Ask Lost Heavens

[Crix Aran]

They had left them…

His head was throbbing with more pain than he had ever really experienced in his life before and there was no escaping it, no relief for it. Doing his best to not let it affect his decision making was all he could do and he hated it. Which was, in itself, another problem that he then had to try mentally working his way through.

The pain wasn’t supposed to be there, of course, now that he was actually in a medical facility. Painkillers were available but Crix had refused them after awhile not out of some bullshit sense that he needed to ‘suffer’ but because he didn’t like how it made his thoughts feel. Sluggish and circular and all disjointed.

With them it hurt but he was able to actually think.

Think like how he had invited Poet to actually come and visit him. Crix was beginning to get better, enough to have visitors for sure and he had been taken to a hospital in the Core because of the Ranger.

Gods but he hoped his mom hadn’t worried about him.

Having a blaster bolt hit the wall behind his head had damaged him… even now he brought his left hand up and gingerly touched the shattered remains of the horns there. Taking a shaky, juddering, breath, he shook his head ever so slightly as he waited for Poet to arrive. They… they should talk he supposed.

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Poet Severino]

He hadn't been sleeping for days now. It was not that he couldn't, and it was not that his insomnia had been acting up again that deprived him of sleep. Rather, it was a conscious decision and also the fear of the nightmares that might or might not plague him once he shut his eyes.

He hated worrying his mother, hated how he caused her grief when he went home without Skippy. The astromech was just as important to her just as much as how important it had been to him – Skippy was Muse's droid first and foremost, regardless if she did not need it back then and Skippy was just some random droid Dad took home and repaired as a gift for the daughter he would inevitably lose.

Right now he looked like shit. Felt like it, too.

To say that Poet had been even more unpleasant and vitriolic towards his colleagues was an understatement. Grief was a hated companion he knew all too well, and instead of embracing it so he would be able to feel pain less as instructed by his therapist the half-Morellian chose anger. It was easy being angry, after all, no matter how draining it was both mentally and emotionally. Grief was bitter and heartbreaking, a sense of hopelessness that there were things you couldn't retrieve.

Much like Skippy in that godsforsaken Star Destroyer–

As much as he'd like to prolong his denial it just never suited him.

Anger melted into panic when he received Crix's invitation to come and visit him. Poet thought that the last he'd see the Padawan was when he rushed the latter to the nearest planet with proper medical facilities after they escaped from that wretched Star Destroyer, then when the kid was transferred to a hospital in the Core. Poet thought that the last connection he'd ever had with the half-Zabrak was the Ranger shouldering any and all medical expenses for the whole duration of the kid's recovery. It was the least he could do, after what he'd done. After what he'd decided in that dire moment when he realized that he wouldn't be able to get Crix out without making a certain decision.

More of a sacrifice than a decision, really.

What little amount of hope Poet felt was dashed the moment Crix heard the dying screech of his friend. When the Padawan remained awake for the whole duration of their escape.

...we left them.

Black boots met the pristine white floors of the hospital as Poet traversed the hallways, a small basket of flowers clutched in one hand. The other clenched and unclenched sporadically, a testament to the ever present anxiety, self-loathing, and the grief that just begged to be felt. If only he had been good enough...

He'd knocked a few teeth off of one colleague when the bastard had the audacity to laugh at him, to mock him for mourning over something that did not even live. He'd been sent a memo for exploding in anger in the office, for injuring a fellow Ranger, for being unable to keep his cool. A warning, and the next time he'd do it he would be suspended.

Poet didn't care. At least no one in the office mocked him again.

"Would you like me to check if Mister Aran's awake?" asked the kind, pretty nurse who gladly escorted him to Crix's room. Poet wordlessly shook his head, brows furrowing with confusion when the nurse blushed furiously before leaving. Weird woman.

He entered the room without any preamble, knowing that the Padawan was waiting for him. Without meeting Crix's gaze the Ranger settled on the chair beside the bed, the small basket of flowers being placed on top of the bedside draw.

Red spider lilies, red carnations, purple hyacinths, tamarisk flowers.

Scooter and Skippy's deaths. My heart breaks for you, please forgive me, leaving them to die is a crime I will always be guilty of.

"Spare me the niceties," Poet told Crix quietly, meeting the Padawan's gaze for the first time. His tone was resigned, a flash of determined acceptance in his voice as he continued. "Please. Just be honest with me. Tell me you hate me for leaving Scooter behind and be done with it. I deserve it, anyway."

@Nefieslab

 

[Crix Aran]

“You look like shite, Ranger.”

Crix wasn’t in the habit of flattering people when it wasn’t true and Poet had asked him to drop the niceties so it was exactly what he had asked for. Of course it was kind of ironic for Crix to be telling the Ranger that he looked like shrak considering his own sorry state. Several of the horns on the left side of his head were broken and the back side of his head was currently a mess of metal plates, stitches and bandages.

What they had gone through together? It still stung and Crix doubted it would ever stop stinging to think about losing Scooter like that. But the sting just meant that he had meant something to Crix, meant that he had lost something that actually meant something to him. He wanted to shake his head but resisted the urge.

Even that motion kind of hurt.

“Be a shite Jedi if I hated you.” He muttered with a roll of his eyes, “I didn’t call you here to yell at you for saving me, Ranger. Called you here to thank you for it.”

He smiled ever so slightly.

“You didn’t throw my friend onto a grenade to save a bit of time or pull the trigger yourself, Ranger. No, you literally dragged me out of the grinder and…” his eyes took on a slightly far away quality, “And you lost your friend because of me. My friend threw himself into the fray because I messed up. So…”

With a groan of pain, Crix sat more fully upright in his bed, waving away any concern from Poet as he would reach into the bedside table drawer before pulling out a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses. He set the bottle down atop the bedside table.

“I’m sorry, Ranger. Your friend died because I got myself shot and you still pulled me out of the fire. My mom told me that it’s a kind of Ranger tradition to drink to fallen friends who helped pull you out of the line of fire.” He explained, tapping the bottle, “I swore off painkillers for 24 hours so you better open that up quick.”

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Poet Severino]

A snort was all he could manage as a response to Crix's comment about the Ranger's appearance. The half-Morellian did not take offense, it was a truth he was all too aware of.


“Pot,“ he muttered in response, finger pointing at himself before turning to point at Crix. “Kettle.“


At least the reason the Padawan looked like shit wasn't out of self-loathing and a conscious neglect of his own being. One hand lifted to rub at his chin unconsciously. At least he remembered to shave before heading here...


The Ranger lifted his gaze to study Crix while he spoke, not really minding that his attempts to help the half-Zabrak were waved off. His eyes wandered but his attention was solely focused on what the Padawan was saying. Poet had no idea if the broken horns could heal and regrow – Zabrak anatomy wasn't really something he never paid attention to. Maybe he could take the time to learn now, just in case the Ranger failed again in the presence of one. He was also aware of the state of the back of Crix's head. Perhaps Poet should count himself lucky that his old injury had not called for metal plates to fix his own skull.


The Padawan's words made a lot of sense. Had perfect logic in there, as well. Their plight back in that karking Star Destroyer demanded that Poet make certain decisions and sacrifices that would ensure his and Crix's escape, more so the latter's safety – decisions and sacrifices that followed the lines of logic and reason. The Ranger had expected the words of gratitude, the assurance that he wasn't hated for doing the right thing. That he deserved gratitude for saving a life.


Anyone in their right mind would have been relieved and grateful for those words. Anyone in their right mind would have said the right words, a “Thank you for your kindness and understanding“ or an “I only wanted to do what's right.“


In his continued state of guilt and anger, however, Poet hated it. Hated every single word. He had expected those words, had expected gratitude from Crix upon receiving the invitation to come and visit. Poet had expected those things and he. Hated. Them.


“Is it Crix Aran telling me that he doesn't hate me? Or is it Padawan Aran who doesn't want to be a shite Jedi so he turns to gratitude instead of hatred?“

He wasn't done being too hard on himself for abandoning the astromechs – for abandoning the one thing that physically reminded him of the one he loved the most but lost. He wasn't done being selfish and pushing away any consolation – whether if it's from Mum and now, Crix – aimed to put his heart at ease.

“This ain't too big a deal, Severino! People get injured all the time! And they're just kriffing droids!“

Wordlessly he took the bottle, popped the cap off, and poured a shot each in the glasses. He knew the Ranger tradition all too well, had witnessed his colleagues do it for their fallen comrades. Poet himself had done the same. For Captain Rook, and the countless Rangers who died fighting for what was right.

“Poet,“ he muttered, correcting Crix. “Just Poet will do. I've already seen you bleed; there's hardly any need for formality any longer.“

The Ranger stared at the drink, a surprised “huh?“ escaping him when his vision began to slowly blur. He had expected to receive kindness and understanding when he came to visit – and the shared pain for losing something, someone, important to him and the Padawan both. Skippy and Scooter were simply droids, yes, but the fact that they were companions – friends – to the two men were a more important fact that overshadowed the opinion of those who would never understand.

Long red hair, a splash of freckles like all the stars in the universe adorning a cute face, and a smile brighter than a hundred suns combined. Guilt and longing and “I miss you, Muse, I'm sorry I lost Skippy even if I promised to take good care of the gift you so kindly gave me to remember you by“ running rampant in his head and making his chest hurt. Thoughts and feelings he couldn't speak of and yet he could not suppress.

“I can't take Skippy with me to Ajan Kloss, Poet! Take care of ‘im for me! Ah, no, no! Skippy's yours now, I mean! A gift from me to you so you won't miss me too much while I'm away, you meanie bean pole!“

Something wet and warm slid down Poet's cheek, followed by another. Gods, was he crying? Again? But perhaps he would never stop, given the weight behind his ownership of Skippy. And the weight of his request to Scooter that led to the astromech's destruction, more so Crix's desperate words back in that ship that was half-blown to smithereens.

With his free hand Poet unearthed something from the basket of flowers he carried. It was Crix's lightsaber. In Poet's haste to get medical aid for the Padawan he had forgotten that the weapon was tucked and hidden in his jacket pocket for safekeeping.

“I’m sorry, too. I had no idea how much Scooter might have meant to you, but your words back then... the weight of emotions behind them...“ the half-Morellian handed one glass to Crix and clenched his in his hand. “If only I could have done something to change the situation...“

If only I had been good enough. But he hadn't been – and it's a spilled milk he couldn't cry over.

@Nefieslab

 

[Crix Aran]

Crix laughed a little at the comment about pot and the kettle - only a little though because the movement of his jaw hurt his head like a mule kicking it repeatedly. So he REALLY didn't want to waste a lot of time talking or laughing, drinking was much preferred. Or maybe he was just looking for a bit of an excuse to get drunk rather than have the painkillers again?

He didn't like how the painkillers made him feel.

Still, Crix wasn't feeling so bad that he wasn't able to roll his eyes at Poet's question about if he was only not hating him because he was a Jedi. Really? Seriously? He wanted to flick the dude in the forehead just to tell him off for being such an idiot but he didn't. Instead he just let out a soft sigh.

"Both, you daft bugger... we're the same person." he joked back to the Ranger, "I don't hate you as either. Got it, Poet?"

He had permission to use his name after all. Yeah... the way he got that permission was not one he was going to be engaging in again if he ever had a say in his life again. Cus seriously - kark being shot. Especially kark being shot in the head.

Scooter...

"Scooter was a complicated little droid." he admitted with a small smile as he spotted his lightsaber, "Scooter was literally homicidally insane - literally wanted to shoot people he didn't like - and they wanted to scrap him. I... I didn't let them and I started rehabilitating him."

Memory wipes were abhorrent to him.

His lightsaber slowly floated to rest in Crix's lap as he accepted the drink from Poet. Taking a sip, he hissed ever so slightly at the strong burning in his mouth before smiling ever so slightly wider.

"He once stole a stun pistol and tried to hold me hostage the little blighter..."

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Poet Severino]

Poet finally found the courage to acknowledge his tears and lifted a hand to rub them off with his sleeves just as Crix emphasized that the Ranger wasn't hated. A wide smile crossed the half-Morellian's face as his vision blurred with even more tears. He was older than the Padawan by a few years and yet Crix single-handedly managed to act more like an adult than Poet could at the moment.

One arm already covering his eyes, Poet lowered his head, shoulders shaking as he bit his lip to muffle the sobs that tried to escape him. The Ranger stayed like that for a few moments, grabbing the opportunity to finally let some of his grief out and just kriffing cry. He knew it was awkward, hells, it might even make Crix feel uneasy. But Poet had been wanting to properly cry for days now, and Crix's assurance only added to the urge to just let whatever control he had on himself to disappear.

"Yeah. Yeah, I got it," he told the Padawan moments later, rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket before meeting Crix's gaze. Now his eyes were red from crying, and Poet bet a hundred credits that he looked more worse for wear right now.

At least some of the weight in his chest were lifted off.

Some.

The half-Morellian snorted in amusement as Crix shared some memories of Scooter and at the Zabrak's reaction to the liquor on his hand. Poet mirrored him and downed the drink like a champ, grimacing at the burn it left in his mouth. Maker, he hated alcohol. He poured himself another glass, regardless, though he had no plans of getting drunk. He was in a hospital, and he guessed it was time to act his own age and more of the proper adult he should be. There was no way he'd actually let Crix get drunk as well – he'd be better off with the painkillers than the whiskey.

"If Scooter was a child, I would've called him feral," he joked, the corners of his lips tugging upwards in a smile. "Shite, your boy was kriffing wild. Why the kriff would he hold you hostage? What happened next?"

That bit was honestly interesting. An astromech, holding a Jedi hostage?

"Makes me jealous a bit, to be honest. Skippy was... well, it– he's the exact opposite."

Poet chuckled a little.

"Skippy would sass me to no end, but put him somewhere with more people other than myself and he'd turn into a polite, charming little shite," he continued. "Used to... watch over my blood sugar levels for me. I had no idea how– how Dad and my sister–" a flash of pain at the mention of the two "–did it but somehow they managed to attach a glucose meter to that tin can."

A tin can he treasured and lost.

"Skippy wasn't supposed to be mine to begin with. I kind of... inherited him. From my younger sister. Said she couldn't take Skippy with her to Ajan Kloss so she gave him to me as a gift."

Speaking of that place alone still never failed to leave a bitter taste on the Ranger's mouth.

@Nefieslab

 

[Crix Aran]

Crix wasn't really... good with tears.

Crying was natural and he wasn't the kind of close minded guy who would laugh at someone for doing it or whatever. But that didn't translate to him actually having anything remotely ressembling a clue as to what to do when people started crying. In his experience tears were a rather private thing - they were supposed to be and he kind of respected that. So anyone crying in front of him always made him kind of squirm and do his best to make them stop crying as quickly as possible.

Usually by joking around until they were ready to laugh rather than cry. Laughter tended to be the best counter to the awkwardness he felt when people cried around him, specifically the laughter of the person who had been crying. But telling jokes wasn't really going to go well right now so instead he did the best that he could with the reach he had.

He gently placed a hand on Poet's head and patted the human on his soft little patch of hair.

"Cry it out big guy, it's all good." he reassured the Ranger with a little grin, "Don't quite think being a Jedi qualifies me to be a therapist but hey I'm not going anywhere if you need to talk."

Alright so maybe he couldn't stop himself from making jokes.

It was just kind of how he was he guessed. But if Poet was gonna make a joke about how he was taking his drink, then Crix was ready to throw down! Verbally. He was ready to verbally throw down, he was not even close to being ready to physically throw down of course. Crix clicked his tongue in annoyed amusement as he thought about Scooter and the Stun Gun Incident.

"He was feral, dangerous lil bucket of bolts that one. I don't know what he expected but I kind of just took the gun from him and gave him a lecture."

Which was mostly ignored but Crix had made sure to disconnect the droid's motors so it couldn't run away from the lecture. And since Crix refused to ever memory wipe his droids, his friends, he knew that the lecture had stuck around in Scooter's head because it was physically incapable of forgetting. Cruel and unusual parenting shite right there but it worked for the little astromech.

Skippy... Hells, Skippy sounded like he'd been equipped to be part nurse and part sibling for Poet. That said droid was originally kitted out by one of his family members kind of made sense with those objectives and priorities for the little droid. Crix had been about to ask about his sister when Poet mentioned why she couldn't take Skippy with her in the first place.

Ajan Kloss.

"... I'm sorry about your sister."

There wasn't anything else to say really, he didn't need to actually say what happened to his sister. The grief would have been palpable even without the Force and Ajan Kloss? Well it hadn't been a place for nice things for a long time.

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Poet Severino]

He might have felt awkward as the Ranger cried but Crix had done well enough to comfort Poet. More than enough, if the half-Morellian should say so. The Padawan was a genuinely nice guy, and the galaxy sure needed a lot of those running around.

Poet didn't even have the heart to snarl at the kid for patting his head. It was... adorable of Crix to do that. Kind of like a younger sibling comforting his older brother. Something that Muse did back then, when Poet broke down about temporarily forgetting who she was after he woke up from his coma.

His only response to that joke was a smirk. He wasn't going to make fun of someone who tried their best nor shied away from comforting a crying man.

The way the Padawan talked about Scooter gave Poet the inkling that Crix wasn't the type to give his droids a memory wipe. The same fondness he felt towards Skippy was present in Crix's eyes and voice, prompting a small but sincere smile from the half-Morellian as he listened to the younger male. Skippy had never pulled anything like that, and as much as the little bastard annoyed Poet with those sassy quips he kind of wished that the astromech had tried to pull any foolhardy stuff worth sharing and laughing fondly at.

He had attempted to wipe Skippy's memories. Once, days after Muse's death. The astromech had asked Poet one harmless question back then, and he had almost lashed out at the droid out of anger. But grief had exhausted him that time, and he wondered if he should give Skippy a memory wipe after the droid had innocently asked why Muse wasn't coming back.

Poet was glad that he never found the strength to do so. He'd found himself crying again, explaining to Skippy that Muse was gone, and the astromech had comforted the half-Morellian in his own little way.

The sassy, smartass programming remained and developed into a personality.

Poet looked at Crix and blinked at the latter's words. It's a sentence he'd heard a hundred times, and instead of inciting his ire the Padawan's words only served to offer Poet comfort once more. Maybe it was because his sister would've grown up to be like the half-Zabrak had fate only gave her the opportunity. He smiled at Crix, free hand moving to pat the kid on the shoulder.

He really didn't know how to respond to that, so he settled for the next best thing, assuming that Crix had already been in the Jedi Order long enough to personally bore witness to the tragedy that struck Ajan Kloss.

"It's..." he paused, averting his gaze for a moment. "I lost her, yeah, but I'm– I'm glad others like you managed to get out of there safely. That's... I guess that's enough for me."

There was no moving on from having one of the people he loved the most taken from him – and now a droid entrusted to her by said loved one. Nor was there a way to bring them back. But if there was one thing Poet believed in, it was that no one was truly ever gone unless they were forgotten.

@Nefieslab

 

[Crix Aran]

He wasn't really sure what he expected from his statement if he was being totally honest with himself. How could he do anything for the guy? Crix had never known his sister so he couldn't give him a personal connection to her again. Instead all he could do was be absolutely sincere and he was; he was sorry that Poet's sister had died.

There were a number of reasons why he was, of course, but they didn't matter. All that mattered was that the sincerity of what he had said would shine through and that would be what he hoped Poet would take away from the conversation. He wasn't to know that Poet assumed that Crix had known about Ajan Kloss, that he had been a Jedi long enough to potentially know his sister.

Crix had been on Sullust, helping to pull his mother out of a hell he had played his part in ensuring she found herself in. Of course when Poet literally said he was glad that people like Crix got away? He could no longer deny that Poet thought he had been there.

Time to set that record straight... he took another drink of the alcohol first.

"I wasn't there." he admitted quietly, "I wasn't even a Jedi at the time, I was just... just some dumb kid who had karked up. Karked up bad enough that the Sith captured my mom."

He took another, longer, drink and finished the glass entirely as he closed his eyes.

"When Ajan Kloss was attacked, I was on Sullust, helping the Jedi pull my mom out of their prison."

There, that was... out there.

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Poet Severino]

Oh.

So Crix hadn't been a Jedi yet when wheAjan Kloss had been infiltrated by the Sith. It was only through Poet's dad that the half-Morellian really found out how his little sister died – connections with his old man's comrades from his days as a Jedi the only reason why they found out that the Sith did the massacre. The Ranger's expression turned neutral but it did not mean that he felt displeased about Crix's admission.

There were no negative emotions attached to the blank look on his face, simply realization and a mental note not to quickly assume things in moments such as this. Nevertheless Poet was still sort of glad that Crix hadn't been a Jedi yet at the time, or else the half-Zabrak might have ended up bearing the trauma Muse would never have for surviving the massacre on Ajan Kloss.

Kark, you assumed too early again, dumbass, he berated himself when the Padawan revealed where he had been at the time and what he was doing. Poet, admittedly, had cut himself off from the buzz over the holonet while he fought for his own clearance to return from active duty after having recovered from his injuries at the time. He'd heard news snippets about the Jedi 'attacking' Sullust, some whispers about Lieutenant Trys Aran, and some journalist called JJ blabbering on about the Jedi using kids to justify their presence on Sullust in the first place. Everything fell into place like puzzle pieces, and Poet wanted to smash his head against any hard surface as he finally put two and two together.

At least losing the droids they called their friends weren't the only thing Poet and Crix now shared.

"You got your mother back," stated the half-Morellian, free hand finding Crix's shoulders and giving it a comforting squeeze. "I know it's awfully too late to say this now, but I'm happy you got her back."

He had no idea what happened in between pulling out Lieutenant Aran from the Sith's grasp on Sullust and the aftermath. Poet had no intention to bring that up as well. It was bad enough to have the kid admit it while possibly reliving the trauma that came with it, and Poet wasn't a sadist to ask Crix more. The Padawan got his mother back, and Poet never got to see Muse again. He should be feeling a hint of jealousy, but nothing of the sort made itself known. Just the relief that the injured Padawan before him had been spared from the pain of losing a loved one.

He was happy for Crix, really.

So, the incidents on Ajan Kloss and Sullust happened at once? He didn't have much of the details, but Poet grudgingly admitted to himself that the Sith planned everything too damn well for anyone's comfort but their own.

Poet opened his mouth to speak again but was prevented from doing so when the door slid open. The Ranger moved swiftly before he could think, deftly snatching the glass from Crix, stuffing it and his own in the bedside table drawer, then swiping the bottle of whiskey and–

"Hello, Mister Aran," came the familiar voice of the nurse who offered to walk Poet to the Padawan's room. "I'm here to check your injuries– a-ah, Ranger Severino! You're still here!"

–promptly stuffed it in his jacket.

There was no way he was going to get this kid into trouble by being seen drinking liquor, of all things, while still trapped in a hospital bed. Face slightly red from nearly being caught drinking within the hospital premises, Poet simply shrugged without looking at her, instead catching Crix's gaze and sending the Padawan a conspiratorial wink.

At least the Mirialan's arrival seemed to lighten the mood in the room.

@Nefieslab

 

[Crix Aran]

Yeah he didn't really feel much when he told people about Sullust these days. People only asked about it infrequently these days but he had gotten enough questioning back when it was still fresh to remember all the answers people wanted to hear. He had gotten the responses down to an instinct at this point and it seemed that Poet was going to go down the "well you got her back" kind of route. Thankfully for the young Ranger, Crix had long since come to terms with his own emotions about it and the time after.

Otherwise he might have come out with some petulant remark about how he didn't get her all the way back. With the damage that the Sith had done and the delay in her treatment with the Force, it had been literal months before he actually had his mother back. But, well, it would be a real shite move to talk about the unfairness of getting his mother back 'broken' when Poet hadn't managed to get his sister back at all.

Crix just shrugged a little bit and gave a small smile.

"It's what the Arans do - we look out for each other and our people." he admitted easily, "She looks out for the Rangers and I guess I'll look after the Jedi."

He had been going to grab another drink of the whiskey when the door started to open. Hiding the tumbler glass behind some of the debris on the side table by his bed, he put on his best 'innocent' smile. Of course when he spotted which nurse it was said innocent smile turned into a slightly more wicked grin.

"Nurse Amelia!" he greeted her brightly, "You're as radiant as ever - is that a new headscarf?"

Crix didn't know if Poet had ever seen a Mirialan blush but Crix had and he had to say that seeing the pretty young nurse's cheeks go from forest green to a greenish yellow as the red blood showed up under the skin. It was a rather delightful effect and he took every opportunity to flirt with her for it. Not just for that reason but it helped of course.

"Well... yes it is Mister Aran." she admitted a touch sheepishly before attempting to school her features into a more professional expression, "That won't save you from an inspection."

Grinning wider, Crix gave Poet a side-ways look and pointedly didn't lower his voice as he spoke to the Ranger as though he was sharing a secret.

"See? Any excuse to see me, this one." he teased her via Poet, giving her a wink, "Beginning to think I might need some... aftercare."

There was the yellow-green blush!

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Poet Severino]

Poet didn't need any further interactions with the Padawan to know that Crix was a genuinely kind kid. It was so easy for the half-Zabrak to state his intent about watching out for his fellow Jedi, and what he and his mother stood up for. Lieutenant Aran raised herself a good son, and the half-Morellian knew that she must have been so proud of Crix.

Who wouldn't be proud of having and raising an honest to goodness kind young man?

Considering the current state of the galaxy and all the crap that was happening so far, Poet wished that there were more people like Crix out there. Beacons of kindness and hope in the face of the ever growing darkness that threatened to eat everyone alive. But the Ranger wasn't buried too deep in idealism that he would think that kindness would be enough to wipe away evil in the face of the galaxy for good. Life simply didn't work that way and if it did, Muse would still be here. Crix wouldn't have experienced what he'd gone through in Sullust and everything that happened afterwards. The upside (and downside, really) of having one of your parents a Jedi was that Poet knew what the Sith were capable of doing. Dad taught them all he knew. Getting his mother back hadn't been a walk in the park, a solid fact that Poet believed in, and he was relieved when Crix didn't chide him for saying “you got her back“.

Given the flow of their conversation, Poet didn't have to assume about Crix's thoughts with regards to him getting his mother back and the half-Morellian denied of reuniting with his sister ever again.

The Ranger was honestly glad the Sith weren't successful in viciously tearing loved ones apart for good.

Poet watched with mounting amusement – belied only by the perfectly neutral expression on his face – as the nurse called Amelia blushed at Crix's teasing. No, flirting. The nurse was attempting to bury being flustered under a blanket of professionalism, and as much as Poet was observant he could also be a little... dense, sometimes. More so with regards to social interactions. His thoughts traced back to being ushered towards the Padawan's room by the very same nurse, and she had been blushing then. And now, faced with Crix while she inspected the half-Zabrak's injuries while he continued to tease her, she was indeed blushing again. It was a really cute sight, but...

Bluntly, and honestly puzzled by the display, Poet carefully cradled the hidden bottle of whiskey in his jacket as he glanced from Crix to Nurse Amelia. “Ah,“ started the Ranger, his confusion almost buried by unwitting teasing, “I thought you're blushing because of me, Nurse Amelia.“

He had been too focused on his duties for far too long that the clues slipped right past him so easily. Why were women so... confusing? Poet once wished he could read their minds, but that was creepy in more ways than one that he had physically hit himself for even entertaining the thought.

The Mirialan woman's cheeks turned that cute shade of yellow-green again, and Nurse Amelia briefly glanced at Poet while shaking her head in denial as fake as the Ranger's disapproving frown sent towards Crix's way.

Just starting to match the Padawan's teasing, really.

“Aftercare? For you?“ Poet narrowed his eyes in mock hurt. “And here I thought we're sharing something down the hallway earlier, Nurse Amelia. It hurts knowing that the radiant, godsend color on your cheeks is reserved for someone else and not me.“

Looking flustered and seemingly forgetting herself, the young woman sneaked a pinch on Crix's arm for his teasing before telling the two men, “If you don't want to get reported drinking alcohol in your room, Mister Aran, you better stop teasing me. You, too, Ranger Severino. You two wouldn't want having your visits to your friend revoked now, do you? Do you?“ She grinned, hands carefully guiding and tilting Crix's head to the side to get a better view of his injuries. “And there's literally no need to hide the alcohol from me, you two. I know liquor when I smell one, and boy, you two sure smelled like it, no matter how faint. And Maker, don't get drunk, you two, or so help me–“

Friend? Was he now... friends with the Padawan, after the losses they shared? The half-Morellian hoped they were.
One eyebrow raised, Poet shot the Mirialan an impressed look before gazing back at Crix, the Ranger's expression still impassive save for the minute twitch of his lips that threatened to form into a full-blown smile.
“She may have been here for you, but mark my words, Crix Aran – I'm stealing Nurse Amelia from you–“

Poet never got the chance to finish what he was saying after receiving a roll of bandage to the face.

@Nefieslab

 

[Crix Aran]

Ah flirting with nurses - was there anything more fun that you could do in a hospital? Before this he would have said that it still ranked top but he would have also said that having a lightsaber duel through an OR would have been a close second. Just because it would have been awesome to remember once it was over - sometimes having a battle in the right place was more important than not having a battle.

Like a china shop... but only if it was classy.

But he wasn't about to be distracted from Nurse Amelia so quickly, though he would admit that her stern expression was adorable. That Poet had also flirted with the nurse amused him more than anything, though he knew that some people would have probably gotten jealous of something about it. Considering he and the lovely nurse hadn't done anything beyond flirting he found the idea of being jealous to be simply boring.

He placed a hand over one of his hearts.

"Amelia, are you trying to imply that we would drink without inviting you to join in?" he shook his head as though he was surprised and saddened by this, "Never! That said... would an offer of a drink when you got off your shift change your mind?"

She had just thrown a pile of bandages at Poet's face and she turned to Crix. Unlike before however, Crix wasn't going for the innocent lost puppy dog look so much as he was playing on his smirk. The nurse blushed a little bit before muttering something under her breath that Crix didn't hear before giving him a jerky nod with her head.

"ONE drink before I head home when I've finished my shift."

Crix grinned wide and just nodded.

"I'll see you then Amelia."

Said nurse hurriedly left the room, having checked Crix over and found no reason for further treatment just yet. With her leaving, he chuckled a little bit and leaned back in the bed, wincing ever so slightly as he did so before giving Poet a wink.

"Think you could leave the bottle my friendo?" he asked with a more lax smile, "She deserves a little bit of a rest, you know? Works hard."

@Forsythe Crowholde

 

[Poet Severino]

Receiving a roll of bandage to the face would have sucked if Poet hadn't been enjoying the exchange. He couldn't remember the last time he flirted not for the job but outside of it, and the Mirialan looking a little flustered sent a twinkle in the Ranger's eyes.

Since the loth cat was out of the bag, the half-Morellian shamelessly pulled the bottle of whiskey out of his jacket and placed it back on the bedside table. He blinked innocently up at Nurse Amelia when she sent a rather weak disapproving nod his way, Crix's flirting getting into her and flashing the two men another of those cute yellow-green blushes. Poet couldn't even count the stern look she gave him as disapproval, seeing as she had finally relented to the half-Zabrak's teasing.

It was obvious that she's got eyes for Crix alone, and Poet felt amused upon remembering her blush earlier. The fact that she was blushing as he was being escorted to the Padawan's room was a huge sign that Amelia wasn't interested in the Ranger in the first place – rather the patient that awaited him in the said hospital room. The half-Morellian still couldn't help himself from sending a wink her way, not to flirt any further but to tease her about the obvious crush she had for her Jedi patient.

His attention shifted back to Crix as the latter leaned back on the bed. Poet fought the urge to fluff up the pillow that propped the Padawan up, feeling a bit of a fussy old woman for doing so. A short laugh escaped him at the question and the comment about the pretty, hardworking nurse.

"What? You're sending me away already?" he jested, smirking at the Padawan while he retrieved his glass from the bedside drawer. "Planning to have the pretty nurse all to yourself? Ah, hells, Crix, I thought–"

Whatever joke he was about to say was cut off by his work commlink pinging. The Ranger politely excused himself before answering the call, brows furrowing at the report he received.

A robbery turned speeder chase downtown? Wasn't really interesting, but he's the nearest Ranger that could be deployed. Ending the call Poet shot Crix a little grin, shrugging a bit as he stood up and set his glass back down the table.

"Well, well, will you look at that. Duty calls," the half-Morellian told the Padawan with a sigh. "And just as we're finally off the heavy stuff and moving on to some light-hearted convo." With a smirk, Poet clutched at his chest and said dramatically, "Work is tearing us apart, my friend!"

Maker, if he was in a holonovela joking around and being friendly would have made the viewers say that he was undergoing some major character development – from an A-grade catankerous bastard to a hopefully big brother material who was finally coming out of his doom and gloom shell.

Big brother? Where the hell did that come from.

Smirk turning into a small, soft smile, Poet gingerly placed a hand on Crix's shoulder and gave the Padawan an equally awkward pat there. While he still grieved over the loss of Skippy (and he knew Crix was still sad about Scooter), the half-Morellian did not expect that said loss would lead to him gaining a friend in the form of Lieutenant Aran's– no, a genuinely kind young man. Crix was a good guy, a...

What was that meme thing called again? Cinnamon bun?

"Get well, oh cinammon roll," Poet told Crix with a grin, this time wider than the last. "And, er... thank you. For letting me visit. For having this talk. I appreciate it. A lot."

Pulling his hand away, the Ranger shot the Padawan another smile before walking towards the door. Waving a hand at Crix in a gesture of farewell, Poet stepped out of the room but not before giving the young man another smile

"Mind if I swing by again while you're here? Talk about... I dunno... stuff. And," Poet snickered "Nurse Amelia."

He would wait for whatever quip and reply Crix might say before waving a hand for the last time this day.

"See ya, Crix."

The door hissed shut and Poet, stuffing his hands in his pocket, walked out of the hospital feeling much lighter than he had expected. Sure he had a criminal tp chase right now, but it didn't put a damper to the happiness he felt at finding and making another friend.

I made a new friend today, Muse...

[Exit thread]

@Nefieslab​

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