Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Oct 6, 2016 18:15:12 GMT -8
"A far greater chance...if I stay with you?" Fifth pondered that statement for several long seconds, before a truly genuine smile slowly formed on his lips. "No. You don't understand. I'm already dead." Shaking his head, he turned from the human, truly not caring if she hurled the knife at his back. "Help yourself up, human. And yes, I do mind." Muttering under his breath, Fifth made his way back to the pilot, who even now was slumped over onto the ground. Another shake of the head, and Fifth hauled the man into his chair once more. Retrieving his pistol while he was at it, Fifth slapped the man's face - lightly - on either side. "Fel. Awaken."
Discreetly, his hand flicked the power setting on his blaster from 'kill' to 'stun'. One never knew, after all.
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor 
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565 
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Oct 7, 2016 19:02:17 GMT -8
Fel came to slowly, and in fits and starts, like a patient coming around after a dose of heavy anesthesia. There was some thrashing and heavy disorientation, and more than one false start involving an eye that may have been open, but was certainly not focusing on anything in the here and now. Eventually, it all swam back into focus. But he didn't know this face. Who was it? Jace? Wade? Thomasson? Those eyes... blink. blink. Then the second lids blinked. Fel felt a hollow, rotten presence in his core. A sickness where his soul had dwelt previously, a surging he could not prevent, fell onto hands and knees, and was violently ill scant feet from Fifth's boots. thin ropes of red/black blood and bile marred the deck, and the pilot held himself rigidly on all fours with arms locked in a rictus, insensate posture, back arched and seizing as if he might break his own spine, before collapsing to the deck, blood running freely from his nose and mouth. His natural eye was bloodshot and looked far away, through space and time, while the artificial, sickly amber unit was fixed and dilated. His breath was shallow, and he mumbled in a voice barely above a whisper.
Karana...
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Oct 7, 2016 21:35:33 GMT -8
Fifth stared into the human's eyes. The human's natural and artificial eyes were unfocused and unseeing, but it seemed as if the sentient was coming around. But, suddenly, he lurched forward, and fearing an attack Fifth hopped backwards, drawing his pistol and leveling it at the human's head. But the Fel to all fours instead, retched, and splattered blood and bile across the deck. The Fel, delirious as he was, his back arched and his eyes unseeing, could not have seen Fifth's face. For, as Fel collapsed to the plating, blood running from his nose and mouth, the only thing that Fifth felt...
Was disgust.
Disgust at the human's weakness. Disgust at the bile and blood that even now just so slightly marred the toe of his left boot. Disgust at the single word - the only excuse given for his pathetic weakness - this 'Karana'. His body shaking, the gun trembling in his grasp, the barrel tracing small imaginary circles on the back of Fel's head, Fifth's finger slowly began to depress the trigger. Just a hair was it depressed, just enough for Fifth to feel the springs give and for mechanisms to move, before, hesitantly, he caught himself and lowered the weapon. His skin silver, his eyes wide, his lips pulled back to expose fangs - it was with a hateful animal snarl that he knelt down, grabbed Fel by his collar, and unceremoniously threw him over his shoulder.
Still, though, he shook. If for only one simply fact; for Fifth, the war was not over yet. He had been captured during the war, he had seen the bombs fall, the plague spread, seen it all over the HoloNet as the Imperials broadcast their absolute dominion over the proud and arrogant Firrerreo people. That stubborn species,who proclaimed themselves superior to all other races, that bent knee to no species and no power, who, with animal savagery had cursed the Empire even as it rained death from above, whose dying words, the words of every citizen, of an entire planet, of an entire culture and civilization were - 'We, will, NOT, YIELD!'.
No. For Fifth the war was not over. And why should it? It was a human army who enslaved the fews survivors of his species. A human fleet that dropped its unhallowed bombs. Human pilots who served human masters, and a human emperor who decreed himself as master of all the galaxy. It was humans who enslaved other species other than his own. Humans who decreed species as sub-sentient, who enslaved and destroyed, multiple times, countless times, across millennia. It was, and always would be, humans. Fornicating like rabbits, their arrogance surpassed even the Firrerreo. For while the Firrerreo may have proclaimed themselves superior to every sentient, and may have even let a sentient die for no better reason than it would inconvenience them to move, they had never, not once, believed in the concept of slavery. No, indeed the concept was as primitive to the species as living in caves. Beyond this, the Firrerreo were deeply spiritual, their faith being so great that a church was a major point of their capitol. They had fought no major wars, contributed greatly to the arts and philosophy, and their largest imports to the planet of Firrerre was medicine and foodstuffs. But, despite all of this, the human Imperial Order deemed the Firrerreo a threat and a species to be completely and utterly eradicated. Culture, history, and all - no better than animals. But, really...
Who were the real animals?
Such as it was, that Fifth made his way back to Mel. Shaking, cursing, livid at the fact he had to carry what he regarded as a sub-sentient primitive through the ship. Coming to a stop back in the reactor room, the bloody human over a shoulder, a line of blood trickling down his back and trailing off behind him, Fifth unceremoniously dropped Fel to the ground. His gaze was hard, his eyes betraying not the slightest bit of concern or compassion. Slowly, his body still shaking, his lip twitched, a sneer transforming slowly into words. "The Fel has sustained damage. Either from an aneurism induced by your stun pulse, or from some other ailment. You are the best suited to repairing him. I am not suited to medicine - not for humans. He will die in agony otherwise." Said Fifth coldly, his words grimly mocking at first, but turning to coldly analytical by the end of his sentence. To any other sentient but a Firrerreo, it may be chilling - the words were said in the same way one announced the weather, or some other common place thing. Devoid of emotion. Devoid of care.
Inwardly, Fifth regretted not killing the woman. For when he returned to the cockpit, it had only then just occurred to him, had he not gotten away too easily? Had he not escaped a maximum security facility with a little too much ease, with a ship just so happening to be there waiting for him, that just so happened to escape into hyperspace? Yes. It had just no ocurred to Fifth...
That these humans were very likely spies.
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Darth Wraak
Blackguard Imperium
Posts: 197
Affiliation: Blackguard Imperium/Clan Starkiller
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Post by Darth Wraak on Oct 7, 2016 22:03:49 GMT -8
Hyperspace Transition. Former Iridonian Defense Fleet, Vindicator-Class Heavy Cruiser.
The hypnotic swirling of hyperspace was always something Venom found peaceful. Sort of. He sat at one of the vacant consoles, observing the Tof interacting very little with the Zabraks on the bridge.
At least no one was killing each other, he thought to himself.
The ship was pretty banged up from its engagement with the enemy ships, though Venom was fairly certain where they were heading, the crew would be able to facilitate repairs and get this budding new pirate fleet back on its feet in no time. After all, he was dealing with his own people. If the Tof wanted some members stationed on these ships, he would allow it. But for the most part, Venom wanted one ship to be exclusive to himself and his brother. Preferably this one. It was heavily armed and armored. It would give Venom and Valafar a chance to move throughout the galaxy unhindered. For the most part. Provided they were smart in gathering allies and hunting down those that had wronged them, this ship was acceptable. Supreme Wolfgang might not like the idea, but once Venom and Valafar were both back up to full strength, Wolfgang wouldn't be in much of a position to oppose either of them. Not that Venom wanted to interfere with the daily operations of the pirates fleet. The Tof pirates were more useful to him when they were doing their thing. Amassing credits, supplies and whatever else they decided to plunder would benefit him in the long run. Right now, they needed to rebuild and repair the ships they had before trekking out to build his power base any more.
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Oct 8, 2016 16:43:38 GMT -8
Fifth stared into the human's eyes. The human's natural and artificial eyes were unfocused and unseeing, but it seemed as if the sentient was coming around. But, suddenly, he lurched forward, and fearing an attack Fifth hopped backwards, drawing his pistol and leveling it at the human's head. But the Fel to all fours instead, retched, and splattered blood and bile across the deck. The Fel, delirious as he was, his back arched and his eyes unseeing, could not have seen Fifth's face. For, as Fel collapsed to the plating, blood running from his nose and mouth, the only thing that Fifth felt...
Was disgust.
Shaking, cursing, livid at the fact he had to carry what he regarded as a sub-sentient primitive through the ship. Coming to a stop back in the reactor room, the bloody human over a shoulder, a line of blood trickling down his back and trailing off behind him, Fifth unceremoniously dropped Fel to the ground. His gaze was hard, his eyes betraying not the slightest bit of concern or compassion. Slowly, his body still shaking, his lip twitched, a sneer transforming slowly into words. "The Fel has sustained damage. Either from an aneurism induced by your stun pulse, or from some other ailment. You are the best suited to repairing him. I am not suited to medicine - not for humans. He will die in agony otherwise." Said Fifth coldly, his words grimly mocking at first, but turning to coldly analytical by the end of his sentence. To any other sentient but a Firrerreo, it may be chilling - the words were said in the same way one announced the weather, or some other common place thing. Devoid of emotion. Devoid of care.
Even as she tried to make sense of it all, she was dragging him. No. It wasn't as simple as that. She propelled herself backward, pushing with her good leg, pulling with her arms as far as she could while still able to reach Fel. Then she dragged him to her, and repeated the process. Every movement caused the muscles in her leg to tense and work, and thus every motion caused her a great deal of pain. Through the common room. Down the stairs to the cargo hold. Up the stairs to the medlab. In all, it took her fifteen minutes that felt like three hours. When at last she hauled Galdaart the last of the way into medical, Melia collapsed on the floor, panting and exhausted. It was a herculean effort to get the pilot onto the cot and activate the medical scanner. She had no idea if the med dispenser was stocked. But as much as Fifth had volun-told her that she was best suited to seeing to Fel, the fact was she didn't really know much about what was going on inside him.
While the medical scanners did their work, Melia hauled herself up onto a chair, and rolled over to a cabinet marked 'sprains tears and dislocations' and opened it wide, rifling through the array of braces and remedies available to her. She knew what she was after, but it took a few minutes of agonized searching before she found it. By the time she withdrew the syringes, one filled with some nasty-looking opaque pink sludge, the other, much smaller hypo filled with a sapphire-blue translucent liquid, there were articles strewn all over the floor from her frenzied reconnoiter.
She looked over at Fel's lifeless form, haphazardly angled on the cot (it's very difficult to drag a sentient up onto a cot from a position sitting on the floor) and tried in vain to think of what the next move should be. She rolled the hypodermic around her palm for several seconds. Nothing clear was coming to her. It was all terrible and she wanted no part of any of it. Kill the passenger. Kill Fel. Escape with her life. Kill the passenger, for no other reason than he deserved to die, leave Fel alive (he'd be dead in a few days anyhow...) and then take the ship and escape with her life. Fireblast... step into the airlock and end it. For that matter, jettison the outer airlock doors and vent them all into space. It was during this thought that she stabbed the large hypodermic into the soft tissue behind her patela, began depressing the trigger, and then moved the applicator around, making sure to coat the meniscus, quadriceps tendon, cruciate and the collateral ligaments. She screamed, a sound which felt as though it could have breached hyperspace and made beings in systems they passed, shiver in discomfort.
When the plunger was fully depressed, having ejected the entirety of its contents into Mel's knee and surrounding soft tissue, she withdrew the device, and dropped it to the floor, where the ReGenex label rolled out of sight under two pairs of rubber gloves that had been summarily tossed.
She stood, and winced at the pressure and pain in the joint, and then stabbed the second, smaller needle into the same spot, from the opposite angle as the initial needle. As the curing agent reacted with the ReGenex, the pain subsided, replaced by a hollow, numb void. It would do for the time being, but ultimately, she'd need to see a doc, if in fact she ever cared to have the joint at 100% again. Didn't mean nothin'. Wouldn't matter soon enough.
She checked on Fel. The aged scanner was still doing its job, and had administered meds to sedate and stabilize the outlander, but was nowhere nearly finished with its task. Mel set an alert to sound on her chron when the scanner had completed and administered what it could and walked -- somewhat stiffly -- out of the medlab. Time to talk with this passenger. |
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Oct 8, 2016 17:22:01 GMT -8
Fifth stalked out of the room, fists clenching and unclenching. He heard the woman curse, but gave her no mind. Walking back to the cockpit, he found a nearby terminal, and - fumbling through foreign controls - eventually managed to activate the blasted thing - and sat back as a small hologram sprang into existence. "Firrerreo. History. Enter." Muttered Fifth to the computer, and, slowly, the aged machine brought up the desired information. Sitting down in a chair, feet coming to settle in the remnants of Fel's blood and bile, Fifth leaned back, watching the hologram play out.
:Record found - Coruscant library of xenoanthropology. Firrerreo, extinct species. After the Imperial destruction of Firrerre, the New Republic relocated the species to Belderone and Kinooine - disaster struck, however, during the Yuuzhan Vong invasion. Turning the native Belderone and arrogant Firrerreo against each other, the brink of civil war weakened the planetary population especially - allowing the Yuuzhan Vong to easily take over the planet, rendering the only surviving settlement of the Firrerreo species, Kinooine, the species' last hope.:
Despair. Slowly, very slowly, Fifth slumped in his seat, a hand coming up to cover his eyes. Belderone, the entire settlement...destroyed. He had heard of the invading species, these Yuuzhan Vong. But he had never suspected, that Belderone, so far removed, would have been affected. He stayed like this, the hologram droning on in the background, even as the human female screamed - and even as she approached the cockpit once more.
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Oct 9, 2016 7:57:55 GMT -8
Inwardly, her leg felt like a piece of rubber (which was close to accurate, currently. Semantics.) Outwardly, she wanted to show as little weakness as possible, and so she spent a moment in the hold, getting used to how her leg was going to react. Flat ground was fine, but stairs were awkward, and would take some getting used-to. Melia moved quietly back to the cockpit, and took a deep breath before entering, crossing to the co-pilot's station and sitting, turning the chair as she did to face the man 'Fifth.' For a good couple of minutes, nothing was said. He was watching something on the 'net, but she had missed the beginning of the recording. ...Something to do with the YV invasion and displaced humanoids. That might be something to ask about, but at this stage, Mel wasn't certain he wanted to speak to her any more than she wanted to speak to him. She crossed her arms protectively over her chest and considered waiting for him to speak, but she didn't want to give up that power to him.
He's alive. Which is good if you're still looking to get to... wherever it is Fel is taking you.
She checked the navacomp, and shrugged at their relative location. Smugglers. I'll be damned if I could tell you where we are. Fel doesn't tend to travel by any chart or pre-established route I've ever known. Off the radar would be an understatement. He's fast, but I wouldn't even begin to know how to alter his jumps if he was incapable. So another bonus for him being alive. When we get to the next jump location, he'll actually be able to input the next set of coordinates. swivelling to look at Fifth again We arrive at our next jump locale, whatever that is. So, how soon can we be rid of you?
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Oct 9, 2016 8:31:19 GMT -8
Slowly, Fifth uncovered his face, revealing eyes that were rather moist - but no other indication that he had wept. His face hardening again into its trademark scowl, he regarded the woman as she entered, listening to her words with split attention. As she spoke, he turned off the holonet and hologram, erasing his history from the browser as best he could. Swiveling in his chair, he turned towards the human when she had finished, and, eventually, spoke in turn. "You will be rid of me once we arrive at our destination. Serenno. More exactly, Villa Cortessa, the last stronghold of my clan. We will be safe there." Said Fifth reassuringly, though whether he was trying to reassure himself or the woman, who could know. "I am glad the pilot is not inured grievously. It would have been inconvenient to figure out his smuggler's routes. However, what is his ailment? Regardless of species, it is generally a bad sign to be bleeding from multiple orifices."
It was asked out of idle curiosity, more than anything, but the pilot - far more so than this human woman - impressed Fifth. The Rebellion, back when there had been one anyway, had mostly been human with smattering of aliens, and Fifth had to learn how to work alongside many of them, at least professionally. In that capacity, Fifth admired Fel's ability to keep going after being knocked down; if not for the fact he was brought down by weakness in the first place, Fifth may have genuinely liked the man.
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Oct 9, 2016 16:00:33 GMT -8
Mel pressed a few buttons on the console, trying half-heartedly in different combinations to see if she could decipher Fel's astrogation, and failed each attempt. She was no navigator -- that's what astro droids were for. While she toyed with the datastream, she replied to the man. Been what -- twenty years since you were last within sight of Villa Cortessa? She let this sit for a few moments before abandoning her futile attempts at understanding the savant, and swivelling to fix the man with a level gaze. What if it's gone? What if your port of call is no longer a safe haven for you, or us?
She turned back to the swirling mass of blue outside the cockpit, allowing herself to become lost in it, if for a minute or two. One thing she appreciated about this one -- silences didn't seem to trouble him. Blastonecrosis. Final stages. He's got days... maybe a week. One the console, a red light began flashing steadily. re-entry to realspace.
***
In the med-lab, at that moment, Galdaart Fel opened his eyes. He was only vaguely aware of where he was, or what had happened, but in that moment, he was absolutely, acutely aware that it was time. The ship needed him. He was cold, and donned a patient's gown over his own clothes (the only thing he could find to put on,) left his boots behind in the infirmary, and walked slowly, quietly, up to the cockpit. He arrived at the entryway just as the navacomp signalled its readiness. In a hoarse voice, he called from the doorway: cut in the sublights, Mel. pointing The three chrome stalks, on top of your station. Pull towards you.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Oct 9, 2016 18:24:57 GMT -8
"Safe? Nowhere is truly safe. Villa Cortessa will be safer. And, if it no longer stands...then it no longer stands. Otherwise...we will die. Probably." Fifth shrugged nonchalantly, turning to regard the controls of the ship. He had no way to pilot the ship, and, frankly, it concerned him slightly that they might be stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no droid to calculate where to jump next. Silently, the woman worked next to him, attempting to decipher the navicomputer - something Fifth had glanced at, and instantly realized that the an was either a genius, or a madman. For, as far as Fifth could tell, the calculations used no standard pattern or calculation that he could divine. Eventually, the silence was broken by the woman - slightly startling Fifth. As she explained the pilot's mysterious disease, Fifth shook his head, the closest approximation to pity a Firrerreo could have for another sentient playing across his face. "The word was a name. Maybe his mate. It would be a mercy to kill him. A last fight for the Fel."
The voice of the Fel from behind him, had Fifth turning to regard the human. Raising his hands disarmingly - mainly because he didn't have half a clue as to what lever did what - Fifth inclined his head and ducked out of the Cockpit, heading to the common area to take a seat.
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Oct 11, 2016 17:11:48 GMT -8
"Safe? Nowhere is truly safe. Villa Cortessa will be safer. And, if it no longer stands...then it no longer stands. Otherwise...we will die. Probably." Fifth shrugged nonchalantly, "...The word was a name. Maybe his mate. It would be a mercy to kill him. A last fight for the Fel." 'shoulda waited for you. Naw. shoulda never let you go in th'first place. Thought I'd lost you, till you showed up in the doorway. glad I didn't. He was quiet again, the cost of using his voice a deep, rattling cough that seemed useless: nothing cleared, nothing came up, nothing improved. It was merely the cough of a drowning man. The cough subsided, and he entered a few more commands on the prompt before checking the 'net. Nothing from Draykon. Figured. He smiled again, rheumy eyes finally focusing on Melia. He held out a hand. c'mon. Lessee what this scow has to drink in it... she took his hand, and walked with him to the door of the cockpit. That hurt like a bitch, y'know... they shared a rare, honest laugh. They entered hyperspace just after exiting the flight deck. *** entering the common room, a few minutes later ***Fel walked over to the bar, poking around for something to slake his thirst, while Mel sat in a booth near the holo-projector. Serenno, three hours. Till then... he produced a bottle of Gods-knew-what Fancy a drink of looking at it, and swirling the green liquid absently ...Green? |
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Oct 11, 2016 17:38:19 GMT -8
The ship lurched, and Fifth sighed slightly, relieved. The Fel was awake, and their destination approached ever faster. As the human pair entered the common area, Fifth turned his head to regard them. He had chosen to stay silent to the woman's questions - no doubt she would be curious to ask Fel in more detail. But, honestly, Fifth didn't care enough to ponder the thought any further. No, with all things taken care of, and things *relatively* secure, he instead turned his attention to the two burnt holes in his body - that, even now, were visibly, albeit very slowly, pulling together. Blackened tissue, ever so slowly, regained pigment; though in the wake of the regeneration process, formerly golden skin turned a startling shade of silver - a normal color for scar tissue in the species. The Fel said something then, and tiredly Fifth looked up at the man.
"What? Oh. No. My species has a high metabolism...it is unlikely that you, the Fel, have anything on hand with a high enough content to affect me. Besides, Fel. I need food. Protein, specifically, Fel. Lots of it." As Fifth spoke, there was no hint of malice or anger in regards to his wounds, nor the process to heal them. Indeed, he harbored very little emotion towards the human woman, besides slight irritation perhaps at the inconvenience at it all. Still, though, the alcohol's color - green, green like the sticky sap of the Jopto trees from Firrerre - brought back a surge of memories of Jopto Wine, and of Dante, who used to consume copious amounts of the liquid. "My nephew, Dante, indulges far more than me anyway. We as a species do not imbibe regularly as a rule, however."
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Oct 22, 2016 5:23:41 GMT -8
Fel held the bottle out once more, a small incline of his head saying "y'sure?" before pouring a dram for himself and downing it like a man trying to slake his thirst after a marathon in the desert. Melia followed suit, burying (between them) the ugliness of the past hours.
...
The hours passed quickly, and in a bit of a fog. (Damn the Green.) In the cockpit, Fel cut in the sunlight engines, and the blue-grey orb of Serenno appeared, a little ways distant, but Serenno, there was no doubt. Fel laid in a course, and lit the fires. The ship moved swiftly through the void, and the pilot patted the console, like a loyal dog. Activating the internal comms (and immediately regretting he had done so) he spoke -- his voice far too loud for his own liking. Coordinates locked in, Fifth. Arriving Villa Contessa in ten minutes. Please come to the bridge, if you've got a moment. He clicked off the comm, and rubbed absently at an unseen pain behind his brow. (Damn the Green.) Swivelling in his chair to regard the woman to his left, a short distance across the centre consoles, he told her what she already knew: No word from Draykon. I don't know what else to do, Mel. I just don't know... machine in the medal spit out some pretty grim facts and figures. Haven't got long. Need to find 'em. She nodded. There were no words. Nothing worth saying. Nothing to soothe. There was no point.
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Innon'Ruuk
Adventists of the Eye
There is a beast in every man and it stirs when you put a sword in his hand.
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Post by Innon'Ruuk on Dec 23, 2016 19:31:38 GMT -8
At the edge of the Vortex system, the Star Destroyer "Infidel" was spat out of Hyperspace to realtime.
Helm! Adjust course to Pzob. Tactical! Launch the Decoys.
With several decoys launched to mask the direction of the ship, the vessel returns to Hyperspace.
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Trent Weston
The Organization
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Affiliation: These guys
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Post by Trent Weston on Apr 21, 2017 0:19:20 GMT -8
Naboo to Mustafar, a few hours to the destination and a prime opportunity to get some food and sleep and they'd need it if the planet is as bad as the vids claim, fortunately for Trent he'd never been there and he doubted he'd be leaving the bridge for whatever reason they were going there.
He opened an channel to the ships intercom.We've got a few hours to our next destination. I'm making slushies in the cockpit if anyone wants to come up.He closed the channel then turned on his music and danced his way over to the slushie machine and started going through the flavors to see what he was in the mood for finally choosing Sunfruit. He danced his way over to grab his Big Sip while the tasty, icy beverage mixed, and stopped on his way back to throw down a sweet air guitar solo. "♫Don't stop me!♫"
Once the solo was done he continued his dancing and silent singing as he filled up his cup and waited for someone else to arrive and join the party.Namely he was waiting on Erly to get to the cockpit, but he knew that people had overexerted themselves with little or no chance to really recoup so he wouldn't hold his breath for anyone else.
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Preacher
Member
One step closer.
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Post by Preacher on Apr 25, 2017 5:14:08 GMT -8
**Midnight Shadow, Medlab**
...Silas rushed into the Medical bay, Isabelle in his arms. She had lost consciousness, and there was no telling how serious it was. There was nowhere to put her down. One of the cabinets had opened, spilling its contents on the counter, and it seemed Doctor Saccharo was in the midst of some sort of inventory , as both exam tables were likewise covered in equipment and supplies. Using his inner strength, Silas swept the nearest exam platform clean, telekinetically sending the items crashing to the floor. Laying Isabelle gently on the bed and activating the overhead light, Silas looked around quickly for the Doctor. Nowhere in sight. "DOC?!" he called out, into the corridor beyond... "Could use a little help in here..." Nothing. Perfect.
He returned to 'his' patient, and again called on his inner strength, opening himself to her spirit, and her condition. Immediately, he felt her sources of pain. Lacerations, internal bruising, two cracked ribs, the stitches (self-administered?) previously applied had ripped out, and the likeliest source of her current condition -- her body had shut down due to a beating that would have incapacitated a lesser individual, resulting in mild internal bleeding which, coupled with a previously weakened state, compounded by whatever had transpired outside the docking bay on Naboo, and her prolonged malnourishment, created a potentially dangerous cocktail of issues for Isabelle. None of them on their own life threatening, but the combination and circumstances were worrisome.
Thankfully, nothing Silas couldn't handle. While still connected to her, he expended more of his gift, and knit her internal wounds. The ribs were a little more difficult, or time consuming -- it was always difficult to tell which, exactly, when Preacher was connected to an individual in this way. There would be pain associated with his ministrations, and he took that from her as well, visiting it upon himself instead. Lastly, he gave her a little boost -- adrenaline, epinephrine, dopamine. Just little tweaks to allow her body to recoil from the shock to her system... maybe allow her to regain consciousness. It was amazing, the things a body could do for itself, given the right motivation.
He could have hurt her. Badly. Killed her, if he had reason. Silas could have stopped her heart, shut down her organs, given her irreparable brain damage... but he left her peacefully. When he emerged, they were moving. The ship. They were offworld. He was tired, mentally drained as was the usual way of things when he joined a being for a time. But nothing like the fatigue he felt when he had kept Adrien alive a few days ago. He shook it off, and watched over Isabelle, waiting for her to come around...
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Apr 25, 2017 15:36:10 GMT -8
Midnight Shadow - Cargo Hold
Understanding from her time with Plu that using the Force in any way requires a great deal of focus and concentration, Neassa resists her natural inclination to offer Silas a hand with treating Isabelle; and instead lingers silently in the open hatchway leading into the medbay briefly before moving away with no clear destination or purpose in mind. Her life having been one that often requires she be wary of placing her trust in anyone other than herself, Neassa is self-aware enough to recognize that she has uncharacteristically placed a great deal of trust in Silas, just as she is a keen enough observer of behavior to recognize that the sense of kinship she feels with The Preacher is mutual. Too physically and emotionally exhausted to explore any given train of thought overlong, Neassa sets her observations aside for another time; though a place for her on the crew has been made, there has been precious little time to glean a sense of what it will mean to be a member of The Midnight Shadow's crew, or how well or ill suited a fit she will be among them.
Smiling beneath her red and black buy'ce with an amused shake of her head as she hears Weston over the Wayfarer's internal com, Neassa feels her unease about the uncertainty of the crew of the Midnight Shadow's overall direction or purpose abate to a large degree; Weston has a moral compass that is more often than not in alignment with her own, and given that she has also discerned enough of the archaic leatherbound tome that informs and guides The Preacher's actions to know he too would not have sought a place with Draykon and his crew were there any grave doubts about what they might wind up involved in as a result of having joined the motley band of strangers their Captain has taken on.
Too tired to make the trip to the cockpit to try and learn why it is they are bound for Mustafar, or to entertain for long the relatively inviting prospect of finding a shower to wash away the blood, sweat and grime there has been no chance yet to cleanse herself of with the hectic events she has found herself carried along by since her time joining her fate with the crew of the Midnight Shadow, Neassa instead finds an empty crew cabin in the cargo hold to crash in.
Dragging the chair near the bed to the corner of the wall furthest from the cabin's hatch, unable to entirely set aside the constant wariness that has kept her alive in a life chosen despite its ever present and often unforgiving dangers, Neassa aligns it so that it faces the hatch, and then settles into it after unholstering her DL-44. Resting the heavy blaster on the arm of the chair, her right hand atop it, Neassa uses specific eye movements to set her buy'ce's sensors to alert her to the approach of any lifeform to just outside the cabin's hatch; and only then allows herself to drift off into the sleep she has been denied for so long.
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Isabelle Eoura
The Organization
"Be one with the shadows."
Posts: 192 
Affiliation: The Draykon Crew...for now
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Post by Isabelle Eoura on Apr 26, 2017 18:42:56 GMT -8
Midnight Shadow Medlab
Somehow, someway Isabelle kept conscious enough to hold onto her bag until she was safely on the ship, she lost her grip somewhere between the boarding ramp and the medlab and shortly after she fell limp. She was completely unaware of what was going on around her except for the strange feeling that she wasn't alone. She felt warmth throughout her entire body and she felt safe, but she didn't know why. And the last thing she saw before she fell unconscious was a shadow hovering above her.
What happened? Where am I? I remember the apartment. The click. How did that happen? And there was a fight--it's all a blur. There was something else, I think, something--someone. There was someone else here.
Her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the light as the ceiling came into focus and she gasped and sat up searching herself for a moment then taking in her surroundings as she jumped off the table ready to strike.
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Preacher
Member
One step closer.
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Post by Preacher on Apr 27, 2017 2:52:56 GMT -8
Silas held out a hand in front of him, palm out, fingers splayed apart. "Be calm, Isabelle. Calm. I'm not here to hurt you. Quite the opposite, in fact."
He made no move, stood still by the exam table, only switched off the table's overhead light which cast an odd glow over the room, allowing it to return to a semblance of normalcy. She was fully dressed. There was no evidence of inappropriate behavior or having been 'handled' in any way -- save the absence of pain and injury.
"You're back aboard Adrien Draykon's ship."
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Isabelle Eoura
The Organization
"Be one with the shadows."
Posts: 192
Affiliation: The Draykon Crew...for now
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Isabelle Eoura on Apr 27, 2017 22:46:01 GMT -8
Stop it. You look like a scared little girl!
With a blink of her eye it was like she had become a different person, one that the Preacher had yet to see. Her posture changed to confident and relaxed, there was a subtle smirk across her lips, and she had this air about her that said she knew something everyone else didn't, it was like night and day. And her speech was provocative in tone yet measured.
"You were just watching over me while I slept then?"
I feel--better. That doctor must work miracles, maybe I underestimated her. I wonder where she is, the girl's gone too and this place is a mess. Whatever she did never mind the stitches I feel like the wound isn't even there anymore. I'll have to thank her when I see her. But this guy. What was his name again? I don't think he ever told me and why is he here?
She moved further away from him as she casually felt where her stitches formerly were, nothing. Her eyes explored the room while her back was to him and she noted the scent fading scent of the doctor still lingered so either she hadn't been gone long or she was in this place enough that it smelled like her all the time. She turned as she reached the doctor's desk and glanced at Silas then looked back at the random assortment of junk strewn across the top of the desk.
"You know I'm starting to feel like this relationship is all one sided. You seem to know a lot more about me than I've told you and you've seen me naked. I don't even know your name."
She turned and slid onto the desk then placed her right foot on the chair with her left still on the floor. Her smirk widened into a smile as she bit her bottom lip seductively.
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