Private Cut Short By The Storm

[Jayrenel Metrum]

Music IC

Spoiler

​

In the Outer Rim, on the planet of Calior, there was an ocean, and there was also a settlement.
A busy seaside town, if not quite a bustling city; quaint, in a way, in modernism’s comparison.
Her name was Violet, or its name, and if a ship is a female, why can’t a town be one as well?
Violet-by-the-Sea, specifically. She was proud despite her size, cast under the sky in a spell.

A bright purple light within the horizon; daylight, quite right, that of morning beyond dawn.
The world was purple all over in its own way, however, with fields of lilac, orchid, lavender.
Grass and not just flower; an ocean of violet vegetation by the sapphire sea as it yawned.
Stretching away in the distance; an island’s silhouette on the horizon, beyond and yonder.

Back on the continent, returning to the settlement, a lighthouse stood erect, in white rock.
A beacon for seaborne, airborne and spaceborne vessels alike. It is how hers had come.
Not Violet’s, another female’s, a woman’s. She didn’t come alone. Others came along.
Hawthorne, a flower’s name, also the name of her ship. And she is Jayrenel Metrum.

There was a typical variety of buildings or amenities in the town of Violet, as expected.
A port for vessels, a town hall, a constable’s station, a few stores and houses as well.
There was a school and, unrelated, a bank where trade negotiations were being held.
The Rimward Trade League had sent a small team to help these folk get connected.

Establish better relations with galactic economies, primarily, and to assist otherwise.
Jay, for instance, was a doctor, and her expertise was put into servicing any in need.
Working with the local healthcare providers, minus the insurance, ready and willing.
That morning, her efforts were put to the test in the surgery room; needle and knife.

“Scalpel.” Jay held out her hand for Mr. Grapple, the local quadrupedal medical droid.
Meanwhile, she focused her gaze on her patient. Mr. Grayson was under a sedative.
“Is the music necessary?” Asked the droid. It permeated the room—violin by trumpet.
“It calms my nerves. Helps me work. Scalpel?” Fingers flicked in and out, annoyed.

“Here you go, Dr. Jayrenel Metrum.”
Her hand was filled with an object.
Dr. Jay promptly blinked down at it.
“These are scissors." Met with silence.

"..."
"..."

It's all this dumb droid gave her.
“...Oh...” Turned, grabbed, turned.
“Here you go.” The scalpel at last.
So Jay began to cut away, at that.

“Doctor...will Mr. Grayson die?"
Questioned as liquid squirted.
“Just the blister on his thigh.”
Answered as blood spurted.

Arcadian Mig Gred

 

[Ura Iolar]

Ship: Yurbian Y'ceptor

This... was definitely different. Ura closed her eyes as the specialized fighter slipped into the atmosphere. She wasn't sure how much should could really do to help the SJC at this point. The High Plain... she didn't know. Something about it made her feel... off. But there were other ways she could help, and so the young Lervon and taken up work with the RTL's Rescue Service. Now why exactly she was doing this in a Yurbian heavy fighters... well she just brought her own ship. It had replaced the destroyed Razor-Tail. Ger'Off also sat in the gunner seat, happily panting.

"Easy boy. We're almost on the ground." She said this in the very whispery Lervonian tongue. All they were hear to do was drop off some medicine. Not even too much. She'd packed it everywhere though. Even the emptied flextubes. and where the life support would've been. Ah the advantages of not needing air. The fighter would lower to a landing pad close to the hospital, radiators folding before the craft landed. Ura would almost flow out of the cockpit, with Ger'Off following, before the opened the weapons store to get the medicine from there, then where the old life support was. She packed some on Ger'Off and tossed him his metal scrap before starting to head to the medical center... however big it was.

"Stay close boy, and no eating random rocks."

Jayrenel Metrum Cailen Corso

 

[Jayrenel Metrum]

Spoiler: Music IC

​

It was a bloody scene. Courtesy of a surgeon working her way in between her incisions.
Slip blade beneath topmost layer of skin, and peel; slice with a really sharp instrument.
“Hmm, he’s bleeding like a Zeltron virgin,” Jay expressed, although didn’t really emote it.
Her emotions limited to a steely gaze upon the flesh of her patient—a silent Mr. Grayson.

He was lying facedown upon the operating table, unable to feel the pain with expression.
Better for him, one would say plain as day, given his blister proved to be a boil, no mistake.
“It appears to be an earthquake,” Mr. Grapple exclaimed; resident sorry excuse of a surgeon.
Dumb droid. In truth, Dr. Metrum wasn’t droidist, specieist, or whathasit, but isn’t here to play.

“Bacta patch.” Jay extended her hand after finishing up stitching her patient. He's kinda quiet.
Silent, really, like a fish in an ocean or some such poetic nonsense, given they’re on an island.
Shark. Lemonade. Kark. Darth Dark Gaze. Gimme that drink. Fingers flexing, flicking, bending.
“Here you go, madam,” proclaimed Mr. Grapple, resident idiot. Jay gazed down and blinked.

“This. Is. A. Band. Aid.”
“...You…I…Uh…Hey…”
“...”
“...”

Just then, there was an unannounced knock on the door.
“Come in.” Jay announced, a bit happy for the distraction.
“Sorry to disturb the operating theater but there's a visitor.”
The nurse stated "Ura Iolar" in name. A man of the Jedi Corp.

Er.... Jedi Order. Jay quickly corrected her internal monologue.
“I’ll meet him in the lobby. Let him know Dr. Jay’s on her way.”
The nurse nodded. Mr. Grapple finally provided a patch to Jay.
She applied it. “Right. Watch him. If he goes then you’re gone.”

The surgical droid gulped, in what way a droid can beep-boop.
Taking her gloves off, Jay scrubbed her hands and she moved.
Medicine was expected from this fellow RTL as one came along.
Padawan Iolar, that is, waiting for her in the foyer with waterdog.

“Ura?” Jay greeted simply as she arrived in the lobby, hands on hips.
He and her were two in a number of a few who had come to service.
Those who came to render aid to Violet-by-the-Sea and see it breathe.
The air that even stars between could glean, and that the RTL may lead.

Ura Iolar

 

[Ura Iolar]

Ura waited there in the lobby, while Ger'Off continued chew on his scrap metal chew toy. She'd wait there before noticing the doctor walk in, and would stand up, and extend a sandy hand to Jay.

"Doctor" she said with a notably emotionless voice, but if Jay had any sense of the Force, or Lervonian body language, she would notice Ura was quite happy to meet her. The Lervon would then look back over to the boxes. Not the largest delivery, but it was hopefully enough. "It was fun to pack all this on a y'ceptor, but got it here." Ger'Off would then walk up, nudging the doctor a little and happily panting there, with Ura giving an odd laugh, and patting the waterdog. "Oh! And this little guy is Ger'Off."

Jayrenel Metrum

 

[Jayrenel Metrum]

Spoiler: Music IC

​

In truth, Jay had limited experience when it came to treating with blister-boil patients like Mr. Grayson. In comparison, about as little experience as she had when it came to dealing with the species of whatever it was that Ms. Sandwoman represented.

That being’s voice was as emotive as her vacant expression, or lack of one, given there were no lips, no nose, no ears. But those eyes… Glowing green, like emerald seas, embedded into a mass of sand that stretched in between and all about the sandy-something.

Lervon. The name had been given to her in one database or the other, but Jay couldn’t really remember much of the species’ biology or history. Apparently it was limited. Nevertheless, and while she’s pretty senseless when it comes to the Force, she had met some emotionless Jedi in her life.

As Jay listened to her partner speak, music permeated the lobby door to door; tranquility in the form of flute, string and drum. It had a calming effect on the guests and then some, Jay believed, so the staff did as beckoned.

“Ger’Off, is it?” Jay was much more given to expressions. She smiled wide as she bent down, reaching a hand out to pet that boxy head if the dog would allow it. The doctors in this hospital weren’t vets but given the circumstances such a pet was permitted.

“Hello, my purple little friend! You know you’re wearing my favorite color!? Yes you are! Yes you are!" Getting her fill of love, Jay stood up, looking at the dog’s owner, Ura Iolar, eyes into eyes.

“So, you brought medicine?” The doctor moved gracefully from pleasure to business. “This settlement is definitely in need of it.”

Ura Iolar