Vrak Nashar
Character
Naboo
[member="Jamie Pyne"]
His fingers slowly opened and closed, his eyes darting from place to place within the cell. The hood had been removed from his head a few seconds before they'd tossed him into the bare metal cell, though the shackles and the suppression collar had stayed in place. He'd tried to remove the thing around his neck a few times already, using either force or leverage, but the shackles prevented him from getting any sort of true grip.
It was a mild frustration, but not the end of the world.
Vrak knew eventually that the shackles would be removed, or he'd remove them himself, but it wasn't time for that yet. She had yet to appear to him, as he knew she would. She would come to gloat, taunt, or interrogate. Perhaps all three. The reason didn't matter much, but Vrak knew eventually she would show her face. He wondered briefly whether or not they would kill him this time.
He was almost entirely sure that they wouldn't, after all these were Jedi they were talking about. The last time she'd held him dead to rights she had stayed her hand. A foolish mistake that she might not repeat again, though if their previous interactions were any indication then he would get the outcome he expected. His shoulders rolled slightly, pain spiking through the multiple bruises he'd sustained during his capture.
His right leg was still shattered, broken in more than one place and untreated.
Eventually that was something that would have to be addressed. Without the force he couldn't heal it himself.
A frown pulled at the Sith's lips as he thought he heard boots ringing outside the cell, a steady tromp. There were no windows, and the rayshield over the door prevented him from pressing against the cold durasteel to hear if anyone was coming. He scowled, but slowly sat back on the bed.
There was no need to eagerness, and this way he could hide some of his pain.
[member="Jamie Pyne"]
His fingers slowly opened and closed, his eyes darting from place to place within the cell. The hood had been removed from his head a few seconds before they'd tossed him into the bare metal cell, though the shackles and the suppression collar had stayed in place. He'd tried to remove the thing around his neck a few times already, using either force or leverage, but the shackles prevented him from getting any sort of true grip.
It was a mild frustration, but not the end of the world.
Vrak knew eventually that the shackles would be removed, or he'd remove them himself, but it wasn't time for that yet. She had yet to appear to him, as he knew she would. She would come to gloat, taunt, or interrogate. Perhaps all three. The reason didn't matter much, but Vrak knew eventually she would show her face. He wondered briefly whether or not they would kill him this time.
He was almost entirely sure that they wouldn't, after all these were Jedi they were talking about. The last time she'd held him dead to rights she had stayed her hand. A foolish mistake that she might not repeat again, though if their previous interactions were any indication then he would get the outcome he expected. His shoulders rolled slightly, pain spiking through the multiple bruises he'd sustained during his capture.
His right leg was still shattered, broken in more than one place and untreated.
Eventually that was something that would have to be addressed. Without the force he couldn't heal it himself.
A frown pulled at the Sith's lips as he thought he heard boots ringing outside the cell, a steady tromp. There were no windows, and the rayshield over the door prevented him from pressing against the cold durasteel to hear if anyone was coming. He scowled, but slowly sat back on the bed.
There was no need to eagerness, and this way he could hide some of his pain.