One Big Ol' Rescue - Again.

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Of course this would be the hard part. It weren't exactly some epic scramble for an exit, not with how they were helping the near unconscious reason they were there in the first place along, but it sure as dren weren't no stroll down one of Cloud City's boardwalks neither. Not with the fact that whatever small force was actually manning the ship now seemed to be coming out of the damn walls at the trio. Not in earnest though, which seemed a bit off, was almost like the entire ship was waiting on something and Sadie was pretty damn sure it weren't for their little group to be getting gone.

Was a bit of a refreshing feeling as they reached the hangar bay and found it mostly empty. The few folks inside were dispatched pretty easy now that they weren't all on the move, Vitt saw to that in short order after him and Sadie made sure Elira was propped somewhere she wouldn't exactly be in danger of no stray fire or falling over. Sadie hung back while the heat was dropped off, keeping watch and guard and feeling a bit ill at ease thanks to Inyos' not-quite optimistic sounding report in. Short Cut sounded an awful lot like I'm about to do something incredibly stupid - Well, if her experience with that sort of thing was anything to go by.

One thing was downright perturbing, though. Sadie'd told Atton where to meet them and she'd figured they wouldn't exactly be waiting on him. This was one of them quick run into the ship deals as far as she had been concerned but with no Tide in the hangar waiting on them, this had a chance to get way too ugly far too fast. Weren't gonna take much before some sort of reinforcements showed up.

"Yo Unc," Sadie voiced into the communicator - not exactly frantic, but her tone wasn't exactly all on the calm either. "Be real nice if y' could hurry the frak up an' get us outta here anytime now."

[Sleazy]

Left to fend for itself alone outside the ship, the Crimson Tide swooped and tumbled through the stars, dodging fire from the weapons systems that Vittore Montegue's bombing run hadn't fully disabled, and dodging the last few TIE Fighters that Inyos Aamoran's display of piloting prowess hadn't as yet dispatched. The Tide's purpose had been to function as a distraction, drawing the focus away from the Anathema while the rescue party snuck aboard. Message from Sadie K'Vesh received however, an unexpected turn of the tables had turned the last few chasing TIEs into debris and vapour, and now the Tide screamed like an arrow through the stars.

Swearing echoed through the ship, as the remainder of the rescue party fought to complete the final steps. A data spike planted as soon as Vittore and Sadie snuck aboard had granted access to the Anathema's systems, Nen Lev'i tapping away furiously as Atton Kira ducked and dodged a path towards the Dreadnaught, brute forcing his way through security systems to scramble targetting systems and ensure the hangar bay was wedged firmly open. Communications channel now left open, everyone aboard the Tide could hear the blaster fire as an apparent other wave of Stormtroopers descended upon the hangar bay.

Seconds later, the Tide pierced the atmosphere shield, slamming to an abrupt halt a few meters short of the far wall, that would have rattled Sleazy's bones if he'd had any. Fortunately, the comms droid was firmly secured, strapped to the open boarding ramp by cargo webbing welded in place. His ocular implants settled upon the encroaching precession of soldiers as they funnelled out from one of the adjoining corridors.

"Eat blaster, you miserable sons of bitches!" Sleazy vocabulated loudly, mechanical fingers closing around the controls of the heavy repeating blaster bolted to the ramp in front of him, spraying a torrent of deadly read energy backwards and forwards across the arriving reinforcements.

[Nen Lev'i]

Nen almost fell over as the Crimson Tide came to it's abrupt stop; fortunately he managed to catch himself before losing his balance completely. He offered a self-satisfied smile to Atton Kira, standing a few paces away; but the man seemed anything but impressed. Nen decided to assume he was simply focused on the mission at hand, and that underneath all the scowling and bitter words, Atton - and everyone else - was definitely super impressed by how well he was handling all of this.

He felt Sleazy begin to unload upon the bad guys more than he heard it. There was a good reason for that: the door separating them from the boarding ramp airlock thing was still firmly closed, keeping precious atmosphere inside the ship instead of it cascading out of the hatch that had been hanging open for the last minute or two. That quickly changed, Atton thumping the door control with considerable zeal and, with a nod and some sort of grunted shout that Nen couldn't hear over the E-Web, charged out and into the fray.

Nen had been rehearsing this next part in his mind for pretty much the entire way since Cloud City, so he knew exactly what to do. As soon as his boots landed on the ramp, he and Atton ducked under the Tide's hull and dismounted the ramp from the sides, staying safely behind Sleazy's line of fire. The ramp was aft-facing, vermilion fury spraying out in an arc beneath the Tide's engines; Atton began to stalk forward over on the starboard side, and Nen followed suit on the port, both keeping their eyes open for where Vittore, Sadie, Inyos, and Elira Asael were pinned down. Nen spotted them first, taking cover behind a few convenient cargo containers. A stab of excitement surged through him and, barely remembering to keep low and avoid getting shot, he set off towards them with a sprint.

Three meters away from the edge of the containers, Nen threw himself to the ground, skidding the last stretch on his knees until his shoulder thumped against the side of the container. Utterly unable to contain himself, he turned to Sadie with a grin.

"Come wi'mme, if y' want t' live."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

When they'd gone over the plans back home, nothing like this had really been imagined by the likes of Sadie, even if it had been mentioned. There was a awful lot of that meeting she didn't recall if it didn't directly relate to her; not that escaping weren't on the list of stuff that she needed to know about, but Sadie had a way of focusing on her parts and only thinly listening to everyone else's bits. Trust had to be placed in others for that sort of dren to work but so far, when it really came down to it in the few times in her life she'd been in something this heavy, it always worked out so far. And if anybodies were worthy of that sort of trust in the here and know it was these fine folks.

Even if she did feel like thumping Nen a good one for his smartass holo-film quotes.

Sadie managed to avoid that, too much on mind regarding the mess that was around them. Sure, Sleazy was setting down a damn good cover, sure their ride was here and Atton and Nen could more than help with making sure that Elira got on board all safe and sound... but one member of their little party was still plain missing and the thought of moving or leaving him behind didn't sit right.

She looked towards the trio of men around her and back at Elira whose eyes were still far too glassy to let on that she had no clue what was taking place around her. "You guys get her on board, savy? I ain't leavin' without Inyos."

[Atton Kira]

Atton Kira was not built for this. Perhaps he never had been. In his youth you might have described him as scrappy, prone to playfully provoking bar fights, but he'd grown out of that decades ago. The aura he had cultivated since was of a man who had people in his employ for anything physical or fighting related. His task was merely to stand there, reinforce his air of superiority, and ensure that everyone else felt suitably inadequate.

Not today, though. Today the suit jacket was traded a deflector vest worn beneath his overcoat. Today he wore a focused scowl instead of a smug smile. Today he was armed with a twin-barrel carbine instead of a silvered tongue. Today he marched in front of the shadows, rather than lurking within them. Striding through a firefight with calm purpose wasn't part of the routinr. It was stupid. It was foolish. It was the very opposite extreme of what Atton Kira was supposed to do. And yet -

A blaster bolt grazed the edge of Atton's deflector field, the inertia shoving his shoulder back a little. Unphased, he primed the carbine's lever action charge handle, and unleashed both barrels squarely into the trooper's chest with barely even a glance. The carbine let out a satisfying flurry of clunks and clicks as he primed the handle again.

These assclowns had his sister. There was hell to pay.

Atton had seen that Nen Lev'i had found Sadie, the Captain, and his wayward sister. That was good. Between Sleazy's heavy repeating distraction, Nen's well meaning actions, and Vittore Montegue's reluctantly acknowledged death dealing talent, Elira was surely safely on her way yo the makeshift infirmary aboard the Crimson Tide, and the waiying attention of Montague's medical droid. With Vhiran Antilles waiting at the helm - a Force sensitive get-away pilot had seemed like an immensely wise choice - Atton had every confidence that his family would escape the Anathema as unscathed as was realistically fesible. But this was more than a rescue. This was Sarlacc, once again, messing with people in whom Atton had invested a mixture of affection and tolerance. This was not a flee and count yourself lucky sort of situation. This was a stand; or at least it needed to be.

Reaching one of the corridors that departed the bay, Atton shrugged the duffel bag from his shoulders, and delved into a pocket, pulling out a small tool to begin prying off the cover on the blast door controls. Sadie may have been by far the superior slicer, but Atton Kira was hardly a novice; and this simple task required a particulqr kind of malicious conviction that his niece - he desperately hoped - did not have. Fire suppression systems. Vent controls. Emergency protocols. Tweaked. Deleted. Replaced -

"Step away from the panel!" Atton heard from behind him, and froze. The trooper loomed, a turn of Atton's head glimpsing the blaster aimed at his head. He ran the calculations quickly: distance, weapon intensity, the charge left in his shield vest. Not enough. Not for a direct shot. Perhaps if he -

Before another thought could form, a streak of blue sailed through the air, the trooper's blaster clattering to the deck with a third of his arm still attached. The mask hid the shock on the trooper's face, but didn't stifle the gurgled gasp as a lightsaber blade erupted from the center of his chest before instantly extinguishing, a gaping hole left in its wake. As the fresh corpse collapsed to the ground, Atton sighed in relief at the Jedi standing behind them. A moment later relief became confusion; he leaned to the side, peering down the adjacent corridor, the superheated edges of a lightsaber-carved path through the walls still glowing in the distance.

His eyes returned to Inyos, gratitude firmly stifled behind sarcasm. "What took you so long?"

[Inyos Aamoran]

"Your brother is here, apparently."

The bluntness of the statement was not accidental. Inyos probed into Atton's reaction with eyes and mind, wondering just how many important secrets the man was hiding from him, and everyone. Once, Atton Kira had been a friend; but much had changed fot both of them since then. Now he was little more than an enigma in the shape of a man, whose horde of knowledge and aversion to transparency represented a clear danger to everyone he professed to care for.

But Atton's reaction felt genuine. The confusion, and then the shock, was real. A deeper conversation was required; but for once, Inyos found that he was the one with the unshared knowledge, an uncomfortable reversal of roles.

His demeanour softened, slightly.

"Also, your brother is still alive. I perhaps should have led with that."

Inyos turned, surveying the scene, reaching out with the Force to feel his surroundings. His companions, off across the hangar, waiting for their opportunity to fall back to the ship. More soldiers, moving through the labyrinth of corridors, trying to converge on their position from all sides. The malevolent presence of Mal'achi, lurking somewhere in the distance. Sadie's stubborn concern, piercing through it all like a floodlight in the dark.

"I am here."

Inyos spoke through the comlink, but also the Force, pouring a cascade of reassurance into his words. From across the bay, beneath the curved hull of the Crimson Tide, Inyos found his Padawan's attention, and met her gaze.

"Get everyone aboard. We are right behind you."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Sadie's head went and nodded on it's own accord before she could speak out. "Right."

All heads accounted for, then. And while Inyos and Atton were now a bit too far off for her proper liking, she didn't feel all anxious about them all getting on board the Tide, not as much as she had just a tick or two ago - probably a trick thanks to Jedi stuff, but Sadie weren't even considering complaining 'bout it. Job weren't over yet and level heads all around seemed like a mighty fine thing.

Didn't seem like directions were needed as the herd of troopers were thinned out, just one moment of clear was all they'd need and a mad dash, stumble, whathaveyou would get everyone to the finish line. Plan revision, then.

"Nen, y' help me. Vitt's gonna be th' one we want with hands free if things get hot again while we're makin' a move."

Sadie looked back to the ship before she began easing Elira up from where she'd been let to rest, this round she addressed her partner.

"Hope you boys got a good goin' away present for these bastards or this might be a real quick trip now that they're on t' us."

[Vittore Montegue]

"That's a good question."

Despite their situation, Vittore had to fight to suppress a grin as he deflected the question to Nen.

"You got it?"

Wordlessly, Nen shrugged off the canvas carry bag that had been slung over his shoulder, letting the strap slide down his arm and into his hand. Vittore took it from him with the eagerness of a teenager on Life Day - which was much the same as a young child on Life Day, except you had to do that teenage asshole thing of trying to not let anyone see that you had an emotion other than moody - and flipped the bag open, tugging out his beloved Z50. Slinging the now empty bag across his body, and making the grenade launcher nice and comfortable in his hands, Vittore let out a low chuckle.

"Oh, yeah. We're about t' give these Stormies one hell of a send off."

Careful to keep himself low, Vittore moved from his perch into a low crouch, progressing past Sadie and Nen to the end of their temporary barricade. In the back of his mind came a shuffle, people squabbling and changing places, and when he spoke the eerie voice of his father was what came tumbling out. "You're carryin' Elira, so there ain't much chance of stayin' fast and low. Don't try anythin' fancy. No serpentine, firin' back, no Force powers, no nothin'. You set your sights on that ramp, an' you trust in me an' Sleazy t' keep those Troopers shootin' at somethin' that ain't you. We clear?"

Vittore didn't wait on acknowledgements; didn't need to. It was a weird situation that he found himself in from time to time: part and parcel of being "Captain" he supposed, even though Captain of your own personal ship didn't exactly count for much. There were times when Sadie, or Nen, or Kira, of that deathstick-smoking ass that Emelie was shacking up with would talk back, or disagree, or offer some sort of alternative ideas. Most of the time, Vittore was onboard with that; or at least, most of the time he tried to be. But other times, there was nothing. Vittore would call the shots, and everyone would follow along: not because they felt they shouldn't disagree; but because of some weird trust scenario where they all figured that Vittore knew what he was talking about. It was strange, and nice, and confusing all at once. Now though didn't much seem like a moment to dwell on it, though.

"Okay then. On three, two -"

Before the count had finished, Vittore rose from his crouch, finger pulling back on the trigger and unleashing the first of the thermal charges from the Z50's revolving magazine. The projectile spat forth with a resounding thunk that he felt reverberate through his entire body; a little over a second later it made contact with the ground, impact trigger detonating the thermal explosives in an explosion that rattled the very atoms of everything in the comparatively enclosed space. Vittore felt the air shift in response to the pressure wave; saw the Crimson Tide sway slightly out of his peripheral vision. His hand pulled back on the pump, mechanisms rotating the drum to line up the next charge.

"Go, go, go!" he shouted over the ringing in his ears, slowly beginning to move sideways himself, shielding Sadie and Nen as they staggered forwards with Elira draped between them. Another grenade surged forward, catching one of the Stormtroopers in the shoulder and taking half his torso in the process. Vittore clenched his teeth, unsure of what emotion might present itself on his face if he didn't. The smell of ozone and burning flesh clawed at the back of his throat, wisps of smoke beginning to fill the hangar. Vittore's sideways translation continued, grenades launched at intervals as he and his charges progressed across the hangar and into the shadow of the Crimson Tide.

Vittore stopped as his shin clunked against the edge of the Tide's boarding ramp, bobbing a foot or two above the deck. A click followed from the launcher, and a curse followed; out of ammo. Well damn. Options were contemplated for a split second, before he sprung into action, setting the launcher down beside Sleazy and his big frakking gun and grabbing hold of the Tide above him and hauling his way up onto the ramp. He crouched down, waving Nen and Sadie over, hoisting Elira out of their grip and over his shoulder, jogging up the ramp and into the bowels of the ship as fast as he could.

"Bee!" he called, addressing the second hand but frustratingly useful medical droid that Emelie had insisting on acquiring for him - protecting her assets, she said. The droid was already where he was supposed to be: a cabin that had officially become the Crimson Tide's unofficial medical bay. Crates of supplies, a stockpile of medical equipment, bacta shots, kolto patches; pretty much anything medical on Cloud City that hadn't been nailed down was stashed up against one wall, and the 21-B medical droid loitered beside them, ready to provide - hopefully - whatever attention Elira would need, for the next few hours at least.

"She's drugged, but I've no idea what else," Vittore explained in his father's clipped, military-sounding voice, as he carefully lowered Elira onto the bed in the closest approximation of comfortable he could manage. "Get her triaged; get her stable; and I'll -"

He trailed off, already half way through the door.

"- get us the hell out of here."

[Vhiran Antilles]

Vhiran sensed the rescue party clambering aboard one by one. It was bloody inconvenient, frankly. Feeling the Force pressing on the edges of his consciousness was a pain in the arse, and was exactly the sort of distraction that he didn't need while trying to keep an unfamiliar ship somewhat stable in the middle of an Imperial hangar bay full of people shooting at him. Right now he'd kill for a deathstick - even one of the odd-tasting new brand that Emelie had helped arrange access to; kolto infused into the something or other to undo some of the damage he'd been doing to himself by smoking them for so long - but that was hardly an option. Stylish as it might have been to sit here at the helm with a deathstick hanging out of the corner of his mouth, the need for his wits to be sharp and sober outweighed the need to stave off the headaches, the whispers, and the cravings.

He felt the angry, and yet oddly satisfied presence of Vittore Montegue growing gradually louder as he stalked his way onto the bridge. He felt the knot of worry dancing around inside Sid's gut, and the way it abated ever so slightly when Vittore's aura brushed against hers. They might as well have been rolling around on the deck making out for all difference it would have made to Vhiran's senses; wasn't any less distracting, but he supposed that was his cross to bear rather than theirs. People felt what they felt; weren't much good trying to insist they do otherwise, because they'd still go and do it anyway.

"Nose gun, if y' don't mind, mate."

A hand reached over his shoulder to snap his fingers, and then point towards the ramp that led down between the pilot and copilot's seats, for emphasis. Blessedly, the Captain acquiesced to the insubordinate order aboard his own ship. Part of Vhiran supposed he should probably apologise for that later, when he wasn't quite so on edge; the rest of him knew that he definitely wouldn't ever actually bother. Still, the thought was what counts, right?

Lovebirds crowbarred apart, Vhiran felt the tiniest mote of relief: enough to fixate and capitalise on. He reached through the gap forming between the two of them; felt Atton and Inyos clamber onto the ramp about three seconds before he felt and heard the heavy repeater cease and the ramp mechanisms began to judder their way closed. Off beside him, he felt Sadie settle herself into the navigator's chair. Her usual seat, if he was to guess, by the tiny bubble of almost imperceptibly faint comfort that settled around her.

"She's gonna be alright, love," he offered quietly, feeling the ramp clunk closed. A hand reached out and flipped the controls that had been limiting repulsorlift intensity; the Tide bounced a little, noticeable to those within it's artificial gravity only thanks to a slight flutter of vertical inertia. "Soon as we're off in t' those stars, she'll be free an' clear."

[Atton Kira]

"Last thing's first," Atton interjected, in not quite his usual commanding tone. There was something a little off about it. Something colder, harsher, and more subdued. His normally wide and mirthful eyes had narrowed, fixated on the view beyond the Tide's viewport as if the hangar's bulkhead were itself entirely responsible for what had transpired here.

Vhiran Antilles glanced in his direction; bit it was Vittore Montegue that Atton addressed.

"Port side of our exit. Two meters up, three meters left. A single concussion missile should do it."

The tone in the cockpit shifted. That tended to happen when you pulled a stunt like this at the last minute. Atton didn't care. If he'd brought it up earlier, if he'd shared the notion with the group, they wouldn't have gone along with it. They'd have talked him out of it. Moral considerations, or restraint perhaps. Don't anger the dragon that you're stealing from. But this wasn't about anger. This wasn't about something as petty as retaliation. It was about changing the narrative. For now, these Sarlacc people - whoever they were - had pushed, and poked, and prodded at this group of people; the Exchange, as Miss Shadowstar and he had decided they should be known. They had been there at every step, hissing and biting every time the Exchange tried to peel back a new layer of mystery, like snakes hiding beneath a rock. It was defensive encounter after defensive encounter; even now, all they were doing was rescuing someone who was, by association, one of their own. Sarlacc acted, and the Exchange reacted. Things needed to change. For better or worse, Sarlacc needed to see that the Exchange was just as capable of acting; that they wouldn't just respond, but would escalate if needed. Perhaps it would be their undoing; or perhaps it was the single punch to the face that every school yard bully needed to receive. That was the way the universe worked; and that was something that the others weren't yet ready to understand.

Aside from one of them, of course. Fortunately for Atton, Mister Montegue happened to be the one with his finger on the trigger.

The explosive impact of the missile shook the Tide furiously, a large portion of the detonation translated back into the hangar itself instead of being absorbed by the hull. Now contained within the pressurised hull of the yacht, Atton was deprived of the cries and panic of the Troopers who still remained in the bay; he was forced to let his imagination superimpose those sounds as the atmosphere shield flickered, the main power conduit leading to it transformed into a smoking crater of twisted metal. Atmosphere suddenly began to boil off into space, a typhoon of flowing air carrying the Tide, debris, and a dozen or so unfortunate Stormtroopers out into the frigid void of space. The Tide was buffeted mercilessly, but Vhiran Antilles was quick to react and a natural with the controls, twisting and ducking their speedy way out of the bay and towards freedom.

For those inside the Tide, that was where the effect ended. For Atton Kira though, and for those still aboard the ship, it continued much longer. The few subtle modifications that he had snuck into the emergency protocols convinced the main computer that fires raged in certain parts of the ship, while elsewhere blast doors were tricked into jamming open. The violent suction that had already torn the atmosphere from the hangar surged down corridors and through vents, and howled through the lightsaber-hewn path that Inyos had carved right into the heart of the ship. The effect would last only seconds perhaps, until someone in a position of control managed to seal blast doors, lock off compartments, and preserve bubbles of atmosphere in the important parts of the ship. Anyone who managed to wrap their hands around something bolted down would likely survive the ordeal with little more than sore lungs and a few harrowing memories.

Those in charge, though? Those responsible? They'd learn how the folks from Cloud City did business. None of this eye for an eye restraint; instead a sense of compensation for anguish rendered.

To Atton Kira, that seemed like a fair exchange.

[Elira Asael]

***

You knew it was a bad start to the day when you woke up and things were bright. Not bright as if someone had one of those infuriating interrogation lamp techniques going on; but bright as in sterile, bright as in too clean. That generally meant a hospital sort of setting and while the exact details on the last bits and bobs she could remember were blurry at best, Captain - thank you very much - Asael was fairly certain she had been stuck on some Imperial ship being asked one too many questions about things she didn't have the slightest clue of, or maybe did and would rather have forgotten.

"Vos..." Oh yes, because clearly cursing solves everything and will bring clarity on the situation.

Once the ringing in her head decided to calm down a little and her eyes began to unblur, Elira still wasn't too certain she wasn't in some sort of Imperial facility - all hospitals had that obnoxious factoid of looking far too like each other; seriously, use some damn different colored paint for once! - though she was keenly aware she wasn't alone. Not that that was much different than the last moments she could remember anyway.

The strangest thing was, it wasn't Mal's stupid smug face that was looking at her, nor was it one of his blade-happy subordinates that she had met so far. No, this guy sure as hell carried himself in that self-satisfied way that her older brother did but somehow was even worse. Elira didn't know who the hell he was or what sort of cliche inhuman horrors he was going to inflict on her, but she knew she wanted to punch him. Now... if only she had the strength to do so.

[Justin Dechen]

"Oh good, you're awake."

Justin certainly didn't make it sound like it was good. His voice walked a fine line between irritated and disinterested, and he spoke into his left pectoral, fumbling through the corresponding pocket of his lab coat for his pen light. Pulling it out and clicking it on, he grabbed a hold of his patient by the cheekbone and eyebrow, tugging her eyelid open for a quick blast of radiance before switching to the other. Satisfied - not because he'd noticed anything useful about his patient that the computer readouts weren't already telling him; it was just one of those small perks of the job that got him through the day - he clicked off the light and tucked it back away.

"Yep. Definitely awake."

As every medical professional in the galaxy knew they were supposed to, Justin grabbed the chart from the foot of his patient's bed - he hadn't bothered paying attention to the name that Emelie Shadowstar and her associates had provided, assuming it was almost certainly some sort of alias or fake identity; and also not caring enough to bother - and pretended to read her latest results. Pretended, because he'd done the exact same thing only a couple of minutes ago, and his presence was almost certainly responsible for the patient's current awakened state; though in fairness, the chair that he'd tripped over deserved at least some of the blame for being in the wrong place. Even if he hadn't read her chart moments before however, things would have been pretty memorable: it wasn't every day that a doctor down here in the bowels of Cloud City found himself treating a recipient of Imperial torture; and come to think of it, that was probably a pretty strong source for optimism, given how screwed up the rest of the galaxy seemed to be.

"There's good news and bad news," he said, continuing the trend of talking to anything but his patient - a suspicious looking smudge on her chart of what was hopefully chocolate, this time.

He let out a sigh, sliding the chart back into the specially designed holder at the foot of the bed which, despite being specially designed, was still far bigger than it needed to be. One of these days, Justin would figure out how to put a chart in there without it rattling and clanking around; but today was not that day.

"The good news is that you're going to be fine. Wherever you were, whoever they were, and whatever they flooded your system with, we've pretty much flushed it out of you at this point. It took a blood transfusion, and we've got you on a cocktail of meds to help stabilize things... and also a little something to take the edge off after your ordeal. Which, actually -"

He stopped mid-sentence, brow furrowing in thought.

"- one of the side effects is mild photosensitivity. Probably should have considered that before shining a light in your face."

No apology was offered, but Justin did at least take a step or two to the side and reach out to drop the overhead lights down to about half their previous intensity.

"More good news: we've got a genetic next of kin sitting out there in the waiting room, so if we find you needing a few extra reds or whites in the ol' veins there, we can just grab another pint or so and squirt it right in. Great news for you, and great news for your next of kin, assuming they like being rewarded for needle intrusions and discomfort with a couple mediocre day-old cookies."

Justin let out another little sigh, shoulders sagging a little. The slump in his posture however inadvertently revealed something that almost resembled a smile, and for a brief fleeting moment, he almost seemed like someone who actually had some sort of genuine investment in his patient's wellbeing for a change.

"On the bad news front... you've got a genetic next of kin sitting out there in the waiting room, as well as a whole bunch of other people; and since you're awake now, I can't really go tell them all that they should scram because you'll be unconscious for the foreseeable. Well, I could tell them that, but I'm not going to." He hesitated for a moment, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Well, more like I don't want to, if I'm honest."

Justin seemed to contemplate that notion for a minute, perhaps wondering of he owed his patient a brief moment of something vaguely resembling the care part of healthcare. He mustered the closest approximation he could manage, without having had several hours to script it out and rehearse.

"Or, if you'd rather not have visitors, I can always stop your heart for a few minutes, and then fire you up again once they leave?"

[Elira Asael]

"Any of your patients ever hit you?" Her voice sounded harsh, the kind that either came from little use or too much.

The doc probably only went through with his pokes and prods so far as knowing there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. He had that sort of air about him that meant her question was more rhetorical than needing a proper answer. Yep - Elira hated the guy. Though apparently she owed him one, or owed whoever had brought her here rather than where Mal had seen fit to keep her. Genetic next of kin. So either this was a big joke being played on her by good 'ol supposed dead big bro or that meant someone else. There weren't many left in the galaxy that Elira could claim that sort of relationship with.

Atton. Half-brother he may have been, but he was the one that fit the bill. It wouldn't be the first time he had pulled her ass out of the fire, which meant the doctor's offer was mighty tempting. It wound save her from some probably overdue "Told You So"s that he often felt entitled to. Elira loved her little brother, truly did, but she was also downright sure she didn't have the mental wherewithal to deal with his particular brand of nagging. It was an interesting thought, one that was taking far too much brain power than she was currently capable of to try and sort out. Estranged wasn't quite the right word when it came to the younger two children of Contessa Ath-Thu'ban, but it did border awful close to truth. They hadn't spoken in... too long.

As she was sorting through the muddled thoughts and weighing the options presented to her alongside the actual possibility of sneaking out of here, Elira found her mind replaying something else the doc had said: "As well as a whole bunch of other people." What was that about? Did he drag along people she owed money to? Frak was THAT the reason she'd saved her? Seemed like a suitably shifty asshole thing to do that Atton might consider payback for some sort of wrong she no doubt did to prove a point she'd never learn.

The Captain found herself slumping down into the sparse blankets of the bed, willing the soft white fabrics to hide or consume her - whichever they felt like. Yeah, okay, so sneaking out wasn't going to be an option. Not with how the slightest movement still made the room seem to want to spin. Probably more side effects of whatever fun she had been on. Or whatever fun she was currently on. She didn't seem too bandaged up, which as far as she reckoned meant either good things or bad things. All to find out in due time, she supposed.

A groan left her, not out of any sort of discomfort aside from mental perhaps.

"Yeah," A bandaged hand raised up to her forehead and put pressure above her eye of the same side. Worst. Hangover. Ever. "Send 'im in. Just try to keep them from mobbing me, okay? One at a damn time. Two max, got it?"

[Justin Dechen]

Doctor Dechen let out a sigh. Two at a time? That meant his waiting room would be free and clear in approximately... well, some amount of time. He hadn't paid attention enough to be sure just how many visitors were part of the Miss Shadowstar waiting room convention, he just knew that their presence was encroaching upon his ability to stand around playing puttball for the rest of the afternoon, and that frustrated him greatly.

"Sure, okay," he sighed, with an ample helping of theatre.

A hand dug into one of the deep pockets of his lab coat, rummaging around through the assortment of debris that collected there over the course of the day. His fingers closed around his prize: pulling it free, he tore open the candy bar, and shoved an enthusiastic bite into his mouth, chomping away through the chocolate covered crispy rice cluster things. He wasn't entirely sure how someone took rice grains and puffed them up into bubbly shells of satisfying crunch, but if he had to guess it was probably something similar to all those slow motion vids of corn kernels frying and turning inside out that he kept watching on the Holonet while he was bored.

Still chewing, he muttered out a few muffled words of advice for his patience.

"Don't let the cables come unplugged, k? Don't wanna have to rush in here thinking you're dying, when instead you've just clumsied out the wires."

With that, Justin wandered back out into the waiting area, and was immediately struck with an assortment of mixed emotions. On the one hand, the population of the seating space had depleted drastically, reducing from many people down to just three. On the one hand, that was fantastic news for his puttball aspirations; but on the other, it made his statement to his patient a falsehood, and that felt like it was one of those ethics violations or something. Wasn't misleading a patient the kind of thing that got people fired from this kind of job? Regardless, there didn't seem to be much he could do about it right now.

Where the friends and family - he presumed that's what they were - had gone, he wasn't quite sure. Well, that wasn't entirely true. One of them he knew fairly well: Vhiran Antilles, an on-and-off patience of his; lungs screwed to hell and back by a lifelong deathstick problem. Things were turning around, thanks to a new brand of medicinal sticks that Justin himself had conceived and provided: a little kolto, a few metabolic stimulators to boost the healing, a dash of spice to take the edge off; quite the success story, actually. Vhiran's latest scans showed that the respiratory damage was most definitely not getting worse, and there were even early signs of mild reversal. The scar tissue was a lost cause of course - short of a transplant or cybernetic replacement, Vhiran Antilles wasn't exactly going to be running marathons or climbing mountains - but this particular stupid lifestyle choice had dropped down from the #1 spot of reasons why Vhiran Antilles was probably going to die.

The other missing people were a bit more of a conundrum. The youngest one, with the dark unkempt hair; Justin got the distinct impression that maybe he wasn't here because of any kind of interest in the patient herself, more of a moral support for the other people sort of deal. That was Justin's theory at least, owing to the fact that the last time he'd seen him, the kid had been asleep with a hat balanced half-way across his face, and a cup of lukewarm caf still loosely held in his hand. If he'd been one of the kid's associates, he'd have nudged him awake just enough so that the caf wound up across the kid's lap. Maybe that was what had happened, and he was off hunting for a fresh pair of slacks or something.

Then there was the old guy. Not that any of the people here seemed young particularly, but the guy in the fancy coat looked to be the token grumpy old guy of the ensemble. He was the one asking the annoying questions, the one nagging, the one constantly expressing his concern that maybe Doctor Dechen didn't know what he was doing - not by stating it out right of course, but with the kinds of are you sure that's best questions that people always aimed at doctors they, for some misguided reason, presumed they knew better than. Their entire time had been spent here alternating between pacing, hushed comlink calls, and fetching more caf; maybe he'd just got fed up and gone, or maybe something regarding the very important business that he seemed to think he was involved in had come up, requiring his attention.

Whatever. That just left the kid, the stoic guy, and the guy who was probably going to shoot up the place if anything bad happened.

More candy was shovelled into Justin's mouth.

"She's awake; you can go in. Don't kill her before I get back."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

It was good news, Sadie reckoned by way of facts alone, maybe not-so-good when it came to emotional factors, though. Awake meant that whatever drugs they'd gone and pumped into Elira's system were mostly gone which meant she was well and clear of the danger zone. Awake also meant that the woman they'd all saved was probably capable of talking and was wondering who it was she had to thank for that.

Things would have been easier if her uncle hadn't chosen about right then and there to make himself scarce. Out of everyone in the room, he was probably the only one that Elira might have guessed were present. If nothing else, he was bound to at least be a familiar face and could go with the making of explanations in the way that Atton did that connected all the dots. Would save her the trouble of having to make an introduction at least.

Sadie weren't scared of it all, not really. Just a belly full of butterflies and thoughts darting away like meteorites. After all, this was her mum, the lady who'd done gone and brought her into this galaxy and then decided she didn't want nothing to do with her kid. Weren't no real judgement on that part, not with the type of life that Sadie had gone and lived and things she'd seen and all. People had their reasons for doing that sort of thing and while yeah, they were often some sort of selfish dren, they were also done with that sort of tryin' t' do th' right thing mind that made things hard to go and hate a person for.

She was kinda glad that it was just Inyos and Vittore now in the waiting room with her. Not that Atton wouldn't understand what she was about to say, but he might have tried to talk her into a different sort of mindset. Vitt, though? He was always understanding, knew that steps just had to be taken in your own time when you were damn good and ready for them. Inyos seemed to get that about her too, probably some sort of respect for his pupil sort of deal, but he weren't exactly the pushy sort, neither.

"I ain't ready f' this..." Sadie went on confessing as muscled bunched up in some effort to make her seem smaller in the chair without actually drawing limbs inward. "I just... ain't. Thought I was but..."

Her voice trailed off and she slumped to the side of the chair that Vitt was nearest. Weren't like she was clinging to him or nothing of that sort, just meant she could lean against him and look towards Inyos at the same time.

"You said y' knew her, yeah? I dunno... maybe..." She went and trailed off again.

Was a stupid idea, but sometimes an old friend was just what the situation needed. Family could be confusing and infuriating, Sadie was finding. But a friend? Yeah, there could be complications involved there too but they seemed a might bit easier to get over in her small experiences. At least it could buy her time to get her head on straight and do what she ought to.

[Inyos Aamoran]

The request struck Inyos like a hammer. No - like a dozen hammers, all swung towards him by different emotions for different reasons. That Saidra was asking at all, that she was admitting her discomfort, speaking openly about it? Even that was a flurry of hammers. A request from his Padawan. Trust in being open about her feelings. The twist of regret at not quite comprehending her emotions: enough for sympathy, but not for empathy.

While growing up without parents was an experience that he and Saidra both shared, Inyos had done so as a member of the Jedi Order, where orphan status was a consistent norm. Before the Purge he had never felt any curiosity to learn about their identities; and since the Purge it had become an impossibility, a fact that he had no emotions on whatsoever. For Sadie, the context of her youth made her absent parents unorthodox. She had been forced to adapt, to care for herself, and all without the kind of support and kinship that Inyos' childhood had been blessed with. He had not needed to cope with that kind of struggle until he was already a full Knight; and even then he'd done so with the likes of Mandan Hidatsa and Elira Asael at his side. Saidra's situation, even with the Force there to aid his perceptions, was somewhere beyond the scope of his understanding.

For Inyos, the closest concept to family that he could comprehend was belonging. If that came anywhere even close, then Inyos was lucky to have found that sense of belonging at a handful of times in his life: the Jedi Order, the Maelibus, and now. If that were true, if that approximation was close, then that made Saidra part of his family. It made Elira and Atton part of his family. That realisation sharpened the situation into focus, and everything else - his own anxieties, his reluctance, his confusion, his sense of propriety - all faded away like static filtered from a comm frequency.

A hand was placed gently on Saidra's shoulder, and Inyos offered the kind of knowing look and gently reassuring smile that his own Master would have given.

"You should wait for your Uncle," Inyos quietly agreed, supplying a simple choice for Saidra to latch onto. Of course she should wait for Atton Kira: as Inyos understood it, the man had a lot of explaining to do, and that responsibility should not fall upon Saidra's shoulders. "I will speak with your mother. If I remember correctly -"

He leaned in closer, pretending to glance furtively around him as if about to convey some closely guarded secret.

"- she dislikes being in hospitals almost as much as I do."

Saidra's response was a simple nod, but his Jedi senses comprehended all the meaning that he needed. He allowed his hand to linger on her shoulder for a moment longer, willing a fragment of his more stable and restrained emotions to wash over Saidra like a calming wave. Never having felt such emotions himself, he had no idea how much help his efforts would be; but it was all he had, and the grip clenched around his chest prevented him from being comfortable doing nothing.

Finally he stood; as his back turned to Saidra and Vittore, the smile faded from his face, adjusting into something more subtly pensive. Each pace between the waiting area and the doorway of Elira's private room transformed into a parsec, a gauntlet of thoughts and feelings making the journey an increasing challenge. Elira Asael lay beyond that door. Yes, he had seen her aboard the Anathema. He had watched over her during the voyage back to Cloud City. He had helped carry her here, watched and worried as doctors and droids attended to her condition. But now she was awake. Conscious. Now she would see him, after all these years.

What should he say? How did that conversation begin? Did he apologise for leaving? Did he apologise for coming back into her life? Would she even remember him, or had the complexities of their friendship flown both ways? He thought of the oaths he had broken. He thought of the unexpected struggle when he and Mandan had fled the Maelibus for the sake of the crew's safety, leaving their Imperial pursuers astray. He thought of the strange emotion, envy perhaps, that he had felt when Mandan had found happiness in the arms of another during their long exodus; thought of the times he had wondered if that smile might have been his own, had they only stayed with the ship. He thought of Ord Ithil, and the times her face had crept into his mind amid the dark side's torment; the sick pleasure the darkness had taken in reminding him of her eyes.

For a moment he felt unsteady on his feet. What if she didn't remember him? Or what if she did, but her reaction was merely indifference? How did one cope? How did one ready themselves for that kind of emotion? How -

His hand caught the edge of the doorway. Too late. Far, far too late. His shoulders sagged. His eyes struggled to climb their way up from the floor and look at the hospital bed's occupant. He forced his parched throat to swallow, the voice that emerged a strained, tormented, and feeble echo of the soft words that normally escaped.

"Hello, Elira."

[Elira Asael]

"Okay, now I know either I'm dreaming," Elira began, forcing herself to sit up just a bit despite her body's urgent protests against such a notion. "Or the doc put me on some good stuff. Because there is no way in the galaxy that you just stepped back into my life looking like that, Ra's."

It was only with the slightest hint of meanness that she teased him, echoes of days gone by. Years, really. But it - and the rather coy look she actually managed - were as genuine as they were there to stave off the pure shock at seeing Inyos Aamoran of all people. She wasn't kidding exactly about how he looked, either. It had been what... over twenty years since they had last seen one another? And while there were things about the Jedi that remained a mystery to her even when they were closest, she was fairly certain he didn't carry the same bits and pieces of non-entirely-human DNA that allowed her to look quite shy of her actual age as far as most people were concerned.

She considered following it up with an offhand question about where the hell her brother was, but thought better of it. Elira wasn't entirely sure who out of the both of them should have been following up their greetings immediately by way of apology, but it was doomed to happen. Inyos, she bet would do it out of a sense of righting a wrong he saw when there wasn't really any need in the first place; the galaxy hadn't exactly been kind to Jedi back then - still wasn't if word was right - so Elira had never really blamed him and Mandan for leaving the ship when they had. In a way they had saved the rest of the crew then, she knew that.

It was her fault for letting them go, or so Atton had berated her about a million times afterwards. It was her fault for keeping secrets and it was probably her damn fault as to why this was going to get awkward real fast.

"Guess I should rewind a bit and say thank you first, huh? How is it that you always seem to show up right when you are needed most?"

Bit more truth to that than Elira wanted to really say, but if anyone was deserving some bit of it, she figured it was Inyos.

[Inyos Aamoran]

There it was. How did Atton describe it? Snark? Barely two sentences into the conversation, and it was as if they were back on the Maelibus, and nothing had changed. It had infuriated him back then, or at least as close to it as he'd been able to feel. Elira had always possessed a remarkable talent for getting under his skin, and she seemed to relish in doing so, every tab offered with a playful smile, as if making the Jedi feel something, anything, were the objective of some elaborate contest.

Now though? The words didn't cut and burn the way they used to. It was as if something had been missing; a familiar weight resting against his chest that had been unknowingly absent all these years. Maybe it was her situation that softened the blow, her condition taking the edge off his words. Or maybe he just missed it. Missed her.

He ventured further into the room, contemplating her words. They were kind. Grateful. Lies.

A hand rested against the railing at the foot of her best.

"If that were true," he said quietly, eyes focused on the blanket draped across her; and most definitely not on the face that, the odd injury aside, hadn't changed a molecule from the one etched into his memories. "I would have found you soon enough to stop this from happening."

[Elira Asael]

Elira let out a small huff of laughter and looked away from him. So, this was how it was going to be? Neither one of them wanting to really let the other take the blame for everything that had been left unsaid or undone. And while two decades had passed since she had last seen Inyos, it hadn't been nearly so long since the last time she'd thought about him. Him, not the other members of the crew that had left or gone missing over the years. There were reasons for that, painfully obvious ones when she let herself really think about it, but it was one of those things she hadn't tried to dwell on. He had been gone after all.

It felt wrong to be having this conversation here and now, rather than on the Maelibus' bridge; her feet propped up on the consoles with a beer in hand while the two of them watched hyperspace stream by on the view port, casting the occasional glance his way whenever Elira figured Inyos wasn't really paying attention.

If here had to be the place and now had to be the time, however, then so be it. The Force worked in strange ways, as she was reminded by the writings of her ancestor and the Jedi who loved quoting them.

Elira had questions, though, too many to really be of any good use. Her attention returned to Inyos, another sweep of her eyes cast over him.

"I'm guessing that wasn't exactly an option for you. You're here now, though which is... surprising. I figured you and Mandan would have found some cozy corner of the galaxy and taken up a regular life. Wives, kids..." She wrinkled her nose a bit at the last word as if the thought was distasteful - not in that Jedi shouldn't have children, just in that it was far too telling of their ages. "I know Atton keeps tabs on people, but I figured you were long lost, Ra's."

[Inyos Aamoran]

It was like being hit by a cannon. Mandan.

It wasn't as if Mandan Hidatsa had been forgotten. How could he be? If family was about belonging, then Mandan had undeniably been his brother. Through the Clone Wars, and the Purge, his fellow Jedi had barely strayed from his side. They were equals, and opposite, two halves of a whole. Inyos had a head for scripture, for old wisdom and proverbs, for teachings, techniques, tenets, and all the ancient lore that a hundred thousand years of Jedi Knights. Mandan had a heart for people, for nature, for the living Force. Mandan was the smile that Inyos had been incapable of mustering on his own. Mandan was the empathy that so often illuded Inyos. Everything good about Inyos, everything human, everything warm, had been carved into him by his kinship with Mandan Hidatsa; and perhaps he had left a mark upon the man as well.

Had.

"Mandan died."

The admission was worse than the feeling; worse because it was a lie. Mandan hadn't died. Mandan had been murdered, and it was Inyos whose hands had been on the lightsaber; Inyos whose hands were irrevocably stained with his brother's blood. There had been factors. Circumstances. Darkness. Corruption. Shadows that twisted their mind and turned them against each other. It didn't change the fact of it. Didn't change the memory of it. There was no forgiveness; no absolution. There was no one left to offer it.

Inyos' shoulders sank lower, the hand resting against the bed suddenly being called on to help hold him on his feet.

"But not before he had a son." A faint ghost of a deeply conflicted smile tugged at Inyos' features. "A boy named Wyl. He became a Jedi, and -"

Inyos trailed off. His eyes had strayed, and inadvertently found themselves gazing upon Elira's face again. Something drastic had gone wrong with gravity: with each passing moment, and each heartbeat that began to thunder in his chest, it became harder and harder to stand.

"- I think he would have made Mandan proud."