighting as well as exhausted from it, it was nice to lay down for a moment, while she laid on the bed, she started to clean under her nails with the tip of her dagger she had. Then with a sudden change she threw the dagger up into the ceiling of her room. Zero didn't like down time, but she had to wait for new pieces of armor to be made for her, so she was confined to quarters until this was done. Though the confinement was self imposed, she could if she wanted go out and go to the range or whatever she wanted to do, but she didn't like people seeing her face or seeing her without her armor on.

 

[Kuzo]

"I will," she promised, right before the last of the tension eased from his body. "Rest now."

Irajah didn't have the luxury of simply letting herself sit there with [member="Pharazon Draken"]. There was nothing more she could do for him there- for that matter, she didn't even know exactly why she was reluctant to continue on her rounds. She sighed, standing up and pushing the stool back with a foot. Gently, she extracted her hands from his- she hadn't let go until she was sure he was asleep again.

​She knew he couldn't feel it, at least, not consciously. But she didn't want him to fall asleep feeling alone. It was a small thing, but until they could get him fitted for a replacement, all that she could do in truth.

Heading out of his room, she adjusted the crisp, white lab coat. While she'd been treated, cleaned up and changed into more appropriate hospital garb, she'd had no chance yet to really rest, and it showed on her face. Weary and pinched, her face was pale beneath the bandage across her forehead.

Irajah paused momentarily outside the door of the next room, hazel eyes scanning the data hanging on the wall. There were so many wounded, so many beds filled, that she didn't bother with any identifying information- she didn't have time. She focused on the initial assessment of the wounds, grimacing slightly.

Pulling her datapad out from where she had tucked it under her arm, she stepped into the room, but her attention was on the pad.

"I'm Doctor Ven," she said without looking up, "I'm arranging a spot for you for reconstruction, so you don't have to wait longer than necessary." Her fingers tapped his room number into one of the slots. "I'll send them the details after I have examined you, but this way we can get you in as soon as possib-"

She looked up and froze.

[member="Darth Carnifex"].

For a moment, she was drowning in sulfuric eyes and terror. The scars of the runes he'd carved across her body burned.

It was like the last months vanished. All of the work done with [member="Carach"], all of her time rebuilding herself, physically and mentally, it disintegrated in a single heartbeat when her eyes met his. It was as though the floor fell away beneath her and she was again in free fall, simply waiting for the next blow to her body. The dark, the storm- rain and thunder the only sounds beyond each sickening strike or the breaking of bones- or her own voice pleading-

Her cybernetic hand tightened too much on the datapad and the sound of crumbling plastic brought her back to the present.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice stiff but the barest trace of a tremor at the end. "I b-believe a different doctor should treat you."

 

[Darth Carnifex]

He allowed himself to slide off of the exam table, his hands smoothing out the parts of his hospital gown that became ruffled in the process. The outfit was one size too small for him, it hugged too tight around his waist and upper body and it was quite possible that with the wrong move it could come apart at the seams. Yet despite the awkwardness of his current garb he was no less frightening to the diminutive doctor, a terrible fear which was as potent as the one he had sampled during their intimacy so many weeks ago.

But he was not here for that.

He pointed a finger at her, "No. You will treat me." His tone of voice indicated that he had already made up his mind both for himself and for her, and that there was no other alternative in existence. "It is not by chance that I have come here today, Irajah. I've been monitoring your progress for several weeks now, and I am impressed."

[member="Irajah Ven"]​

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Raziel"]

Far behind her in the hospital, a flare of life and will from [member="Preliat Mantis"] boded well for his chances. Ashin permitted herself a small smile and rested her elbows on the balcony rail.

"Dosuun is a marvelous place to accumulate stock, if supplies are short. It all depends on where you plan to ship it. Now, if you're looking to purchase my supplies and sell them locally, that's another matter. I suppose arrangements could be made, confidentially. I've spent the last five years accumulating that kind of capital, and I wouldn't mind unloading some of it for the right incentive."

 

[Kuzo]

His order had the exact opposite effect of what he intended. Instead of shrinking back, or responding like a whipped dog called to heel, Irajah straightened, chin coming up. Hazel eyes flashed with anger and defiance.

"You can go kark right off," she snarled. "You can sit on your horned helmet and rotate. I will not now, nor ever treat you. If you were on fire I wouldn't even waste my time and effort to piss on you to put it out, you get that? You don't get to waltz in here and tell me what to do. Ever. Again."

That terror would always be there. But instead of diminishing her, she used it to bolster. She couldn't pretend that she was not afraid of him. But she could use it to never again find herself beneath his hand.

"Your opinion of the last weeks means less than nothing to me, Kaine." She offered none of his honorifics. He deserved none of them, as far as she was concerned. "I will find another Doctor to treat you, because that is my job. But that is where any obligation I have to you ends."

[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Raziel]

[member="Irajah Ven"] [member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Ashin Karrde"]

Raziel gave no outward sign that his attention had - in part - been drawn elsewhere. For a powerful empath such a strong flare of fear was hard to ignore. It was such a feral, base emotion. The Force always reacted to it.

Her question seemed to assume he had a plan. Normally he did. Plans within plans. But for a long time now he hadn't really planned beyond the immediate. Very little interested him. No cause brought him from the shadows. The First Order's likely wouldn't either. What he needed was a challenge. A test. Something that made him care to be alive.

"I haven't exactly touched base yet. I will shortly," he replied. "The front is always the most profitable. Governments less burdened by political concern about costs."