Log:The Road to Recovery: Jail Break

The Road to Recovery: Jail Break

Location: Medical Lab, D'Qar
Participants: Ambrosia Greystorm, Hex, Nym Landala , ,Sar Yavok , Rake

Hex is in a hospital bed, recovering from surgery to have hardware installed - no limbs yet, but the pieces necessary to bolt one's cybernetics onto the living flesh. It looks like a type of connection/socket that might eventually allow for swapping limbs on and off, as though Hex actually anticipates breaking his shit so bad he expects to need spares. It's probably a good idea. "You should be jealous of lekku," Hex grins, a hand lifting to run proudly down his own.

"Everyone should. And they are fun, yes. Nautolans have got us beat for sheer numbers, but they lack dexterity, so, still not as good. You know people have straight up asked me 'what are they for'? They're for being better than all the other sentients of the galaxy, is what they're for."

Nym laughs at the description of what lekku are for. Smoothing down some of her curly hair, she pulls them into two poofy hair versions of lekku in either hand. They don't lie flat - instead sticking out practically straight from her head. It's not a good impression. "I imagine the dexterity is the defining characteristic. Togruta's have lekku, too, but I'm not sure if they actually move theirs like Twi'lek's do."

"There you go. Getting closer," Hex grins broadly at Nym's impression. "Togrutas have very attractive lekku, but they lose some points if they can't do shit with it," he replies. "Which, I dunno if they can. I don't know any Togrutas well enough to say. I've actually only seen one up close, it was at an art gallery and I think she mostly wanted to make sure a low-life like me was actually going to pay for my shit. But she pronounced my real name correctly, which was nice."

"Theirs are all stripy, which is nice. I haven't met one, either," Nym tells Hex. "We'll just have to find out one day." New mission: talk to a Togruta about their lekku. After a few moments of moving her hair-lekku around, she releases the handfuls of hair. They mostly go back to sticking out at a curly halo. "That is nice." She pauses for a moment. "What is your real name?" She realizes she didn't know he had a name other than Hex.

"That's not what I said!" The argumentative voice of the one and only /active duty/ Major Greystorm comes drifting into the medbay from outside, born on a rush of wind as the doors herald her return with a hiss. Or maybe it's a sigh. The current victim of Ambrosia's barking is a new orderly, doing her best to maintain a straight and peaceful expression while the older woman has her say...and then some. The two process inside - Ambrosia in the lead from her 'litter' of a hospital bed, guided along by a few fingers of the orderly.

Ambrosia's eyes almost turn out of their sockets as she cranes her head around, trying to look her caretaker square in the face around the bulk of pillow behind her. It's not super successful. "I said /three/." The appropriate number of fingers flashes for emphasis. Except not entirely, as an additional finger is just kinda sorta hovering at half mast.

"Major," the orderly replies curtly but softly, her stare telling of just how thin her patience is stretching, "You said 'tree'. The confusion of a numerical value with a noun is something worth noting on your chart, consideri--"

A cluck of disapproval interrupts the young woman as Ambrosia whacks her thigh with the heel of her hand for emphasis. "Come ON. There was an 'h'. I know the difference between a damn 'tree' and a 'tree.'" Pause. "A Three."

Hex smiles at Nym. "Heksash'kuri," he reveals. "It just gets bashed into Hex Ashkuri outside of Ryloth, because otherwise humans can't handle it." Speaking of humans, there's one over there, making so much noise! Arguing! Hex looks over, fond of his broken buddy, his med lab roommate these past weeks. "Man, I'm so glad I'm not the only one failing my psych evals."

The voice carries, that's for sure. Nym turns in her chair as Amber is brought in, arguing about words and evaluations. Her eyes glance between Hex and Amber and the caretaker as she lets the argument continue without a greeting. Then, as there's a pause, she gives a small wave. "Hey Major," she greets. There's a nod at learning Hex's full name. She doesn't attempt to say it out loud. He just said how nice it is that someone could pronounce it properly for once and she already proved she's pretty rubbish with the Ryl accent before. She'll save it for a later time, when she feels more comfortable with the language.

"Hm." Is all the orderly replies, strolling past Hex, Nym, and another empty bed to redock the Major in her stall.

A dark scowl takes up residency on Ambrosia's face when it's clear that she's not getting her way in this present situation. Outside time is at end. Glancing over at Nym and Hex, she offers a subtle nod hello, but double-takes when HEX actually registers. More importantly - the cybernetic ports installed in his stumps. "Well, look at you..." she murmurs with an appraising raise of the brow. "Just about a step away from takin' one, eh?"

One corner of Hex's mouth turns up in a crooked smile. "Getting there," he replies. "Hurts like a bitch right now, I'll say that, but Nym's been doing a good job keeping me distracted. For which I am deeply appreciative," he tells the young pilot, and the smile warms. "Arni'soyacho." He looks back to Ambrosia, "Once they're sure I'm not rejecting the implants or getting all infected and shit, we'll get to work on the actual limbs. I can't wait to stand up to pee. Seriously looking forward to that. You guys have no idea."

Nym rests an arm on her chair, twisted somewhat so that she can see both Hex and Amber to speak with them. She smiles at Hex and then replies, "Arni! Wait, no, that's thank you. What's 'you're welcome?'" She was so excited to use a phrase that she realized she didn't have the actual response. Then, there's a bit of a wrinkled nose at his quip about peeing standing up. "Ew," she replies, sticking her tongue out a bit at the thought. "No, you're right. I have no idea." $r

Ambrosia shakes her head with a wry smile. Men, and their priorities. "Now you know the inconvenience we've been cursed with, Hex." Shifting her weight around, she grabs at the guard rails of her bed and slowly pulls her torso forward on agonal inch at a time for a stretch. The shapes of legs are whole under the sheet, knees rocking a little to the right, but they don't seem to be offering her much assistance in the matter. By the end of it, she's attempting a toe touch, but too winded to crown her achievement with the whole point behind it. Her damn toe itches.

"Dammit, that's it," she pants quietly and lays there for a minute, bent in half while fidgeting with the sheet by her right ankle. The restraint it exposed, marginally, and she runs her fingertips lightly over it. Mapping it. Meanwhile, her eyes have taken up study of all mechanics within arm's reach.

Hex curls the tips of his lekku in amusement, and winks at Nym. "Koa'hiko," he supplies the right phrase. "Literally 'no worries', but it's a 'you're welcome' as well. There's no more standards of 'ew' when you've been bedridden and chair-bound though, Nym, let me tell you." Like Hex had standards before this happened. "There are so many degrees of gross that I haven't even gone into yet. So many things have gone into and come out of my body that shouldn't be thought of alone at night." He looks over at Amber, and shakes his head, lekku shifting with the motion. Still no sympathy for the fairer sex, apparently, because his response is, "I'm gonna find some snow and write my name in it." But he seems to understand why she's looking around; he's spied a tray with some hemostats and other instruments on it, and reeeeeeaches in that direction, it's just out of reach...

Nym watches Amber and moves to stand. "Can I help you with something?" she asks, assuming the toe touching is for a reason other than to simply prove that she can do it. Then again, from what she knows of the Major, that's entirely plausible. "Other than removing the restraints," she quickly adds. She thinks ahead some times.

"Koa'highko," she repeats back, smiling at Hex. She's still trying. It's her first day! Then, she closes her eyes and holds her hands over her ears, nose wrinkled again. "I'm very happy not having to know the various degrees of gross!" she quickly tells Hex. Between Amber and Hex, she quickly moves the hemostat tray over so he doesn't fall out of bed or cause the entire tray to fall over.

"Quit, kid, you're gonna make a scene," Ambrosia grumbles aside to Hex and his tray-reaching fails. One of her fingers grazes over something a little squishy. A button, maybe, just under the lip of the bed, near her feet. Could it be that easy? Maybe. But...there's a tiny port - or maybe just a bolt - beside it. Probably need a key.

Frowning, Amber sloooowly draws herself back into an upright sit and streeeetches her hands over her head, clasping together. Exercise. That's what she's doing. Yup! An inaudible pop that IS certainly /felt/ shoots a line of fire from the nerve endings of her left, index knuckle. Her right hand makes a sharp but short twist just a few degrees left.

And then the stretch is over. Rubbing her hands together, 'massaging' her early onset of arthritis, the Major returns her lethal weapons quietly to her lap. All philanges are accounted for...just one of them is a bit out of place.

"Thanks, lia'ry," Hex bestows Nym with a term of her very own, but doesn't translate it for her. Instead, he grins. "That's your Ryl homework, you can look up what that means." The tray's in reach now, and he lifts it to set it on his lap, sifting through the items. Hemostats, scalpel, thumb forceps... "Tcha. There is seriously no scene I could even make that would be worse than the scenes you make," Hex replies unheatedly to Ambrosia. "So ungrateful, anyway. I was looking for tools to get you free of that, but now I'm just looking for something to defend myself with once you manage it yourself."

Nym watches Amber carefully for a few minutes, not realizing that the Major may have just broken one of her fingers. There's a grin and a beam at the Ryl homework. She doesn't usually like homework, but she likes puzzles. "I'll study that, then. When you see me next, I'll have a translation!" She's nothing if not ambitious. Looking between the two of them, she raises an eyebrow. Perhaps it's better if she leaves and pretends as if she never saw anything. "I need to head out to the training grounds. Have to start getting things set up for a lesson. I'll come visit again soon!"

"And when someone notices you tampering with a noisy tray?" Ambrosia eyes Hex sideways, going for another painstakingly slow stretch forward. "Of course they'll..." She hushes, as a droid leaves its station to amble through the space to checkin with the main kiosk. A low 'pop' resounds from her spine and she grimaces but doesn't quit the shaky work of her fingers under the sheet, by her foot. Her left hand, gripping the rail for balance, is in possession of just four fingers.

And then a very soft 'click' rings out louder than a bell in her paranoid ears. A pause...and her thumb punches the button. The sheet jumps slightly, retraints snapping open beneath.

A smile - a genuine, smug smile - spreads slowly across the Major's frown of concentration.

"No one would care if /I/ was fussing with a noisy tray, because /I/ am the good patient here," Hex informs Amber, primly. Taking the hemostats left handed, he waggles them in her direction, opening and closing them as though to warn he's armed with very minimal grasping powers should she turn on him and attack! "Better not to be a witness to anything you might have to lie about later," the Twi'lek grins at Nym. "I'll see yo around."

Ambrosia's diabolical grin is sadly short-lived. Just seconds into her freedom, she realizes that she's still stuck. Only this time, it's a back spasm. Her smoldering glare returns, knuckles turning white with their grip on the left rail while she fumbles with getting her disarticulated digit reunited with its socket. The hair-thin shank slides smoooothly into place, but that's as far as her progress gets.

She's stuck, folded a third of the way over. Her muscles visibly twitch along her spine as she struggles to remain this far upright, refusing to cave and lose hardwon ground. "Not happening," she growls to self. <Resistance> Hex says, "There's a Star Wars book with a Lieutenant Deez. I'm like really?! That's like every deez nutz joke. Now you authors aren't even trying." <Resistance> Hex says, "Naalol, I'll give Naalol the benefit of the doubt. But not Deez."

Silence lingers, and just drags right past awkward into Even More Awkward. Hex sets his instrument back onto the purloined tray and sets it aside, but he's still in amputee mode, and his range of motion is limited as well. "...Gonna go ahead and state that I've got literally no idea what to do about this situation," he eventually speaks up. "I don't know if I should offer help I might not be able to actually help with, or just pretend this isn't happening."

"I'd go with the second option, pal..." Ambrosia grunts creeping a few fingers back as far as they'll reach, adjusting her grip, then wrenching herself back/up a few inches. Repeat.

Much time later, outside in the glorious sun......

He may be new in town, but the word of a Lt. Colonel still carries some weight, and Sar Yavok has managed to secure a grumpy Major's temporary release from the Med Lab for a little bit of a pow-wow. The old, grizzled man wanders out of the medical facility, hands hanging on his gunbelt as his eyes move around the tarmac, taking in the sight of an actual, real-life organized military again, after spending so much time with ornery private contractors. It's refreshing to say the least for the old soldier.

The old Shistavanen scout, who'd served in the Rebellion and then the Republic, then the private sector, and now in the Resistance, was working on his small ship, the Longshot. Rake was accompanied by a pair of droids, a BB-series and an R2, both painted unnecessarily in a woodland camouflage pattern. "That should do it, run diagnostics and make sure it's as compatible as that gearhead said it would be," Rake says, the droids beeping their reply as he slides out from underneath the engines. As he picks up a towel from the top of his toolbox and begins wiping the grease from his hands, he looks over and pops off a salute to the light-bird colonel. "Sir," he says.

The orderly guiding Ambrosia's bed out the medbay door doesn't look incredibly happy to be doing so. A little portable monitor follows along like a saddlebag, hitched to the bed on her left side. A wireless pulseox is strapped to her wrist, feeding a continuous stream of data back to the damn machine and the lab. This was the condition of their surrender to the new LtC.

Ambrosia sits up in bed on her own accord, though one hand keeps a pretty firm grip on the tiny rail. Her old jacket is stuffed over her robe, returning a tiny semblance of dignity back to her appearance. Likewise, her hair's been braided gently back. Nothing fancy, but it'll do. "I think he can take it from here, thank you." She mutters to the nurse.

Sar Yavok has been loaded down with file after file after arriving on base. Luckily, they all fit conveniently into his datapad. He swipes a few to the right and holds the device up, comparing the photo to the saluting Shistavanen. He nods to himself and sets the thing aside, moving to shake the man's hand, "Warrant Officer Rake, right? Good to meet you. Heard you're an old-timer like myself." He releases the scout's hand, as he must get back to attend to the Major, but he does beckon for him to follow along.

Sar support Ambrosia's statement with a nod to the nurse and looks down at the Greystorm, "Glad to finally be back out and about, to some extent?"

"I heard that we had a new member in the brass, glad it's someone with some damned experience. Drives me nuts having all these kids, still wet behind the ears, giving me orders. I got gear I was issued before half these pups were born." Rake says after the handshake. He then looks to Amber. "Well, ya ain't walkin yet, but some fresh air should do ya good Major. Anything I can get for ya? I'm pretty good at sneaking things."

"To some extent," Ambrosia answers, arching a brow to her new chaperone. Offering Rake a thoughtful nod, she examines her fingernails. Hasn't seen them this long in years, probably. Cept the left index finger. That one will never grow! "Smuggle me a fifth of something good and I'll repay you two-fold when I can walk myself to the bar." Speaking of pups...she sweeps the landing field once-over with a quick craft count. The freighter belonging to Greystorm Shipping isn't there. Looks like her dear husband had business to tend to, after all. At least he and the kids were around long enouogh to first pay their respects...then dish out a little familial harassment when her stubborn ass decided to wake up rather than follow that too-tempting 'light'. She swallows. Looks back up to Sar.

"So. How long you been in this game? Yesterday, right? General buy you a drink or three to buy your service?"

Sar Yavok smirks at Amber in response to her question and says, "Not quite. Decided I'd do it out of the kindness of my heart. And running Rebel Yell was getting a little too stressful for me. The First Order are downright polite in comparison to a Hutt with a grudge."

The Lt. Colonel rests one hand on his hip and the other on the back of the bed, just in case Amber wants to be scooted around anywhere. A look to Rake and he nods, "I've noticed that. Folks their age ain't old enough to realize how big a pain in the ass a war can be. At this point we're still just dealin' with ideals and shit. Ain't quite got down to the nitty-gritty of it." He sniffs a bit and changes topics, asking, "Where'd you serve?"

Rake chuckles and gives a nod to Amber. "Sure thing Major. I've got a bottle of Corellian Brandy I keep in the cockpit for those times when I need to bribe a customs officer at a backwater port. I guess I can donate it to a good cause."

Rake then looks to Sar. "Name it, I was probably there. Was on the ground at Yavin, then Hoth. I was with the first batch on Endor, then if there was a hot zone in the ten years after Endor, there's a chance I was scouting it out before we landed troops. Of course, I scouted a lot of false fronts too. After the treaties were signed, I went to work doing mineral scouting for the private sector. That paid better, but was boring until I ran into a First Order outpost. They got my ship, but I was able to keep my hide and vanish into the forests until they departed. Snuck onto a cargo container and wound up on Ryloth. That's when I joined up with the Resistance."

"Eh. Guess I was just a cheap date," Ambrosia thinks back on that reunion with Leia in a shady cantina booth. Breathing a little sigh, she folds her hands in her lap to cease their fidgeting. "I think my team got a little taste of grit on Sullust. Especially Hex."

"Sounds like you've been around the block a time or two, soldier," Sar says in response to Rake. "I was on Endor, myself. Just a scrawny little seventeen year old back then. Finally got the bump to corporal in time for Jakku, but...well, that sorta wrapped it all up, didn't it? After that I did a lot of private security, and then spent just about twenty years working with NSEC back on Nar Shaddaa, before I decided to set up shop with Rebel Yell."

"I reckon I'll wait til you're back on your feet before I go rootin' around with Dagger Team. From what I've heard, though, you've got a decent group of folks working under you, Greystorm," Sar remarks to the Major.

Rake chuffs. "Yeah, I was still gettin' hardons for no reason when I first joined up. Weren't too many Shistavanen's that went the route I did. The Empire came to Uvena Prime a couple years before, hiring a lot of my people for scouts. Guess we're just suited for it. Cousin of mine, well he went that route, didn't end up so good. When I came of age, well I chose the Rebellion, and well, now that I'm an old fart, I'm in a new Rebellion. Granted, I gotta say that this one is a little more professional than we were back then."

Rake looks to Amber, giving her a nod, before looking to Sar. "Yeah, the Major has a good team under her. I'm doing what I can to whip them into shape. I missed Sullust, having been assigned on a long range recon elsewhere, but from what I've heard, it was pure hell." He wasn't going to say he regretted not being there, but there's always a part in every soldier that makes them think things would have been different had they been there.

"Well, you might be spared the rootin' for awhile then, way the doctors talk." Grumpy Amber is grumpy, again, catching sight of a team of joggers running along the northern stretch past the training fields. "In the meantime, I'm almost caught up on my report review. There's a big, fat missing piece, though. DeLong's. I know he's been through some shit and I've been too drugged up to care but I think by now we're both capable of sitting down for a chat. Er." Scratching her nose, she looks aside. "A scr..." The major's brows furrow, speech faltering for a moment. What's the damn word? Scratch? No. Scream? Tempting, but no. Scrape. No, no, no, NO.

The heart monitor indicates a slight elevation of heart rate and her face grows flusshed. "SCRAWNYASSONOFABITCH," Ambrosia roars, staring down the inky black of a mask that mocks her silently from her broken brain. "WHAT is the WORD?!"

Probably something else is happening here that the heart monitor is ignorant of, but she takes it out on that poor machine anyway, nails clawing at the data-feeding band on her wrist. Scratching, scrabbling..."SCRIBBLE!!!" In an instant, the red-hot fury washes away into an absolute slump of relief. A win. A tiny win.

"Glad to hear it," Sar remarks to Rake's mention of whipping the ragtags into shape. And then Amber happens. He watches as the poor woman attempts to scour her brain for a word. But she does finally get it and the man nods, "Take it easy, Major. Don't want the doctors running out here and dragging you away."

Rake watches Amber for a moment as she struggles with the word. Instead of saying anything, he just lets her have her moment. Some battles were better fought and won solo. He looks to Sar, chuckling. "Yeah, well I think I'm going to hold a SERE graduation on Felucia. I've gotten to where I really like that planet. Hell, I might retire there, build me a little hut in the jungle, hunt glow-in-the-dark rancors." Rake then looks back to Amber. "I'm gonna go check on my damned droids, see if the diagnostics on my ship are done. It's damned near brand new, I mean I got it used, but it's still a damned near new ship and it's already having problems. Blew a power coupler on my last flight, limped in with only one engine."

Sar's concern is met with a sour look from Ambrosia. She scoffs at Rake's woes. "Sounds like you need to have a little chip with the dealer." Her teeth clench together - a combination of old and new. "Chat. Chat with the fff...uckit. Enjoy your 'damn' droids."

"Take care, Rake," Sar responds to the dog-man. A look is given to Amber and he moves around the back of the bed, pushing the wounded woman along the path around the tarmac, where they'll likely end up somewhere nice and quiet to talk about brass stuff.