Ranger Holliday liked his job most days. Good benefits, good pay, see the galaxy, make a difference, so on, so on. Medic quals were harder to get and keep, but that too was a challenge he accepted. He couldn't rightly complain about keeping fellow rangers alive in the field. There was just one complication.
The criminal gangs at war with the Consortium had an annoying habit of targeting any medics they could identify. Assholes, right? And that was how Jasper came to an ISC medbay and was taken in for treatment. Frankly speaking, as he was guided down a hall, Jazz looked like he'd been on the edge of some kind of explosion. Which was accurate, since he had. Assholes, as previously mentioned.
He'd also been shot, but somehow that felt like it sucked less than exploding. His ears still felt like they were ringing a little. But hey, the other guy he'd been dragging got out alive, so that was good news! Jasper hoped the gift basket included alcohol.
So there he was, arguing with a nurse about the need of a wheelchair or something, when he noticed a shock of white-on-white-on-white on the way through the room's doorway, a shape he momentarily mistook for the pale apparition of death itself. He squinted, thinking death probably was quite a bit more skeletal with fewer floral neck tattoos, before recognizing the figure's familiar face.
"Oh, hey man," Jazz greeted Rowan, a bit loopy off stimpack painkillers, and waved a bloody, bandaged-up hand vaguely in his direction. The nurse with Jasper sighed and got to setting it up in the room. This dumbass had walked himself into the lobby covered in self-administered first aid, and now he was stopping to chat? Seriously? She attempted to prod him along before he passed out or something.
@Sreeya