Fresh scars

The fight with the group of Dark Jedi was over, or so s'Il hoped. She wasn't in any sort of condition to carry on, and neither did the bar. It looked as though a wrecking ball had been taken to it.

Standing for a moment, s'Il stared at the mess all around her while setting the bottle she'd blindly grabbed for on the bartop. The lighter she merely let fall to the floor as she leaned against the back wall, exhausted from her exersions.

A moment passed, then instantly the slash on her stomach made its presence painfully known, and she bent over, cradling the wound while sliding to the ground. Frak. Frak frak frak frak frak frak frak. Her eyes closed tight as she applied pressure to her stomach.

Thankfully it was cauterized, but it was still fresh; and it still burned. Burned like nothing she'd ever experienced, except for once; a very long time ago. The last time she'd been cut with a lightsaber, she'd died. That was where her fear for the weapon stemmed from.

The searing sensation coursed through her senses and nerves, and she clamped her mouth in a desperate attempt to shut out the pain.

Ten seconds later she passed out.

One person's massacre was another cizerack's bounty. Cirrsseeto sat hunched over one of the Dark Jedi he slew, hungrily tearing flesh away by the mouthful. It was always a "taboo" issue with the hyuu-manns on consuming large, live prey...but in this situation, it seemed appropriate. Cirr was as happy as a pig in a slop bucket, gorging himself on the dead dark jedi, picking the bones clean. However, he soon saw a hyuu-mann female collapse on the floor. His ears perked up and he licked his lips, crawling over to her. She had strange colored eyes...maybe she was one of the bad people too. Cirr grinned like the cat that ate the canary, leaning forward to sniff out his latest catch.

Her breath shallow, s'Il managed to claw her way from the dredges of her subconscious to maintain a weak hold on reality, and her eyes opened to narrow slits.

Her small field of vision was filled with the face of a Cizerack, and a ghost of a smile touched her features only to be replaced by wincing pain. Then, with surprising force, she reached out a hand and grabbed the male by the front of his collar, pulling him toward her until their foreheads touched.

"...Get.... me....alcohol....." she muttered through gritted teeth.

Cirr fluttered his ears, making a confused face for a moment. But then he growled, pressing her hand to the floor. This one wasn't dead yet...and Cirr had a habit of playing with his food. Still sniffing, he poked at her with a clawed finger.

"I said...." s'Il muttered grumpily through her pain, "get me alcohol!"

Her one free hand, the one she'd used to cradle her stomach, grabbed at his left ear. She pulled. Hard. "Now!!"

She was starting to slip into blissfull uncosciousness once more, but faught it as well as she could, and stared at the Cizerack, her metallic eyes glittering both in pain and frustration.

(I set a bottle of Maker's on the floor, next to s'Il, but not without a plug for nostalgia's sake.)

Its no use, s'Il, he couldn't read a bottle even if he wanted to.

(Cirr looked up at my voice)

Cirrsseeto, she's one of the good guys, back off.

(Almost reluctantly, the Cizerack left the wounded woman alone, returning to greener pastures)

s'Il shifted, trying to sit up a little farther, but gave up with a tired sigh. She watched the retreating Cizerack, then looked at Prent. "Thanks."

Reaching out, she grasped the bottle he'd set down while lifting her shirt a little ways to expose the slash. An older scar, running a vertical trail from her belly button to just the top of her jaw, barely intersected with the new wound to create an upside down T.

s'Il lifted the bottle up and tipped it slightly, pouring some of its contents over her stomach. It might have been useless, but she didn't care. It cooled the burning she was feeling, and right now, that was all that mattered.

"Haven't seen you in a while," she mumbled, teeth set.

Setting the bottle down with a dull thunk, s'Il gazed at him once more before finally giving in to uncosciousness.

(I just stared wanly as she passed out)

...uh...yeah, you too.

(Taking the bottle of Maker's from her limp hand, I took a few plugs down. Too good of a whiskey to use for antiseptic. I rustled up a pint of Evan, and replaced it at her side.)

"You know what happened, Mr. Prent?" A cold voice asked from behind him.

Captain J'ktal Anajii stood, almost at attention, looking down at s'Ilancy on the floor. He was dressed as usual in a dark gray uniform, amlmost imperial in appearance, had it not carried trademarks of his homworld and the Nehantite forces, and the Death-Shadow mark emblazoned on his coatfront. It was a cold and uncaring looking uniform, but it was surpassed in imparsonal appearance by the man wearing it. J'ktal was a gray Nehantie, a mongoose-type species, and he shifted his gaze from s'Il to Sanis, his icy pink eyes looking into the other man's coldly.

"To her, do you know what happened to Miss Loklorien?" He persisted.

(OOC- Sorry, no sig pic of J'ktal yet, if you want to see him, check out www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7S...INO=123298 for some sketches I whipped up)

Hell if I know...everything got pretty dicey in here for a bit. Looks like she took a saber gash, but nothing that'll kill.

Unclasping his paws from behind his back, J'ktal nodded to Sanis before stepping forward and crouching next to s'Il and looking at the wound.

"She will need proper medical attention. Where is the nearest hospital? With a reputation like this bar had, I would presume there should be one nearby." He mused, though so darkly it was difficult to tell if he was joking or not.
Craning his neck to look back up at Sanis, J'ktal continued, "If you help me keep her stable until she can be moved, I will buy you a case of your precious Maker's Mark, if you like. She has to stay alive, I have further business with her."

She'll make it. Its just a flesh wound, and its cauterized up at any rate. Thanks on your offer, but no thanks.

"Any particular reason? I can upgrade it to Johnny Walker Black Label, if you like. It is no big deal to me." J'ktal inquired before tapping s'Il's cheek to see if he could rouse her.

I'd rather not. Chances of getting jumped by another one of those guys outside of the bar is pretty high. I'd prefer to lay low.

s'Il wasn't responding, so J'ktal stood back up, tugging at the base of his coat to make it ride straight out of habit and conditioning. "I see, I forgot how, shall I say, 'well known' you are, Mr. Prent."

Yeah, I suppose I am.

(I smiled, thinking about it.)

"However, I only first heard about you last week, so, do not let your head get too big." J'ktal said to him, no trace of emotion on his voice or in his face.

"And it was mainly for an incident involving Cizeracks, at that." He added, as if he hadn't stated his point well enough the first time.

It figures

(I shrugged nonchalantly, pouring up a highball)

A single metallic eye opened at the sound of two voices conversing above her. Her vision blurred a little, but Prent she recognized. The other....it took a moment for her to decipher the stranger. His stance and posture were what gave him away.

"Not you," she groaned, her mouth still burning from the 151.

J'ktal's mouth did not move as much when he smiled thinly as the outline of his eyes did. It was a minute change, but cast a completely different expression on his face when he did it.

Looking down at s'Il, he shook his head, "Yes, me. It appears you got yourself ventilated, there. Would that be what some folk call 'tearing you a new one'?" He asked cynically, then pulled one of the long drapes of his coatfront back over his knee as he squatted down to examine her wound.

"You should have learned to stay away from sabers after your first injury, I would have thought," he nearly mocked her, "But you should pull through, as Mr. Prent observed. Will you need help out of here?"

s'Il grimaced. "I said it once, and I'll say it again: you're a scream."

She tried to sit up a little straighter to look J'ktal in the eyes, actually succeeding this time. The burning was starting to subside. "And for your information, I was minding my own business when all this erupted. None of it was my fault. It's not like I actually go out and find someone to draw this crap on my body with a lightsaber 'crayon'."

"Now. If you could just help me up, I want to find out who was responsible for this mess."

Her mind strayed back to when she'd shot the one Dark Jedi, and the one that had thrown her over the bar. They'd looked so much alike they could have been twins, and a small suspicion was starting to grow within her. "Well," she mumbled while trying to get to her feet, "this won't have been the first time something's come back to bite me in the rear."

J'ktal extended an arm to help her up, and made sure to be easy as not to accidentally pull on her too hard and damage her further. Once they were both up, the gray mongoose stepped over to the bodies and took not of what she was saying. Fortunately, he had an advantage in his eyesight over her, and used his optical implant to his advantage.

"You are right, they are alike, if not for the different haircuts, I would say they were identical. In every other aspect, they are." Looking back to s'Il, J'ktal's face was grim. "I know of very, very few jedis who are twins, let alone identical. I believe we are both coming to the same conclusion, from the look on your face."

"You could say that," s'Il muttered darkly.

She leaned heavily on the bar and let her eyes roam the battered interior. No doubt J'ktal had his thoughts on what these Dark Jedi were, and so did she; but it was her guess on where they'd come from that she knew the grey Nehantite wasn't privy to.

Thankfully it was only a guess; a mild suspicion, but she couldn't help but fell a little uneasy.

s'Il looked back to J'ktal. "So how come you're not out pestering some poor sod? Or am I this month's lucky winner."

Turnign his implant off, J'ktal replied, "Believe it or not, I am not just a self-centered jery with a superiority complex. I know I am better than most, but I do not flaunt it exorbitantly, and I am always polite to the best of my abilities."

Leaning lightly on the bar himself, the Nehantite looked again at the bodies for a moment before continuing, "I am on vacation, actually, and there is something I would like to ask to borrow from you." His voice was carefully trained to give no indication as to what he was asking for.

"On vacation? You could have fooled me." She shook her head, then reached out and pulled slightly on one of the cuffs of his uniform coat. "You're wearing the wrong get-up for that, then. You need a big tacky button up shirt, a pair of shorts to match, and a stupid looking hat."

s'Il sighed, rubbing her stomach in an attempt to dissolve the burning. "And you want to borrow something from me?" She stared at him, almost uncomprehending. What could he possibly want to borrow from her? "Are you feeling alright?"

"You forgot the camera around my neck, a waist pouch and a pair of canvas sneakers with the stars on the sides." J'ktal joked, though it was still hard to tell if that was what he was really doing.

"And we do not wear shorts, remember? At least, males do not. But attire is not important now, what I need is. I would not borrow without giving some sort of compensation." Reashing into his pocket, he pulled out a neatly creased fold of credits and laid them on the bar before her. "I believe this will cover his salary for the week."

s'Il shook her head. "No you don't need to pay me anything. I don't own him. If he wants to go, then it's his choice."

Her hand picked the credits off the bartop and she put them back in his pocket. "Keep your money, Death-Shadow," she finished softly.

Once more letting her eyes take in the wreckage, she suddenly remembered Loki, and her head turned from one end of the bar to the other, trying to see if she could spot the boy.

Pushing away from the bar, she made her way slowly to the table where they'd been before the fight started. The book he'd been reading was on the floor beneath one of the dead Jedi's booted feet, and she kicked the appendage away while sitting down. Bending down with a slight groan, she picked it up; trying to straighten a few of the pages that had been somewhat crumpled. She closed the book and set it gently on the table.

Hope the kids ok.

Having not been privy to the scene of the actual fight, J'ktal didn't know what, or who she was lookign for, but presumed that she had not been alone in her battle somehow.

Adjusting the placement of the fold of money in his pocket to fit better, he spoke to ehr back, as she was facing away from him, "I will pick him up this evening then, and make sure that Tevit takes care of your while you are still injured."

If she was surprised that he was intending to take Anauri with him instead of Tevit, she didn't let it show. She'd learned to merely listen to him and not expect anything in the realm of normality to come from him.

"Yes well, your concern impresses me," she mumbled, letting her head fall forward slightly. She read the title of the book. Hydro-electronics? She shrugged to herself, letting a smile drift across her lips.

Propping an elbow on the table, she contented herself with watching the clean-up processes beginning to take place around her, and ignoring the burning in her stomach, she cradled her wound with one arm.

"I -am- trying to be nice, here, Miss Loklorien, something we both seem to have difficulty being to each other." J'ktal spoke in a biting tone, then pulling one of the long strands of headfur back out from the front of his face.

"You still need medical attention. I am trained in many forms of aid, but, both you an I would be more comofortable if someone else looked at your wound, would we not?" He added, looking down his muzzle at her from his standign position across the table, his paws clasped primly behind his back.

He was right, she had to give him that. It seemed that every time they talked they were constantly at one another's throat; trying to cut each other down with words. s'Il grimaced as she stood, picking up the book from the table in the process. "Let's go find a hospital," she said with feigned resignation.

She nodded a farewell to Prent, then turned and started for the door. "I guess I can be nice to you," she started idly, leaning on J'ktal's arm a little, "but just this one time, ok?" She looked up at him.

"Any chance of you carrying me?"

"There is always a chance. This time it is slim to none, though." J'ktal replied as he helped steady her with his arm around her back. Thankfully, her would was indeed cauterized by th heat of the saber, so she would not get any blood on his pristine uniform. HAd it not been so, he would have devised a way to keep her from actually touching him.

Helping her out the door of the bar, now trashed after the fight, the Death-Shadow giuded s'Il to his ship, and tripped the hatch release switch. "You may lie down on the couch, I will pull up the coordinates of the nearest hospital and take you there, and also hire a convenience 'droid to bring your ship to you as well."

Loki had quickly followed s'Il and the man in uniform outside, he'd seen she was hurt and in worry ran after them. He caught up to them just outside a ship nearby.

"Hey s'Il!" He cried out, "Are are ok? You're not hurt are you?"

He ran in front of them and his worried face scanned her until he noticed the smouldering wound on her stomach, he shivered in fright and looked up to her with concern. "I'm really sorry, I was too slow getting those weapons! Are you going to be alright?"

s'Il smiled. "I should be fine; nothing to worry about. I was just caught off guard, that's all." She wasn't going to tell him that she'd been scared senseless at the very sight of those infernal lightsabers; yet at least. With a shrug, she let go of J'ktal to stand on her own. "And don't be sorry for anything. You were the one who called for backup; that's what really counts."

She held out his book to him, still smiling. "You dropped this." Then a thought occured to her. "Loki, is there a hospital within walking distance around here? You're around here more than I am, and would know where things are better than I do."

She was gratefull for J'ktal's offer to transport her, but if there were a medcenter nearby, she would have preferred to walk.

"Thank you!" He said as she handed him the book, he'd completely forgotten about it.

"Yes, of course," He replied, glad to be helpful, "It's over there, see? That long part of a building poking out at the end of the road?" He took her arm gently and pointed with his free hand in the right direction.

"That's the combinded Jedi Order/New Republic Forces Medical Centre and it's open for all. If you'd like to we can go there."

s'Il nodded, looking in the direction he'd pointed to. "That'd be great." She looked back to J'ktal. "I appreciate your offer, Captain," she said, addressing him by his rank instead of merely Death-Shadow, "but I think I can walk the distance to the Medical Center without too much difficulty. And don't concern yourself with my ship; I may be here awhile. Just tell Tevit that I won't be back to Yagh'dul for a little bit."

s'Il turned back to Loki and forced a smile. "Lead the way."

Seeing that she was in pain, Loki took the arm he had hold of and placed it around his neck, whilst wrapping his other arm around her back in an effort to support her on their way to the medical centre.

Their progress was slow and steady, they would be their in about five minutes.

"So I guess you're regretting your visit now, eh?" He said with a grin, trying to cheer her up.

s'Il grinned at his remark. "Naw, not really. Hazards of visiting a bar, you know?"

As they walked, she kept her eyes on their destination. "It's been a while since I've been cut with a saber, though. I gotta say I wasn't expecting it to happen again."

Her words suprised her, and he quickly asked, "What? You have been cut with a lightsaber before?"

He seemed shocked at the fact that someone could've been attacked with a lightsaber and has lived to tell the tale. Looking at her in bewilderment, he asked, "How did you survive it?"

"I didn't," she stated matter of factly.

She brought her free hand up to trace the scar that ran a vertical trail from the top of her neck to her midsection; straight down the middle. "Filleted right down the center. I was dead for about thirty minutes before they beat me with the science stick until I came back."

She involuntarily shuddered at the memory, and tried to change the subject. "But what about you? What are you doing on Arcan? Studying to be a Jedi?"