Log:Tending Wounds

Tending Wounds

OOC Date: June 23, 2019
Location: FRT Nomad
Participants: Iollan Canem, Aryn Cole

Jessika had gotten their ship underway once the Gaavros Commonwealth thanked them for their intervention and negotiation. It was not the greatest ending to their quest, but it saved much much more in the end. The somber note, and lasting after effect, of battle was imprinted on them all. Some had come close with death while others wrestled with the notion of fighting a race that was significantly inferior to their own. Aryn Cole wrestled with her own loss, her battle unseen by the others, but its outcome is written across her face. She had lost her patient.

The young noble doctor was tending to C-3P0 in the crew berthing. His chassis was being wiped clean, and mud picked from his servos so that he might function at more ideal capacity. He spoke while the small woman worked. "...my circuits thank you, lady Cole. It has been quite some time since I've seen any battle." Aryn just quietly hmms, to show she acknowledges what he's saying. The idle motion with her hands enough to take her mind away.

It could have gone much worse. A common theme, common parting on situations like this. It could have been terrible. But presently most everyone was alive, the ship was heading back into orbit and Iollan could still pronounce his name, so there was an argument to be made on counting this a success. He'd been quiet on the walk back, just as before. At some point the rain had tapered off, still leaving them damp and chilled.

But he wasn't complaining; even as everyone settled in, dispersed into their own corners for the ride home, the PI kept his easy demeanor. The wound on his head was ugly - not unfixable, but certainly far from pleasant. Starting just above his left brow, it split up into his hairline where the club had skimmed along and caught his shoulder, leaving only a bruise there. Most of the bleeding had stopped and he had mopped it arguably clean on the walk over, but now the headache was clanging unbearably with little distraction. Gloved hand hooked on one of the overhead lips in the low ceiling, leaning weight into it, he watches the young woman about her work for a moment before speaking. "Hey, doc," and it's soft as if the atmosphere can't hold more presently, "you got a sec there?"

The title earns both the attention of the kneeling woman and the golden protocol droid. "Oh goodness, he's injured. This can wait, please see to your friend.." The droid says when Aryn rises up to her full height. She begins to fold the rag in her hands. "Sure. Are you doing alright, Mr. Iollan?" She sets the rag aside and gently urges the protocol droid away. Threepio is heard shuffling back to the lift to go terrorize Captain Pava in the bridge. Aryn steps closer. She is wearing a noble tunic of green and dark brown. At one point it was complete with a cape, but the Chistori children had made off with that article, revealing that she had only been armed with a sheathed knife, and a satchel marked by the universal sigil for first aid.

Despite their adventure, she looked to be the cleanest of the bunch, only her boots had seen the worst of the planet they left behind. Her expression was somber, but her eyes searched out his for a moment, and the bright blonde that hung over one cheek was brushed back behind her ear.

A soft smile comes and goes for the droid. The PI looks tired, just enough to notice, and it hooks on how he sways slightly with the nod directed to Aryn, watching her for a moment with the measured downward tilt of his head. What small amount of armour he had come with had been left in his seat, the shoulder pads and chest piece is gone, leaving only his jumpsuit peeled down to waist and hooked over the wide gunbelt. His usual grey shirt underneath that now clung to broad shoulders, still wet from the rain, unbuttoned at the collar. Not as well put together as when they had left, surely.

"If you're not busy, that is," he offers. Dark eyes trace her face for a moment, as if trying to take stock of something there. But he sighs then, gently. "Mostly stopped the bleeding, but I'd just like you to have a look all the same."

"Of course." She says softly, managing a small pretty smile. Her hand is reached out and gently cups over his arm, her other follows, and it's toward the small medical bay she leads him. The ship gently rocks as they clear the atmosphere of Gaavros; this was the feeling of sub lights coming to life.

The medical bay was modest but had all the proper amenities required to sustain someone's life. "Please take a seat and lean it back. I'll need to get a good look at it. Take .. --" She clears her throat a bit, her cheeks finding a bit of color. "..remove your shirt as well." She moves away from him to get her rolly stool and sits down upon it. Her satchel is lifted off and set nearby. The first thing she puts on is gloves.

Like an echo he returns her smile, a little crooked and far less pretty, by the habit of it precedes. Within a moment they are in the med bay and he takes a beat to glance around, eyes settling on the seat he's been directed to.

At her instructions there comes a pause, slight, before a small hum of understanding breaches the surface. Unhurried, he goes first to pull the ever-present gloves off, worn leather flexing over both hands before he tosses them on the counter nearby. Without ado the same hands come over to grab the back of the grey shirt collar and pull it over his head, damp fabric following the gloves. Now, bare-chest as he is, a different side of the rambling detective comes to light; blue-black ink stretches over near every inch of skin usually kept hidden, from his knuckles all the way up to what would normally be just under his collar; it seems to be a mixture of different styles, patterns and glyph tucked here and there, traditionally artistic animals in various poses scattered other both arms. Without comment to it at all, Iollan turns to take a seat with a heavy sigh, tipping back as it reclines as she had asked. As if finally happy to be sitting, green eyes drop closed within a moment as heavy hands drop to his thighs, clearly relaxed.

Aryn has pulled her gloves on and watches him undress halfway. Her eyes timidly search the patterns on his scan, but like him, silence is all she offers until he is settled in front of her. She scoots closer and activates a small light. "I'm going to open your eyes individually to check for signs of concussion, alright?" Her hand is warm and rests over his forehead, her thumb gently placed just beneath his brow to open his eye further to shine a penlight. Each eye is done the same, then she clicks it off, making a soft hmm.

He may have felt her touching around the wound on his face then, examining.

Another soft hum of understanding. He sits quietly as she goes about working, familiar with the ins and outs of sitting in a med bay like this. Perhaps there are some scars laced under all that ink, but it's hard to tell. When he feels her fingers around the ugly head wound, a deep and controlled inhale comes, holds, presses into an exhale. It's still tender, but she's mindful and he has no complaint in him. But green eyes open a touch, still hooded, and watch her for a beat. Consideration pools still in his expression, watching how somber she is. "You doing alright too, darling?"

"That seems to be the question of the hour." Aryn replies back cryptically. Her accented tone was soft though, carrying no sign of offense. "I suppose I will be okay with time. Losing a life, a young life, is not an easy pill to swallow." She makes a focused looking expression and looks away briefly to get something from nearby. "This will be a little cold.." Whatever she gently rubbed upon his wound /was/ cold, but the feeling passed with a pleasant numbing compound that chased away the pain. Aryn began to take her time cleaning his wound, revealing the contours of the agitated flesh beneath dried blood. Her blue eyes did not falter from the view.

"There is always grace in trying." It isn't helpful, but it's enough to carry the light comfort he means to have in his voice, lilted and smokey in the privacy of the medbay. She may not be looking at anything but the task at hand, but still he watches just her with reserved interest. It's easier, too, as the numbing takes effect and the twanging pain has less of a hold on what concentration remains. Against his legs, both hands flex for a moment and fall back, chasing tension away as it still lingers from the battle.

"Have you done this sort of thing before?" There's no judgment, tone free of anything prejudice, but he asks anyway.

"What sort of thing?" She asks, mainly looking for clarification. She trades out the tool she is using for something even smaller. What she uses it for, or how she uses it, cannot be 'felt' through the numbing agent. Her eyes shift from her work briefly to find him watching her. Her lips form a thinner line and she looks back to his injury. Was there grace in trying? Perhaps. Aryn's mind saw nothing but the negative at the present moment. She was disappointed in herself.

"A fight like that - like all this." Eye contact comes and goes in the scatter of a moment and he only let's the corner of his mouth twitch into a characteristic grin, just barely. "I'm sure you've done the healing things before. You're good at that."

"I've been in a few, yes. I'm not particularly fond of the violence. This time though, it couldn't be helped. We took a path that potentially saved everyone, even if a few had to die to do it." The last part is spoken softly, nearly a whisper like it pained her to say it. Whatever motion she had been making was put on pause for a moment, and she stared at his wound (though, one might detect it wasn't the wound she was looking at.)

It comes as barely a movement, how his hand slips over and brushes knuckles over her thigh, what's closest to him as they sit there. It's meant to be comforting, but he stays mindful still. Sea-green eyes stay on her face, slow blink belaying his kindness in that moment before his face turns forward again and eyes fall shut.

"Yes, you're right," is the easy reply, solemn though free of anything so dour. A small motion comes as he adjusts in his seat, shoulders finding a new tilt against the backrest as both hands settle again on the worn legs of that jumpsuit. "It never gets easier."

The touch to her thigh brings her back to present and she glances down in time to see his hand retreat. She feels her cheeks grow a little warm and looks to his face to see if he witnesses this, but found he had allowed his eyes to close. "It is the way of our galaxy. War, violence, mistreatment, and other abhorrent things." The sound of tools setting down on a table signals that she has finished with his face. It looked much better now, cleaned, and even the swelling was going down. The numbing agent would continue well into the next day and by then, it'd just be a scab. It's to his shoulder that she begins to look. The wound on his face seemed to have indications that he was injured here as well. She removes one glove and touches gently, feeling for swelling. "What about you? You seemed calm in the conflict."

By any small luck his shoulder seems far less damage by the wide swing from that club; bruised along the upper crest of it, something that would surely be an awful yellow and blue in a couple of days, but nothing that wouldn't fade.

With another breaking inhale and slow release he opens his eyes again, the weary clear in his gaze as he turns his head to follow the movement. "Wasn't my first shootout, darling," he replies kindly. That smile tugs a little wider, something interesting crossing his thoughts in private. But he only shrugs his good shoulder at that. "Anyway, I never much had it in me to panic at anything. Bit of a character flaw, I'm told."

Aryn doesn't detect anything out of the ordinary. She is gentle, almost massage like, with his shoulder feeling along the bone and muscle. When she decides that nothing is broken or fractured, she pulls her hand away, nodding when he confirms what she suspected. "Hardly a shoot out though. That was a battle. Had you all not held the line.. there's no telling where any of us would be right now." This statement carried a dark undertone to it as if Aryn had been captured before.

She pulls her glove off and applies an ointment to her hands, rubbing them together like the substance was a lotion. Then, she cupped her hands over his shoulder and began to apply the ointment. Like the earlier substance to his head, this was slightly numbing too. It felt cool to his pores, found his muscles and made them relax. She applied it to both shoulders so as to not cause cramping. She takes her time doing this, often brushing her fingers out over the skin thoughtfully. When she sees a smile form on his face, she makes an attempt to influence the force. She was prone to surface thoughts, and it came to her naturally in some cases, even if she didn't want it to. That was not the case for this instance, and all she heard was perplexing silence after his character flaw statement.

There is little to protest as she works, hands clearly skilled and broadly kind in their work. All he truly need to is sit and watch, fighting off the seeping waves of exhausting coming in now after the last dregs of adrenaline had faded. That, too, was nothing unexpected. But the little smile carries on, like always. Empty, pleasant enough. An expression that says nothing.

Eventually, when it seems as though she has worked in the last of the treatment at the moment, the PI pulls in a deep breath and moves to straight up slightly, palms pressing into his thighs as if to stir life back to himself. "Thank you, darling."

"Of course." She says, rubbing her hands despite their numbing. She rises from her stool and walks to a nearby sink to begin washing her hands. Aryn takes her time doing so, her thoughts making her eyes gloss over again while her hands go through the idle motions of scrubbing each finger with soap then rinsing. Her back is to Iollan while she works, silence becoming a pregnant presence between them now.

He stands with a small noise of effort, having perhaps been all too relaxed for the time they've spent here. But it's the work of only a couple moments to step towards the counter, gathering up his shirt to slide it back on, one hand running through the collar to adjust how it sits. It goes up then, finger scrubbing through the nearly-dry fall of his hair, lighter blonde now that it isn't wet, keeping mind to the injury still healing. The gloves are pulled into his hand without being slide back on as he steps back, tossing a glance over to Aryn and holding pause for another second or two.

"Take care, doc," is the only farewell, brief and low, before he turns to step out of the door.

"Yeah, you too." She says, not looking up from her work.