That's CAPTAIN Vyen'a to you, kid.

*The buzz of electronics and hushed voices filters through the air.   A dark-haired soldier sits on the edge of the medical bed, clutching the unconscious occupant’s hand with a mix of concern and love.  The woman in the bed is much paler than usual, her usually luminous green skin gone waxy and near grey.  Her shirt and blood-soaked pants are torn from the frenzied work of the medics in the field and here, back at Talanis.  A swath of kolto-drenched bandages wrap her leg from hip to knee.

But she’s breathing.  Her vital signs have begun to stabilize.  Soon, she’ll be stable enough to go in the kolto tanks.  But now, the two are frozen in time; the thin tube running between them, filter in the middle humming, pulls the blood from his arm to hers.

And they are even more connected than before.*

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He did it.  My handsome soldier took me dancing at a ball. 

That was a promise long-coming.

Way back when, right after we first met, he said he’d take me to a military ball that was coming up a few weeks later.  That got cancelled.  Then all the mess on Alderaan and Voss came and we didn’t get time to even give each other a quick kiss in passing most weeks, let alone go out places together.

So last night, at the ball honoring the Marran, those promises of dancing finally came true.

And it was perfect.

Morgan was out of the med bay.  He took Jayl as a date.  That was… cute.  Unexpected as all balls, but cute.  Don’t think Jayl appreciated me waltzing her around the dance floor, but she needed to loosen up quite a bit.  Especially since she doesn’t believe me when I say dancing can be just as deadly a weapon as any one of those charges she keeps strapped to her thigh at all time.

A woman’s wiles can make or break even the strongest of men.  Hence: excellent weapon.  She’s pretty enough that if she could harness that?  No enemy would stand a chance.

There was this military tradition called grog, and… well.  It was disgusting.  It was alcoholic.  And I have a feeling it won’t be the last time I have to take a double shot of something along those lines.

One of the shiny new U-4T0 protocol droids was on display at the venue.  I want one.  

But all of that paled once Jerax and I started dancing.  He whispered in my ear little things that made me giggle like a damn kid.  Still giggling now while I write this, him asleep in the other room.

Maker, I love that man.

((that protocol droid?  totally an in-game GM, come to hang out at our RP event.  it was pretty great!  was the same one running around on tython the day before and on hutta later that evening.  yay, fun times!))

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!!!ALERT!!!

Visual Feed attached.  Commence playback?:  Y/N

*The familiar backdrop of a ship’s control console flickers into view, the camera focusing and re-focusing on a woman’s profile.  Instead of her usual grin, her face is drawn, tired.  She stares out to the stars, a frown on her mouth.*

I don’t know what’s happening to me.  Ever since I was in the med tents with my leg, I’ve been angry.  Constantly.  My temper is always right at the surface.  I’m snapping at everyone.  It’s harder to smile.  That sucks.  I like smiling.  Too many people never smile.

And then last night…

*She reaches off-screen, pulling a half-smoked cigarette to her lips and taking a long drag.*

Whatever that fucking recovery was on Ilum was pointless.  Those privates didn’t need to die.  Morgan, Oz, and that new guy didn’t need to get holes punched in them by a thousand pieces of shrapnel.  I didn’t need that fucking Jedi in my face, telling us a body wasn’t worth it. 

I will be maker-bedamned if I ever leave someone behind.

*She stubs the cigarette out against the console, blowing a puff of smoke out from between her lips angrily.*

Maker help Ozakif if he ever, ever insults me like that again. If he ever insults Jerax like that again.  He’s damn lucky I was there; he would have bled out in the snow if not.  For him to just—

*Her teeth grit and she falls silent, staring out at the stars a moment.*

I should not have let my temper get the better of me like that.  I should not have said what I did.  I should not have punched his fucking teeth down his throat, and especially not in front of Jerax and that Jedi.

No matter how damn good it felt to do so.

*She sighs, rubbing the space between her eyes with her thumb and forefinger*

I just wish I knew what’s wrong with me.  I hope this vacation Jerax is taking me on will help.  Even if it’s just for a few days.  It has to help.

!!! VISUAL FEED TERMINATED  !!!

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I’m free!  Sort of. 

My leg is still way too injured for its own good, but I’m back on my ship and moving around.  Which means I’m conscious more often than not, which means I can finally put my thoughts down about this last week.

In short: Fuck.

Bald’s gone; shipped off to fuck knows where to rejoin his old unit.  He’s supposed to be back in a few months, but if this damn war blows up I wouldn’t be surprised if they keep him there.  Which sucks.  Because we’re now responsible for his little imp girlfriend.

I’m not too happy about that.  Told him I’d keep an eye on her and, if it was absolutely fucking necessary, could probably smuggle her ass somewhere safe.  It better not damn well get to that point, though.

I guess I missed a hell of a goodbye party for him, too.  

I was right about one of the new recruits; he got transferred out just as fast as he was transferred in.  Still need to do some digging on that one.  They should really let me give my seal of approval on some of these fucks before they’re let in.

Finally got to see Jerax.  Finally.  Diplomatic akkshit has been keeping him on the run, and it’s taking him away again for maker knows how long.  He didn’t even know I was hurt until Bald’s party.  He helped me get resettled on my ship, though.  Picked me up and carried me through the airlock like it was a threshold on our wedding night.

…I may have overthought that one.  Eh, fuck it.

Before all that, though, when those stupid droids finally let me get some fresh air, I had a run in with one of Master Ihlrath’s new padawans.  She thinks she’s cute.  Even calls herself “Trouble”.

Bitch, please.

She might be trouble, but not in the way she’s insinuating.  I’m actually rather shocked that Ihlrath would take someone like that on.  Must be some Jedi reason, I guess.

Anyway.

I’d been cooped up in the med tents for so long that I lost my temper real fast.  Real fast.  And I know that if I was at my best, I could have taken her skanky ass in a fight, but I wouldn’t stand a chance with only one leg and a still-hurting back.  So I just left back to the tents.  Ended up chatting with Cpl Jayl for a good long time; she even got me calmed down enough to go for a (stupidly slow) walk around the camp.  She’s a good woman.

I need to get to know more of the Seventh like that.

With the mess of whatever it was that happened in Voss-Ka the other night, with some ambassador being stabbed, times are getting more and more tense.  We’re going to have to lean on each other more, to support each other more.

Maybe I’ll throw a party.