Ask Corellia Walking a Fine Line

Dr Ilana Morata

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Today was not her lucky day.

A fist cracked into her side, and she let out a sharp grunt as pain spiked up through her gut, making her knees crumple. The man that stood before her barely broke a sweat; he merely grabbed her by the collar, and her head swam, lolling on her neck. Dimly, she was aware that he was dragging her out the door, but it didn't hit her until fresh-ish air hit her lungs what he had planned. She couldn't brace when he whipped out his arm and she went tumbling down the sidewalk, skidding. She let out a low moan as she slammed into duracrete, but when her eyes closed she could see stars and taste blood on her teeth.

Ugh.

She let out a low, rasping cough when he stood over her, and cracked open one eye.

"You gonna treat the boss now, or do we gotta wrap you up?" came the thug's low voice.

She cracked open amber eyes, and gave a bitter, icy smile.


"Go... kark yourself... you scum-sucker,"
she rasped, then closed her eyes.

The boot was going to come down on her any moment, but she had the gut feeling she wasn't alone anymore. And if the thug stayed where he was, she might have a chance to strike back. She just had to keep still.

But after this, she needed a good, stiff drink to kick off the rust. It'd been ages since she'd been tossed about, and she had a few tricks left up her sleeve.


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Corran Velt

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It had been years since Corran had been on Corellia beyond a passing refueling and resupply dock-stop. A trading world renowned for its independent merchants, scoundrels, and smugglers. It had the glittering jewel of a Core World from space but a seedy underbelly like that of any Outer Rim planet. It also was the first strike from the Sith, when they executed Sector Rangers for the galaxy to see.

That was partially why Corran was here. The local Ranger office had some trouble recruiting, and until the ranks could be filled, other Rangers were cycled through the Corellian office. The young man was heading back to his temporary apartment when he got a bit lost on the route home. All the streets started looking the same, even if the holo-signs, shops, and warehouses didn’t.

What stopped the lost Ranger in his tracks was the sight of a large male looming over a woman, clearly accosted, on the ground. The brute swung his leg back as if to kick her, but Corran called out, “Hey! Hey! What do you think you’re doing!?”

The man placed his foot back on the ground, and squared his eyes on the fast-walking newcomer, "Mind your own business. This doesn't concern you."

Corran stopped just shy of arm's-reach of the square-shouldered thug. A rash action like assaulting the other man would put the woman in danger. It was akin to a hostage situation, in his mind. Act too quickly and someone gets hurt. "By the look of it, you're committing assault. That does concern me. Step away from the woman."

"Or you'll what?" came the blunt, self-assured reply. To everyone present, the young man was merely a citizen committing a good deed. There were no identifying badges or symbols of authority currently visible. The brute likely figured he could handle some punk easy enough. That remained to be seen. All it would take would be the right moment for Corran to have the advantage. For the moment, at least, the large attacker had stopped wailing on the woman and his attention was solely on the other man he stared down.

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Dr Ilana Morata

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There he was.

She was amused that someone was stepping up to help her. She had her hand on her stun; it was easy enough to do when his eyes were locked on the young man interrupting her little game of 'how many times can my ribs survive being kicked'. When he turned to address the other man, her hand whipped out the gun, wobbling with the pain lancing down her arm.

"Or this," she rasped, then pulled the trigger.

He yelped and downed like a bag of rocks, the shot hitting him square in a place even a woman wouldn't want to be hit.

Her arm dropped after he did; he fell face down to the ground hard, and she was sure something went crunch underfoot. She sighed, then slowly eased up against the wall, cracking her savior an amber-eyed stare. She opened her mouth as though to say something, but instead spat off to one side, blood thick and disgusting in her mouth. She wanted to spit on the man downed, but that would be a precious waste of bodily fluid.

Footsteps rang down the alleyway behind where she came; she lifted the gun, then jerked her head to the side, the motion making her sway slightly then sag against the wall.
"Behind you, kid. Duck."

An arm came swinging at him, attached to another angry mobster.


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Corran Velt

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Corran didn’t have to respond to that promise of a threat. The beaten woman skipped all the steps and fulfilled it for him. A blast below the belt sent the thug weakly tumbling over. Seems the damsel-in-distress was anything but. The undisclosed Ranger felt the impulse to offer aid as the woman sat upright against the wall, but her striking eyes caused him to pause. The glob of blood she spat on the ground indicated her wounds were worse than some thorough bruising.

The snowy-haired woman lifted her pistol and commanded Corran to duck. Corran was good at following orders and immediately did so. A balled fist swung in the air mere inches above the young man’s head; he felt the force of the blunt punch graze the top of his hair. Reactively, Corran threw a wild haymaker at the assailant behind him. Fist connected to torso and the attacker coughed as the air was knocked out of him. The thug leaned over, holding their side.

The instinctive counter-attack contained as much force as the Ranger could muster and making purchase against the intended target also caused him to lose balance. Corran grunted as he fell onto his back, leaving a clean shot of the disoriented assailant.

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Dr Ilana Morata

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She couldn't see straight.

Her arm wobbled again as the stranger ducked, and the second thug got winded by a solid punch. But when he tumbled down she aimed, and the shot went mostly to the upper chest. If it weren't for closeness, she might have missed. The second one went down hard, but she slid down the wall, breathing heavily.

"Gotta move," she rasped, nudging at her new companion with a boot. Her head bobbed weakly in the direction where the two came from, gripping her stun blaster and a black bag, the symbol for her profession clear on her arm patches and, if he caught a look, on her back.

"Know any places for a drink? We gotta go... before there's... more of them."

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Corran was almost a stunned as the assailant who took a round to the upper chest. The woman had incredible aim for someone who had been battered so visibly. If someone that good in self-defense was in her condition, she really was in deep with some trouble. The goon collapsed under his own weight and kissed the pavement hard. A boot prodded the prone Ranger into action as the woman suggested they relocate. Corran tilted his head back and looked his temporary charge and, for the first time, noticed the medical symbol on her bag. Was she a retired combat medic? Merely for fashion? It was hard to tell. With a quick inhale, the young Ranger sat up and quickly got to his feet. No matter her profession, she was right. They had to get out of here.

"I'll get you out of here, ma'am," he promised, carefully sliding her arm over his shoulder and lifting her from the street. That's when the walking wounded suggested a 'place for a drink' instead of the nearest medical ward. She didn't smell like an alcoholic; didn't have that liquor scent about her. "Ma'am, we need to take you to a hospital," Corran warned. The trouble was... he didn't know where the nearest hospital was located. The white-haired woman was right on one account - they needed to leave.

The man supported the wounded female in his care with a textbook walk-assist-carry. Probably because the emergency first-aid textbook was all he had when it came to medical experience. It helped she was relatively light too. The walkways weren't terribly crowded, given the more blue-collar environs, but any one of them could be a new threat. Staying out in the open made them vulnerable, especially in the woman's condition. Corran yearned for his blaster, but it was tucked safely away in his desk at the Corellian Ranger Station. Protocol mandated all weapons stay at the station and he was rarely one to break the rules. He had a weapon at his temporary abode, but that was ways away.

A crude sign of twisted metal just ahead read out "Yelin's Canteen." Any port in a storm. The entrance to the tavern looked like it had seen better days. Good. The less frequented, the better. Corran guided his companion into the establishment which had plenty of tables but only one or two patrons. The barkeep was dusting off some liquid-dispensers. They immediately turned to say something; startled by the sight of a battered woman. With his free hand, Corran unbuckled his jacket and flashed the Sector Ranger badge on the interior. The barkeep stayed silent. Shuffling the wounded girl to a booth in the corner, the Ranger finally set her down gently onto the worn seat. "It's not a hospital, but we can lay low for a minute," Corran said quietly to himself, though perfectly audible to his companion. He returned his gaze to her, sincere concern in his eyes, "Is there anything I can get you, ma'am?"

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Dr Ilana Morata

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Ma'am.

Suddenly, she felt old. She was vaguely aware he moved her, carried her almost through the streets. He kept calling her ma'am, and for some reason it was annoying and funny as hell. He seemed a sweet kid, and he was technically her savior. The smells of the outside were soon replaced by something far more heavenly; alcohol. Spirits, whisky. Things she was far more familiar with than any medical establishment. She heard him mutter about a hospital, and as he set her down she wrapped her hand around his, meeting his gaze squarely.

It took most of her willpower to remain upright and looking into his eyes, but she did, her own features calm and collected. Her jaw still throbbed, her ribs screamed with every breath and she was sure something was broken and bleeding somewhere, but right now she had to seem a little more in control. So she spoke quietly, her voice a low rasp.

"No hospitals yet. Please." She stared up at him, lips twisting into a grimace as pain screamed down her neck at forcing her head up, and she felt her world tipping dangerously. "I'm... in dire need of whisky first."

He seemed a sweet type, but the way he acted all gently chafed somewhat. If he would step back for the drink, she'd rest her head on the table, willing the dizziness to die down enough to walk back to her ship. Or, at least far enough to get away from blue eyes that seemed genuinely concerned for her well-being.

She couldn't explain it, but for some reason she felt ashamed to be looked at that way... and more than a little resentful for being pitied. But she didn't have the energy to drum up ire just yet.


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Corran glanced at the hand clasping his own before meeting the amber eyes of the hurt woman. She might have been pretty, if not for the bruises, cuts, and blood. She was resolute in denying urgent care, even with all the clear expressions of pain. Whisky, however, was the first thing on the wish-list. The Ranger didn't immediately reply, taking a moment to study her features. What had he stumbled upon here? Maybe some target in a turf war. Straight-edged citizens typically don'y have an aversion to getting medical attention in this kind of condition. Better to feel things out first before assuming innocence.

"Whisky. Got it," Corran replied before pulling away from the booth. He hoped it was for sterilization purposes and not the start of a binge. The barkeep turned away as the Ranger approached, trying to pretend they weren't watching the two. The young man reached into his pocket and slid credits onto the counter. Money is the universal language and one the tavern owner immediately recognized. "A whisky and two waters," Corran said, "please."

The barkeep nodded and began laying out some glasses. Corran rested his hands in his coat pockets, dwelling on the situation. Why had she been attacked? Obviously not a hit-job. None of the goons had a blaster, or at least drew one. They wanted something from their victim. Loan sharks, maybe? But then... the medical gear. That could be a cover or could be the truth. The sound of ice and water clinking in a glass snagged Corran's attention. The tavern owner had laid out all three drinks already. The Ranger nodded politely, "Thank you."

Corran set down the whiskey and water glasses next to each other near the snowy-haired woman. He kept the third for himself. The Ranger examined his own glass before taking a refreshing ship and setting the glass back down on the table. "So, should we start with names?" Corran suggested.

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Dr Ilana Morata

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At the sound of the water and the smell of the whisky hitting close, she lifted her head to gaze at him. For a moment, she simply stared, her gaze flat, almost expressionless. Slowly she forced herself to sit upright, wrapping her hand around one glass, and taking a swallow to ease some of the coppery thickness in her mouth and throat. When she pulled her mouth away, flecks of red stuck to the edge of the glass.

"Thank you."

At the mention of names, she closed her eyes, then propped her head on a fist.
"Not a bad start."

She took another drink, this one longer than the first, then the whisky. It wasn't bottom-shelf stuff at least, and local. She sniffed but didn't take a drink yet, instead resumed her gaze to him, head tilted slightly as she propped her fist under her chin. Though to the average bystander it seemed she was playing coy, it was the way she kept her head up without planting it into the table.


"Ilana Morata, Doctor,"
she rasped, swirling the glass' contents and meeting his gaze squarely. "And what's your name, hero?"

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The young man's face didn't shift much; keeping an appearance of subdued curiosity. The thoughts in his head were better described as skeptical, allured, apprehensive, and bashful. She came across as suave, but there was a feeling that this doctor was several moves ahead of him. Speaking of doctor, was that true? Could the young man trust that 'Ilana Morata' was her real identity? Unless there was a warrant out for her arrest, Dr. Morata would gain little from lying. Another gamble to be made on trust.

Hero. A few months ago, Corran might have blushed and accepted such an accolade. He had experienced enough since then to assume Ilana was toying with him, like a Loth-cat and its prey. Cards had to be laid out carefully, or she'd take him for all his worth. The man shifted the glass of water in his hand for a moment, weighing his options before speaking.

"Corran Velt," he finally replied in a sure undertone, "and if we are sharing titles, Sector Ranger." A free hand reached up to the collar of Corran's jacket and slowly pulled back to reveal the badge of borderless law enforcement. That was a gamble with higher stakes, if he hadn't noticed earlier. He wasn't entirely sure how'd she react. A sigh of relief, throwing a drinking glass at his head, or do nothing at all. He decided to press his luck a little further.

"Call it professional curiosity. I'm wondering how you got on the bad side of the men you dispatched earlier. Overdue loan payments from medical school, perhaps?"

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Dr Ilana Morata

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Several emotions flickered out of him, and for a moment she savored them, despite his killer poker face his own emotions were as unbiased as a frat boy's, and it was a little charming, in a way. When he showed his badge, she blinked dully for a moment, seeming to process things.

And then, the oddest sound came out.

Rough, throaty laughter burst from her lips, and then she openly grimaced in pain, the smile twisted into a half-snarl as her shoulders shook with subdued laughter, every breath like a knife wedged between her ribs. She gazed up at him, but the harder she smothered her laughter the more it felt like a knife was twisting in her gut. When she could finally gasp for breath, she set the whisky glass down and stared at him, lips twitching in a bemused grin.


"My streetwise hero is a Ranger. Now that's ironic."


She sipped some of the drink, grunting a little bit at the heat down her throat, then grimacing again. It blunted the edge of pain just a little bit, just enough to clear her head of the fog.
"You're the second boy in blue I've met in the last month; you're cute for a Ranger." Amber eyes stared at him coolly, not at all unfazed by the question. Rather, she nodded along, perking a brow at his insinuation.

"In a way, I was paying back personal debt, yes,"
she rasped, flashing her own official I.D. for him to see. "But as a general physician. I refused to treat him because of ethical clashes. He didn't like that."

She tilted her jaw, showing the impressive bruise.
"Much obliged to you, Officer, but I'm a big girl. Just point me to the nearest shipyard," she grimaced again as she tried to shift upright, but the movement made her grit her jaw, "and I'll be out of your way."

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Bursting laughter shattered any illusion Corran he had about being a stoic investigator. The woman sitting across from him clearly didn’t take the Ranger that seriously. Corran furrowed his brow and a light pink flushed his cheeks. Fingers clenched around the glass in his hand, not out of anger, but the struggle to repress embarrassment. Ilana’s stifled and strained chuckling was painful to watch as it was to endure, however. She really did need medical attention and delaying that longer could only lead to problems.

The blood began to seep from the young man’s face and he cocked an eyebrow at the mention of Dr. Morata meeting a fellow Ranger in the same month. It's possible it was someone he knew. If they had let her off, that would mean she wasn't a criminal or, at the least, friendly. That curiosity was soon crushed by a new wave of embarrassment. The Ranger's cheeks blushed a noticeable crimson red. His lips bent into an uncomfortable scowl. It felt like the popular girl in school teasing the class nerd. Or something like that.

Despite all it though, the man kept his discipline. He didn't lash out or posture to physically intimidate. A little shame wouldn't cause him to dishonor the badge. The red slowly withdrew from Corran's face after Ilana displayed her medical I.D. badge and telling her side of the story. It was vague in details, but it was true. She hadn't been lying to him. The Ranger averted his eyes momentarily as Ilana flaunted the discolored bruise on her jaw. It was hard to look at an abused woman. It reminded him of Bast Emblai at Outpost Blue. She was practically... a husk of a human being when they found her. Duty forced Corran to look back up at the doctor and nod.

He couldn’t be the stoic and hard-boiled detective like Roland or Darmus and he couldn’t be the rugged enforcer like Lorcan. He wasn't anything of those things. It wast time to stop putting on airs and be himself. Corran rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward slightly. His shoulders seemed to slouch, more at ease than before.

"It's obvious you can take care of yourself. If my count is right, you took down two guys back there and my tally is zero," Corran admitted, "and you don't need me to tell you about your injuries, Dr. Morata. But letting you wander to the nearest starport, in your condition, would be a dereliction of duty. Allow me to help you, at least."

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Dr Ilana Morata

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She felt something else spike from the Ranger at her laughter, and it surprised her somewhat. Not much did these days. Perhaps most saw the badge before the person, but really, she didn't care about titles the way most did. Instead she merely bowed her head slightly, taking another drink. "Apologies. I don't mean to embarrass you," amber eyes fixated on his face. "I remark on things as they are; if my statement of attraction is humiliating, please know that was not my intent."

At the statement of taking down two guys, she finished off the glass, shaking her head slightly.
"If you hadn't been there, the end of this story would have wound up differently." She wasn't going to state the probability of dying; that went without saying. But she wasn't going to dwell on that. Dying was nothing new, and neither was falling apart. But at his statement of helping her... she sighed, shoulders dropping in defeat.

"All right, if you insist."

But when she moved upright, the world tilted sideways. Suddenly she was aware of slipping into darkness as she struggled to cope with being upright, and promptly blacked out to crumple to the floor.

And for once... there was blessed lack of being haunted with empathetic feelings of others' emotions pressing around her. It seemed the Good Doctor's endurance for pain and abuse finally met its' limit.


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"Your statement of attraction wasn't humiliating," Corran said in visible disbelief, "Just... fantastical." He didn't really expect an apology from the mystifying woman. It was something else altogether that she judged him cute. Well, cute for a Ranger. He didn't recall many of his fellow officers being particularly ugly, but there is no accounting for taste. Still, if someone had told Corran at a bar that a woman like Ilana found him physically appealing, he might have needed to pinch himself to prove he wasn't in an outlandish dream.

The doctor also gave the Ranger some credit in her rescue. Corran felt she was the independent type - certainly capable of handling herself. He nodded thoughtfully, accepting her accounting of events before taking a quick swig of his water. To him, it wasn't being heroic. It was a duty.

Corran was almost certain she wouldn't accept his offer for assistance. Dr. Morata gave off that head-strong-but-for-good-reason aura. She proved him wrong yet again. He threw back the last of his water and began thinking on how he would manage getting to the nearest starport when he struggled find his own apartment. That is, until the snow-haired woman collapsed on the floor. The Ranger began to rise from his seat before she hit the floor, but couldn't prevent the collapse. Immediately, he checked her pulse and vitals. Alive. The barkeep rushed over. "Hail us a ride; hurry!" Corran urged the establishment owner. A ride, sure. But where to? A hospital or elsewhere? The young man darted his eyes around the empty air, searching for answers. Until one came to him. Orders were orders and Rangers followed orders.

It was dusk now; well into the evening. The sun was likely setting but it shielded by the grey clouds that extended to the horizon. Corran placed a glass of water and a bottle of household-grade pain meds on the nightstand. On the mattress laid the unconscious Dr. Mortana. The Ranger had done his best to support her neck and avoid any further injury on the transport over to his temporary apartment. Quietly, he exited out of the room and silently closed the door. Once free of disturbing Ilana, he rested his hands on his hips and allowed a heavy sigh.

On the small table along the wall meant only for a bachelor sat a datapad and his own glass of something to drink. Corran sat down in the bland and practical chair that faced the only door into the small flat. He then placed a blaster pistol on the tabletop, barrel towards the door. If they were going to have any unwelcome company, he'd have more than his bare hands this time. He prayed the time until the doctor woke up would be uneventful. Picking up the datapad, Corran scrolled to one of the holobooks that interested him. Better to pass the time with something enjoyable than awaiting the worst to come barging through the door.

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Dr Ilana Morata

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"Wake up, Doc."
"Always such a disappointment--"
"You keep trying to die, you might just get what you want."


There was a room. At the table sat a familiar figure; a cigara was in his hands. She wanted to put her hands forward, to touch his shoulders and see if he was real, but instead her fists balled at her sides. Anger burned low in her gut, her arms shook with the urge to lash out at the figure, rage and despair winding a tight knot around her throat. She attempted to swallow it down, but it still burned there. Finally, she managed to mouth out a name, but no sound came out.

He turned. Gave a grin, then shook his head. Not yet.

When darkness swallowed her again, she gritted her jaw. She would not cry, she would not grieve or give him the satisfaction of knowing that she cared in some way. When she woke up though...

Silent tears fell down either side of her face, and she scowled. Wiped away the traitorous emotion, and grunted with the faint edge of pain still pulsing low in her bones. Unfamiliar walls, unfamiliar ceiling. Hard mattress, no décor to prove anyone lived here. A glass of water, and painkillers. She slowly shifted upright, staring across. If this was some sort of kidnapping, they did a poor job of it. The last few hours were hazy. There was a face...

Her bag was missing.

She felt a slight edge of panic, and scowled again, willing her heart to slow. There was another person close by... perhaps if she called out they would come.

"Hello...?" Her voice rasped hard, and she winced. Perhaps that water would be helpful. She grabbed the glass, ignoring the bottle of pain medication for now. The pain kept her head clear, she would need it for answers.

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Corran was wrapping up a chapter when he heard the faint voice from the sole bedroom. It would be best to check on her, at least. His mouth forced a yawn, as if re-configuring itself for social interaction after a long time of seclusion and reading. He rose from the plain seat, deciding to leave his blaster on the table least he startle the recently awoken woman. When carrying Ilana in, the Ranger had her medical bag barely hung over his forearm and dropped it near the doorway. At the time, he was too focused on the wounded and unconscious patient. She might need what's in it and it is hers. Corran brought it with him to the doorway and stepped through the entryway. "You recover quickly, Dr. Mortana, I'll give you that."

The young man leaned in the doorway for a moment, Ilana's bag in one hand and datapad in the other. He didn't want to approach to quickly lest he appear aggressive. If he woke up in some unknown place, he would feel a little defensive and unsure too. "I apologize for the bare walls," Corran gestured to the spartan room, which matched the rest of the apartment, "I'm only here for a short time and soon another Ranger will replace my stint here."

Delicately he approached the bed and set the bag down on the floor next to Dr. Mortana before taking a few steps back to give her space. "I uh... you said no hospitals and my apartment was the first place I could think of." Corran raised his hands in a sign of professed innocence. It also was the safest place that didn't require law enforcement. Unless they were followed, none of the gang members wouldn't know where the temporary housing for the Rangers would be and even then, it was a place Corran knew he could defend.

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Her head was still swimming, but she cracked him a bemused stare at his entrance, listening quietly. She took a few sips of water, but she merely nodded once at her own quick recovery. Her lips twitched, but it wasn't a full smile at all. "Not the first time I was beaten," came the wry response, eyeing him. He was familiar; some memories began to filter in, a few.

Cute face. Ranger Boy, that was it. His name eluded her for the time being... but she saw the bag, and relief was evident by how her shoulders sagged, a low breath hissing between her teeth.
"Plain walls don't bother me," she replied quietly, leaning forward with a hiss of pain to snag her bag from the floor.

"...This is your place," she stated flatly, registering the words at last. Her eyes lowered as she set the glass aside, swallowing. She knew something was broken; just breathing was starting to get painful. Amber eyes gazed up at him, long white hair draped over her shoulders. She slowly moved to the edge of the bed, moving the bag off to one side.

"Corran Velt, was it?"
she rasped quietly, head tilted. "I believe I owe you... and I don't say that too often." She began to shuck off her coat, then slowly turned to the bag, sighing when she found what she needed. "But I may need your help..." she looked up at him, bracing one arm into the bed to keep herself from slumping over. "I broke something, and wrapping it one handed..." she grimaced, curling fingers into the bedspread to will the pain away, but it began throbbing hard into her left side.

"It's a pain. Give me a hand?"


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The expressions of pushing through the pain on Ilana's face and body language were enough to make anyone wince. When she claimed it wasn't the first time she was beaten, Corran's heart plunged into his stomach. In a place deep down, where people shove the things they don't like to face or admit to, all Rangers knew they couldn't help or save everyone. You couldn't stop every slaver, every crime lord, every spice dealer. You dwelt on the ones you could help and not the innumerable ones you couldn't. Looking at Ilana and her injuries again and being told this isn't the first time and implied it wouldn't be the last, gave Corran a feeling of sorrow and a juvenile desire for raw justice.

The young man stood there, letting the woman register her surroundings. He nodded at the mention of his dwelling and again to confirm that Ilana had recalled the name correctly. Corran furrowed his brow in curiosity at the doctors request for help, more so that she admitted that a debt was incurred. "Sure, be glad to help," the young man replied.

Corran strode over to the bedside and knelt down. From this height, he'd have an easier angle with any wounds below the neck. As he began undoing his jacket at the collar and working down, the young man spoke softly, "You don't owe me anything, really. Helping people is a debt free business where I come from." One arm after the other, Corran removed his jacket and laid it on the side of the bed. The tee shirt underneath was as finely pressed as the jacket itself. It was even tucked into his pants. A brief thought admitted that this was the most casual attire he had shown someone in years.

The Ranger rubbed his hands together quickly, "Okay. Where do you need me?"

@Killa Ree
 
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Dr Ilana Morata

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Independent
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MorataCorp CEO

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Killa Ree
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She relinquished her grip on the bedspread, fingers catching on the hem of her shirt before pausing. For some reason, it felt... wrong. She wasn't shy of her appearance, but the last person that saw any expanse of skin beyond the peek of flesh from a dress or a cut of shirt wasn't intentional. So she paused, then slowly sighed.

"Lower ribs."

The shirt was slowly pulled off, with a twisted scowl of pain. If he looked, he would see the massive purple mark in her side. If one were discerning enough, it would look like an obvious boot print. She pulled out bandages, then a pressure ice pak.
"I can't quite..." she gestured vaguely to her left side, gritting her jaw at the twinge of pain that kept lacing through her left side.

"Can you help me wrap it?" She kept her features neutral, but it was obvious she didn't like asking for help. If she could do it herself, she would have, but as it was she was to someone else's mercy. It was an odd twist of circumstances, but for now she wasn't going to question it. It was just odd to be reliant on someone who seemed so...

Good.

"Must've been an odd corner of the galaxy you came from," she muttered, sighing tiredly. "Most places in the galaxy would shank you for your left kidney and not even buy you dinner first."

@TerranSteel
 

Corran Velt

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Lieutenant

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TerranSteel
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Corran grimaced at the sight of the wound, hissing as he sucked air between his teeth. It looked bad. The hues of purple and dark blue stood out vibrantly against the white canvas of Ilana's torso. Just the sight of it made his ribs ache in empathy. "I can help you wrap it if you tell me how to do it correctly," the Ranger offered. He hovered the pressure ice pack above the wound and looked up into Ilana's face for assurance, "Hold it here and I'll start wrapping. Right?"

Either she would correct him or give him the green-light, the young man would begin rolling the bandages gingerly around her ribs. To his credit, Corran's eyes stay laser-focused at the task at hand and didn't show any indication of glancing at any... obvious distractions. It was clear it was his first time providing this kind of medical service. The young man would squint and his eyes would follow the unrolling bandage when he wanted to lay it just right. The tip of his tongue would peak out of the corner of his mouth when he was truly tunnel-visioned. The only times he glanced up were for checking for approval or discomfort in Dr. Mortana's face.

The silence made the Ranger a bit uncomfortable, given the situation, so he spoke to fill the air, "If you consider Commenor a 'corner of the galaxy', then yes. It could be odd. I think I'm just lucky that I had two families that raised me right. Rules keep people decent, but morals make people good. That's what they said all the time."

A wrap slipping out of place forced Corran to return silent focus. He sighed, mildly frustrated with himself and the bandage. "Where are you from? Scipio?" The young man asked Ilana without making eye contact. Based on her skin and hair, an ice planet was the best guess. Clumsily, he dropped the roll coming around her mid-section and it nearly unraveled out of reach before Corran grabbed it in time. He began to roll it up again and provided more idle chatter to hide his discomfort, "Did you know force-users could heal these ribs in an instant? One healed my ribs on Ryloth awhile back. Wish we had one of those around right now.”

After making another lap past the ice pack, the young man stopped and looked as if he was chewing over some thoughts. A couple silent moments passed before he finally looked up to meet Ilana's stoic eyes of amber, "Am I doing this right? I.. uh, I'm not sure how to tie it off."

@Killa Ree
 
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