Private Hlauptu

[Beatrice Govan]

Learning how to walk again was a rather labour-intensive endeavour.

It was not just the physical aspect that was entirely draining (which, naturally was unfortunate when you were a cadaverous woman entirely constructed out of craft paper and glue) but there was a certain mental element required to survive such trials, not, however, in the way that one would expect.

The physical therapists were just so... encouraging. It was perplexing and nothing but foreign in nature. Whenever she fell she had expected the scald of a tongue, the swift lash of retribution, to be disowned and left in a heap of her own shame but apparently that was not how the mundane operated. No, on the contrary, they helped her back up onto the bars with a renewed sense of optimism and started again.

This shouldn't have been so strange.

Such dissonance made for quite the whiplash and sometimes following a session Evelynn wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at her own absurd lack of comprehension for the ordinary.

Back in the confines of her wheelchair, the blonde woman sat in a queue for a street vendor, the unexpected upside of her misfortune being that she was trying a lot of new peasant food and today her post-therapy hunger would be sated by 'hot dogs'. An intriguing name to be sure.

Aside from her wheeled-prison, the mute held the appearance of a commoner, with her ash blonde hair scraped back into a loose bun and her frail figure clad in clothes so unremarkable that they forced those that walked by to stifle their yawns. Long sleeves and black gloves were required to hide her ostentatious golden limb, naturally, a pity as such a creation was practically made to be admired.

She continued to muse upon the power of positivity, which only ended up in hypothetical scenarios of what happened to those crippled in the duty of the Sith, well, for those who didn't matter, of course. Did they get rehabilitation? Rather unlikely, technobeast fodder more like. Perhaps then it was truly fortunate that th-

A figure suddenly stepped in front of her, cutting in line and completely spitting upon the face of queue etiquette. Oh, the outrage! Who did he think he was?! Nostrils flared in indignation as the Emperor's daughter had to reign in every ounce of molten fury that had suddenly burst to life within her core. She had flayed people for less!

Mostly for pleasure, actually.

However, instead of flaying, Evelynn merely cleared her throat in the haughtiest manner possible, her expression very much the definition of outrage.

“Oh, sorry lady,” the queue-jumper interjected awkwardly, avoiding eye contact as much as humanly possible, “I'll just be a sec, my speeder's in a no parking zone and I don't wanna get a ticket, you know?” An apologetic glance was offered but it was only met by the gaunt face of cripple malice, “I got mouths to feed and I figure you've got a nice handicapped spot, so...”

WHAT!?

Oh no, this was not acceptable. Absolutely not. This slight demanded immediate retribution, and as the man turned his back to the former formidable Sith Sorceress he would find an incredibly compelling hiss snake its way into his mind, with a command that would have to be obeyed.

You're going to run headlong into that building across the street, and you're going to keep doing it until you require your own handicapped parking space. Now leave.

And he did.

---

Cara Dorniarn

 

[Cara Dorniarn]

"Ha, absolutely not."

The droid gave an agitated chirp from under the poncho before slinking back to cover.

"Not that we cannot go later, but the Museum of Galactic Monarchs is not on the itinerary for today. Ask tomorrow."

After a few inquisitive beeps the seeker droid brought to light the fact that they were scheduled to leave that evening.

"Exactly."


Cara carried on at her meditative pace, all the while crossing through several names on a datapad in hand. No, it wasn't a hit list. Goodness. However, it was important enough that once finished she scrambled the information into a digital puzzle box. In territory so close to the New Imperial Order one never knew who could be snooping around-- though actually it was Cara who was a constant snoop.

An addictive habit, the engineer would keep a persistent list of the technology within any vicinity she occupied. She gave ear to their impulses and commands and pooled any data that was relevant to her interests. From benign holodisks to the most outlandish sensor arrays, Cara kept their electric chatter switched on in her mind like a radio. It had been the white noise that kept her mind grounded, becoming a comfort which she didn't find ready to give up.

It was through the intrusive wiretapping that she was made aware of a peculiar...appendage. It felt cold as it ebbed dark influence, a machine that had been intermingled with alchemy. Bah! Something she didn’t dabble in. Bunch of… Cara bit a mental tongue and followed her “nose,” still intent on finding the source of such a finely crafted cybernetic-- alchemy or not.

The doctor traversed the street with purpose, pushing up her large-brimmed round hat as she came closer to the point of focus. And it was at... a hotdog stand? Well.

“I would say fuel is fuel but that’s some damnable heresy,” Cara judged from under the hat. It wasn’t exactly the best side of town, not that hadn’t not seen much worse, but the kind of handiwork that pinged Cara’s radar was fit for royalty. So what she wished to know--

A man bolted toward Cara, his eyes glazing over as his pace quickened and his boots slammed the duracrete. She sidestepped, reading his body-language to realize she wasn’t his target but something behind. His skull connected with the wall. Aidee tried to wrestle out of the poncho to see what the crowd was gasping about but his view was blocked, Cara’s hand covering his main camera as it shoved him back.

Should she help? No. She wasn’t that kind of doctor, though the event made her wonder, just what was in those “hotdogs?”

With a few dozen steps she arrived at the location. Her brows raised as eyes met the carrier. Something so intriguing and they covered it? Cara almost felt offended for the one who made the device. She rolled her own bare metal limbs in their socket, assuming a more nonchalant demeanor as she stepped behi--shoved another customer out of the way, made a “zip it” gesture, then stepped behind the woman.

“Excuse me, miss,” She took a half-step to the side where the wheelchair-bound lady could see her, “How would you like a trade? I buy you some--” she gave a wary glance to the food vendor, “actual food, and you tell me about that delightful piece of hardware you have connected to your arm. Deal?”

While she was distracted Aidee popped out a small clamp, giving whoever his maker spoke to an enthusiastic wave.

Beatrice Govan