Private What in the Nine Hells Were You Thinkin'?

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Lysander von Ascania ​

Sibylla's heart lurched the moment his voice faltered.

"Lysander?" she breathed in growing alarm, her eyes locking onto the wavering projection. He stammered once. Twice. Practically swayed as he seemed to be struggling just to speak.

Oh, Shiraya, if he was like this, just how badly was he hurt?

"Lysander!" she cried out in raw concern, panic cracking through her voice like lightning, shattering what little composure she'd been clinging to.

The commlink was clutched so tight in that white knuckle grip of hers, a fine tremble running through her limbs. The sting in her eyes grew hotter, and she had to blink them away rapidly to keep him in focus. But even then, Sibylla couldn't help the way frustration raced over her again -- at the guards who'd stopped her, at herself for not getting through sooner, at him for going into that match alone.

"Okay. Okay, private care," Sibylla echoed breathlessly, trying to steady herself even as her voice pitched upward. That meant private medic bays, which meant... money. Credits. Lots of credits. One didn't just get placed in private care on a whim.

That was good. Good. That meant it narrowed her options.

"Cresh... twenty-seven. Right. I'll -- I'll find you," she promised him, her voice hitching in a breath, her mind starting to race with options. She could start looking at the medbays and ask where the private suites would be. With a number, she would be bound to figure it out.

"Whose comm is this? Are they there with you? A medic?" Right, questions. Probing questions. He wasn't speaking coherently, but making sure he still spoke meant she could gather far more information to help her find him.

But even as she asked, it seemed as if Lysander was trailing off like sand through her fingers in how he couldn't pinpoint why or who, already seemingly either injured to the point he wasn't recalling things or honestly didn't know.

"I'll find you," she whispered again, fiercer this time. Her chest ached. Her lower lip trembled. But her feet were already moving.

"I promise."

She would find him.

Even if she had to break every damn door on Rusaan to do it.

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Lysander von Ascania
​

Men... Danger mused in her mind as the Queen of Trade stepped out of Private Med-Suite C-27X into the larger VIP lounge waiting area. Didn't matter their age, always apt to cause one to get all sorts of riled up one way or another, making one wonder where that good sense went off to.

Danger wasn't one to skimp on the luxuries, and it showed. That this was her consideration of shabbier accommodations for the quality of medical care for Lysander spoke in spades the sort of results and standards she had.

Then again, when one considered that Danger and Alric had literally created an entire enterprise under Arkuhn Foundation for the research into little-known and deadly syndromes and terminal illnesses across the galaxy because Myra had been afflicted with Drakñahr Syndrome, then it made sense why she expected the sort of medical care that went above and beyond.

At least staff here moved a little faster -- well, perhaps not as fast as she'd like, bright fire emerald eyes lancing at the approaching figure of the medical droid moving over quickly to address the request for a pain stim.

A huffed snort came to her then, shaking her head. Impatience imparted itself like an old friend when it came to her mother hen ways, and the woman went in search of a comm of herself to use.

A data console nearby with a holo array suited her purposes, as she wasn't aware how long Lysander would take with his girl and all. Not that she was thinking of letting him chatterbox himself at length, he needed his rest, whether or not he was so keen to comply with it or not.

"Hmph," came her slight harrumph, before activating the holoarray and calling the encrypted line for Aeri to pick up.

The Zeltron's face bloomed upon the projection, and if there was any surprise in her eyes, Aeri didn't show it. Instead, it was the vague sense of humor that prompted Danger to purse her full lips as if to say, Don't even start.

Which, of course Aeri did.

"Three calls within fifteen minutes... well, this might be a record outside of deciding on Phobe's birthday present," the older Zeltron quipped, whose youthful mauve features belied the decades working with Danger and Arceneau Trade.

"Remind me to dock your pay for your sass next payroll." Danger tossed out, no real bite to her bark, already moving nearby to pour herself a glass of water.

"Of course. However, as a reminder, my payroll is subject to the late Mr. Kuhn's last will and testament." Something that promptly caused Danger to roll her eyes.

"Remind me to contact Suesen to contest that section of the Will then." she shot back, well aware that time had long since passed but was more apt to want to say something in return.

Aeri gave a broad grin and merely inclined her head, "Of course. Shall I proceed with the update?"

A hand gesture followed from those perfectly manicured nails as Danger took a lowball glass and then poured water into it.

Honestly, it would have been better if it was Whiskey, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Another reason why this medbay wasn't up to pair.

Didn't even have the necessities!

"I've sent our people to go pick up Mister Von Ascania's personal property; they should be able to pick up everything within the next half hour."

Danger brought the glass up and took a sip of the cool icy liquid.

"Mmm, good. Oh, I need you to look into a Junior Representative from Naboo. Names Sibylla. Seems like the young buck has someone he's sweet on that supposed to be meetin' up with him here. I want to get a search out, see if she is here. If so, collect her and bring her over. No need to cause her to ruffle her feathers, simply identify and let her know that Lysander is safe, and if she wants to see him, come with."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sibylla Abrantes ​

Then, through the fog of pain and despair, Sibylla's voice reached him, calling his name, as if that one word alone was enough to tether him to reality, the only thing that kept him from slipping away. Once more, his fingers curled tightly around the comm device; he wasn't just afraid of losing the image, but the girl from Dee'ja Peak herself.

Using his elbows for leverage, Lysander would try to push himself upright. The effort only sent him sliding back down, though, and his heartbeat felt ragged. Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, but he caught the warmth of her voice once more, cutting through the haze. The teen's tongue felt heavy, the effort to summon his voice even more so. "Are you still here.. or am I dreaming again?" he uttered, his words strained against a mind ensnared by agony.

But the dark side whispered: Stay.

And so he would.

Memories long buried would surface, scars both physical and emotional. And now, there was the ache of his own weakness, projected through the comm. He tried to fathom how far the distance stretched between them. Months? Years? It felt like theft, and with it, a wound carved deeper by rage. But it would be that very fury that stiffened the boy’s spine when his body begged to surrender; rage that urged him to fight for just another breath, another moment, another chance.

The dark whispered again, this time, a warning. Should he slip unconscious now, he may never hear her voice again. And so, through gritted teeth, he purposely turned his gaze away from the flickering image.

Shadows crept into his mind, a welcome intrusion to be sure.

And so, he embraced them like something long forgotten, for there lay his true strength.

Memories surged; first he saw her in the Theed Royal Palace; then Deeja Peak; New Cov; all far from his grasp. He knew his obsession with her traced the edges of madness, yet he refused to let go of what might have been between them. Perhaps, that was why shame and loneliness pooled deeper next, conjuring hallucinations, and the sensory overload that dangerously threatened to consume the little clarity remaining.

Heat gathered behind his eyes, his vision blurred as he struggled to find footing on the ground. With effort, he reached for the side rail, his free hand, raw, splitting through the burns and cracked skin, blood welled.

Steadying himself, he inched to his feet slowly, one shaky step followed by another, but he refused to fall, not while Sibylla’s name burned in his heart like sparks of hope.

Reality blurred; this tenderness, it felt foreign to the world he'd learned to endure.

And yet, he couldn't bear to let it go.

"Just.. stay. Just for this breath, let the silence not swallow everything," Lysander murmured. Vulnerability leaked through the armor like poison. "Say my name again.. like it still means something, say it again so I know I'm still in your world too."

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Lysander von Ascania ​

Sibylla kept the call open, holding the holocomm close as she weaved through the crowded corridor, eyes scanning every flashing Aurabesh sigil above the doors. Her heart thundered, pulse in her ears as she murmured, "Yes, yes... I'm here. Keep talking to me, okay?"

The glow of signs flickered past her -- Maintenance, Storage, Observation Room B -- none of them what she needed.

"Medic... where is the medic...?" she whispered to herself, her pace quickening. The press of bodies around her blurred, and in her haste, she bumped into a tall, red-skinned Devaronian.

"Watch it!" he snapped, sneering down at her.

"I'm sorry!... Truly, I didn't mean to.... I-I have to go," she stammered, backing away with a quick bow of her head before slipping past him.

"Just.. stay. Just for this breath, let the silence not swallow everything," Lysander murmured. Vulnerability leaked through the armor like poison. "Say my name again.. like it still means something, say it again so I know I'm still in your world too."

Her holoarray crackled with his waning image and his voice again, sounding so soft, cracked, vulnerable. The kind of sound that twisted something sharp inside her. He was still slipping, still so far away.

"Lysander," she called gently, urgently. "Lysander. Of course you are..."

I wish
I could compile all my messages
In a bottle to send you​

Her eyes kept scanning the signs. Another turn, another hallway.

So, you could take it
And use it
Against your sorrow
I don't want to see you at the bottom​

"Your name is the one written in the bottle, remember?" she said softly, trying to guide him back and remind him of the words he had sent to her -- Whispers into a Glass.

It's hard for you to find something to hold on
Your spirit is aged, and you're so young​

"Soon," she promised. "I'll grab your hand and hold you really tight."

Please...
Take my hand, I'll hold you
Grab my hand, because I need you​

She swallowed, hard.

"Because I need you, too."

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania
| Dress x | x | x | x | x | x | X | X |

​

Of course he was shufflin'.

All that damn noise Lysander was makin' in his room wasn't just going to be ignored.

Oh feth no, not with the medic bio-patch on his chest lighting up the holographic monitors like a Coruscanti skybus terminal, alarms dancing from his vitals like every stubborn twitch of his limbs was an act of war. The more he moved, the more those monitors screamed bloody murder.

And that sound, that sharp, shrill beep beep beep sliced through the corridor like a slugthrower blast. Danger froze mid-sentence, her comm still open with Aeri on the line. Her auburn head swiveled over as her gaze locked onto the wall mounted holoscreen now flashing a warning in bold crimson.

That sound…

That sound had lived in her bones once. Buried deep, bone deep. It was the same gods stars forsaken tone that had echoed through sterile rooms and kept her up in the dead of night.

The sound of worry. Of helplessness. The sound that haunted her from back when Myra was fighting for every damn breath and Danger herself had become a fixture in the waiting room chair, watching her little girl's heartbeat dance too fast, too slow, too close to gone.

The color drained from her face.

"Find the girl," she ordered, voice taut with something more than fear, before the screen flickered out.

A 2-1B medical droid wheeled into Lysander's room on command, its sensors already focusing in on the boy's strained form, his knees unsteady, body trembling, clearly trying to plant both feet on the floor like that alone would stitch his pieces back together.

[ Stop. Please do not attempt to stand. ] The droid's mechanical tone was as polite as ever, arms whirring out to support him.

Danger was not so polite.

The door slid open and she stormed through like a pressure front. What she saw there after had her emerald eyes blazing and sure enough, that familiar throaty drawl cracked like a whip across the room.

"What in the Nine Hells do you think you're doin'?!"

She looked ready to set the whole damn medbay on fire. Emerald eyes locked on Lysander's bloodied, defiant figure, with his one hand gripping a bloody white knuckle grip on the side rail while the other still clutched around that blasted comm device as if letting go might break him more than the lightning ever could.

Behind her, a Bothan medic hustled in, tray in hand, the same one holding the pain stims Danger had ordered earlier. Not a moment too soon.

Because Void above, if the boy thought she was going to let him get out of that damn medic bed, he had one hell of a surprise coming.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sibylla Abrantes | Danger Arceneau
​

Lysander's senses were on high alert now, screaming in protest. His head throbbed as it'd done since regaining consciousness earlier, but now there was a veil of nausea clinging to his stomach. The boy's blurred vision shadowed at the edges; the holoimage was becoming more difficult to see.

Beneath the pain and confusion, darker emotions swirled, feeding him with burning anger, defiance, and the relentless willpower of someone just fighting to survive. His body was ready to give up, but it was the fire in his soul that burned the brightest now.

As Sibylla's voice echoed, a shiver rippled through him, his entire being drawn to the girl. He locked his gaze onto her, his breath catching in his throat as a gasp escaped. Slowly, with uneven breath, he lifted another foot, then another, trying to move past the bed. Digits curled tighter around the comm unit, leaving behind droplets of crimson. Most memories conjured were clouded, struggling to grasp the meaning of her words, even if there was kindness woven into them.

"What bottle?" he whispered, voice uncertain.

There was desperation in it, too.

"Sibylla," he breathed, the name hanging like a prayer on his lips.

One thing he remembered clearly, despite the fog, was the smile on her face during their last holocall. It was the last fragment of memory he held onto as he believed he was falling to his death from the suspended Kaggath stage. And now, as he lay on the brink of unconsciousness once more, that very smile was the only thing he could see.

"My friends thought I was an idiot.. to still believe in us," he murmured. "I didn't know how to let go." Her reaffirming words danced against his ears, one of the few pleasant sensations he'd found in the medbay. "Will you.. still stay if I fall asleep?"

But before he could gather any more thoughts, a whirring sound shattered the moment with a droid approaching. His jade stare burned with venom. "Don't touch me," he spat, the sentiment cutting like glass. "I don't need mercy from a stupid machine."

The 2-1B spoke in a monotonous tone. "The subject is displaying signs of physiological distress."

A stab of pain ignited the nerves and tore away at ruptured flesh as he smacked the droid's arm away. The machine recoiled, recalibrating even, but it unbalanced himself more, knees buckling.

And by the time he regained balance, Danger's voice sliced through the tension with a tone he had never heard from her before.

The reply that followed was a dagger dipped in fire, laced with defiance as he turned to her, blood dripping down his hand. "You want obedience? Go find a droid, Ms. Dangeruese."

Maybe the tradeswoman was accustomed to barking out orders, but he was used to screaming in poetry.

The corners of his mouth twisted into a smirk as he spoke; the absurdity of this situation was clearly not lost on him. "Don't start acting like you know what I need. You wouldn't last one heartbeat as me."

Lysander wasn't entirely sure what had prompted that message, but it had already been hurled in her direction.

"I'm not a patient," he declared. "I'm nothing more than a romantic hostage now." He shook his head; a crooked grin was now etched on his bruised features. "And if that pain stim touches me, the Bothan dies first,” he muttered, pausing just long enough.

“I promise you that."

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Lysander von Ascania ​

Sibylla's stomach dropped.

His voice was unraveling, words slurring and thoughts slipping, every sentence thinner than the last. When Lysander said he didn't recognize the bottle, didn't remember what he had written, it sent a very real shot of icy fear through her.

What if he started to forget more?

What if he forgot her?

Forgot them?

No, no, that won't happpen. That can't happen.

And when he said, 'My friends thought I was an idiot.. to still believe in us.' It twisted the proverbial knife deep in her heart. Her throat clenched as she swallowed hard. She had caused that. The silence. The doubt. All of it.

And he waited anyway.

She barely noticed her feet moving, rushing beneath the flickering corridor lights as her eyes caught the sigils for the medbay.

Finally, thank Shiraya. She pushed toward the doors.

"I'll stay with you even if you don't fall asleep," she said into the comm with a shaky voice that tried to remain calm despite how her heart was hammering in her ears. "Just... try stay awake. I need you to focus on me. Just my voice."

It might not have been the medically sound thing to ask, but she couldn't stand the thought of him passing out and then forgetting. She needed him to remember. Not just who he was but why he hadn't let go.

For the first time in her life, Sibylla Abrantes expressed that sliver of selfishness because she couldn't bear the thought of him forgetting her.

But that was when the call shifted. His tone changed, and she heard him lash out.

"Don't touch me,"

Sibylla snapped her attention back at the flickering blue projection. The words hit like a blaster shot, freezing her mid-step just inside the medical unit's entrance. Her eyes widened as the holo-feed flickered and sputtered. He was stumbling, bleeding, snapping at a med droid. He was speaking to someone, someone named Ms. Dangeruese?

What in the Shiraya's sake was happening? She swallowed hard. This was spinning out of control. Fast.

"May I help you?" A Twi'lek nurse asked, concern on her face as Sibylla desperately cried out.

"Are the private medical suites here? Cresh twenty-seven. Please!... I need to find him. Now."

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania
| Dress x | x | x | x | x | x | X | X |

​

The sound of her heels hit the floor like hammer blows. Sharp and Intentional. Each step a warning shot.

Danger didn't storm across the medbay -- oh no, storming was too loud, too petulant for a woman like her. She arrived like a judgment you didn't see comin' 'til it was already here with the cold fire of control coiled in every movement.

Feth, did she need another smoke again, for Lysander spat out blood, defiance, and poetry all tangled together in beautious teenage adrenaline and spiced fueled fury.

But Danger didn't flinch. Didn't fluster. The only movement the Queen of Trade gave was a slow exhale as she reached out and snatched the pain stim from the trembling hand of the medic beside her.

"Quit starin' like a gorram Bantha caught in headlights and call the damn backup," she snapped, her throaty voice razer edged and thick in her signature husky drawl. Sure enough, the medic bolted. Not that the Bothan was smart enough to realize how much in danger she was.

Another reason to get out of this blasted medicbay into one with more capable people.

Then her gaze cut back to Lysander, those green eyes narrowing down at his injured figure, taking in the way his legs and arms seemed to shake and body trembled from sheer adrenaline and whatever the feth else was keeping him on his feet.

"You listen here, Lysander," she said, voice smooth as Corellian whiskey but deadly as the low ball glass it came in. "I don't want blind obedience. That'd make you a blasted protocol unit with delusions of poetry."

A few more steps and she closed the distance.

"What I do want is for you to stop bleedin' yourself raw across my floor like a schutta tryin' to win a sympathy vote at a HoloNet awards show."

The droid stepped in again, servos humming, trying to grab at Lysander again, and that's when Danger moved. Quick as a whip, her hand caught the crook of his arm before he could fully twist. She didn't jerk, didn't hurt him, just held in the way a thunderstorm holds still right before it breaks.

"Patient. Hostage. Ain't but a matter of perspective," she murmured, green eyes gleaming with something that was equal parts maternal and frustration, and sure as hell was final.

"But either the stim gets in you or your own body shuts down and does it for me."

And then the droid lunged again, and all Sibylla would barely hear and see how chaos erupted in a tangle of limbs, beeping bio- monitors, flashing lights, and Danger making every effort to inject the stim into Lysander's arm as if daring him to flinch. Her expression never cracked.

It wasn't cruelty.

It was care, trimmed down to bone and gristle, the kind of care that came from buryin' too many good men who thought they didn't need help.

And this one? She wasn't buryin' this one. Not today.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sibylla Abrantes | Danger Arceneau ​

"Just... try stay awake. I need you to focus on me. Just my voice."

He forced his heavy eyelids to remain open, doubt clawing at him, but refused to let any weakness manifest. "I'm trying.. but it's like.. I'm losing more pieces every time I speak. I don't know how to hold onto you when I don't even know what's real."

Lysander's gaze followed Danger closely as she crossed the threshold. Unbeknownst to the tradeswoman, her decision to snatch the pain stim from the Bothan's grip may have altered everything at play; for, in truth, she had preserved at least one life from being extinguished in this current exchange.

There was no hint of fear or hesitation in his countenance; only determination that kept him grounded, perhaps even conscious. That ever present smirk lingered, a reminder of his rebellious nature. And despite the rasp in his throat, the boy's voice still cut through the air. "No.. you listen."

His words were fierce, but they weren’t loud.

The Sith breathed deeply as his attention shifted, just for a moment, to the holo of Sibylla. He no longer spoke her name, for it was beginning to slip from his mind like so many others, lost to the storm of a fractured psyche. All he knew was there was someone he needed, someone who could anchor him to reality, and ward off the whispers of his own madness now threatening to spiral out of control. But whatever words the girl escaped spoke danced just beyond grasp, caught between multiple realities.. but tethered to none. "If you want to help me.." The frustration was becoming difficult to hold back. "Feth's sake, lady," he spat, "I should get to choose who I reach for when I'm drowning. Why do you not understand that?”

Before anything further was uttered, the woman surged forward, taking him by surprise, but not before a very specific two syllable insult etched itself around his mind. The comm fell from his grasp immediately. Upon clattering against the ground, it was like a fist to the gut, but it was the soul that would be bruised. But he wasn't ready to surrender. Muscle memory kicked in, a testament to the countless drills and lessons learned amid the training grounds of Kor'ethyr. Muscles coiled; his arms slithered forward, bloodied fingers curling around her wrists. Thumbs would press into the tendons, steadily, applying pressure.. hoping to slow any further advance.

In response to the 2-1B unit, a single knee flicked upward. It wasn't a strike, but a feint, enough to make it falter and give him an advantage. His body twisted, though ungraceful and clumsy, driven by the desperation to protect himself. The teen's shoulder bounced off the wall, nearly toppling backwards, but it was enough to position Danger as a barrier between himself and the medical droid.

Still, this room offered no options for escape. He felt trapped, boxed in on all sides. But he'd never been one to succumb easily.

That word, the one that pierced him seconds ago, flickered in his consciousness like a bright neon sign. Lysander’s gaze lifted to meet the tradeswoman's emerald eyes, so much like his own; mirth had long abandoned his face. “I ain’t no gorram schutta.”

Only once had he been marked with that name, and it nearly sparked another round of blood with Naamino during a detention.

Now, in this moment, feeling desperate, all he could do was bluff, like a gambler throwing down a hand at the Sabaac table. Under a facade he didn't even know that had been crafted, there was a plea for understanding. “I'm afraid to hurt you.”

Strength waned, fingers slackened, but he never let go. A tremor rattled through his arms. “Of what will happen when I stop holding back. I’ve hurt people before when I didn’t mean to.. didn’t want to. But it still happened. And I won’t let it happen to you.”

The name Danger formed on his lips, but the letters blurred at the edges of his thoughts. "You're trying to stop me from the only thing that feels real," he confessed, barely above a whisper. "I'm just asking you to understand me, before I become something I can't come back from."

In the ensuing silence, Lysander could only hear the beating of his own heart. "Please," he continued, "let me see her.. I need to know she's safe."

 

[Danger Arceneau]

Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania
| Dress x | x | x | x | x | x | X | X |

​

"Feth's sake, lady," he spat, "I should get to choose who I reach for when I'm drowning. Why do you not understand that?”

Danger didn't move at first.

Not when Lysander's voice cracked like brittle stone, not when he clutched at her wrists with the last of his trembling strength, not even when the commlink hit the ground with a sickening clatter. Danger just stood there, one wrist caught in those bruised fingers, and watched him.

The desperate look in his green eyes told her everythin' she needed to know.

She read him like she'd read a hundreds of men before him -- soldiers, smugglers, saboteurs, and sons. Men who thought they could shoulder the galaxy 'cause someone once told them they had to. Men who didn't know when to stop. Men who were breaking, bleeding, but still clinging to the one thing they thought might save them.

But Lysander wasn't a man yet.

In Danger's eyes, he was still a boy -- one that was hurt, desperate, wrapped up all in spit fire and grief slick, with too much ache in his body and too many ghosts crowding his mind.

That's what she saw in his eyes. Not defiance. Not fury.

Fear.

Not the kind that made a man run, no the kind that made one stay and fight, even when there was nothin' left to fight with but splinters and spit. Seeing that rocked Danger something fierce, and as the seconds ticked by she took a deep breath, taking in the sickly sweet scent of bacta along with the fresh coppery scent of blood, Lysander's blood, that now smeared her wrist and the bloody bacta gauze that had been wrapped round his palm and fingers.

Her jaw worked once, twice. Mind racing at the options and ramifications because truth be told, she hadn't meant to push him. Not like this.

And yet, Void help her, she had.

The stim still weighed heavy in her hand. Cool, clinical. Unfeeling, but the boy gripping her wrist wasn't.

He was warm. Shaking. Real.

And his voice, feth when it softened into that last please, stole the last bit of heat from her ire. Not gone, no, never gone, but it now banked low like coals under ash as she gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"Hold," she said low, sharp, but not to Lysander, to the droid. Her free hand raised without looking, a silent command with the slight raise of her pointer finger. The 2-1B froze in place behind her, servos clicking as it obeyed.

Then Danger looked back at Lysander. Really looked at him. After a second, when she spoke again, her voice came in a quiet, low, throaty murmur.

"You don't gotta hold back with me, Lysander," she added, quieter now. Compassion lingered in her expression like a shadow, subtle and steady. Not coddling. Never that. But real.

"But I ain't gonna let you tear yourself apart when you're this close to slippin'. So help me help you."

She exhaled slowly then added for his sanity, as in the background, the pleading muffled cries of a young woman calling out Lysander's name from that scattered comlink on the floor punctuated the room full of medical diagnostic beeping flaring wildly at Lysander's heightened emotional state, dangerously indicating alarming levels of his vital signs.

Through those punctuated alarms, Danger did her best to focus on Lysander, and only him, making sure he was keeping his gaze at her level. Focused. To drive what she was saying deep.

"I already got Aeri trackin' Sibylla down," she said, using the name of the girl that seemed to be what Lysander was claiming was his tether to his sanity. "So if your stubborn behind's set on stayin' awake until the girl gets here, fine."

However, her brow arched in a sharp, assessing lift.

"But you're gonna do it on that bed. You hear me?"

She eased back then, all slow and deliberate, like one would to a wounded creature, giving him space to release his grip if he wanted. No rush. No sudden moves. Just space to breathe.

And with that, she set the stim gently on the tray beside the door.

Unused, for now.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Danger Arceneau

​

Lysander’s vision was a blur; lights bled at the edges of his breath, and the distortion oddly made him feel like he was underwater. The pounding in his skull never ceased, synced with every heartbeat, a cruel echo, and unfortunately, paired with the light ringing in his ears. Resistance was slipping, slowly, steadily, the toll etched deeper with every passing second.

He drifted in and out of focus. Danger's presence lingered at the edge of his awareness, a gentle pressure, grounding but also distant.

The darker emotions had been the only thing keeping him upright, bolstered by adrenaline held tight in his veins. It was the only thing that let him fight the exhaustion. But now, once again, it seeped into every fiber of his body, dragging him toward the edge. His fingers trembled, slowly uncoiling from her wrists; the sting lingered, but he still held on.. refusing to let go entirely.

The names scattered like whispers in a storm, barely audible, barely even real. But one struck true, pressing in his chest, stealing his breath, and twisting something raw deep within.

Eye contact fractured; his stare drifted to some far off place beyond the room. The Teen's face followed, and behind those haunted green eyes, one may have witnessed a war still burning; though, it too, was drawing near an end.
The tradeswoman’s words drifted through the fog, barely distinct. Still, he tried to listen. He followed her hand as it placed the stim on the tray. But gravity began to claim his gaze, dragging it down to the pale floor, where he now began scraping together whatever he could of his focus.

At last, he let go, his breath ragged, grip faltering. Danger had already stepped back, but he hadn't noticed. His hands found the siderail; charred flesh met metal, and pain surged upward, traveling up his arm, but it did remind him that he was still alive.

Muscles quivered as he eased backward, sinking onto the mattress. The world around him muted. A long, slow sigh escaped his lips, and his shoulders slumped. The Sith leaned back, surrendering. Resistance faded like smoke. And as his eyes closed, he finally let himself rest.