Private Out Of The Silent Planet

[Lief]

Medical Quarantine
Aboard the Kiyomi SSD
Silver Jedi Concord​

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It probably hadn't been their preferred or most ideal place to drop him off at, but given the circumstances and how far the Tingel Arm otherwise was from the rest of the Galaxy's safer regions, it was the best shot they'd had. Sebastian Sorrel had been carried before the healers of Silver Rest by a member of Aeshi Tillian 's crew, and after he'd been admitted to the Kiyomi SSD's medical wing they hadn't lingered long. Certainly not long enough to see the unconscious boy awaken.​

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With him had been a droid, whose brain had been mostly fried. For now 5CR-4P was powered down, the only thing of the boys still remaining. His clothes had been singed past salvageability and any of the crude tools he'd been carrying in the pasture that day had been lost amidst the chaos. He lay within a containment chamber in the Critical Care Unit, and had yet to awaken. Having inhaled more smoke than most could survive, and suffered countless burns to his extremities, they'd initially worked to simply stabilize him.​

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That he'd spent his life cut off from the Galaxy hadn't helped matters, and his exposure to the tainted air of a sick bay had left him fighting several viral infections. They'd isolated him for now.​

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How long he was there, being tended to by the medical staff, was for anyone to say. His body was receptive to the methods they had administered, no resistance or allergies to the bacta they'd initially submerged him in, but though his mind remained active they hadn't been able to rouse him by any natural methods. They used that to their advantage initially, he was perfectly sedate.​

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At some point though the machines he was hooked up to sensed a change, and his eyes shifted behind heavy lids. Sebastian woke from a tumultuous slumber filled with nightmarish dreams, and wondered all at once why it felt as though he was choking. Panic gripped him, and he reached up to remove the breathing device from his mouth - much to the vocal disdain of the machinery which rang out an alarm in response.​

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The sounds themselves only further spooked the boy. Beyond the droid and a couple of fabricated electronics his father had engineered, Sebastian Sorrel had lived a very humble, of-the-dirt life. Natural remedies, slow living. What he could hear and feel was totally alien, and his first few moments of lucidity were spent trying to make it stop.​

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Ilias Nytrau​

 

[Ilias Nytrau]

The Kiyomi, for certain, was a good deal better than some of the space stations he had provided aid on over his many years, when it came to expert medical care and state-of-the-art facilities, but he still preferred the simplicity of feet on the ground, the din and colour of life; ‘home’ for some decades had been a cabin in the forests of Laekia. He wasn’t linked to any one locale as far as being a healer, but he made the rounds, as it were. For the time being, that brought him to the Kiyomi.

The panicking of medical machinery sounding off in alarm - far different from the racket of a flock of birds, which was no less capable of making some individuals jump - grabbed his attention, where he stood discussing one boy in particular with the Critical Care staff. The very one causing the cacophony of alarm-noise. Ilias strode towards the part of the unit where the containment chambers were situated, and went to the one that contained the boy, peering at him in his panic through the sterile division.

Ilias turned his head as another, one of the unit’s staff he had just been speaking to, came to the chamber, “He is conscious, but his panic is setting off your equipment, and the alarms are…” The woman, already working to quell the machinery, nodded, “...vicious cycle, yes,” and Ilias looked back to the boy, secluded within the chamber.

“I know this is frightening, but can you focus on me? Listen to the sound of my voice,” he reached out through the empyrean, a hand on the transparent enclosure, “feel the calm that I am offering to you.”

Lief

 

[Lief]

Sebastian pulled the breather from his mouth, all but coughing up a lung as filtrated air was sucked into his fragile chest. His head was swimming almost immediately, and he quickly realized that it was much harder to breathe without the device in his mouth, as contradictory as that seemed to him. He didn't return it though, he tossed it to one side and tried to lift his head.​

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How long he'd been lay there, Sebastian had no way of knowing. His body however was physically resisting his attempts at moving, muscles having begun the dangerous process of atrophying. Stuck against the stiff pillow, he murmured and moaned incoherently. He felt all too aware of the burns he'd sustained, walking a fine line between consciousness and unconsciousness with all the pain it pulled forth. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, then fell down his cheeks, leaving a burning trail in their wake. Everything he did seemed to create some sort of aggravated loop.​

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Everything hurt. His nerves were all aflame, and his head felt as though it might split open at a moment's notice. Even as the machines began to quieten he found himself auditorily overwhelmed, as even the humming of electricity sounded more like the beating of a drum. He couldn't block it out, it refused to fade into the background.​

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Then a voice joined the fray, and all at once his eyes decided to cooperate into opening. He immediately regretted doing so when the stark white room came into view, the lights so bright that he thought his eyes might pop. Another groan, and he closed his eyes again. Having never been exposed to such artificial light, certainly nothing as intense as the room provided, it left him feeling sick to his stomach.​

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Throughout this Sebastian tried to focus on the voice. He couldn't see who it belonged to, refused to open his eyes to try and look, the voice itself sounded disembodied, like it was coming from overhead. It urged him to focus, urged him to calm. For a moment he tried, truly tried, even felt brief flurries of serenity drifting around him, but ultimately he faltered. He rose both, trembling and borderline uncooperative hands and pressed them against his ears. That hurt like nobody's business, his skin felt incredibly taut and dry, stretched thin like leather on a tanning rack, but at least it dampened the noise in the room if only a little.​

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Ilias Nytrau​