Homeostasis

[Vittoria]

While Nicandra Plaza boasted one of the nicer shopping centers in the Senate District, the well-off pedestrians often made prime targets for pickpockets. Even rumors of a vigilante keeping an eye on the streets only slightly lessened the presence of shady figures loitering outside closed store fronts, eagerly perusing the passerby's for their next mark. Upon first glance, Vittoria looked the part. Garbed all in white that made her mildly tan skin stand out all the more, plodding forward on three inch heels, with her blonde hair done up in a mess bun halfheartedly pinned in place with chopsticks, and her face partially obscured by a sizable bag of goods from the grocer clutched in both arms; it was doubtful she could even really see where her feet were landing let alone who might be flanking her.

One individual, creeping out from the shadows of a building, had espied her somewhat woven walk forward and steadily came up behind her. He jabbed a small blaster into her side, prompting her to jump and then halt at the mouth of an alley. "Give me all the credits you have." Said a mucous laden voice that slowly came to the forefront as the thug shifted around in front of her, dragging the barrel of his weapon along her ribs. He stuck out the hand not holding the blaster.

Vittoria lowered the bag as much as she could and peered over the wavy-cut top of it, her eyebrows arched up and her cobalt eyes wide in surprise. "Oh, of course!" She said almost cheerfully, shoving the bag of goods into the man's arms which, having surprised him utterly, came up and dutifully held her groceries while she fished around in her purse; still keeping the blaster trained in her direction and his scruffy face focusing a dubious look her way. Two credit sticks, both with a decent amount stored on them, were brandished and she smiled rather whimsically at him.

"Here you are, dear." She said, holding one hand out for the groceries and the other with the credit sticks. He reached for them and as he did, she saw a long, jagged cut on his tattooed forearm. She gasped, causing the blaster to waggle with his shock, and began rifling through her purse once more. "You really should put something on that, dear. Looks terribly infected. Here now, just hold still a moment..." She slathered something from a small tube onto his arm. "A spot of gimer bush tea will help immensely with the mucus too. Don't be shy now. Take these." She handed him the tube of antibiotic cream and the credsticks, then took her bag back.

Then, with one last smile, she resumed her amble down the street; leaving a very dumbfounded pickpocket in her wake.

The Hospital Plaza was adjacent to where she'd done her shopping and so it was only a short walk back to the small, elite clinic that she'd started work at. The practice was composed of mainly overpaid doctors who catered to snob clientele who could afford their overpriced concepts of wellness. Vittoria worked the night shift which meant she would be in the small but posh building alone unless someone got called in or it got to be morning. She fumbled for her keycard, flicking her gaze to the side when she detected movement. The scent of blood wafted to her nose and the sound of labored breathing made her protocols kick into overdrive.

"Sir, are you... all right?"

[Matthis Stroud]

It wasn’t the first injury, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. At least he’d had that confidence about an hour ago, when he kept pushing himself. They tended to pile upon each other though, and while bleeding stopped at one time in spite of the lack of detail given to tending to it, the next fight would reopen it, and create new problems. He was headed back to turn in for the night, feeling more groggy than he had in a while, but attributing it to his old age. He was definitely slowing down. In his prime, he would have made the night with maybe a bruise and a small abrasion. Not so lucky now.


The side of his face was blackened, the result of a nearby explosion, and the flesh around that eye just a tad swollen. His right hand lapsed from his rifle, letting it hang by the strap from his shoulder, while it reached across to address the sudden tingling at his side. He hadn’t remembered being cut, but his hand came back more red than he would have expected. That sudden realization made him a touch dizzy, and he stumbled against the wall beside him, plastering his own graffiti in the form of a bloody handprint.


The hospital plaza wasn’t far. He knew he could make it. His fingers dragged across the wall, leaving a trail from the handprint, and pushing himself back to a taller stand. His mind puzzled what to do when he got there, anything to keep it active. Break in. Steal some supplies. Dress the wound. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how. He’d fought in the war in his younger days, and fallen in with the Sector Ranger’s after that. He made it to a single building, having not given enough attention to recognize it for it’s posh exterior. Such buildings had better security than his mind could presently handle, and he’d failed to make it in. It had ended with him stumbling to the side, missing the stairs and landing off to the side in a small alcove adjacent to the door, shadowed enough to be classified as out of sight.


A voice called out a question, stirring his mind back to coherence. He wasn’t sure if he’d passed out or not, but he had presence of mind now regardless. “Yeah, fine.” He stated with a confidence he shouldn’t have had, stemming from a pride that would get him killed. “Just need to pick up a few medical supplies than I’ll be on my way. I can pay.” His hands grasped a rail, pulling on it laboriously to bring him to a stand and into the light. He looked more a prowler than some vigilante, all in black, garments in a poor state. Appearances were the last thing on his mind though.

[Vittoria]

There was the sound of the keycard sliding through the slot and the beep of the door unlocking. Vittoria opened the door and slid her bag of groceries forward with her foot, allowing it to prop the door open as she made her way over to the man. With the utmost gentleness, she guided his arm around her shoulders and looked into his injured face. "You need more than a few supplies, I think. Now, don't give me any lip, mister. I intend to fulfill my duties as a medical professional." She moved them along the wall to the entrance of the clinic, using her other arm to push open the door and her foot to further nudge aside the bag. "Here we are."

The lights flickered on as they both stepped inside and she guided him toward one of the chairs, leaning over him and placing her slender fingers beneath his chin. Her retinal scanners assessed the damage in a single once over. Bruised ribs, multiple contusions on the face. abrasions ranging in seriousness, and the dermal layer of his face had sustained burns. Hardly the kind of thing a bacta patch and some painkillers were qualified to fix. "Stay. I'll get some supplies and be right back." She murmured, smiling down at him before pivoting on her high heels and making her way toward the locked cabinets in the rear of the clinic.

She gathered up some bandages, several bottles of bacta salve, a vat of nullicaine, and a bottle of painkillers. With some tools also placed onto the compact tray, she returned to the waiting room where she'd left the injured... man.

"Still with me?"

[Matthis Stroud]

He didn't really have the strength to resist her, and he wasn't going to push this woman away when he clearly did need help. Matthis preferred not to owe anyone anything, and he kept connections at a minimum where he could, but he didn't really have a choice right now. Typical grumpy old man who preferred to go it alone, he complained mentally to himself but otherwise suffered in silence. She aided him into the door, showing a surprising strength that he also attempted to make easier on her by grasping for any handle he could and generally just stifling off the pain through sheer grit and determination. It didn't take long to get him to a chair, which he fell heavily into. Were it not secured to the floor, he was sure it would have scraped across the tiled floor from the momentum of his frame falling into it.

She studied his face intently, appraising the very apparent damage in a studious fashion, the determined look upon her face conveying the sort of feeling that she was attempting to figure out the answer to a riddle. It was a tad unnerving, but he wasn't going to be vocal about such things. She wandered away to go gather the things she would need to tend to him, and he let his form relax back into the seat for the first time. He breathed a sigh as he settled into the cushions, the tension flowing out and his eyes closing for a few moments. "Still here." He spoke with eyes closed, appearing on the verge of sleep but coherent enough to take in her question. "What's the bill gonna be?" He had to ask, not altogether comfortable with the concept of having her render her services than mark him with some ridiculous bill.

[Vittoria]

"Never you mind the cost, dear. Let's just get some of this salve onto your burns." She cooed softly while setting the tray carrying her medical tools on the small table next to his chair. She stepped between his knees, leaning over to spray some antibacterial serum on her hands. She took up a slim forceps and then used it to grip a bit of sterile cotton, applying some of the nullicaine to it; all the while her lips pursed and eyebrows knit forward in concentration. Bracing a hand on his shoulder, she dabbed at his face gently.

"So, my friend... Dare I ask what you were doing that landed you with these injuries? Surely not gang activity." She conversed lightly, her hand moving from his shoulder to brush some of his blood tarnished forelock from his face. Once she was done with the nullicaine, she discarded the cotton and took up another for the bacta. She smoothed it over his face liberally. "Without full submersion, this will take a few days to heal. I'll send you home with some bacta and painkillers. The salve should prevent infection but any signs of worsening, please contact me. With these wounds so close to your eye, I don't want to take any chances."

Her thighs bumped his knee as she stepped back to admire her work. Then, her gaze dipped down further along his frame. "I'll need to see the ribs, as well..." She informed him, tugging at his jacket. "Oh, my name is Vittoria, by the way."

[Matthis Stroud]

Matthis sank back into the cushion, almost a recoil from all of her doting, but with no where to go he really didn't have a choice. He was grateful though, even if he didn't want to easily admit it at the moment. When she came in close to dab at his face, his eyes closed to shield themselves from getting anything into them. His mind lapsed to memories of his home, with his wife. She'd insist on checking him out after an altercation with his work, even when the medical teams had already done so. They were depressing thoughts that he was glad to banish when she began speaking to him again. Of course the topic she broached was an uncomfortable one as well.

"Nope, not gang activity." He was tempted to leave her with the curt and unfinished reply, but opted not to out of gratitude. His face cooled at the nullicaine worked it's wonders, until their was the gentle thrum on his skin at just the outskirts of the applied area. "Hurting bad people, is the easy way to explain it." He didn't go off into tangents of the work he was doing, why he was doing it. She'd already been given more of an answer than he would have given anyone else on the matter. She gave her 'take two and call me in the morning' bit after his explanation, and he questioned quickly for clarity. "You're the night shift then?" He preferred it that way. Less people, and he often slept during the day when he got much sleep at all.

He shifted only slightly as she stood tall, looking over him, then requested he remove his shirt and jacket. He leaned forward to do that, putting an uncomfortable proximity between them that he didn't think much of as he struggled to remove his jacket first. As he painfully twisted, turned and reached back he contemplated how she was aware to chest his ribs, but chalked it up to experiences with similar patients. It was only with a little bit of help he got his jacket off, and the shirt required much the same assistance. "Suppose I should have your name if you're going to try to take my clothes off." He jested in a dry tone. "Matthis."

[Vittoria]

"Bad people, you say? So, you're a hero then. That's amazing!" She replied immediately, her face lighting up with all the respect she felt and beaming down at him in pure wonder. "Night shift, yes. Although, I am beginning to wonder if I am just a glorified receptionist. Rich doctors and rich clientele seem to maintain very similar sleep schedules. But, I don't really mind." She told him, still maintaining her smile.

"Matthis." She repeated, seemingly unaffected by his comment.

Without waiting to see if he'd struggle with his clothing or not, Vittoria reached for his jacket and helped him out of it; draping it over the chair and then coming back to help with his shirt. Her first impulse was to cluck and croon over the scars on his abdomen; mementos left behind from excessive fighting and poor medical care in the aftermath of them. Instead, she focused on the dark purple bruising on one side of his rib cage. Her hands assessed the difference between the two sides of his torso while her retina scanners delved deeper into his injuries. "Bruised but no breaks. This is very good. Looks like it hurts terribly." She murmured, silently thinking that he was probably going to say something along the lines of I've had worse.

"I have some compresses of my own design that should alleviate the pain and swelling. I don't suppose I can talk you into a follow-up visit, hm?"

[Matthis Stroud]

He struggled to remove his jacket, mobility limited as was evident by the way she found him, but with her aid he was able to do so albeit painfully. Regardless of that he put on his best tough guy act, tensing his jaw rather than truly show pain. With his torso obstructing clothing removed, he set back into the cool padding of the chair, his hands going for the armrests. Her hands applied gentle pressure in differing locations, and he held a stoic expression minus the slight uncontrollable lip twitches, coupled with the tightening of his hands against the arms.


She must have felt no crepitus in her exploration of his torso, because she resolved he had no breaks, without the need for an x-ray. Now that he could compose words without him poking and prodding at parts of him that ached, he answered her earlier statements, and true to her assumption he said just what she expected. "I've had worse, and I'm no hero, just not a bad guy." People that did good things outside of the law, didn't often view themselves as heroes as much as those that worked within the law and sat upon their seat on high, looking down on those that didn't give themselves to the same calling. He'd been there, and had enough of that.


"That depends on your discretion." He confessed. His arms tightened all the way from his wrists to his shoulders as he pushed himself up to a slightly bent stand. "I don't need this catching up with me, and you don't need anyone following up on you. So if we can pretend we never saw each other between visits, then I'll come back doc." In reality he wouldn't have minded being able to trust someone, because he knew the lifestyle would catch up with him as it almost did presently. He looked around for where she had deposited his shirt, his jacket still draped over the chair. "You never did say the cost."

[Vittoria]

As he said exactly what she expected, Vittoria couldn't help but let a small, knowing smile curve her lips. He rose and mentioned her discretion, her eyebrow quirking at the initial implication. Then, he explained that it had to do with his line of work and she understood. While she doubted it would be easy to pretend she never saw him, if that was what was required to deliver exemplary medical care to someone injured than she'd just have to go along with it. She nodded her head and reached for his shirt, helping him put it back on.

"You need not worry about my discretion, Matthis. Doctor patient privilege, you know." She advised him cheerily, reaching for his jacket once his shirt was back in place. Once he put that on, she removed a lighted, plastic card from a tray on the table beside the chair and slipped it into his jacket pocket. "My personal comm numbers. If you're ever in need of assistance, do not hesitate to call me."

She stepped away from him, her smile taking a somewhat sad turn. It was quite strange, the disheartening sensation in the center of her chest his disassociation from her had caused. As a human replica droid, her emotions were as on par with the real deal as they could be. She would have to do some research into this. "No, no cost. Perhaps I will think of some other way for you to help me in the future. For now, be safe."

[Matthis Stroud]

With her aid he pulled his shirt then jacket back on. To say he was an oblivious man was an understatement. It'd been too long since he'd paid much mind to the emotions of a woman. The last woman he could remember doing so for, was his now passed wife. He wasn't as aware of the way he suggested and said things, nor as observant concerning how she might receive the things she said. Any other man might have also thought the personal comm was a flirtatious advance, but he saw it for probably as she intended it.


He reached a hand up, his index pushing the card she gave him deeper into his pocket to assure it wouldn't fall loose. He intended on taking her up on that even if he didn't really want to get her involved, better to have the card and not need it. She dismissed him with the assurance that he didn't owe her anything, and yet the fact that she suggested he might owe her in some other way still left him feeling like he had a debt to her.


A few days came and went before Matthias returned to the clinic, in the same off hours in which he had first met with her. He didn't schedule an appointment, so as to keep that element of randomness that he saw as a necessity. He moved much better, taking her treatments as directed. The pain lingered, but only as a mild reminder of what had happened days prior. In time, he would forget it altogether, not truly learning from his mistakes. "Another quiet night, Doc?" He questioned as he entered her clinic, shedding his jacket as he went. It was tossed down atop an examination table, and he sat in the same chair as before, awaiting her instructions.

[Vittoria]

Vittoria was in the midst of organizing one of the medicine cabinets when the door chimed to announce a patient. She turned just slightly, a most radiant and happy smile spreading across her mouth when she took in who it was. The bottle of sedatives dropped right out of her hand but she recovered it just before it hit the floor. Slipping it into the cabinet, she closed the door and punched the lock with her index finger before moving over to Matthis. "Quiet, yes. So good to see you again. I hope you are faring well and the injuries haven't given you much trouble."

Her blonde hair was perched atop her head in a messy ponytail and as was custom, she was clad in white; lab coat, knee-length sleeveless dress, and white heels. Her footsteps fell lightly upon the tiled floor as she approached, brushing a stray strand of her bangs from her face. "Let's have a look, shall we?" Gingerly, she tugged him out of the seat and then went about softly palpating his rib cage. A retinal scan confirmed he was healing nicely. "You must have had some days off from hero duty, the healing process is proceeding well enough. Have the compresses helped with the pain and swelling?"

[Matthis Stroud]

He rose with her urgings as she circled and felt around at his chest, applying enough pressure to remind him of that dull ache that wasn't too dissimilar to poking at a bruise. It was a pleasant sort of pain that served to keep him alert and conscious of an injured area. "That was a good catch." He remarked on her superb reflexes from just moments before concerning the bottle of sedatives. It was off topic, but something noted and found at least mildly surprising.

Matthis slowly pulled up at the hem of his shirt. The bruised area of his ribs had graduated from the dark purple and red, to a fading yellow that began to return towards a normal skin tone with only light hints of purple. "Guess I got lucky. I feel fine." In more ways than one: things hadn't been worse, she had been willing to help him, and the nights had indeed been quieter. He'd half expected things to escalate for a few days following that last run-in. "What about you? Have you noticed any suspicious figures? Anything out of the ordinary?" He hadn't wanted to involve her, and he feared her becoming collateral damage. His worry for such a thing might not have been so high, had it not hit close to home.