Nar Shaddaa

Cole wasn't sure how the death of Kidaja was going to affect the slums, and he wasn't sure he cared at all. He gets a bit turned around in the alleys, but eventually finds a place: it couldn't rightly be called a clinic, it looked more like the triage centre from the spaceport. There were a few cots, but most of the patients were lying on blankets on the ground.

War refugees. Most were missing limbs, or digits, or an eye here, an ear there. They'd come to Nar Shaddaa because there was nowhere else to go. There were no doctors or nurses or medics. It was a dumping ground. Cole took a deep breath and waded in.


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[D7 LA] Finding a Clinic (Know: Underworld): 1eP+3eA+2eD+1eS 2 failures, 4 advantage

"So this is where you hang out when you aren't playing ball.". A large sith stood at the entrance to the clinic. He looked a bit sceptical but shrugged and walked in.

"Thanks for helping me out last night. Any chance you can take a look at my leg?"

He sat down on a stool and removed the armour plates over the other injury that was still bugging him. "Hard to run at my normal speed this morning, maybe it needs a professional."

With a lopsided smile, "it's one of my haunts. I'm surprised you found me. I'm not entirely sure where I am right now."

Mediscanner at the ready, he kneels down next to the pureblood on his good knee and checks out the injured leg. "I was worried this might happen. What you've got is a basic muscle tear, normally nothing serious, man like you'd walk that off. But there's damage to the blood vessels, and it's bleeding into the muscle. A pocket of blood has formed and it's compressing a nerve. I can get in there and relieve the pressure, a few stitches will stop it from happening again while the muscle heals."

"Force works in mysterious ways Cole. Guess it wanted me to find you. Or some other Jedi-sounding BS." He winked and then watched the medic do his thing.

Eventually he nodded. "I already know you know your shit Cole. Sounds like a plan." He looked around the clinic and watched the other patients for a few moments before looking back at him. "This your good deeds?"

Cole's face heats when Jo'ren winked, and he really hopes he's not turning as red as the pureblood. "Something like that? Makes me feel useful."

"So, I could do it like this," Cole taps the pureblood's leg, "but take pity on my poor knee and," he jerks his head in the general direction of the other patients, "those who might not want to watch." Getting up, he offers a hand to help the Sith up, if he wants it, indicating to a screened-off area a few meters away where a single, rusty gurney waits.

Layne didn't trust the droids back at the imperial compound. Sure, they probably wouldn't kill her by accident, but her experience with droids trying to fix her up wasn't such that she didn't prefer a real doctor. So here she was, strolling her way into the nearest clinic she could find after that headache popped up again.

"Yeah," she said without looking at anyone in particular; the moment she stepped in, "I'm going to need some doctor type or something."

And then she looked up and saw Jo'ren about to be led off toward the screened-off area.

"Huh. Goddamn coincidences keep piling up."

Cole turned at the voice, "hi." His lips pressed together into a line for a moment, could really have used Ashla's help today, and he experienced a pang of guilt, which was patently absurd, because surely she'd be happier to have Kidaja dead than alive.

"Find a seat, I'll be right there, I guess." This general doctoring thing wasn't like surgical rotation at all, "I'm Cole, by the way."

She looked between Cole and Jo'Ren for a moment, then shrugged.

"Yeah okay, whatever." And then she took a seat.

I hope they have magazines.

Jo'ren put a hand up to show he could get there himself. "I can manage, and sure, let's keep the locals happy."

Then Layne walked in and he laughed. "Looks like word got around Doc. Hey Layne."

"I'm finding word does that on Nar Shaddaa."

As they approached the gurney, “there's going to be a lot of blood, and I don't really do clothing repair. So the pants are going to have to come off," Cole's tone was somewhere between matter-of-fact and deadpan.

"Sure, whatever you like." Not having any shame the big Sith removed his armour and stripped off revealing a lifeform that oddly appeared to be bigger without clothes than with them. He was all massive muscles and spiky ridges.

Cole noted two things immediately: the gurney creaked in ways it really shouldn't under the pureblood's weight, and the Sith was built exceptional well. He had served the last eight years in the military, and spent his entire life around Navy men. Jo'ren's lack of coyness was not new to him, though the ridges and spikes were.

He adjusted the mediscanner to the narrowest beam setting, targeting it over the pureblood’s thigh and running his hand along the length of the firm muscle as the mediscanner pinpointed the exact location of the edema. What colour would you called that, he mused of the Sith’s skin, crimson? carmine? The mediscanner beeped and he placed a thumb over the the indicated spot, squeezing Jo’ren’s leg gently as he looked away long enough to trade the scanner for a marking pen.

After marking the incision site, Cole pulled on a pair of gloves, sprayed the area with contact antiseptic, and placed a sterile incise drape over the leg, isolating just the few square inches he needed to work on. “Gonna feel a pinch,” he muttered, using a needle and syringe instead of a hypospray to infiltrate the area with local anaesthetic.

"You're good doc, I'll try not to punch you out." The big Sith deadpanned and waited for the sharp medical pain. It was no worse than when he'd been treated for injuries after the Gorios incident.

He hummed a tune as Cole went to work, hoping the injury would be easy to fix. The attack had been at an awkward angle into his leg, so there was the possibility of complications. The Republic navy doctor seemed to know his stuff though.

He chuckled softly and looked up at Jo'ren long enough to give him a lopsided smile and a cock of the eyebrow, "I appreciate it."

The scalpel caught the light from the fusion lantern and Cole paused for a heartbeat, maybe less, the faintest hint of a frown haunted his brow. With steady precision, he cut deeply into the Sith’s thigh, blood ran freely from the wound, soaking into the mat beneath Jo’ren. The medic forced the muscle tissue apart with a medical retractor, flushing the incision with a stream of saline. It was moments like these he wished for a third hand, or at least a proper surgical theatre.

Clamping the retractor, he brought the scalpel to bear once more, cutting deeper and bringing forth new freshets of blood. A dark clot washed from the wound, slithering down the surface of the drape to plop onto the mat. It was a small thing, almost black. Satisfied, Cole placed a few stitches deep in the muscle, and closed up the incision with a few more.

He finally sealed the wound with synthflesh, and began the process of cleaning up.


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[D7 LA] Jo'ren Critical Injury (Medicine): 2eP+2eA+1eB+3eD 1 success

Jo'ren held out a fist for a fist bump. "It's not true what they say about you Cole." He chuckled and winked at the Republic doc. "Just do me a favour and don't get on the wrong side of a Sith battle cruiser huh?"

He looked over at the work. "Well, I can't feel anything, but it looks like you did a good job man."

Cole removed his bloodied gloves before fist bumping the big Sith, then leaned in to examine his work one last time. He smoothed his thumb over the incision, "do I want to know what they say about me?"

His hand lingered on the pureblood's thigh, "you playing tonight? You have full medical clearance."

"He's too pretty to play Huttball." Jo'ren winked at Cole and looked down at the work.

"Huh, that's damn fine work. Not sure if I can make the game, but it would suck to miss one. Depends on how my personal project goes this evening. You know, I think we should try for a perfect game again one of these days."

Meanwhile, Layne was still in the waiting room, having found herself a magazine aimed at the women of Nar Shaddaa. This issue had a full gossip spread about some male Rodian actor she had never heard about, as well as a 15-step how-to guide on figuring out whether or not the stars are right for you and Hutt boyfriend to take the next step...

...Layne put it down in disgust once she realized it was six months old, like waiting room magazines always are.

Cole laughs, "well, I'll be hoping to see you there."

He moves away from the big Sith to where Layne was waiting, "thanks for waiting."

"Sure, no problem. Whatever. Your magazines are old. Did you know that?"

Cole glanced around at the rows of refugees, "I don't think they care," he answered with a shrug. His mediscanner is quickly in his hand, taking its readings. "You took a smack to the head, I'm guessing. Nothing too serious." Treatment is swift, and effective.


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[D7 LA] Layne Crit Injury (Medicine): 2eP+2eA+1eB+1eD 3 successes, 2 advantage

"Thanks," she said, gripping the side of hear tentatively; as if to verify the stinging feeling was gone.

"Dangled off a platform and afterwards got... something or anothered."

She pointed in Jo'ren's direction. "He was there."

"Yep, definitely something or othered." Jo'ren had dressed while Cole was working on Layne and chuckled at her comment. "Damn droids."

Cole stood, stretched, and fell back into his casual slouch. "I'd tell you to stop getting into so much trouble, but then you'd have no reason to come see me," he told Jo'ren with a lopsided smile, running a hand through his blonde curls.

"Daz fixed mine," she said, "Not sure if it's as good as it used to be though."