Violet Hermit
The Halls of Healing had quicky become Nida's second home. While most despised the scent of antiseptic and sterile surroundings, Nida reveled in them. It was here where the healer could focus and make herself useful.
Force, it had been ages since she'd felt useful.
Coming to Coruscant had filled her with trepidation, especially so considering her history as a Sith and felon. To her surprise, the Jedi had been nothing but welcoming—though given their forgiving nature and her repentance, perhaps it wasn't that surprising at all. More than a few Alliance officials were skeptical, still.
Wiping the sweat from her brow with the cuff of her sleeve, Nida glanced at the wall-mounted display. Bay 23 flashed at the top of a list of rooms—someone had been newly admitted, and she'd just finished stabilizing a torn carotid. The Padawan had been involved in an unfortunate accident with a malfunctioning training droid, but he was fortunately that he'd been transported to the Halls in short order.
He almost didn't make it. The tiny Zeltron had to literally climb on top of him in the gurney and stem the flow of blood with her hands. They were moving him into isolation now, and if he survived the night he'd pull through.
"Go." One of the nurses said, shooing the Jedi away with a flip of her hand. She'd seen Nida looking at the monitor and knew where her head was going. "We'll take him back ourselves. You tend to the next one."
Nodding her thanks, Nida quickly shuffled to room 23 and pulled back the curtain. In the chaos of the emergency ward, she had forgotten to discard and replace her disposable lab coat. As a result, whoever was sitting in the bed waiting for treatment would be treated to the sight of a demure young woman, clothed in scrubs, covered neck to shin in fresh blood.
"I apologize for the wait."
Corin Trenor
Force, it had been ages since she'd felt useful.
Coming to Coruscant had filled her with trepidation, especially so considering her history as a Sith and felon. To her surprise, the Jedi had been nothing but welcoming—though given their forgiving nature and her repentance, perhaps it wasn't that surprising at all. More than a few Alliance officials were skeptical, still.
Wiping the sweat from her brow with the cuff of her sleeve, Nida glanced at the wall-mounted display. Bay 23 flashed at the top of a list of rooms—someone had been newly admitted, and she'd just finished stabilizing a torn carotid. The Padawan had been involved in an unfortunate accident with a malfunctioning training droid, but he was fortunately that he'd been transported to the Halls in short order.
He almost didn't make it. The tiny Zeltron had to literally climb on top of him in the gurney and stem the flow of blood with her hands. They were moving him into isolation now, and if he survived the night he'd pull through.
"Go." One of the nurses said, shooing the Jedi away with a flip of her hand. She'd seen Nida looking at the monitor and knew where her head was going. "We'll take him back ourselves. You tend to the next one."
Nodding her thanks, Nida quickly shuffled to room 23 and pulled back the curtain. In the chaos of the emergency ward, she had forgotten to discard and replace her disposable lab coat. As a result, whoever was sitting in the bed waiting for treatment would be treated to the sight of a demure young woman, clothed in scrubs, covered neck to shin in fresh blood.
"I apologize for the wait."
