Duel Of Liberation & Honor [Allyson Locke vs Mia Monroe]

[Taiia Locke]

//: Allyson Locke //: Mia Monroe
//: Itzhal Volkihar //: Adelle Bastiel //:
​

The bond changed.

Taiia had felt Allyson's presence ever since they had ended their call. Distant, familiar, carrying the quiet determination that had lingered beneath every word about Mandalore and the unfinished business she had insisted was only a conversation. Taiia had accepted it because trust meant allowing Allyson to walk roads that only she could walk.

Then the emotions flooded the bond with such sudden violence that she was already moving before conscious thought had caught up. Rage followed. Determination. Fear. Every emotion rolled through the connection in relentless waves, until the violence slowly gave way to something far older.

Grief

She did not hesitate; the journey to Mandalore passed in a blur. She had changed before the ship even reached hyperspace, exchanging the simple robes she wore around the Academy for clothing better suited to whatever awaited her. A fitted black tunic sat beneath layered leather that protected her torso without sacrificing movement, broad belts securing the tools she carried as naturally as any weapon. Over it all hung a long ivory cloak, its pale fabric shifting softly with every movement, the hood resting against her shoulders. Her lightsabers hung quietly at each hip beside a simple utility knife. Neither had been drawn.

The smoke rising over the desert simply confirmed what she already knew. The ship settled onto the hard-packed soil a short distance from the ruined homestead. Before the engines had fully wound down, the ramp lowered. Taiia stepped into the evening air without hurry, though there was purpose in every stride.

The devastation stretched before her; what had once been a home was now little more than collapsed stone, burning timber and shattered ground. Deep scars carved through the ground spoke of violence neither blasters nor explosives alone could have caused. Her gaze moved beyond it; she found them almost immediately. Allyson and Mia sat together amidst the ruin, both covered in blood, neither reaching for a weapon.

Relief came quietly; they were both alive. Allyson, of course she would have known instantly if she had been killed. She reached them without speaking, kneeling first beside Mia. Years spent healing had long since taught her that affection could never be allowed to cloud judgment. One glance was enough. The puncture through the chest. Extensive blood loss. The ruined hand. Laboured breathing.

"Easy." Her voice was calm and soft, completely unhurried by the situation. She placed a gentle hand closest to the arrow that had pierced her lung, the Force answering immediately; warmth flowed steadily from Taiia into the wounded woman. Torn tissue began to close enough to stem the bleeding. Life before comfort, she would ensure the woman lived at least until she got proper medical treatment; she was not foolish enough to remove the arrow in this situation.

Only then did she turn her attention toward Allyson; their eyes met for a moment, though neither of them spoke; the bond carried everything words could not. Taiia reached out, one hand resting lightly against Allyson's shoulder while the other found her side. She felt the injuries as though tracing them herself. Broken ribs. Internal bruising. Embedded rounds. Torn muscle. Beneath it all lay the familiar ache of the brand, its corruption woven through her wife like roots she still refused to believe could never be untangled.

"I'm here, Min Larel." She spoke softly for the Corellian's ears only.

Nothing more needed to be said. The same gentle warmth spread through Allyson, easing damaged tissue, slowing internal bleeding, taking away only enough pain that her body no longer had to spend precious strength fighting itself. She brushed a wild hair out of the Corellian's face with her other hand, having moved from her hip; there was no trace of anger in her gaze for the moment, just focus as she healed her wife.

"You will both live, but need far better treatment than I can provide. Especially you." Her green eyes turned towards Mia as she turned her head, as if emphasizing her point further. "Neither of you should move. While my healing arts are good, there are far better than me."

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Mandalore, Outer Rim Territories

The deserts of Mandalore sprawled.

Over a thousand years after the cataclysm, it remained an endless wasteland of ruin and devastation: Dunes littered with the remnants of shattered structures that jutted from the ground like broken blades. Glassed formations, buried beneath the shifting grains, reflected the grey, overcast sky whenever they dared to peek above the sands. Occasional outcroppings of sparse and twisted vegetation struggled for survival, their gnarled roots grasping desperately for life in the hostile environment. A memory of the Republic's cruel strike, etched into the landscape, a scab pried open again and again, under whichever grasping hand desired Mandalore for itself—a legacy of suffering forever marked by loss.

Ni ne'waadas gar.

Muscles across his knuckles flexed, his hands tightened around the firm padding of the control stick, squealing under his iron grip. Air dragged through the filters of his buy'ce, inhaling deep into his lungs, leaving the sound to rattle against his helmet—loud and trembling.

Ni ne'waadas gar.

On the exhale, he adjusted, cracking his knuckles with one final flex before he pulled back, relaxing his grip to a caress that gently glided their ship over the dunes.

Motion drew his eye. A massive plume of dark, billowing smoke ascended, its twisting tendrils clawing upward into the muted sky from its origin beyond the horizon. In his heart, he knew the source. His hand drifted to the thrust of the subspace engines, throttling forward; the vessel whined under the increased pressure, external shields and inertia dampeners braced for impact.

The internal comms activated with a flick of a switch, his voice following a moment later, "Prepare for a hot drop; I'll get you as close as I can, then swing back around to drop the ship."

Another switch prepared the boarding ramp, lights flickering across the dashboard.

Within a matter of seconds, the sleek shape of the IR-3F flew over the horizon; first as a glittering speck of silver, and rapidly growing larger as the vessel closed the distance, aligning with the billowing cloud that reached towards the sky. His fingers wrapped around the thrust of the subspace engine, holding for a second as sensors identified another ship, then pulling back. In his hands, the vessel slowed, not enough to hover, but enough to give his ally a chance to drop as they passed over the ruins of the homestead.

Then, he was through the smoke, angling the ship down into a sharp dive that scattered splintered wood and fine grains of sand in all directions.

I need you.

His hand trembled slightly, a mix of adrenaline and focus, as he reached up toward the dashboard looming above his head; a second later, the hum of the engine died with a final flick of the switch. In the quiet that followed, he pried himself out of his seat, the armrests groaning under the weight of a fully armoured Mandalorian, but holding all the same as his feet settled against the metal plates. His next step was thunderous, the cry of a war drum, followed by another and another as they carried him out of the ship and onto the ruined sands below.

He charged past the ruined remnants of the Monroe homestead, the dull sun above and the cloak of smoke casting shadows that grew sharp and visceral, like their own pool of blood stains across the dunes. A metal shard jutted from the debris, a broadhead left to glint in the dim glow, though he dared not pause to pluck it from the rubble; he made a mental note, filing it away in the corners of his mind as he delved deeper into the mess that was once a home.

In the corner of his vision, his heads-up display flickered to life, illuminating the interior of his buy'ce in a light blue haze that grew brighter as it flickered between a spinning roulette of profiles and pictures, eventually ending on the woman he found himself staring at.

Name: Mia Monroe
Species: Human
Sex: Female
Known Affiliation: Mandalorian Empire, Clan Monroe
Last Known Location: Mandalore, Outer Rim Territory

Then, with an almost painful gathering of his will, he forced himself to turn towards the others.

Name: Allyson Locke
Species: K'paur
Sex: Female
Known Affiliation: Bounty Hunter Guild, The High Republic... error... The Sith Order... error... The Si... The High... readjusting parameters.
Last Known Location: Mandalore, Outer Rim Territory.

For a second, he paused, assessing the conflicting information that streamed across his visor beside an assortment of bounties that was almost impressive, if he wasn't otherwise staring at the wounds scattered over the two fighters, before he forced himself to settle upon the other unexpected arrival.

Name: Taiia Locke
Species: Eldorai
Sex: Female
Known Affiliation: Confederacy of Independent Systems.
Last Known Location: Odessen, Wild Space...adjusting...Mandalore, Outer Rim Territory

His hands rested upon his belt, his voice little more than a whisper, "Adelle, what's her status?"

Tags: Mia Monroe Allyson Locke Taiia Locke Adelle Bastiel​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Monroe Homestead, Mandalore
Tags: Mia Monroe | Allyson Locke | Itzhal Volkihar | Taiia Locke

Itzhal’s warning had been unneeded but was appreciated all the same. The urgency he’d felt when a call interrupted their Olys Corellisi lesson had been warning enough. Adelle did one last look over her field surgery kit before putting it back on her utility belt, standing steadily in spite of the speed Itzhal flew at. Adelle positioned herself at the back of the ship towards the boarding ramp and held onto a piece of the bulkhead in case of turbulence. At this point, she had difficulty separating her own rush of adrenaline from Itzhal’s. But something else kept constricting in his emotions, something she could feel in her heart and lungs. Worry.

Adelle closed her eyes and took a deep breath in. Emotion, yet peace. His worry was not hers.

Wind roared briefly as the boarding ramp lowered before the audio-receptors in her buy’ce adjusted, the barren landscape rushing away from them. In the upper left corner, the distance to the only known location out this way rapidly counted down, a second number underneath counting down the distance until she needed to drop in order to land at the homestead. The acrid tang of smoke grew from a faint whiff to overpowering very quickly.

Fire crackled as it raged, black smoke billowing up. Krayt made her listen to the screams.

A button press adjusted the buy’ce’s filters, blocking it out. Her HUD flashed a warning: time to drop in 10… 9…

Adelle walked to the edge of the ramp, bracing against the wind that threatened to rip her off. Warmaster Monroe’s stormy presence brushed against the periphery of her awareness.

4… 3… 2…

She took one last breath before stepping off the ramp and into freefall. The engines of the ship faded into a quiet whistle of wind as Adelle dropped like a stone. It wasn’t a long drop but she still had to be careful. Stirring up more dust and ash and debris wouldn’t exactly help her when it came to healing. Smoke obscured her vision briefly then cleared, the ground approaching rapidly.

Adelle reached out with her hands, focused on the bit of ground she wanted, then grabbed air and Folded the space around her.

In a blink, Adelle’s feet touched dirt as she skidded and staggered to a stop. Her head hurt from the teleportation and she saw double what she should have seen. It felt like the wind had been knocked from her lungs.

And it had just been a couple of meters.

Blinking and breathing hard, Adelle looked around for Mia among the wreckage of what had been a nice home. Fires dotted the rubble, forcing her visor to adjust constantly. Her HUD screamed a warning too late as a short arrow narrowly missed scraping along her buy’ce.

"No! Enough!" The Warmaster's voice carried clearly over the crackling flames.

Adelle snapped her head in the direction the alert and voice came from. She sensed only two people among the rubble but her HUD pinged three lifesigns. The urgent pain also lay in that direction.

“Medic, schutta!” she shouted. Critical popped up on her HUD over two of the lifesigns. She jogged over, following the shadows of pain. Warmaster Monroe laid on the ground with Locke beside her. A third she didn’t recognize knelt beside them. Monroe lay very still.

Timers popped up beside the Critical messages, the Warmaster’s much shorter than the Jedi’s.

“Feth.” The hiss came quietly as she jogged over, fingers deftly pulling a prepped syringe from its place on her utility belt. Adelle jabbed the epinephrine into her inner thigh, barely feeling the sting, before kneeling next to Mia. She placed a hand on Mia’s forehead and closed her eyes, the adrenaline boost already flooding her system.

The damage was severe.

“Whills fething dammit,” she hissed again. Then she got to work.

It didn't look great. Tissue and muscle had healed around the arrow piercing Monroe’s lung, but it had been torn again, albeit not to the extent the arrow would have sliced through. That was the good news. The rest was all bad. A barbed arrow stuck out of Monroe’s shoulder, buried deep and slowly working its way deeper with every move the Warmaster made, every breath. Blood poured from an open puncture wound in the right thigh. The arrow in Mia’s lung was still there and its head was large. The left hand was a mangled mess. It was a laundry list of severe injuries that would have set an OR team scrambling.

Adelle dove into the currents of the Force, her presence shrinking to the size of a cell as she followed Monroe’s pulse, the rattle of her breathing. She felt every edge of the broadhead in the lung, found the strange device in its center. Adelle’s presence shrank further as she coaxed molecules to reform, rebind, smoothing the points of blades smaller until she could ease the broken arrow out. Healing filled in the gaps as she pulled painfully slow, tissue knitting itself back together as she used her own lifeforce to fuel the repairs.

Vaguely, she heard faint bootsteps and Itzhal's words as if through water.

"Adelle, what's her status?"

"Alive," she said, her voice hardly a whisper and strained. Art of the Small always made it difficult to interact with people.

The arrowhead only just breached the surface. This was going to be a long night.

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Mia Monroe //: Taiia Locke //: Itzhal Volkihar //: Adelle Bastiel //:

Allyson fell silent as Mia pulled them down. She had pulled away, separating herself from the Mandalorian and staring back up at the stars. The galaxy was so vast, and she had traveled to so many of the stars in the sky. Adventures, missions — everything and anything brought her to worlds she had only dreamed of as a child.

She listened to Mia; she could hear the pain the woman did her best to control. She felt guilty for what she had done, but at the time she felt justified. Mia would be fine… Allyson repeated in her mind. The woman had dealt with worse than an angry child.

Breathing hurt, but so did everything else.

Mia continued to talk; she wanted to tell the old woman to stop and to just focus on keeping the pain at bay. Something that Allyson had carefully learned in her travels. Unlike most Force sensitives, the Corellian was limited in her abilities. Thankfully, the powers that allowed her to keep going, push herself beyond her mortal limits, were the things she had affinity for.

“He would be proud of you.”

Out of all of Mia's words, that was what broke through the Corellian's quiet thoughts. How was Mia so sure he would be proud of her? Everything that Allyson had done in her life had been to just survive, but would he be proud of that? Allyson continued to watch the stars; her own ability to keep crucitorn going began to falter. Her mind tore the sky in front of her eyes as she exhaled a shaking breath.

She had done so many terrible things to lead up to this point. Memories of the Academy, having her mind broken to pieces only to be built up to be a detached machine that could be forgotten easily. Deniable, unimportant weapon — no attachments. The words echoed in her mind as she tried to cling to Ember's memory even then.

Her eyes blinked, and the sky was completely gone now, the ceiling only familiar from a darker time in her life. Machines whispered in the dark as she waited for the next echo of pain. There was no escape from His dungeon; there was no one coming for her. If she called those she would reach for, they would die too.

Ember had saved her then… his ghost… his memory…

Would he still be proud of how weak she was?

She blinked again, but that horrid place didn't change to something better; instead, it was a sterile room. The room stayed dark as she exhaled again, trying to tell herself it was just her tired mind. Words muffled at the edge of her consciousness as she looked at a small camera. The words happened again, but the voice wasn't the robotic tone that had often greeted her for the recalibrations.

Taiia.

She had left her. Walked out on family. The woman who had kept her memory hoped the empty space beside her would one day be filled by the Corellian again. She took so long, lost so much time; what happened if something had hurt Taiia?

A painful, but deep exhale drew her from the memory as she looked at Taiia with wide, but thankful eyes. The woman's warmth grounded the Corellian as she held out her hand to heal the spy. Allyson grabbed her hand, stopping her at what she was doing — it's not that Allyson didn't want it.

She didn't deserve it.

"Don't," Allyson whispered between them, her stubbornness now turning to urgency. One figure came from the sky, then another. Taiia's attention drifting, Allyson's survival instincts kicked in. They were moving towards them, with her down; who would protect Taiia?

Panic filled her chest as she reached for the bow at her side, and as the second figure drew closer to Mia, she quickly drew the short nanite arrow. It fired, but with her shoulder and chest in as much pain as she was, the arrow sailed by the Mandalorian. She cursed and began to get up.

Their figures blurred with enemies of the past; Allyson looked to Taiia, her hand once more grabbing the woman's wrist. Her grip tight, wanting to keep her wife close, protected.

Would Ember still be proud of her?

Would he look at what she had become and still be happy that he had taken her in?

"Taiia, hide." Allyson sat up, the bow once more struggling to be drawn as she winced from the pain. Deep cracks of the brand bled into her shirt, mixing with the wounds and the crushed bones of her frame. She began to make her way to her feet, shaking with each movement, each breath.

All of it hurt, but she wanted to keep making him proud. Allyson wasn't going to lose someone else.

Enemies were all around them, and Allyson would die before giving up.

 

[Mia Monroe]

Tags: Allyson Locke Taiia Locke Itzhal Volkihar Adelle Bastiel

Soft boot steps whispered across the hardpacked earth, the presence did not belong to anyone she knew. She was up on her elbows ready to rise as Taiia knelt beside her and stopped. Mia did not know this woman, save by reputation, but she could not say her face was entirely unfamiliar. She had, after all, tested her daughter in her Verd’gotten.

"Easy." Her voice was calm and soft, completely unhurried by the situation.

With a grunt, she lay back down, letting her eyes slide closed once more. Feeling the pull of unconsciousness tugging heavily at her, desperate to pull her beneath a blanket of darkness. A chuckle following the pointed look she gave when highlighting who needed more treatment, one that turned into a cough.

“Not exactly how I hoped we’d meet.” she croaked, opening one eye to look at her, noting the tenderness with which she held Allyson. Well that at least solved that mystery, maybe she’d get a chance to talk to her properly once all this was said and done.

The quiet was permeated by the distant growls of a ship's engine and tension eased from Mia’s shoulders, knowing it was Itzhal without needing to feel him in the force. There wasn’t a single patrol that passed anywhere close enough to register the fire as a problem worth investigating, probably something she would have to fix now, because if Allyson could get close, so could others. A fact that did not fill Mia with anything but dread, not because others could come, but because it meant pulling the homestead into the parameters of work.

The ship roared overhead, turning a sharp angle and slowing as someone dropped out of it, their presence muted, but familiar. But Allyson was moving, the bow back in her hand.

“No!” Mia surged upright, tearing through the temporary healing, the blood flowing again. “Enough!” Dizziness dragged her back down and blood flowed freely again. She’d been still for too long, momentum was no longer on her side and the blood loss was too much, even for her, to push through. Her sapphire eyes found Taiia.

“Disarm her,” she choked, blood bubbling at the corner of her mouth, “before she gets herself killed.”

A warm hand settled on her forehead and Mia’s eyes swung to find Adelle beside her. Mia saw herself reflected in the darkened visor, blood pooled in all the wrong places, now carving a red line across her cheek. Her right hand moved, settling over the healers as it pressed against her ribs a gentle reassuring touch. Not that Adelle needed it but Mia felt the need to give it, because no matter how strong she was, Mia looked like utter shit, and that would rattle the best of them.

Her eyes slid to Itzhal as he appeared behind her, hands settling on his belt, his gaze behind his visor was not on her, but on those that he did not know.

“Itzhal,” she said softly, hoping to draw his eyes back to her.

“La cuyir aliit. Di'kutla bal hbina va, a aliit.”

 

[Taiia Locke]

//: Allyson Locke //: Mia Monroe
//: Itzhal Volkihar ] //: Adelle Bastiel //:
​

The arrow was already in the air before Taiia realized what Allyson was doing. Her head snapped towards it, watching the short shaft sail past the armored figure before her attention immediately returned to her wife. "Allyson." She was already trying to rise, bow still clutched in hand despite the way her entire body trembled beneath the effort. Taiia reached for her just as Mia surged upright beside them, the sudden movement tearing through whatever healing had already begun.

Mia's shout drew Taiia's attention for only a moment as fresh blood began to flow again. "I have her." Taiia's answer was calm, though there was a firmness beneath it that had not been there before. Then Allyson's hand closed around her wrist, the grip desperate enough that Taiia's attention settled fully back upon her.

"Taiia, hide."

For a moment Taiia simply looked at her. There was fear in Allyson's eyes, but something about it felt wrong; the two armored figures who had only just arrived didn't warrant it. Whatever Allyson was seeing, Taiia suspected some of it belonged somewhere else entirely. She moved closer rather than away, one hand settling gently around the wrist holding the bow and easing it down while the other rose to her cheek. "No, Min Larel..." Her thumb brushed slowly across Allyson's skin as she shifted directly into her line of sight. "Look at me."

She could feel the fear now, rolling through Allyson in sharp waves, and Taiia reached into the Force, allowing the calm of her own presence to settle around Allyson's, warm and familiar, something steady beneath everything else. "I'm here." The words were quiet as she felt Allyson trying to push herself upright again, her hand remaining against her cheek while the other kept the bow lowered.

Behind them a voice carried through the smoke. "Adelle, what's her status?"

The name caught Taiia's attention immediately. Her eyes flicked towards the armored woman kneeling beside Mia. Seris had spoken of Adelle before, just as she had spoken of Mia and Itzhal, though beneath armor and helmets Taiia would never have recognized either newcomer by sight alone. When Mia softly called the other man's name a moment later, the pieces began to settle into place.

Itzhal.

Then came the Mando'a.

"La cuyir aliit. Di'kutla bal hbina va, a aliit."

Taiia understood her perfectly. Her eyes moved briefly from Mia to the armored man before returning to Allyson. Whatever uncertainty she had possessed about the newcomers eased considerably. Mia knew them. Trusted them. Seris knew them as well. "Min Larel..." Taiia kept her voice low, her attention returning completely to Allyson. "Seris has spoken of them." Her thumb brushed softly across Allyson's cheek again. "They're here for Mia."

When Allyson tried once more to rise, Taiia slipped an arm carefully around her shoulders, using the Force to take some of her weight as she gently guided her back down. "Stay down." She remained close as Allyson settled, one hand still resting against her cheek while the calm she offered through the Force lingered around them. "Seris trusts them, so trust her."

A faint smile touched her lips as she leaned closer. "You don't need to protect me from everything that moves, especially when you can barely breathe. If any threat comes, it's my turn to protect you. Just rest." At her words, she wrested the bow from Allyson's hand and set it to her side, well outside Allyson's reach.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Mandalore, Outer Rim Territories

Beneath the relentless glare of Mandalore's dying sun, Itzhal advanced with purpose, his heavy boots thudding against the fractured remnants of the Monroe homestead. Charred splinters shattered underfoot, blackened iron and aged wood scattered with every step, while his gaze stared beyond the immediate carnage towards the structure that remained, skeletal struts visible through the gaping holes in the ruined walls.

And yet, not once did his visor shift from the sight before him, the structure viewed through a panoramic display on his HuD, as the reflective visage of transparisteel in turn showed the injured forms of Mia and Allyson.

The Lawman's fingers itched towards the weathered leather straps, a single latch on either side holding the sleek pistols in place, each attached to a holster at his hip. Against a normal threat, he knew he could draw quicker than most could blink, the threat delivered before it had even registered—quick and mercilessly efficient.

His visor flickered, a single blink as Taiia Locke's affiliations expanded, first with mentions of Clan Wren, but more importantly, both Seris and Caelan Mataan; the former, which the Mandalorian recognised, though their meeting had been relatively short, he could see her features in the woman that stood before him.

Against a normal threat, he could draw quicker; against a force-sensitive, the calculus was always skewed in their favour. His fingers hovered, hesitating over the grip of his blasters; the instinct to draw them met with the wisdom to measure a threat unknown. Muscles tensed beneath the comforting mould of the bodysuit; his stance adjusted with a slow drag of his toe scraping aside some of the debris around him, while he glanced over the ruins and the obstructions that would reduce the mobility of the jetpack attached to his back.

Once more, he shifted his wrist, the shards of metal that composed the whistling birds merely awaiting the call to action.

Then, he pivoted towards the voice that had called his name, an almost instinctive response that drew his attention like a moth to a flame. His entire being shifted towards Mia Monroe, the tension and threats postponed as he focused on her; the urge to eliminate the danger faded to a dull echo of the worry that had washed over him when he first received her distress signal. In the harsh glare of his visor, her weary expression emerged—tainted with the deep gashes and bruises etched across her body, and yet, even in this moment of vulnerability, she seemed resolute, almost dismissive of the torment her body had endured, as if her spirit, unyielding and fierce, was determined to rise above the wounds that marred her frame.

In a moment, which may have been seconds, or may have been hours, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to cradle that light or smother it; if only so she wouldn't dismiss the damage done.

She's family.

Was that enough to wash away the sins? Did one gain a pass not only to harm, but to maim, simply because they shared a bond?

No, they did not. His fingers clamped along the latch of his holster, prying against the magnetic seal, but then he hesitated, a moment of indecision as his eyes wandered over the cold blue eyes drowning with pain. Justice burned within him, a heated throb that pulsed down his arm and demanded retribution stained with blood, delivered with a firm hand and yet, where was the line drawn between justice and vengeance when those who had suffered desired nothing more than the bloodshed to stop?

"Someone better start knocking some sense into them soon," he said, turning with a growl that rumbled like thunder, both hands squeezing down on an invisible threat with enough power to tear through steel and flesh. He pivoted once, his boots hammering a line in the sand, while he forced himself to breathe, every inhale shorter than the last.

Until he turned back to the scene of the crime, forcing himself to stillness, as he spoke once more, regardless of how useless he felt in the moment, unsure if anything he said might distract Adelle when she'd already responded, despite how clear it was that every moment of attention had to be spared to keeping the two alive, "There's a bacta tank in the ship."

Tags: Mia Monroe Allyson Locke Taiia Locke Adelle Bastiel​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Tags: Allyson Locke | Mia Monroe | Taiia Locke | Itzhal Volkihar

Every shift Monroe made widened injuries that Adelle couldn’t yet get to. If the woman didn’t hold still, Adelle was going to have to use everything in her arsenal to save her life. As if she wasn’t already nearing that level. And then there was the other source of pain that needed immediate medical attention. Adelle frowned, concentrating on the arrow embedded in Monroe’s chest. She was going to need a long nap after this.

"There's a bacta tank in the ship."

The arrow finally slipped free from Monroe’s chest, falling to the ground as Adelle released her telekinetic grip on it. A bacta tank, good. She might not have to use everything she had. Muscle and tissue healed enough to not be lethal before she turned her attention to the puncture wound in the thigh. The arrowhead had narrowly missed the femoral artery and based on the damage, Monroe was damned lucky she hadn’t nicked it pulling the arrow out. Adelle poured her focus and healing into it, able to work much faster than she had on the lung. Enough to stop most of the bleeding.

Adelle risked a quick glance at Monroe’s face and eyes, gauging how much she’d lost already. Too much for Adelle’s liking. As she moved a hand to Monroe’s injured shoulder, she used Art of the Small to quicken the creation of new blood cells, new plasma cells, everything that the Warmaster had lost. She’d likely still need a blood transfusion but this would at least get her to proper medical attention. Her presence still the size of a molecule, Adelle once again coaxed the embedded arrowhead to reshape itself. The barbs smoothed themselves out along the edges until Adelle could ease it out with the Force. It hit the ground with a soft, unceremonious thud. Healing knit flesh back together in its wake, even though blood still trickled from the wound when she moved a hand to Monroe’s ruined one.

Beskar had fused with flesh and shards littered muscle. Bone had been shattered in places and some of the tissue looked scorched. Adelle wrapped the Force around the hand, lifting it into the air as she searched for the pieces and stemmed the blood flow from the radial artery.

There was no saving it. If it had just been the hand, if she had days to heal it, maybe, maybe she could reconstruct it cell by cell. She’d restructured muscle and sinew before but the cells had already been there. Trying to save Monroe’s hand was impossible.

Tiny glittering pieces of metal mingled with splinters of bone as Adelle pulled them all from the mangled flesh. While the hand couldn’t be saved, it wouldn’t do for infection from foreign bodies to be allowed to incubate and spread. After checking twice, three times for more fragments, Adelle gently set the hand on Monroe’s body and pulled a tourniqet from her field surgery kit. She set it above the ruined gauntlet, twisting it painfully tight until she couldn’t sense blood flowing from the artery. A button press timestamped the time of application: the medical team that operated on Monroe would need it.

Adelle withdrew her presence from Monroe and stood unsteadily. It always took a moment to readjust to the larger world and remember how to breathe on her own. Her head turned toward Locke. The redhead standing next to her seemed weirdly familiar.

“Your turn,” Adelle said hoarsely, breathlessly, as she walked over. She pulled another syringe from her belt and inserted it into her own arm without needing to look. Adrenaline flooded her system again, giving her a much needed boost. “I don’t have pain meds strong enough but you’re going to have to hold still.”

She knelt and just like with Monroe, she put a hand on Locke’s forehead. Again, her presence diminished to nothing as she listened to Locke’s breathing, felt her pulse, and matched her own to it. Then she got to work. Internal hemhorraging needed to be stopped, broken bones needed to be set, and blood needed to be replaced.

There’d only been one she’d lost healing like this and she planned on keeping it that way.