Tryp West
Character
She'd looked back out the window as the golden clad mercenaries had battled with a beast in the heart of the Dagobah swamp. But only for a moment and only to make sure that they were, indeed, busy.
But also to give one last look at the still forms of her companions- she'd been their guide and while there was no way she could have known or changed the outcome that had led to their deaths, she regretted the necessity of leaving their bodies behind. If she could have retrieved them, she would have, but with the burns to her hand and the wound to the back of her shoulder, even without the presence of people trying to-
Tryp swallowed and looked back to the controls.
It wasn't her ship, but she was familiar enough that even with shaking hands she was able to get it above the trees and angled toward the clouded sky.
She knew she was in trouble. Oh, not from the fleets above- they had bigger fish to fry than one tiny freighter making a beeline outta there.
No, that last shot had done some damage. She couldn't use her right arm at all, doing all of the work of piloting the ship with her left, burned hand. The pain from that explosive bolt- only the path through the tree stump had kept it from killing her outright- made her want to vomit, but she grimly focused on the task at hand. It was a good thing she made it out of the gravity well unchallenged, because otherwise that would have been the end of the story of Tryp West.
She started with a short jump, just one system out and over. She needed to address the bleeding before starting a longer jump to somewhere with a hospital. There was no question of what she needed now- medical attention. It was difficult to concentrate through the pain and she was getting light headed, which told her she needed to get the bleeding under control yesterday.
*****
A short time later, Tryp was back in the cockpit. There had been, no surprise, no bacta in the med bay. She'd done her best but without being able to properly see behind her to address her shoulder she knew it wasn't sufficient. She was dizzy and lightheaded and not thinking particularly clearly when she pulled up communications and punched in [member="Jackson Singh"]'s code.
"'Ey Jack," she said, intending on leaving him a message. "Je's wanted ya to know dat I'm.... uh, gonna 'ave ta postpone our date tomorrow. I'll call ye when I'm back up ta speed, yeh?"
She didn't realize just how wrecked she looked- mud and blood everywhere. It was hard to focus on anything right there, and her hand went searching for the end message button- and thought she hit it.
Of course, the line stayed open as she winced in pain, leaning back heavily in the pilot's seat.
"Okay, Tryp," she muttered to herself, eyes closing. "Rest a tick, den figure out da jump from 'ere.... where even is 'ere? Okay, Vero ta Sullust meybe. Jes' gonna close mah eyes an' rest..... jes fer..... a minute....."
She didn't remember passing out. Most people tend not to.
The green light, indicating that the comm channel was still live, flashed softly on the desk.
But also to give one last look at the still forms of her companions- she'd been their guide and while there was no way she could have known or changed the outcome that had led to their deaths, she regretted the necessity of leaving their bodies behind. If she could have retrieved them, she would have, but with the burns to her hand and the wound to the back of her shoulder, even without the presence of people trying to-
Tryp swallowed and looked back to the controls.
It wasn't her ship, but she was familiar enough that even with shaking hands she was able to get it above the trees and angled toward the clouded sky.
She knew she was in trouble. Oh, not from the fleets above- they had bigger fish to fry than one tiny freighter making a beeline outta there.
No, that last shot had done some damage. She couldn't use her right arm at all, doing all of the work of piloting the ship with her left, burned hand. The pain from that explosive bolt- only the path through the tree stump had kept it from killing her outright- made her want to vomit, but she grimly focused on the task at hand. It was a good thing she made it out of the gravity well unchallenged, because otherwise that would have been the end of the story of Tryp West.
She started with a short jump, just one system out and over. She needed to address the bleeding before starting a longer jump to somewhere with a hospital. There was no question of what she needed now- medical attention. It was difficult to concentrate through the pain and she was getting light headed, which told her she needed to get the bleeding under control yesterday.
*****
A short time later, Tryp was back in the cockpit. There had been, no surprise, no bacta in the med bay. She'd done her best but without being able to properly see behind her to address her shoulder she knew it wasn't sufficient. She was dizzy and lightheaded and not thinking particularly clearly when she pulled up communications and punched in [member="Jackson Singh"]'s code.
"'Ey Jack," she said, intending on leaving him a message. "Je's wanted ya to know dat I'm.... uh, gonna 'ave ta postpone our date tomorrow. I'll call ye when I'm back up ta speed, yeh?"
She didn't realize just how wrecked she looked- mud and blood everywhere. It was hard to focus on anything right there, and her hand went searching for the end message button- and thought she hit it.
Of course, the line stayed open as she winced in pain, leaning back heavily in the pilot's seat.
"Okay, Tryp," she muttered to herself, eyes closing. "Rest a tick, den figure out da jump from 'ere.... where even is 'ere? Okay, Vero ta Sullust meybe. Jes' gonna close mah eyes an' rest..... jes fer..... a minute....."
She didn't remember passing out. Most people tend not to.
The green light, indicating that the comm channel was still live, flashed softly on the desk.
