Private The Shape of Water

[Damsy Callat]

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H O M E C O M I N G​

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Form: Humanoid | Wearing: Anti-morph armor |​

Equipment: {none} | Tag: Teac Sadru ​

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The Tithon dropship broke through the grey storm clouds permanently blanketing Kamino's troposphere and whizzed a beeline towards Tipoca City. It took to the closest circular landing pads rising out of the chopping sea. Even as the pilot lowered its gear, the boarding ramp extended. Moments before touchdown, a half dozen medical droids huddled tightly together rushed out of the main cargo bay. The chrome amalgam smoothly slinked off the edge of the ship's ramp onto the Kaminoans' platform. As it moved towards the nearest building, one humanoid model's arm rose towards the sky a fluid drip. A thin cast-plast tube full of an equally translucent liquid ran back down from it into the mass, where it disappeared among mechanical heads.​

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"Damsy Callat requires medical attention!" one of the robotic voices echoed after the doors swished open. The request fell on ears of the choir as a team of native scientists glided into the lobby. At the head was Naroh Se. She offered no words, but parted the droids with an extended hand. The crowd's heart was a woman covered head to toe in white and grey plastoid armor. She would have been intimidating, eyes and sensors glowing angry red on her mask, had she not been slumped over. Damsy looked slowly up then limped forward into her grasp, followed by one medical droid. It's drip was IVed into her armor, but not her vambrace; instead, a portion of her neck guard was removed to allow injection. ​

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"She's having trouble breathing Type 1 atmosphere," the same droid informed the amphibian scientist.​

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"Asthma?" Naroh Se asked rhetorically as they paced down the florescent white hallway.​

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The droid nodded. "We couldn't reopen the airway. However, her gills appear to be operational. She's breathing oxygenated water, but is in a great deal of pain."​

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"What caused this?"​

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"A Rylothian heatstorm, mistress." ​

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At her side, the sithspawn gripped Naroh Se's slender arm for support. The pressure itself hurt, but, as the Dauntless major squeezed, the beginnings of squaloid talons poked through her gloves into Naroh Se's lab coat sleeve. Damsy might not make it all the way to the lab designed for her since her alchemical conception by Darth Metus. No matter. There were plenty of empty medical rooms between here and there.​

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[Teac Sadru]

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The typical calm of Tipoca City had been shattered in mere seconds first from a ship requesting emergency landing clearance and then to find out a critically injured individual was on board that ship, Teac had stood and exited his office, one might say in a hurry though 'hurry' was relative for the Kaminoan however he had managed to arrive just in time to hear the diagnosis and the prior conversation, folding his arms behind him he watched the scene for a moment.​

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"Get her to the nearest medical room, she is in no condition to travel. I am surprised that she has made it this far" he unfolded his arms and reached out to steady her and would help guide her to the room along with Naroh Se, the nearest room was not unoccupied but it was not high priority as they rounded the doorway the few scientists in the room looked up and took in the scene that was happening Teac simply said a word "Out" the small group of scientists grabbed their things and hurriedly maneuvered around the injured Damsy Callat before Teac and Naroh sat her down on what passes for a 'bed' in the kaminoan world.​

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[Damsy Callat]

R E C O V E R​

Tag: Teac Sadru​

The iconic fluorescents cast a blurry vision of heaven over Damsy's dilated eyes.​

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And she groaned and lulled her head to one side, but there was no escape from the all-consuming white there.​

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What had happened on Ryloth...?​

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Had she—?​

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Yes! No...​

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She jolted up straight, cold sweat already pooling on her skin and a shiver starting to form at the apex of her spine. If she had died, what of Luna? No. No! Fethin'...feth! The incessant, concerned beeps of a life monitor somewhere didn't break the frantic spell that sudden and disjointed consciousness had cast over her, nor did the motion of ripping off the oxygen mask affixed to her face.​

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She couldn't be here! The...whatever her rank was now...Dauntless Paramount Luna Terrik could simply not be dead. She had so much yet to do for the Confederacy - Damsy just knew it, like she knew how to sing a siren's song. For their budding differences, the beginnings of a rift to be, Damsy considered Luna more than a commander, general, marshal, minister: a friend. The best, actually. And so, if it killed her all over again and this time sent her to hell, Damsy would find her and thrust her back into the mortal realm.​

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After all, stubborn was the Vi'dreya way. They had many too, but that one was all she cared for. She made her way out into the hallway, dripping blood from the site of an IV she had unknowingly ripped from her arm. Medicated and hallucinating, she looked almost the vision of the tadpole that had first left Kamino without many means to walk.​

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