Just a bit..Dead
[1780 hours, Anaxes Station]
[
Constantine Oliva
]
Why?
Teica’s head shook once, twice, hands shivering, and mind cursing herself for the Resolution's...
A quiet exhale, and a momentary shake of the head came to be, followed by the gradual collapse of her posture while the commander slumped against a nearby wall. Her cane struck the ground as well, a resounding clang jumping out with the impact. For the briefest of moments, Teica’s right leg screamed in agony, but was quickly silenced with another inhale, and another exhale. Back resting against the cold metal of the station’s corridors, and without reason to come to a stand, she simply waved off any concerned look that aimed her way.
Maybe a year before, she would have been embarrassed by such a display. But, a lot had changed since then, and if there was one thing she understood about her own life, it was that change would be the only predictable factor.
It had been eight days since the massacre at Csilla, and the fiery death of the ANV Resolution; Eight days since the tendons in her right leg shattered, and the muscles ruptured; Eight days since she lost her closest confidant, and plenty more of her crew. Further more, it had been seven days since the Alliance doctors had torn what was left of her knee apart, to be warped and infused with metal and various other prosthetics.
They were expecting her in the wardroom.
Reluctantly, Teica rose to a stand, hands shuddering and driving the cane into the station's flooring. Eyes scanned away from the uniform's trousers, her mind distracting itself from dwelling on the twisted flesh hiding far behind, and she set off for the Officer's Mess.
The doors slid open, and let the blinding, but cozy glow of the Wardroom's interior smile her way. She recognized few of the officers, still learning faces around the station, and it didn't help that most of her time was spent recovering in sickbay, and strolling around her own temporary quarters. Teica did, however, recognize the senior-most attendee, Wing Commander Stannis Beren. The following conversation was entirely silent, Teica starting with a salute, waiting for the nod of confirmation, before proceeding to one of the emptier tables in a collection of two others-- each not so far from the other. The room was very much not to full capacity, nor meeting average capacity; official meal time was not for another ten minutes, after all.
"G'day, Miss Giraan," Before she knew it, the captain in front of her had dealt in several piles of Sabacc cards, another captain and lieutenant commander alongside, "Ready to finally be dethroned?"
"We'll see about that, Miss Dolpho." Teica glanced at the two others, "Yaquee. Kenth."
A nod came from a Bothan and Chandrilan, while the Coruscanti captain placed down the first bet.
"3 credits..." The captain caught her staring at the door, "Waiting for someone?"
"No. No." The commander cleared her expression, "Uh... 4 credits."
[

Why?
Teica’s head shook once, twice, hands shivering, and mind cursing herself for the Resolution's...
A quiet exhale, and a momentary shake of the head came to be, followed by the gradual collapse of her posture while the commander slumped against a nearby wall. Her cane struck the ground as well, a resounding clang jumping out with the impact. For the briefest of moments, Teica’s right leg screamed in agony, but was quickly silenced with another inhale, and another exhale. Back resting against the cold metal of the station’s corridors, and without reason to come to a stand, she simply waved off any concerned look that aimed her way.
Maybe a year before, she would have been embarrassed by such a display. But, a lot had changed since then, and if there was one thing she understood about her own life, it was that change would be the only predictable factor.
It had been eight days since the massacre at Csilla, and the fiery death of the ANV Resolution; Eight days since the tendons in her right leg shattered, and the muscles ruptured; Eight days since she lost her closest confidant, and plenty more of her crew. Further more, it had been seven days since the Alliance doctors had torn what was left of her knee apart, to be warped and infused with metal and various other prosthetics.
They were expecting her in the wardroom.
Reluctantly, Teica rose to a stand, hands shuddering and driving the cane into the station's flooring. Eyes scanned away from the uniform's trousers, her mind distracting itself from dwelling on the twisted flesh hiding far behind, and she set off for the Officer's Mess.
. . .
The doors slid open, and let the blinding, but cozy glow of the Wardroom's interior smile her way. She recognized few of the officers, still learning faces around the station, and it didn't help that most of her time was spent recovering in sickbay, and strolling around her own temporary quarters. Teica did, however, recognize the senior-most attendee, Wing Commander Stannis Beren. The following conversation was entirely silent, Teica starting with a salute, waiting for the nod of confirmation, before proceeding to one of the emptier tables in a collection of two others-- each not so far from the other. The room was very much not to full capacity, nor meeting average capacity; official meal time was not for another ten minutes, after all.
"G'day, Miss Giraan," Before she knew it, the captain in front of her had dealt in several piles of Sabacc cards, another captain and lieutenant commander alongside, "Ready to finally be dethroned?"
"We'll see about that, Miss Dolpho." Teica glanced at the two others, "Yaquee. Kenth."
A nod came from a Bothan and Chandrilan, while the Coruscanti captain placed down the first bet.
"3 credits..." The captain caught her staring at the door, "Waiting for someone?"
"No. No." The commander cleared her expression, "Uh... 4 credits."