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.