Log:Rude Awakening

Rude Awakening

OOC Date: February 2020
Location: Ajan Kloss
Participants: Zorii Bliss, Yari, Borias Temerian

The medbay is still fairly busy following the battle of Exegol. Far too many soldiers, pilots and other personnel were critically injured in the final, brutal battle against crushing odds, requiring long treatment periods. The worst are the ones stuffed in bacta tanks to stabilize and heal, with the bay 2-1B droid moving between them regularly.

This time, he pauses by one. Inside is a man who looks considerably less beaten up than he was when he arrived, numerous blaster scars still visible as pinkish shiny spots on his arms and brawny torso. Borias has seen better days. Then again, he was one of the lucky ones who made it back regardless.

The droid pauses, then inserts a connector into the tank. "Your treatement is complete, lieutenant. Stand by while I drain the tank." Another twist, and the used bacta begins to drain out, Borias reaching out to brace himself until his feet are back on the ground, then holding still as a followup shower of clean water runs over him to get the last of the bacta away as it drains also.

Finally, the tank opens, as the tall man carefully slides off the rebreather he's been using, handing it to the droid as he rumbles. 'Thanks."

He holds still as the droid removes a few other relevant connections, then gestures to a nearby changing area. "A towel and clean uniform have been provided. You may return to duty."

Borias hmms, then shrugs, padding over barefoot behind the screen as he starts to get changed into something less...well, damp.

A couple residents of this busy hub are faces new to the Resistance, having arrived shortly /before/ the cataclysmic events over Exegol. Survivors, accidental findings and souveniers of the Kijimi search op. Remnants of a population that was made extinct in a flash. A BIG flash.

One of them was practically a corpse when delivered here, kept alive by the field ministrations of Dr Aryn Cole. He's had his share of bacta dips and surgical procedures, kept sedated throughout the past week for his own protection...as well as everyone else's. Apparently the man had been a touch combative when first awakening between treatments, so. Beauty rest was a wise call. The man is past the critical point, clearly going to make a sound recovery and live life just fine with one lung. He's laid out in bed at the moment, just an hour or so into this conscious realm. Sedatives reversed.

Skin weathered by the harsh, cold climate, auburn hair streaked with gray, he is not a /young/ man, somewhere in the 40-50 range, most likely. Built like a farmhand, lean and mean, he's been no stranger to manual labor, an honest living.

He's got company now - the other new face. This one's much younger, minor injuries having healed just fine on their own. Yari is perched on the edge of Galen's bed, spooning a bit of broth into his face with shaky hand. Said broth smells of herbs, brine - one boiled from clams, mayhap? There's nothing but silence between them, the patient making almost constant eye contact with his companion.

After a minute or so Borias emerges in a crisp, clean uniform in his size, pausing to stretch, with a slightly audible popping as he winces, rolling his neck. Not a lot of space to really stretch out in a bacta tank. With a faint grunt and a last back and forth title of his neck, before his eyes fall on the woman feeding the older man. A frown crosses his face at that, before his gaze runs over the cots full of more injured and crippled Resistance personnel.

Galen Zapal lays up in bed, propped by a slight tip of table and now, his left elbow. The patriarch and owner of "Starbird Tavern" is at long last woke from a chemically-induced slumber. He's dressed in a simple take-or-toss medical robe, chest still puckered pink with new skin where once was a large, seared hole of meat. He should not, by any law of nature, still be alive.

But there are some who're very glad that he is.

Yari dips the spoon back into broth mug to ferry another mouthful onward to pater. Neither of these two people are small, so it's a tight fit there, on the bed. She's got one buttcheek and a folded leg anchoring her weight to the edge while her right foot secures balance against the floor. The girl's face is all blotchy and red again like she's been crying (so par for the course) and Galen's is just drawn and pale. Sharp eyes of stormy gray have taken in their surroundings and come to a grim conclusion but so far there's been no words but a soft smile for his daughter. Obliging her insistance that he eat something. Those claws dug from the riverbank last night? They've been put to pot and that broth is what warms his insides now.

The arrival of another tall, dark stranger to the scene has caught Yari's eye though, so the next spoonful is a near miss. Feeds half a nostril in addition to that stubbled upperlip. Galen snorts, rears back his head and redirects the spoon himself while following Yari's uncouth staring with a look of his own.

Borias mmms, nodding slightly as Yari looks his way, politely, though trying not to intrude on someone he doesn't know. The problem with that, of course, is that he has to go past that cot to the storage lockers that are holding his gear. Which he does, with a rumbled. "Pardon." as he slips past, then opens it up, pulling out a shot-up nonstandard heavy armor bound up in a mass, then a carbine and a gleaming blaster pistol in a shoulder holster that he slides into place with the air of long practice.

Last, but not least, he pulls out a broadbrimmed hat, shaking it out a bit and bending it slightly to restore it to true after being stuffed in a locker, before he sets it on his head, fingers running along the brim with a little unconscious flair as he sets things to rights, letting out a little huff of air, then runs the strap for the carbine over a shoulder, and hefting the armor with the other arm, his bicep flexing powerfully as he shifts it to where it's comfortable to carry on a broad shoulder.

Zorii hadn't really intended to come to the medbay. It wasn't that she didn't care about survivors from Kijimi, there was almost nothing in the galaxy for which she cared /more/, but there's a certain level of disdain she holds for herself in hiding the unfortunate fate of their planet from Yari.

Yet here she is. Stepping into the camps medical facilities with her helmet on, as per usual, gazing around until her gaze settles on Yari feeding the wounded father. The medical droid overseeing the injured while medical staff are cycled out for rest holds up a hand. <"Can I help you?"> Stopping the red suited smuggler whose dark visor is fixed upon the family from Kijimi...

So many of them. "Yeah, I'm here to talk to them.." Pointing to Yari and her father. "Speak with General Dameron, he'll give me temporary clearance." The droid is quiet, consulting database, <"Zorii Bliss. Captain of the Blissful Flyer. You have clearance."> Stepping aside to return to its duty without further preamble or concern for her presence.

Galen frowns, subtly, studying more his daughter's expression than any particular details of Borias and his gear.

Yari watches the hat's restoration to proper place and form with a multitude of small, pointless questions spawning from the sight. It's just a hat, but it's different from what every other soldier she's seen has worn. And so she says as much, looking down at Galen with broth balanced in lap so both index fingers may cross and slide apart, followed by pat to her head.

Different hat. Different rank? Different affiliation?

Galen offers a simple shrug and verbal sigh. "I don't know what I know, right now."

Cept that he's hungry. Rough hands reach with gentle care to extract the mug from Yari's distracted self and he grunts slowly into an uncomfortable sit. "Nice hat," he offers aside to the big guy assembling his gear. The spoon's tossed aside onto the sheet after being slurped clean and mug lifts directly to mouth to hasten this procedure.

"'M fond of it." Borias rumbles, his basso voice gravely as he smiles faintly, idly rubbing over his stubbly chin then scratching at it. "Been with me a while, be a shame if I'd lost it just because I'd been shot a few times." He shrugs his shoulders slightly, intelligent eyes flicking to Yari as he considers the motions she's made. "She ask about that?" he says thoughfully. He can tell it's some sort of communication...but can't really follow.

The point from the helmeted's woman not far away draws a flick of his eyes as he studies her as well, a faint tilt coming to his head. It's a professional assessment, lingering on the blaster, the armored outfit, the fingers of his right hand flicking absently for a moment. "Friend of yours?" he murmurs.

Zorii keeps her hands away from the pair of blasters of on her hips. Understandingly thinking that coming in armed to a military base would probably raise a few eyebrows, despite her relationship with one of the senior command staff, she is wise about where her hands fall. Hooked into the belt behind the belts on either hip, well back from the grips, coming to a stop near the pair of Yari and Galen, and Borias by proximity.

Her visor is intermittently fixed upon the intelligence officer and the father/daughter pair. It's entirely possible she heard the question to them, but she's not answering for them. Truth is, she's not a friend of theirs. Just copatriots. A refugee. Just one who is in a position to cause a little chaos in her angry predisposition towards vengence for their shared loss.

The black visor settles down on the cot. Waiting to step further until Galen or Yari invite her, but standing in such a direction that she's clearly visable so that her quiet lurking isn't gone unnoticed.

"In a word, yeah." Galen flicks a glance without removing his lips from mug. His terse response is a bit hoarse but suits to answer both questions, re: hat and the walking, pointing Bronzium helmet named Zorii.

Yari didn't note Zorri's arrival right away, too busy making assessments of her own..and a small, shy smile when Borias looks their way. Busted. She puts her head down, picks at a frayed edge of the zipper running midline down her saggy, baggy jumpsuit.

The shifting of cot jerks her attention back to present and she reaches to retrieve the discarded spoon. Mid-reach though, a familiarily colored shape is suddenly in her sights. Galen's sat up as straight as he can manage, leveling a stoic stare on the fellow Kijimite. Eyes afire with /lots/ to say. But for now, there is a moment of quiet as Yari breaks the ice with a flash of a smile, and tugs once on her father's sleeve, like he's not already aware. Both index fingers hook over each other, flip-flopping position, followed by a palm-out toward Zorii. A motioning to indicate 'us', then pinched-together fingers of her right hand touch lips and cheek, respectively.

Your friend is here. She will take us home.

Galen does not appear to share Yari's enthusiasm for this revealed ray of hope. At least, not at first. After a few breaths, he remembers half his audience and forces a more reassuring nod and smile to Yari. The mug is pressed back into her hands and he asks, touching fingers of both hands together. "More?" A nod of head to spur her away on her errand.

'Spurred' Yari isn't much faster than her typical preggo self, but her waddleshuffle out of medbay is executed with a/bit/ more zeal. You paged Zorii Bliss with 'YAY, DADDY LOOK, YOUR FRIEND'S HERE, EVERYTHING IS FINE, WE'RE GONNA GO HOOOOME!'

Galen's answer gets a faint nod from Borias, before he reaches back into the locker to pull out a pair of slightly battered boots, shifting over to perch on the edge of an empty cot, setting the armor down next to him. The bed creaks noticeably with his weight, before he starts pulling on his boots. He's aware of Zorii, keeping her in his peripheral vision, but not watching her directly. Galen seems to know here, so...good? Hmm. Yari's waddle draws a faint frown from the big man, his brow furrowing. He'd ask her if he could do it...but Galen seems to have the air of a man deliberately sending her away for a moment.

Instead he busies himself checking over his weapons quiety, keeping them pointed towards the floor as he does so. In earshot.

Zorii doesn't move forward because neither of them actually invited her to do so. She's not being obtuse, just... polite. The family of two has been through a lot and interjecting herself for the sake of her own inner turmoil about lying to the unfortunate, pregnant woman are of little real consequence in this matter. She knows where priorities lie.

Thankful for the protective sheath of black that obscures her visage from those present, for she cannot contain the well of emotions at that... look. That excited light brightening Yari's eyes when she gazes up at her like she knows the secret passages to the dark place where destroyed worlds go after struck with Weapons of Mass Destruction. She doesn't know. She only knows false hopes and lies. That's her stock and trade.

"I'm sorry." Stepping to the side so Yari can waddle past, turning to watch her go with the brush of her bronzium helmet cutting across the distended belly.. then back to Galen. "I didn't know how to tell her." Assuming the father knows what the daughter doesn't seem to.

She is likewise aware of Borias, and very well may be staring, but it's ney impossible to know from behind her obscuring helmet. Her voice is gently distorted by that adornment. It almost makes her sound pleasant despite the emotion in her voice. "I also didn't feel like it was my place." She could have said nothing, but that didn't feel right either. Instead she gave her false hopes, completely by accident. And it's the catalyst for this visit.

Galen shakes his head, staring quite obtusely at Zorri. "Tell her what." That hollow feeling in his belly is sucking everything he just ate into the ache of emptiness while reversing flow of acid and bile /up/. Refluuuuux. "Did..." his tongue flits over lips that're feeling dry despite the goop smeared onto them by med staff. It's a nervous sort of dry, this fear of the unknown that deep down IS known, just maybe not exactly ALL of what ought be known. And knowing it. "Wh--where is Gawynn?" He asks of his wife, co-conspirator in their last-ditch efforts to smuggle children off the mountaintop, these last few months. "Have you seen them? Brinna? Jo--" a hand comes to his chest, resting against that place which the stromtrooper had blown messily through, to break his relentless grip on his boy. "They were taking Jonha, we--"

Galen drops his gaze, shoulders sagging with the weight of recollection. He hasn't remembered his manners to invite her for a sit, but he doesn't seem keen on punching her if she comes any closer, either. Just lost, in a ward he didn't remember falling asleep in. "We were about to move them - the next shipment. That night, but...the raids started early. They came to our door. Yari was...she'd just put Brinna to bed."

Borias slides his pistol back into place, shoulder his rifle, then scooping up his armor, getting to his feet with a faint grunt, before glancing over to Zorii and gesturing to to the vacated seat next to Galen's bed, stepping to the side so she can pass. Not his conversation, mind...but seems like a deep one, and he reckons she'll prefer to be sitting at Galen's level than standing over there.

Well that strikes her like an hammer against an anvil and the stoic smuggler Queen flinches visibly at Galen's unaware series of questions. Even after Borias has invited her to the vacant seat, she stands there staring in silence as she's, again, confronted with the revelation that she's got to break the worst news a family can ever receive. She is, hands down, the worst person for that job.

But she takes it seriously.

Her hands slide off her belt to reach for the latches holding her helmet in place on the high neck guard. Releasing the units built in biofilters in a hiss as it pulls up and off her mane of black hair pulled back into a loose bun beneath. The bronzium adornment of her armor is set down on the side table as she sits down in the chair beside Galen's bed.

Staring at him with blue eyes rimmed in dark spheres. There's no tears in those blood shot eyes, but there's plenty of apprehensive emotional outpouring waiting for any excuse to break loose in a tsunami at the drop of a preverbial hat. One of her bronzium tipped hands reaches out for the fathers hand clutching upon his own chest in the memory of the last touch of his son. One that will haunt him until he's unable to draw breath.... a memory Zorii had not seen and is herself victom to the spectre now cloistering her dark memories of that day ... the series of events that followed.

Trying to save as many of the three hundred plus million Kijimites as she and the crews of ships could before the Xyston fired that horrible weapon rendering the rescue operation ended abruptly. She stares at him with eyes that speak to the darkest revelations a woman can possibly verbalize without saying a single word.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't stop them." Goosebumps run up the back of her neck. The muscles in her jaw tighten until they hurt just back from her mandibular bone. Finally, as if against all urgency to keep them at bay, for weeks now, a single tear breaks free from her cold blue eyes and runs a streak across her pale cheek. "Kijimi is gone."

Somewhehre in the galley, there's a young chef returning to the scene of her culinary labor, blissfully unaware of this conversation. A second helping will be ladled into mug and fortified with a jiggly slip of clam's foot and spring of some downy green plucked off the jungle floor. A tiny flower, as spicy in flavor as it smells. Yari might ache for the comfort of home and kin, but she cannot deny the great bounty these Klosslands provide. Sweet, savory, tangy, earthy - flavors for every palate if one only looks long and hard enough under bush and bramble, log and stone. Fare here can be light and flavorful without spending a week's earnings on imported goods. Foraging amid the ice-covered crags of home is a venture much less rewarding, for equal effort.

Back in the confines of medbay, spirits have grown darker still. Sunk into an unfathomable abyss. This degree of loss is, quite simply, incapable of being processed. At least, not without vast difficulty. Even for the street savvy tavern proporietor. Galen's expression buckles under the blow, body wilts, and free hand uplifts to drag over his puckering face and into hair. Where they grip. Fiercely. It's something to hold onto, that greying bush of ruddy brown.

"H--" How? "Th--they were right there. With me. I f-felt it, I fell. S'just...pictures. The tunnels. We made it to the tunnels. Others I didn't-don't know. Taking us. Taking us." Misty eyes uplift to cut past her to Borias, to anyone else in the room.

"WHERE ARE THEY!???? WHERE IS MY WIFE!?" It's evident now why he was sedated for so long, as those long legs kick over the side of the cot and he tries to escape the tethers of fluid lines and catheters and pulseox. One hand still ensnared with Zorii's. Tightly. An anchor point. "We--we had people /waiting/ we were going to GO!!"

And the burst of hulk rage leaves him, headrush of such a quick rise simply too much to overcome. Gravity pulls him back down into a crumpled heap of grief and muffled moans.

Ah. That's why, Borias thinks to himself, his eyes closing briefly at the pain in the man's voice. Everyone knows about Kijimi now. One more cruel mark on the Sith legacy, and the Order's, he supposes. Not that he sees a whole hell of a lot of different between the two at this point.

They open again with a tinge of alarm as he starts trying to get up, the big man dropping the armor and taking a step or two back towards the cot, before Galen collapses back into it, too weak to force himself up. Borias waves off the medical droid as it bustles over, saying something quietly to it, before it heads off again to continue its rounds, though it keeps an optic on Galen as it does.

Zorii is quick and surprisingly strong for such a small woman. Coming out of her seat with such alacrity it would surprise most sentient beings who weren't expecting her.. but she'd have to be those things in her line of work. Her hand in Galen's grips tight while the other holds to his upper arm, steadying him in the firm stability of her body as she draws him towards her in a hug he hadn't asked for.

Which probably means it's as much for her as for him.

Even if she'd never say as much. Aside from that single tear there's no more breach from her cold blue eyes, but it's not because she's without emotions. That's a falicy in the face of such abysmal loss as she's faced the last few months. She had led the crews smuggling most of the survivors from Kijimi. She had been front line in those efforts since the occupation begun, seeing the writing of subjugation on the wall.

She also knew that her past relationship with Poe Dameron had led to him seeking her out on Kijimi and Rey's presence leading to the worlds destruction. Was it unquestionable fact? No... but the time frame was suspect. She'd put the details together herself.

Now she has to deliver this horrible news to one of her own. "They're gone, Galen." Had her ship been there to pick him and his family up? It's entirely possible. It could have been one of hundreds of smaller freighters or converted fighters bringing refugees running from the horrors of their occupied world to the Kijimi flotilla, but the exact details are hazy. She'd seen families torn apart. She'd heard horror stories of lovers who will never be reunited as she walked amongst her people on trade barges used to house the three hundred thousand, of three hundred million, survivors.

It was a heavy weight to carry. She tries to settle him back on the bed, tries to urge him to lay back down, but she knows all too well the Kijimi spirit. God damned if she wasn't the physical manifestation of that unshakable will. She can't make this right, she knows that, but she can be the righteous fury of retribution.

The fiery death that follows.

The last visceral visage of pain for any First Order vessel still flying. Behold the Pale Horse. Now, there's only sadness. Tomorrow... Tomorrow there will be vengence.

Gawynn. Jonah. Brinna. A lovingingly bullheaded wife of twenty-four years, their lanky son approaching the cusp of manhood, their little girl - a joyful, albeit accidental surprise. Gone. Unless they found another way to the transports...

The latter possibility is but a dim flicker of hope however, and it cannot outshine the wave of sorrow that's reduced broad and tall Galen to a whimpering wreck. "Ah-haah.." he sucks in a shivering breath and exhales a sob. "Nooooooooooooooooooo..." The sob trails off into a weakly keened wail.

How does a man explain the cruelties, the incomprehensible power of a planetkiller to his sole surviving, unworldly daughter? A girl who has never ventured beyond eleven, twelve hilly city blocks from home? She'd had a sheltered life, to date. It would serve her best. It DID serve her best. But now? He leans against the smaller pillar of strength, seated but not content to lay. "I...I will tell her." There's an empty quality to his husky tone. Reisgned to a task no one ever wants to volunteer for. "She's a good girl." A noisy sniff reclaims some of the dripping congestion. Recomposure comes in small steps. "A good girl."

Yari pauses outside the medbay doors, taking a breather against the wall to exhale through this wave of kicks and punches. SO active, the wee babe. So violent. All. The. TIME. 'Your father will sing to you soon,' she directs thought inwardly to the restless fetus. 'Later.' Because she hasn't got the music player with her, presently. Once the cramps and thumps have subsided, Yari rounds the corner and makes her return. To a very different scene.

Grief. Pain. Zorii's exposed face. Her father bent like broken eaves under a heavy snow.

The *CLANG* of unshatterable dishware rings out sharply across the space and shellfish soup goes /everywhere/. The sprig of green is the last to settle from the mess, whirling soft pirouettes on a tide of broth. The young woman who'd ferried it this far in careful hands stands frozen in fear. Pa never cries. He never cries. Always calm. Always quiet. Like her. WHAT DO THESE TEARS MEAN??

Borias exhales slightly, turning away from the scene. He feels like he's intruding...how could he not with grief like that on display? It doesn't require much empathy to feel for the man, the woman.

The daughter, who seems shocked to come back to what's happened, dropping the bowl in a mess of seafood and spices and broth across the floor. Again, the medical droid bustles over. "See here, we cannot have messes in a recover ward..." it begins, before Borias heads it off, leaning in.

"I'll get it, the big man rumbles, giving the droid a light push away, as it shakes its head and bustles away again as Borias walks towards Yari, reaching out to pat her shoulder lightly. "...go to him, kid. I'll get this." He reaches down, pick up up the bowl and what's left inside, setting it on a nearby tray, then heads over towards the supply closet to get a cleaning unit out.

Zorii is occupying a place the newly returned Yari should be instead and she quickly stands from the side of the bed beside the crying father so the daughter can come receive news she should already know. That she gave a glimmer of hope where she knew there was none, it is a black mark upon her that she'll carry long after the pain of loss has faded. The look, that particular look, in Yari's face seeing her father weep. Unaware of the catalyst. Unaware of how her world is to be changed in the next few minutes.

It draws parallels to emotions she hasn't even a shadow of hope of expressing herself. She's not designed for it, is Zorii Bliss. So she hides it. Packs that away for a war to come like a soldier burying terrors for the sake of the fight not yet won. Both hands close around her helmet and drop it back into place upon her head, pushing hair up beneath the bronzium lid before she activates the button on the side of the high guard neck plate to seal the systems biofilters with a air sucking click/hiss.

Dimunitive steps take her near to Yari, reaching out to rub her upper arm in a slow stroke.. Stepping aside and angling her back towards Galen as she too kneels down beside the dropped bowl to assist in cleaning up the mess her revelation has led to. She cannot correct the horrors of her ineffective attempt to save her people by speaking. In her wake is chaos just now.. so the mess on the floor will have to suffice.. wiping at it with a rag grabbed off a cart near one of the equipment cabinets with a black glass stare up at Borias.

Yari flinches under the shoulder pat, gentle as it was. Startled, like she hadn't really registered his approach. Lips are saying things but her eyes are on fire and it's hard to see what they say. A look down to the mess she's made renews the sense of panic but she's...not in trouble? Borias is watched as he starts the cleanip process for her, then she bolts. Rushes the bed.

'WHY', her left hand comes up parallel with the side of her head and three of the fingers (pinky excluded) clap down repeatedly against palm. The sign is made with jerky motion. An abruptness to express the anger and confusion. Dad was fine. Zorii sat with him. Dad is not fine. Her datapad, tucked into voluminous pantleg pocket, is forgotten in this moment. Communication suffers. But before she can /really/ get going and produce something rude, Galen reactivates from his slump and siezes hold of both her hands. Disarmed. Without a voice.

"Stop," he instructs and pulls her in close, waiting until Yari's quit her frenzied WTF HAPPEN attempts at getting answers, then releases one of her hands, so he may keep her chin turned in his. Eyes focused on him. Not the others. "Listen," he instructs with a tap to his lips.

And it begins.

With a faint hum accompanying his return, Borias pushes a cleaning vaccuum over, slowing a bit as he sees Zorii already cleaning. Not unkindly, he rumbles quietly. "Got this. If you want to...?" He glances over to where Yari is frantically signing to her father as he tries to calm her down a bit.

His gaze returns to Zorii after a moment, a quiet understanding in his gaze. "...or if you don't.' he finishes simply, starting to run the cleaner over the mess to suck it up and leave the floor dry behind it as he carefully makes the puddle disappear bit by bit.

Zorii does not. She's done the damage, despite the catalyst not being hers to claim. She did not fire the beam that destroyed their planet and killed their loved ones, but it would be a hard argument to sell her on this not being inherently her fault. Failing to evacuate /everyone/. The concept of which is insane, she knows it is, she's not a stupid woman. She's not ruled by her emotions or governed by illogical notions.

She's pragmatic and intense.

She's also not a monster.

"No, they need each other right now... not me." Said to Borias. Glancing up at the soldier with a clipped nod of her helmet, kneeling with her arms on her thighs while his vacuum makes short work of cleaning the puddle. She doesn't rise or move or even flinch away now. She just stares at the slightly damp place where the broth had previously been.

Somehow Galen's found a way to keep his own howls under wraps for now, needing to be the rock that Yari can cling to for the time being. Or beat on. There's a little bit of both happening while she gets out those furious feels. Muted snuffles and anguished, wheezy sobs escape around the meat of his shoulder while one firm hand cradles her head there, fingers disappeared into the mussed braid.

Since she was Brinna's age, those locks have been a lost cause. As hopeless as their shared future, now.

Galen rests his chin atop her head and watches the pair at work on the floor. Exhaustion overcasts the light in his eyes. Making them dead. Cold. Listless. "Where are we now?" It's a question he hadn't had time yet to ask. It wasn't important, assuming his family was here. But now the man's taking stock of what options remain for a future. For him. For his daughter. For his grandchild....

The knowledge that Gawynn won't be a part of that baby's life, won't be there for Yari when her time comes brings a new surge of emotions, one being panic. He is ill prepared for this. They all are. Whatever blame Zorii is feeling isn't added to by accusations of his own. She lost people, too. No doubt. "What happens next?"

Borias nods quietly to Zorii, finishing the cleanup, then pausing before he crouches next to the other woman, his blue eyes sympathetic. "...dunno if it's what you want to hear right now." he notes softly in that deep basso voice. "Had an instructor once. He started his class telling us there were three things we always had to remember."

He holds up an index finger. "Remember: the galaxy isn't fair. You can't save everyone." A second finger joins the first. "Remember: you should always try anyway. Because kriff that."

Borias gazes into his own reflection in Zorii's helmet, his voice quiet but steady. "Remember..." he rumbles solemnly. "You can't try to save everyone and leave yourself lost. It isn't fair. Not to you, and not to the people who care about you."

The big man reaches out, lightly squeezing Zorii's shoulder briefly. "Grieve. But don't lose yourself in it. Save the people you still can. Because they still need you. And sometimes, that's just being there for the other people who are still here dealing with why others aren't."

He rises back back to his feet. "...hope it helps. Did for me, once or twice." A last nod, and he reaches down to scoop his armor up again, tucking it on his shoulder, before he pushes the cleaner back over into its closet, then heads out of the bay.

Time to get back to work.

Borias Temerian heads into Steerage through the Out exit.

Zorii is a singularly stoic woman under almost all circumstances, but this situation hit her particularly hard. She's had no family since she was a child. Only the Spice Runners, most of whom likely survived.. even if a few didn't. They knew what the score was. They went into it knowing that was a possibility they might have to face. Mortality was never garanteed in their line of work.

So while she lament their passing, it was acceptable because they didn't venture blindly. This is different. This is the people she swore to protect during the First Order occupation. The ones she'd been working to smuggle off the planet while everything around them crumbled. She dips her head at Borias' words, but the big man is already gone by the time she's summoned the strength necessary to do so.

Standing from her kneeling position to return to Galen and Yari. Not to sit beside them on the bed, break up their sadness, but to be there with two people who share in the loss of so much with her. Be part of their grief, if only as an abstract bystander.

She empathizes, even if she can never truly understand the depths of their loss.

She can answer the questions though. In her gently distorted voice, "A Resistance base in the Ajara system." She tells the father, hands down, together in her lap. What happens next? That's a little more complicated. Her visor falls down to regard the floor, "I have a carrier in orbit with a fully functional medical bay.. and enough room for both of you... I'll take you to the Kijimi Flotilla." She offers, it's meager. "Or you can stay on my carrier. Either way, if I can help you, in anyway, I will."

"The Flotilla," Galen nods, thinking. Thinking and rocking and doing his best to ignore the physical aspect of pain this whole 'cuddling your 5'10" preggo kid' is causing him right now. It's more of a workout than it looks. "How many ships?" How many ships, vying for resources, is what's really running through his head. Desperate people in a desperate situation. And not just any people. People shaped by a tough, unforgiving environment. People with the resolve to survive ... no matter what.

It's a worrying moment of nagging doubt, contemplating how trusted each of those refugees could be to not thieve. Not steal. Not make trouble. Not take advantage of an easy picking. He looks back to Yari, who's lain her cheek on his shoulder and gone quiet. Eyelids puffed and raw, breathing through her mouth with the raspy 'huuuh' 'huuuh' of one who's gone and stuffed up her nose.

"A few." A couple hundred ships of various sizes. Three hundred thousand people is a lot. Zorii understands his concerns, even if he hadn't voiced them, and watches his braving pain to comfort his daughter. It's touching... even if nobody knows she's touched. She sounds as stoic as ever, even infront of someone who saw her shed a single tear.

It was a rough moment.

"I've got my people doing a lot of scavenging and I've pulled every string I've got... called in every favor, on every contact, to get resources.." It wont keep them sustained forever. "And..." Motioning from the side of her helmet, pausing in her explanation of her plans to watch Galen. "And..." She'll find them a new home.

New Kijimi.

It wont be where they came from. It'll be a pale imitation where none of their lost loved ones will ever see.

She blows out a sigh and turns her long helmet to gaze at the droid milling about uncaring of the gravity of the situation. "I've got plenty of space and food on the Waif. You're welcome... offer stands whenever you're ready, just let me know."

Galen nods his appreciation, questions answered for now. Once they're up there, he'll start putting the calls out. Just in case. Just in case the rest of the Zapal clan made it out alive. Just in case old Rohmar Bartyl, that sly bastard, was among them. If there was anything Rohmar excelled in moreso than making money, it was watching his six. All these years. One of the motivating factors behind marrying Yari to their son. She'd be well taken care of. Safe. Close to home.

Til the hunters came for Kyp.

A regrettable oversight, on their part, being unaware of how comfortable the man had become in his dealings. Misplaced trust, even for a moment, gets you dead. And so, in the same year she was married, made expecting, Yari became a widow. Young enough, agreeable enough, at least, she'll have a chance to find the kid a replacement father.

"Thankyou." He rasps, clearing his throat and adjusting the position of his arms. "I uh...we'll find a way to carry our own weight. F'nothin else, can cook an' clean."

Zorii knows some of the particulars of Galen's family relationship with Rohmar, but not all of it. She had an uncanny nack for rumors. People tend to speak freely around her when they shouldn't. Everyone thinks she's obtuse in her dress, but honestly she's subtle by comparison to most beings in the galaxy. And she had a lot of ears. People who owed her favors...

She's a resevour of such stories now, too.

Getting to know refugees.

Now nodding to a pair of them, "I know you will." She assures with an almost dismissive air suggesting that he need not worry about that just now. "Soon as you're ready to head up, send me a holomessage and I'll come pick you up myself." Another promise, standing with hands on her thighs.

She's not nearly as busy a woman as she use to be, but there's plenty that should be on her plate. It's just all been pushed out of the way. "... I'm sorry." She says to him, knowing Yari cannot hear what she's said, even of her hand rests now upon the young, pregnant Kijimi woman's shoulder. "I'm going to give you both some time alone. There's more comfort in each other than in my company, I'm sure."

Yari's right eye, the brown one, turns up and around to look through that pale, coppery hood of frazzled hair. There's a bit of a glare, mostly sads. But also...

Empathy. Before Zorii goes away, she disentangles from Galen's arms and transplants herself onto Zorii. BEAR HUG. She's a hugger! Maybe they aren't doled out often, but when she does, the girl's got skill. And upper body strength. Our Yari flower isn't as delicate as she might seem. It's a bit awkward, the forward lean and overextension this requires to get around her own belly bumper at the moment, but a hug's a hug.

"Ahm sawwy," cracks the whispery voice. First words, since landing in this unknown territory and while the pronunciation and enunciation /really/ leaves something to be desired, it's not too hard to figure out what she said. And what she meant.

Yari's sudden movement would, in any other circumstance, have led to someone getting shot... but Zorii isn't on some backwater moon or overtly jumpy. Nobody here was gunning for her and she knew that. She still turns her head sharply at the sudden movement, but seeing the displaced Kijimi refugee approaching into a latch upon her... She stands there stark still for a second.

Then encircles her red clad arms around the pregnant womans neck, tilting her bronzium helmet to rest it lightly in a return upper body grip. She doesn't have the same skill at it, but she does it rarely enough that it's clear she actually means it.

Stepping back, hands upon Yari's shoulders. The apology, from the deaf woman, who hasn't spoken so much as a peep in all the time Zorii has known her, is heart breaking... Speaking to her Father with a little tilt of her head, "Please tell her she -..." The helmet shakes side to side and the black shield snaps upward to reveal her face, just above her chin where her lips are visible only if she tilts her head forward slightly.

Speaking clearly, but not slowly, "You do not be sorry to anyone." moving her palm to rest on Yari's cheek. "You are Kijimi. And you owe nobody any apologies."

'OK', Yari's right hand comes up to fingerspell her understanding, accompanied by a nod. Her eyes don't blink, watching that narrow slip of space between helmet and skin. Did she catch all that? Maybe. Maybe Galen will have to fill in the gaps, but she's obviously caught the gist, hand on cheek and all. Part of reading lips involves catches the minute differences in what the mouth does to form known words. Part of it also involves understanding of context and taking that into account, if any guesswork becomes required. It's an art. One she's mastered pretty well.

Fingers are twitchy, maybe tempted to say more, but they all go flat, splaying out in a little wave. A weird gesture, this close of proximity, but it's meant to say goodbye. Or "bah," as is exhaled with the wave.

Shadows haunt under Galen's equally puffed eyes now, torso slumped like he's still curled around his kid. He watches, looking and feeling more old than he ever has. Yari's speech jerks a little twitch of a smile from his mouth and he ducks his head to rub behind his neck. Sore. "We'll be in touch soon," he says for Zorii's benefit. "Only....how?" Grey lips crack into a self-admonishing smirk. "I hadn't...I don't." He closes his eyes and inhales deeply through his nose. Regroup those thoughts there, bud. "I don't have a means of contacting anyone."

Zorii steps back and lets her hand fall to her side, just back from her blasters. The mask drops into position on the front of her mask, "If you let Poe Dameron know you're looking for me, he'll get you in touch.. or I can give you my comm frequency on the Blissful Flyer." Which she does anyways, it's not going to beam across the entire galaxy, but it should suffice if she's only in the system. Which she should before a few days yet.

Tapping the small mounted access on her wrist to beam the details to Yari's datapad, which she points out indicatively. The one K5 had given her. She moves back another long step and turns, not sure what to say to either of them that doesn't sound flagrant or overly familiar given the situation.

"Speak with you when you're ready." She opts for neutrality. Dipping her head as she turns and stalks out of the med bay on swaying hips accentuated by quick steps.