Bad Kitty
continued from Passing Through Gethseme
C O R U S C A N T
THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE
The young Pantoran was passed out on the cot.
A former university library had been re-purposed into a makeshift MedCenter. Relief supplies were stacked up on bookshelves, in between which cots had been set up for the survivors and the injured that had been brought in. The cot that the boy was on was over by the young adult section, between The Hewitt Boys and Encyclopedia Beroya.
He was sleeping on his stomach, his head turned to the right and his mouth agape as he lay there. The fringe of his purple hair hung over one side of his face, shielding his eyes from the light inside of the bustling relief point. The amphistaff was, for the most part, an omnipresent object. For the ten hours that the youngling slept, the biot was coiled atop his back. Or burrowed underneath his body. Or underneath his pillow. It would venture away for a short while, never far, returning usually a minute or two later with some curiosity or treasure in its mouth.
Beneath the cot were the spoils of the amphistaff's scavanging, all broken bits and trivial trinkets.
Stirring, the blue skinned child brought a hand up to push the hair back from out of his eyes as he raised his head up. He looked around, slack-jawed and sleepy eyed, in somewhat of a stupor. He didn't really coming here -- where ever here was.
Mew! Mew! Mew!
The amphistaff was chirping, almost as though attempting to talk to the boy. Coiling onto one side of the cot, the snake-like creature stretched it's head down beneath the cot to pick out one of the treasures it had brought back from its own adventure in the library. Depositing a faded, dirty hacky sack on the cot, the biot used its snout to roll the item over toward the child. At the other end of its coils, the tail was wagging.
Reaching out a hand, the child pushed the snake-like head away. First once, then twice, and then the biot wrapped itself around the boy's arm and tugged back -- almost pulling him over.
Someone had changed his clothes. His ragged, bloodied attire exchanged for a pair of pediatric scrubs that were like pajamas. They were white, with colorful depictions of Ewoks on them. The unkempt bed-head of hair stuck out in a multitude of directions, as his amber eyes looked around for something that might be familiar.
He was here. Now what?
[member="Irajah Ven"]