Private Is There a Doctor in the House?

[Jonah]

NAR SHADDAA

Turf wars were not uncommon.

In fact, one could say that was the default setting of the Galaxy. One group with a lot of men and firepower say "this rock is mine." Another group, with a lot of men and firepower, say "piss off, this rock is mine." Queue the carnage. So long as there are men to pick up weapons and rocks to fight over, groups will always try to stake a bloody claim. So it is between nations of all sizes. And so it is on the backside of the Galaxy: Nar Shaddaa. The Hutt moon was a hub for all things loathesome.

And conflicts over who owned which boulevard were never uncommon.

In Jonah's short stint on the planet, he had seen plenty of brutality before his own eyes. He had even participated in it, given that the price was right at the time. And though the conflicts never seemed to reach a result that was lasting, men threw themselves into the blender. It was as if the promise of owning imaginary boundary lines, or the prospect of just a little more credits flowing in, was enough to risk one's hide. Jonah didn't get the hype, but a foreigner had to eat.

So it was that his services were employed once more. The compensation was a combination of things. His usual stack of credits, the promise of a bed he could collapse in without interruption, and a peculiar trinket that had no value to most people. From what the Underboss told him, his boys had tried for hours to pry open the damn pyramid, but no one could so much as get a fingernail in it. They were ignorant about the value of what they held, and Jonah was all too happy to keep it that way. He simply "knew a guy" offworld who could make heads or tails of it.

All that he had to do to secure his "bounty" - if it could even be called that - was venture into a den of wounded animals.

You see, as one side loses a turf war, they typically flee with their tails between their legs. They hunker down, lick their wounds, and try to reclaim that which was lost. Most often than not, this "glorious" charge was spearheaded by some charismatic figure. This evening? One such figure was Jonah's target. During the latest scuffle, the poor sod had gotten himself wounded and the territory was yielded to Jonah's employer. But the Underboss did not want to fight another costly battle against this fellow.

Instead, he'd pay to have the problem eliminated while he licked his wounds.

Jonah was an unknown figure, so he could slip in, do the deed, and slip out without causing any alarm. And that is just what the man intended to do. He strode into the bar which had been taken over by the beaten crew, moving with a "credible" limp in his step. He sported a bandaged up arm for dramatic effect - which would make it all the more easy to walk in without issue. Most of the men about were either piss drunk or mentally in orbit due to pain medication. The others were simply huddled about in booths, passing the time with cards and casting dice.

However, Jonah didn't get far before he was noticed. A Rodian looked up from the bar, gave him a once over, and motioned with his thumb towards the rear of the establishment. "Doc's in the back. Might be a minute, she's stitching up the boss." he said. Jonah gave a simple nod of thanks and hobbled his way over to the door.

And with an apprehensive shove, it slowly creaked open at his touch.​

 

[Naya]

N A R - S H A D D A A

Though I tried my best to avoid glaring preferences, Nar Shaddaa was not my favourite place to be. Come to think of it, I doubt I could have found anyone in the galaxy willing to call it their favourite. There were a few things it was. Useful, for one. If you wanted to make a quick credit or find something less than legal, but nobody would have stretched as far as calling it a vaction. Luckily, or rather unluckily for me, vacationing was the last thing on my mind as I sat hunched over the blood-stained back of some nameless mob boss.

I worked steadily. Soft tendrils of force wound themselves from the tips of my fingers. Coaxing the jagged edges of knife wounds together, offering far more comfort and soothing than I doubted the man himself deserved. I didn't judge. Or I tried not to. I usually managed when I was out in the sticks somewhere with nothing but forest and farmland surrounding me. Managed, and did it easily, but with cases like this? I found I had to push myself to ignore it all. Ignore the danger this man presented and the lives that had likely been lost to darkness by his hand and his words.

It was difficult, yes, but their generous offer had made it all the easier. The weight of the credits clinking softly in my pocket with each careful movement was a good reminder. Bandages weren't free, fuel wasn't cheap, and I needed to eat. That eased the guilt somewhat.

The smell of stale urine mixing with freshly spilt beer, char-grilled meat, and someone's soured wine vomit attacked me at every turn. No matter whether I breathed through my nose or my mouth. These were less than ideal conditions, but I wasn't sure if the word ideal could be applied to any condition one could find oneself in visiting Nar Shaddaa. My work, at least, distracted me. I lost myself in the sensation of this stranger's pain. Bright streaks of fire licked at my back and drew the hairs on my arms to attention. A bead of sweat crept its way down the column of my spine.

It was so warm in here already that I hardly noticed it.

Just as I hardly noticed the thin rectangle of light that poured in from the crack in the door as it creaked open. Nor the face of the man that revealed itself as it swung further and further in. The man beneath me grunted. I felt the sound of it through the tips of my fingers as it coursed through his muscles. "Keep still…" I muttered in an accented whisper barely louder than a soft breeze, assuming that he had merely groaned in pain. I redoubled my efforts. Clinging on to that thread of pain all the tighter, until a line formed between my brow as it furrowed in concentration.

"I'm almost finished," I reassured him in the same subdued tone. It was the one thing I could remember with undeniable clarity from my youth. The lilt in my mother's voice as she offered her comforts to the injured and the dying. The lullaby in the words designed to ease pain and provide companionship in one fell swoop. I wielded it as readily as a knight would wield a saber on the battlefield, and with as much precision and accuracy too. It was clear to anyone watching that this was my battlefield. That I was as comfortable here as a true soldier was in the midst of war.

To that effect, as the familiar monotony of the movements my hands made began to sink into my bones, a song filled the air. It was a tuneless hum, a single bobbing note. So light on my lips it was a wonder it could be heard above the din of the bar just beyond the door. But it was a song all the same, and it seemed to speak to any close enough to listen.

Come, it murmured, watch me as I dance with death lingering at my doorstep.

 

[Jonah]

The first thing Jonah noticed about the back room was the smell.

Nar Shaddaa, by default, did not smell good in the slightest. It was the finest raw sewage mingled with the aroma of unwashed flesh, on a good day. That seemed to be the default setting for any building Jonah found himself within, no matter how many people were present or even the nature of the establishment. But back here? There was another element. It smelt like someone drunk had taken a piss in a corner somewhere, and then bled all over said corner. The room smelt like a hospital, drenched in the most unsavory of patients.

And that was a fitting description for the spot, given how many banged up souls were just outside, waiting for some repair. Jonah, quietly, closed the door behind him before striding closer. He had expected a droid or some spice-addled doctor to be ripping stitches into the boss. What he found was a literal contradiction to the funk of the Hutt moon. There was a woman with hands upon the target's back, dressed in such a way that screamed "I know what a shower is."

But that wasn't the most jarring part. He could feel her efforts. There were no tools within her grasp, and yet she worked all the same. He could feel...for the first time, the Force being used, not for violence, but for mending. Hell, she even sang as she worked - nobody sang on Nar Shaddaa. Not sober at least. Jonah gave an apprehensive blink, but stepped forward nonetheless.

"Pardon me." he began, keeping his tone low. "I think you're long overdue for a break. And I have some business to discuss with the boss." In this case, there was no point in hiding his intentions. Jonah reached behind him and unholstered one of his hold-out blasters, aiming it in the direction of the patient. "Won't take but a minute - and I'd hate for you to eavesdrop, if you catch my meaning."

With his finger on the trigger, Jonah then awaited the woman's compliance. If she didn't move? Well. He could pull the trigger twice.

Naya​

 

[Naya]

N A R - S H A D D A A

This wasn't nearly as gruesome as the majority of wounds I came to heal on Nar Shaddaa. You didn't need any kind of medical experience to know that it was fairly deep and must have hurt like kriff when it happened. Whatever knife had been used definitely hadn't been straight-edged. The puckered skin and messy edges seemed to scream serrated, at least at one end or the other. There would be a scar without a doubt, but nobody seemed to have any concerns about scars on this godsforsaken planet. In fact, most of my clients seemed to revel in them. Seemed to mark them as a bookmark in the pages of their life, denoting various painful chapters and what I think they assumed were brave and worthwhile fights.

The first time I had come here and someone had asked me to allow their wound to scar, I had snorted. Loud enough that I felt the vibration of it in the back of my throat for a good long while after. Now? It was such a common occurrence I didn't even bother letting him know it would scar. I knew his answer before the words had even left my mouth.

Good. Let it. It's a story to tell. I was partway through rolling my eyes at his back, unbeknownst to him, when a movement beneath me softened my expression.

I felt and saw the man beneath me tense. His muscles going taut and loose all at the same time beneath my fingers. Yet still I did not hesitate in my work. Stopping now would mean a messy job, and I wasn't well-known for messy jobs. Nothing short of the gods themselves, or some kind of lunatic threatening me with a gun, could stop me now. I parted my lips to begin telling my patient as much until something caught me completely off guard. Until an unmistakable shadow cut the expanse of my patient's back off from the cracked orange glow of the fluorescent lights.

My patient grunted beneath me, craning his head towards something. There was panic and fear in his face. I could take neither from him as easily as I could take the pain, but what I did gain from it was a health dose of my own fear. I knew that look. Recognised it so keenly that it twisted my gut into a knot so tight it would have floored me if my spine hadn't locked itself stiff. I followed his wide-eyed gaze. Slowly. Already a prisoner to the thunderous heartbeat slamming against my ribcage. Such was my surprise that I couldn't even blink the shock from my eyes as they came face to face with the last thing anyone would have wanted to see on Nar Shaddaa.

I was staring at the barrel of a well-loved and well-used blaster.

My brows furrowed together tightly as I caught the end of a sentence. His lips moved in a silent flurry that cut off almost the second my gaze locked onto them. I shook my head, raising my hands up from my patient's back with slow, obvious movements. Never had the silence in my head been so deafening before. I could only stare at him, panic leeching into my gaze with every passing second. I loosed a breath. Then another. The another. Each less shaky than the last. It took a few painfully long seconds for me to regain my composure enough to address the stranger.

"I'm sorry…" I murmured. Using the same low, whispered tone to flood the space between us. It was an effort for my hands not to join in. Not to repeat the words in sign language as I had been so practised in doing for over a decade. "I can't hear you," I indicated to my ear with the tip of my finger on my right hand. There was nothing there to see. No scars or bruising or marks, but I hoped my meaning was plain. In this one moment, I hated it more than anything else. I couldn't tell if my voice was quivering with the fear I felt, or the rage at my work being interrupted, or the panic at coming face to face with a surprise blaster. I just had to hope that it was as level and even and calm as I thought it sounded in the silence of my mind. "I need to see your face."

This time I did move, unable to stop my body from doing what came so naturally to it. My left hand this time, and only slightly, so that my finger could circle my lips in mid-air. Not an official sign, but from the looks of things he wouldn't have recognised it anyway. "I need to read your lips."

 

[Jonah]

Jonah could feel the instant that the Force abandoned the target. The energies that had been devoted to the mending of flesh quickly subsided, causing a fresh groan of agony to escape the man. Panic settled in, yet the target's wounds were too grievous to do anything about his current situation. He could yell - but by the time any of his wounded boys rushed in, he would already be shot to death. He couldn't fight, hell, he could barely move his neck to look up at the healer. So he did. He didn't know if the woman was like the Jedi who could move mountains, but boy did he hope so.

The patient damn near whimpered to the woman Help me, causing a mirthless chuckle to fall from Jonah's lips. "Look, I'm no fan of catching a man with his pants down, but biz is biz as you folk say."

His blaster then focused squarely upon the knife-eared woman. He had given her an out: a way to preserve her existence whilst he went about his business. Yet, despite this mercy, she did not move from the spot. Did her hands raise? Absolutely. But instead of moving the hell out of the way, she spoke. A mumbled apology reached Jonah's lips, tinged by an accent he couldn't place. She was sorry? She couldn't hear him? Oh no, Jonah wasn't stupid.

This woman was cut from the same cloth as he. The same kind which allowed throwing all kinds of crap around with the mind. All she needed was an opening and this conversation could get very very complicated. So he watched her, blaster aimed firmly for her chest as she asked to see his face. Asked to...read his lips? "What, are you deaf or something?" he said, unamused.

But before he could give her the chance to answer, he capitalized. Her hands were raised. The target was indisposed. Jonah quickly lowered his blaster, aiming for the man's cranium, and squeezed the trigger. The bolt, deliberately silenced via careful modifications to his weapon, would rip through the man's skull if it were not interrupted. And should the man fall over dead, or should he somehow be liberated, the end result would be the same. Jonah's weapon would find its sights right back on the woman.

And his trigger finger was feeling itchy.

Naya​

 

[Naya]

N A R - S H A D D A A

I didn't hear the rather pathetic whimper the man lying in front of me made. If I had heard it, I would have scoffed. I might have even laughed. The idea that this man, who may have been responsible for the death of hundreds either by his word or his actions, was afraid. Afraid of facing what he forced people to face every day of his life. The barrel of a blaster was likely a merciful death compared to the ones he offered. Quick, clean, relatively painless. It was far more than he deserved, and if I'd heard his plea, I would have wasted no time reminding him. As it was, I was clueless, my gaze now fixed on the lips of the man who held both our lives in the centre of his clenched fist.

He spoke again, but far too fast for my panic-addled brain to keep up with him. I caught something about pants, and maybe something about rizz? I took a deep breath. The effort of it rattled my ribcage, and it ached as I held it there while the blaster focused on me.

I swallowed. All the air escaped from my lungs in one quick breath that made me feel light-headed and dizzy. For whatever reason, neither fight nor flight kicked in for me. Instead, I simply stood there like a landed fish. Mouth opening and closing, eyes bulging as my fear grew. I knew I should have been plotting my escape. Coming up with some clever words to get me out of this situation. Or even just hiding, like any sane person might have thought to do. But the only thing that was running through my mind was how much I kriffing hated Nar Shaddaa.

I wasn't sure what I was expecting after telling him I couldn't hear him. I knew just from looking at him that compassion was not a word in this man's vocabulary. Just as I had suspected, instead of lowering his weapon or repeating himself more clearly, he asked one of the dumbest questions I'd lip-read in years. Perhaps the pressure of the job was affecting his logic just as much as it was affecting mine. I couldn't help the slight tremor in my lip that shouted my amusement and irritation to the world, but I was restrained enough not to let it slip into a full-blown smirk. Or let my eyes roll as they were threatening to do.

My lips parted. The word yes, likely followed by some risky sass along the lines of "are you blind", was just a breath away from being voiced. Then it was almost like the world decided to slow down. I watched in mute horror as his trigger finger flexed, every muscle and tendon in his hand drawing taut against the blaster.

I couldn't have stopped it if I wanted to. My only real option seemed to be smacking the blaster out of his hand, or jumping in front of the bullet myself. As much as I had taken an oath to not harm and heal where I could, I wasn't about to harm myself to keep it. I lived by the oath, not died by it. Still, the shock was brazenly written on my face. I didn't so much as see the blaster bolt, but I felt its effects. A fine spray of warm, coppery-scented liquid coated one side of my face and hands. Red speckles to join the freckles already littering my skin. I didn't have much time to process it.

The moment the bolt had left the barrel it was back on me. I could see tendrils of smoke rising, twisting and twirling before they disappeared into the air. The one thing I could be grateful for was that it stopped me from looking at the body. The body that was moments ago a man that was alive, breathing, and healing. I might not have agreed with his life choices, but I didn't need to see that. Didn't need to recall his face in the dead of night along with the countless others I'd lost over the years. It would take years to convince myself that it wasn't my fault, that I couldn't have done anything to save him.

I opened my mouth, intending to say something, but closed it again immediately after. All the clever things and half-formed sentences I had thought to use seemed ridiculous now, but I had to say something. Forcing my brain to work somewhat logically, I kept my hands raised and my body still. As though I knew one wrong move, quick or slow, would be the end of me. "What do you want?" I finally asked, sliding my eyes from one side of the room to the other. "I don't have any money to give you, and if it's information you're after I don't know anything about him." It might have been foolish to admit that I was basically useless to him, but I was hoping he'd had his fill of bloodshed now. That maybe he'd find some humanity.

 

[Jonah]

Ah, now the bird sang.

When the trigger was first squeezed, a silenced bolt ripped through the sorry sod's head. His memories. His hopes. His dreams. All were reduced to a smoldering mess of burning flesh. Crimson splashed from the impact, marring the Healer's face. Where once she was working to save the man from death, her face was now smeared with it. Almost poetic.

Now, the line between life and death was aimed for her sternum.

Jonah did not need to have any more interactions with this woman. He could have stepped out the door and bid her adieu. However, the wrench in this factor was her abilities. She was born gifted as he - though the talent she displayed was of a different flavor than his own. Because of that, Jonah did not imagine he could simply walk away. There were scalpals and other sharp objects about. There were cabinets. Doors. Hell even the walls themselves. All that he could grab with his might - so why not her?

If he turned his back, what was stopping him from becoming swiss cheese?

Now, the simple answer was to kill her and to keep it moving. But, perhaps, there was a way to come out even further on top. So, Jonah spoke - without moving his lips. His voice rang out within her skull, furiously, whilst his eyes and weapon remained trained on her person. <<"Shut. The. Fuck. Up.">> he seethed.

<<"I know what you are. I know what power you have. This helpless act you have going on is great - but we both know we can bring the house down. So. Cards on the table. How much are they paying you?">>

Money, being the root of Nar Shaddaa, was always a good place to start.

Naya​

 

[Naya]

N A R - S H A D D A A

For the second time in my life, the smell of blood was making me sick.

Unusual as it was for a healer who was around the stuff of life more often than not, the coppery tang coating the room was heavy. I could feel it lining the bottom of my lungs. Lingering so deep in their depths I knew would not be rid of it for hours, but I needed to breathe. To think. Yet, with every heavy breath that inflated my chest beyond the point of pain, the stench was making my head grow dizzy

There was no tremble in his hand. The barrel was so steady I could pick out its finer details - every chip and scratch and dent and divet. I hadn't said more than a few words, but my throat felt raw and dry. The sharpness of my focus on the blaster made the figure behind it blurry, but he slowly phased into view as his eyes did a quick sweep of the room. I found some insane part of me wondering what he was thinking. What could possibly have been so interesting that his attention had been drawn away even for that split second?

His gaze was on me again almost as quickly as it had left, if not quicker. I was expecting him to say something. Every nerve in my body drawn tense in preparation to concentrate on his lips…

It came so suddenly that I forgot to be still. Forgot that any sudden movement might mean the end of my life. The sound of his voice ringing in my head made my lips fall open in a silent scream. My hands shot up to clamp tightly against my ears. As if they could ever be the source of such discomfort. I felt my spine curve, forcing my torso inward until I drew it short. My body's best effort to sink me to my knees, like being down there curled up like a child would help. I screwed my eyelids shut hoping that the darkness would help, but it didn't. Not in the slightest.

All I knew was this. His voice. Echoing around in my head, bouncing off my skull, filling the deepest darkest parts of me with him.

An involuntary, violent shudder wracked through every inch of me. Lines of pain blossomed from the sharp scratch of my nails as they sunk into my temples. "Stop…" The pathetic attempt at begging was not lost on me, but it was all my throat could seem to produce. "Please, please, stop."

Most of what he had said was lost on me. A few words had made it through the blinding panic and surprise. Power, helpless act, something about a house, but it was his question that had rung true. Just at this moment, I was willing to tell him anything if it kept that voice out of my head. If it kept that power from drowning every thought and feeling and memory in my mind that made me me. I gasped as I drew a breath, and with it, forced my eyes open again. I fixed them firmly on him - hoping that where my poor attempt at verbal pleading had failed my now eager attention could make up for.

"Five hundred. Just for the trip here. The rest we were going to discuss after I'd done what was needed. I-..." It was irrelevant, but I was terrified. Terrified enough to tell him. "I can normally fleece them for at least a couple thousand, once I'm done. More if I'm feeling lucky. Which I normally am, because I haven't met any member of a cartel yet who knows much about the price of healing supplies. They always throw in a little extra though. You know, for…" I swallowed, coming to the sudden realisation that I was rambling. Awkwardly. "...confidentiality."​

 

[Jonah]

Now they were getting somewhere.

The Healer recoiled from his presence within her mind. For Jonah, telepathy was simply a semi-standard form of communication. His mind had become accustomed to such that he didn't blink at the words of another rattling within his skull. Chock it up to the environment that he once called home. Yet the young woman before him? His words, however angry, were not spoke with enough force to break her mind. And yet, she was falling to pieces before him. Jonah's eyebrow raised...and then a passing thought wandered through his mind.

This one was helpless before him, reduced to little more than a trembling soul by merely running his voice through her mind. He didn't encounter any resistance. No wall of frivolous memories to prevent his words from coming through. No shoving back. Nothing akin to what a certain huntress did on their first meeting. The knife-eared woman could be an open book to him. All he had to do was sink his fingers in. Now that...that opened up new avenues.

Her gaze met his own.

And she answered him. Clearly. Trembling. Yet answered. He nodded silently for a moment, mulling over what she said, before speaking verbally. His tone was low and dangerous. His words were slow and intentional. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" he began, "And here I was convinced you'd put a lightsaber through my back. Ha. But you're just like me - another sod making a buck. Well, good news, you're coming with me." He motioned with his dominant hand to the room around them, where the boss had been slain.

"You can't stay here. These clients will think you had something to do with it. But now, you have a new employer. I'll pay you what you're used to - and you'll put those talents to good use for me. Do your job and you'll be paid. Understand?"

From there, he motioned towards the door before placing a finger to his lips.

"Let's move. And be quiet about it."

TAG: Naya

 

[Naya]

N A R - S H A D D A A

The time between my answer and his response was far too long. I had always lived in silence, but for some reason, the silence coming from this man was deafening. It felt like minutes, hours, maybe even days had passed since I walked through those doors and set my kit up. Since that man had stretched out on my table expecting to walk away whole and healthy. It felt even longer waiting for his reply.

When his lips finally moved, I breathed an audible sigh. It was my queue to peel my fingers away from my ears. To flex the fingers on my hands to chase away the aching cramp of keeping them curled.

My face should have been awash with relief, perhaps even forming the beginnings of a smile, but it wasn't. Instead, it was crumpled, my brows furrowed until they knotted together in the centre. The slow cadence of his words frustrated me. Not only did this man still have his weapon trained on my face, but he also thought I was an idiot. Not capable enough of keeping up with him.

I huffed a dry laugh at the idea of owning a lightsaber. Owning anything, really, that could cause any damage. Never mind the idea that I had half the training they had. A third, even. I was no fighter, but I understood now. That was why he thought I was such a threat. He thought I was a capable force user. A Jedi, maybe? Well, I suppose that was at least one step up from thinking I was an idiot.

"Wait, what?" My mind was whirring, yes, but not enough to keep me from hearing his last statement. I was coming with him.

I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could even utter a sound he started speaking again. With an irritating amount of accuracy. He was right. I couldn't stay here. They would no doubt turn to the easiest person to blame, and once this psycho had disappeared into the shadows again, there was only me left. It seemed laughable that anyone would think I was capable of such brutality. But cartels didn't think that way. They thought in blood, money, and revenge. If they couldn't get one, they'd settle for either of the others.

To throw a further spanner in the works, he seemed to be suggesting that he would pay me. For the inconvenience of his kidnapping me, I supposed. It wasn't lost on me that I was just as trapped now as I had been ten minutes ago when he had first lined that barrel up with my head. I couldn't argue and I didn't really have a choice. At least, not for now.

Narrowing my eyes, I offered him a quick, sharp nod. "Fine. I get it." Trailing my gaze towards the door, I nodded again. "I have to pack my things up first." I wouldn't have left anything behind on a good day, which this was decidedly not, but these things were expensive. Some of them irreplaceable as far as I was aware. I followed his advice though, cracking open the tattered rucksack I used as a supply kit to pack it in careful silence. It took longer than it should have. Mostly down to the fact that I was being extra cautious. I was never truly aware of how noisy I was being.

Noise wasn't something I was accustomed to hearing, but I would be damned if the thing that ended up getting me shot was a clumsy slip of the hand with something sharp and metal.

Despite all that, when I shouldered my rucksack, I practically stormed towards the door. I reached out towards the handle with a grimace set on my face, but before I could put any pressure on it, I stopped. Turned towards my captor with that same grimace still blaring openly. "You really want to go out through the bar?"​

 

[Jonah]

Of course the young Healer was surprised.

It wasn't everyday one went from stitching together an underboss' back to being conscripted by his assailant. But, here she was. On the flip side, today was unusual by Jonah's standards too. It wasn't everyday he'd put a blaster bolt through someone's dome only to bring a new "friend" home. Well, he'd make the attempt, but there were so many things that could go to shit between points A and B. Specifically, getting through the bar full of banged up mobsters.

Fortunately enough, the young woman did not put up a fight when Jonah declared that she was coming with him. He didn't know which fact did the trick - whether it was the promise of continued pay or the fact that she couldn't stay here. But that didn't matter now. Though it took a few more minutes than Jonah would have liked, she picked up her tools and slung them over her shoulder. She then headed for the door, but paused, giving Jonah an expression of absolute displeasure. Her words made sense though, and the man rendered a curt nod in response.

"If you act like you're supposed to be doing something, you won't arouse suspicion." he began, pausing long enough to stow his weapon and to remove the bandage he had worn. He kept them clenched within his offhand deliberately. "As far as they know, I came in here for a quick fix while you were helping their boss. Now they'll see I'm patched up, you're grabbing a bite, and the boss is taking a nap." Jonah then reached for the handle himself, making sure to click in the lock button, and motioned for the young woman to walk.

He then closed the door behind them and strode confidently to the barkeep. "Boss is napping for a bit, doctor's orders," he began, jutting his chin towards the Healer behind him, "I'm gonna take this one for a bite, back in thirty." The barkeep gave a grunt of affirmation and Jonah headed confidently out into the street. Once they were outdoors, his dominant hand would clutch her wrist - just in case - and he'd guide her down the adjacent alley. There'd be a few deliberate twists and turns, going down various streets and alleys for a few minutes.

Obviously he was trying to put some distance between them and his target without moving in a straight line.

When Jonah was satisfied that they were a safe distance away, he'd bring them once more into an alleyway and walked at a regular pace. The Healer's wrist was released and a fresh smile popped onto his face. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he began. "What should I be calling you?" Though the circumstances were far from ideal for the young woman, Jonah tried to keep it casual. Last thing he needed was her freaking out and sprinting off. That'd just be a bad investment.

Tag: Naya

 

[Naya]

N A R - S H A D D A A

The first bit of sensible logic this man displayed, and it was merely a nod of his head.

I grinned a bit at the extremely minor victory. I would take anything I could get at this point. Somewhere along this streak of kriffing awful luck I was having, there would be a bright side. Even if it was as simple as being right, for once.

I cocked a brow at his assumption. It was a bold move to think I was good at acting. Sure, I could stoop to swindling a couple of clueless cartel members for some extra credits - but a whole room of them? After I'd just witnessed one of their own having their heads blown off in the most unceremonious display of violence I'd ever witnessed? I doubted it. My suspicion showed quite clearly as I watched him finally tuck the blaster away. It felt like it should have been another victory, but my suspicion only doubled with his attempt to convince me.

Offering only a grunt in response, followed by what I hoped would be a steadying breath. It was supposed to steel me, and boost my confidence, but it turned into a spine trembling shudder as he reached for the handle. I could do this, I told myself. Firmly. I only hesitated briefly at the motion of his fingers, but my body eventually did as it was told.

I wanted to head straight for the door. My eyes were trained on it like some kind of predator stalking its prey. My feet were almost hurrying over themselves to get there, but just when I thought we'd go straight, he took a turn. Towards the barkeep. Inhaling sharply, I stopped in my path. Forcing myself to turn and face the man behind the bar. When he jutted his chin at me, I smiled, though it came out more like a grimace. My heart was pounding so fast in my chest I could feel it in my ears. The barkeep didn't even look up from the mug he was scrubbing.

Before I knew it, we were walking again. Before I knew it, I was gulping down deep lungfuls of stale, scummy air. It was the sweetest thing I had ever tasted. My relief lasted about half a second. Half a second of delicious freedom that shattered in an instant when he shackled my wrist with his fingers. Following dumbly, my eyes trained on the circle of his grip and my thoughts on the irony of such an image, I barely noticed where we were going. I only came to my senses when his fingers finally unclenched, but I still couldn't shake the weight of them. Or the feeling that the sensation would never go away.

I glanced up, still entirely unaware and a little bit uncaring of where we were, or where we were headed. Though our pace had slowed, I had to truly concentrate on his face to know what he was saying as we walked. So I couldn't miss the smug smirk that pulled his lips apart before he spoke. The words came before I had the chance to stop them. "Are you kriffing kidding me?" I ignored his request for my name entirely. "That was arguably the worst thing I've ever had to do in my entire life, and I don't mind telling you I've done some chit things in my time. You're going to look me dead in the eye with that smile and try to tell me that wasn't so bad? Unkriffingbelievable."

I scrunched my face, throwing my gaze forward with all the indignity and anger I could muster until I all I could see was the alleyway ahead of us. I released a breath. A long one, my shoulders sinking so deeply my entire posture seemed to change. It was only then that I realised how tired I was. I could feel the beginnings of a headache lurking in my temples, and every footstep made me feel bone weary. I clenched my teeth. Swallowed some of my pride, and dragged my eyes back onto him. "I have a ship, and things. I don't care where you're taking me or what you want me to do for you but I need that ship and those things. Preferably before those idiots back there realise what's happened."​

Jonah​

 

[Jonah]

Jonah raised an eyebrow.

It wasn't often that a pint-sized redhead took him to task, especially not over things he considered routine by this point. Months prior, when he was fresh off the boat, he might have been similarly dismayed about what had taken place only a few moments ago. Due to that, he did try to put himself in the woman's shoes ever so slightly. For her, she had just watched a man's brains get splattered onto the floor. She had probably not wanted to be there to begin with. The cherry on top was that Jonah's telepathy caused her to have an issue and then he walked her out of there, practically at blasterpoint.

From his point of view, it was literally a normal Tuesday on Nar Shaddaa. But from hers? He got it. "Y'know what?" he began, "I think I've been on this moon for too long." The admission came alongside a mirthless chuckle. Only a few months prior he had been royalty. Blowing a man's brains out was never on the menu. Being tempted to dominate another soul was never on his radar. Yet, here he was, dragging a stranger off to do his bidding. That...that wasn't like him. That wasn't what he had set out to do when he left the Expanse.

He wanted to make his own way, yes. He wanted power, yes. But, he wasn't an nerf herder about it. Even when he and Leven were robbing a bank in the midst of a Sith Lord's assault, he didn't butcher the teller who sent him credits. No. He told them to duck and cover. Shaking his head, Jonah folded his arms. "From where I'm standing, it wasn't so bad. But, I imagine this is probably the crappiest day you've had in awhile right? Uhh...Sorry about that."

The man then motioned towards the other end of the alley with his chin - the direction they'd be heading shortly. "So, change of plans. Let's get you to your ship and I'll slide you some coordinates for where I'm hunkering down. If you'd like to have a steady income - and not have to worry about a repeat of today - swing by. But if you kick those engines on and hightail it out? No harm no foul."

Jonah then motioned towards the alleyway. "Got the name of the port you parked at?"

Tag: Naya

 

[Naya]

N A R - S H A D D A A

I didn't know what, but I expected something far harsher than what actually followed. I could only scoff at it, a scoff that could have been a dry laugh. "Me and you same, pal." I rolled my shoulders, stretching out some of that dull ache that came hand in hand with exhaustion.

I thought he would have had more to say, so I kept my eyes on him, but I was meant with stillness. I wasn't sure if it was a product of having to concentrate on people's faces so intensely, or from some strange remnant of my empath abilities, but I could see. In that moment, he was almost a prisoner himself. Trapped in his own mind while something, a thought or a memory or a moment of clarity, kept his focus elsewhere. Beyond this alleyway and our unusual conversation, beyond this moon even.

Though I could never be sure quite why I did what I did next, I did it anyway. I turned my gaze away. To the floor beneath my feet, to give him a moment of privacy within that prison with those thoughts. I thought it would be longer, but it lasted the space of three heart beats before he was shaking his head and folding his arms. I turned back towards him, wondering if I'd get a little glimpse into his mind. He jutted in the direction of the end of the alley, but I didn't look away from him.

I couldn't help it. I actually grinned. Not at the half-assed apology that made no difference to me whatsoever, but at his acknowledgement. That my day might have not been the best. It melted into that dry laugh that I had attempted before, but this time it was far more obvious. An actual laugh. Not some sad imitation of one. "Crappy doesn't even really begin to cover it." I was about to rant, about to explain just how crappy it had been, but he continued to talk. Effectively shutting me up in the best way possible.

My jaw popped. I couldn't quite believe what I was reading. "You're kidding." I meant it. I genuinely couldn't see how we'd gone from you're coming with me and you don't have a choice to fly away in your ship, I won't chase you. "What? I can just get in my ship and drive away? You won't come after me?" I was still ruminating on that comment when he asked for the name of the port. I shoved a hand into my jacket, fishing around in the pockets there until I produced a slip of paper.

For some reason, I handed it out to him. "Copper Fume. On the east side." I wasn't sure where we were, but I looked around anyway. "I guess not too far from here?"​

Jonah​

 

[Jonah]

The woman laughed.

Jonah was right on the money. In her eyes, today had been anything but positive. The man briefly chuckled along with her laughter, before sharing the change of heart. That, of course, made her eyes widen - and of course she wanted clarification. So, he gave it. "Yes, you can just get on your ship and go. Won't be coming after you or anything." he answered.

That was certainly enough motivation for her, as she fished out a piece of paper from her pocket. He accepted it and read the name Copper Fume. Jonah grimaced. "No wonder you got mixed up with them," came his observation. "Nar Shaddaa's a shithole - where you landed is like the top of the pile." Shaking his head, the man returned the paper to her grasp. "It's not far, but stay close, wouldn't want this day to get anymore adventurous for you."

Jonah then led the way up through the alleyway. It didn't take more than a few minutes to arrive at Copper Fume - a port that was literally a cesspool. Upon entering the space, there was a lineup of scantily-clad women of every species and color. Moreover, there was a beefy-looking Trandoshian seated right behind them. Jonah knew the dynamic of that situation without any further investigation. Looking to the opposite side would reveal hooded figures, passing out bags to men who looked like they hadn't slept in weeks.

Yep, Copper Fume was a shithole.

Fortunately, as far as Jonah could tell, the ships parked there hadn't been chopped up and sold for pieces. "Which one's yours?" he asked the woman, while keeping his head on a swivel. As they moved, he didn't touch her...but certainly made it obvious to the wandering eyes that this doe-eyed Healer had scary dog privilege for the moment.

Tag: Naya