In the Ghetto (D1 MA, Expecting)

[Cole Ormont]

Cole adjusts the backpack against his shoulder and drops his data pad into the pouch at his hip. What is that smell? His uniform was rumpled, if clean, like it had been on the floor for some eight or ten hours before he'd put it on. Running a hand through his curls, he pushes off the wall he'd been leaning against.

Glancing back over his shoulder, I wonder if she'll bother at all, and he shrugs, picking a direction mostly at random and heading deeper into the district.

[Ashla Vyliis]

Eventually, he runs into Ashla who was looking for him. "Oh. It's you."

[Cole Ormont]

He pulls up short but, to his credit, he doesn't look surprised. Cole nods in acknowledgment, "it is me." He studies her, guardedly, she's younger than she appeared on the holochat, closer to her actual age. The colour of her markings is complementary to her dusky skin, interesting colouring, I daresay she's quite attractive, for her age.

Unsure what he was looking for, he sees a rather cheeky, energetic young woman whose appearance gives away nothing of the things he read in her file. The way Cole slouches knocks an inch or two off his height, so the pair are just about eye-to-eye. Eyes, which he notes are fascinating violet, like one of those holonovellas he watched as a kid.

When Ashla had appeared in front of him, he'd been trying to decide if the open-sewerage smell was more street food or decay. The former meant markets, while the latter might hopefully lead towards an existing clinic where he can lend a hand. "Happen across anything interesting yet?" he pushes a hand through his blonde curls.

[Ashla Vyliis]

Ashla shrugs. "Not really." After thinking for a second, "Well, I saw a small gang war over who got to get the protection money from a local gambling den. I never realized that Ithorians could be such scrappers."

[Cole Ormont]

"Huh," was all Cole said to that, he couldn't quite picture an Ithorian moving all too quickly, let alone getting in a fight. His features settled into what could best be described as a guarded, resting bitch face, and he indicated a direction with a jerk of his head, "let's walk."

They walked in silence for a while until, abruptly, "so, you rely on your... instincts," the word weighed down with inflection, "a lot? Are you intincts telling you anything right now?"

[Ashla Vyliis]

Ashla shrugs. "Nothing in particular now. I'm just following you to... somewhere. So, where are we going?"

[Cole Ormont]

Cole glances at her and pushes his fingers through his hair, "nowhere, in particular." After spending the last seven years in the dry, clinically antiseptic air of a Medical Frigate, the smell of the District is giving him a pounding headache. Enough that he is considering administering treatment to himself.

"Somewhere down here are refugee clinics, if they can be called that. I intend to help. Just have to find one first." He turns his head to stare at the Togruta girl for a moment, "picking somewhere at random and hanging out a shingle will be the last resort." His stare is pointed, for a moment, but then the guardedness returns and he afixes his attention forward again.

[Ashla Vyliis]

Ashla stops. "Nowhere in particular?" She pinches the bridge of her nose. "You realize that's how people wind up stabbed and bleeding in the streets, right?" Admittedly, Ashla might get a good laugh at that, but she's pretty sure she would have to defend and.... no. "This isn't some Republic military base. You can't just go around and hope for the best." She looks him in the eyes. "Understand this. Not one of these people give a damn about you. And many of them will only be too happy kill you for a credit. Down here, life isn't worth that much."

She starts looking at the surroundings. "You'd be better off looking around for some corner to set up shop than wandering around at random." Ashla noted the dig. But if he's this foolish, there's not much of a reason to get mad. Just get what you need from him before he gets himself killed. "But luckily, I know this area. There's a clinic founded by some weird cult that believes helping the most unfortunate is the way to salvation. It's not too far." Ashla begins heading in that direction.

[Cole Ormont]

Cole restrains his cold look for once she's safely two paces ahead of him and won't see his expression; it grates against him that she's probably right. He thinks he can take better care of himself than she gives him credit for, but she's still probably right. And for that, he resents her.

He pinches back the petulant reply on his tongue. At his rank, he's well accustomed to taking orders from those younger than him. She's wrong about one thing, I know what my life is worth, Group Commander Ormont saw to that. And it's less than a credit. This is how he finds himself following her, expression neutral, jogging his backpack into a more comfortable position and wondering what the hell her master had been thinking.

[Ashla Vyliis]

When they get there, Cole will see a shelter. The people running it are made of a variety of races. It takes up a decent size area and does a number of functions like feeding the hungry, giving beds to the homeless, and in the corner, an area for physicians. Ashla talks to someone, and it seems that having a medical bag is really all that is needed for proof. There's a lot desperate people that need help and not enough doctors to do it.

[Cole Ormont]

Cole clearly approves as he takes in the shelter, I can do more here than just provide medical care..

He is suspicious of the apparent conversation between the young woman and the person she speaks to, but he closes the distance, running his fingers through his hair. He touches Ashla on the arm and points to the makeshift infirmary, "why don't you show me what you can do and, if you get stuck, I'll consult."

[Ashla Vyliis]

The first patient is a bothan with a broken arm. Ashla a decent job setting it.

[Cole Ormont]

Cole nods, a simple case, but she executes herself with adequate proficiency. He keeps an eye on Ashla, but his attention has been drawn by a patient who has been hidden away at the back of the area. The Chadra-Fan's fur was matted, and there was the ripe smell of decay in the air about the small, rodent-like creature.

All four nostrils were running with pus-coloured mucus, and its dark eyes were dull and glazed. It stared at the ceiling, apparently unaware of its surroundings. He couldn't tell at a glance if it was male or female, shoved back here to die, he pushes a hand through his curls.

"Doctor Vyliis," he crouched down, the cot was low to the floor, "your assistance."

[Ashla Vyliis]

"Hm?" Ashla comes over a little surprised he called 'doctor.' "Eh. This does not look good."

[Cole Ormont]

He had hoped that, in calling her Doctor, it might engender some sense of professionalism, if not confidence, in the patients. They hardly needed to know that the young Togruta was more witch doctor than medical professional.

Cole lifted the blanket, face guarded and impassive as the unfettered stench of dead flesh swelled out from underneath. It was impossible to tell what had happened to the Chadra-Fan, but one of the lower limbs was bloated and seeping. The knee was no more than a balloon, bald of fur and shiny with tension of the fluids beneath the skin. Below that was a mess of wet, matted fur and blackened skin. The smell was palpable.

Gangrene, probably septic, his lips compress into a thin line, "differential?" he asks the girl, folding the blanket out of the way.

[Ashla Vyliis]

Ashla didn't quite know what he meant by differential, but she could guess. "The leg is dead. We'll have to remove it, or it will infection will kill the patient."

[Cole Ormont]

With a soft grunt, Cole sets his backpack down next to the cot and removes the fusion lantern. Under the harsh light, the wound and its advanced necrosis seems significantly worse. He is already pulling on a pair of thin, disposable gloves as he replies, "let's clean this up first, then we can assess if there's enough of the limb to salvage."

He holds out another pair of the gloves for Ashla, "put these on."

[Ashla Vyliis]

Ashla puts on the gloves and follows instructions for once.

OOC: Assisting. Gives two Boost dice thanks to Togruta racial bonus.

[Cole Ormont]

With cool efficiency, Cole unpacks and lays out a square of sterile paper, lining up his tools where he can easily access them: scalpels, forceps, syringes, sterile saline sprayer, synthflesh applicator, dressings. Before he does anything else, he takes the Chadra-Fan's hand and leans closer, "we're going to try and help you now." He isn't sure the patient can hear him, but he persists regardless, "this may be uncomfortable, but I will do my best to ensure that it isn't painful."

He squeezes the little hand and picks up a syringe of anaesthetic, starting above the knee and irrigating the strained flesh. It takes a long time, carefully teasing away the dead flesh with the forceps and saline, not once does he resort to using a scalpel. From time to time he solemnly requests something of Ashla: to hold something, to remove something, to provide a third and sometimes fourth hand when two weren't sufficient.

Cole's legs are beginning to cramp, but he remains silent apart from the quiet requests. His expression is completely blank apart from the deep concentration that lends a hint of a frown to his countenance. An awkward twist of the wrist, flesh tears, blood flows, hot and scarlet and violent. Urgently, "Ashla, put pressure on that."

Finally, it is done. The dead and stinking flesh has been removed and only vulnerable, pink skin and exposed muscle remain. His back creaks as he straightens, "we might be able to save the leg yet."


(( Medical Debridement ))

[Ashla Vyliis]

Ashla hates to admit it, but she is impressed with Cole's work. But she is not going to tell him that. She continues assisting.

[Cole Ormont]

Neither would Cole admit it, but he wouldn't have been able to save the Chadra-Fan on his own. But, even with Ashla's assistance, the damage is far too great. He leans in to the patient once more, carefully wiping the soiling from around her nose, "I'm sorry, I wish there was more I could do, but better your life than your leg."

Tearing off a glove, he plucks the mediscanner from it's pouch and runs it over the knee joint, confirming his hopes: the femur remains undamaged and the articular capsule is still intact. "We'll disarticulate the knee, but I can't preserve the joint," he says. He pulls on a fresh glove. Sweat beads on his forehead and the back of his neck as he slices into what remains of the muscles and nerves. Clear synovial fluid floods out as he cuts open the articular capsule.

At the end, he indicates towards the synthflesh applicator and dressings, "can you?" His own knees have locked from the awkward position, his back aching.


(( Surgical Amputation ))

[Ashla Vyliis]

Ashla gets to work dressing the leg. It looks fine. Not great, but fine. After the surgery she looks Cole. "That was..." Her face turns into a snarl as if she was being forced to do something despicable. "impressive."

[Cole Ormont]

A little taken aback by her expression, but his expression carefully guarded, Cole peels off his gloves and immediately runs a hand through his hair. "Thank you for the assistance, we saved a life, even if we didn't save the leg. She," he indicates to the Chadra-Fan, who appears to be sleeping now, and certainly more comfortable than they were before, "has you to thank for that."

[Ashla Vyliis]

Ashla shrugs. "It was you. I just followed what you said."

[Cole Ormont]

"You're the one who knew about this place," he pointed out. "She's not safe yet, but the fever's down and she can start fighting off the infection with the help of the antibiotics I administered. But if you hadn't brought us here, I don't think she would have survived the night."