Portraits (Sarela)

[Professor Mors]

***Jaemus System, Obtrexta Sector, Grid Coordinates K-4***

***Hotel Providence, 50 kilometers South of the Northern Reach***

Dweir, quick-thinker that he was, hardly knew how to react to the young Sephi woman who had seemingly lost consciousness in the middle of the lobby. Thankfully, the Rodian had the good sense to check for a sustained pulse, and his keen ears were quick to detect the labored breathing of his newest, and decidedly comatose ward. The azure hotel manager wasted no time in summoning the nearby bellhops and other biotic employees to transport the young woman to one of the storage rooms off of the main hall, which had been converted into a makeshift first aid center on Captain’s Vassyl’s express orders. Situated within, and hardly expecting a client at this hour, was a newer model of the 2-1B line of surgical droids, equipped with a rare feminine programming module.

Designated 4-9B, otherwise shortened to Ninebee by Dweir and the other staff, the medical automaton soon launched into a motherly tirade about the indelicacy of the patient’s journey to its domain. In the same harsh speech, the metallic physician swiftly recruited some of the hapless hotel staff to assist in preparing her facilities. Between instructive commands and derisive quips, Ninebee persistently commented on the true miracle of girl’s continued survival, and the critical magnitude of her condition. When all was made ready for a cursory operation, then, and only then did the droid demand solitude, much to manager’s immediate relief. Such comfort was fleeting however, as the young Rodian considered how best to update his employer.

“Dweir, my friend”, Doren alighted on the other end of the holocall, “To what do I owe this pleasant surprise? I’m not due planetside for another two hours, unless I made an error in my early missive”. “No Sir”, the Rodian sheepishly confirmed, “Your schedule came through loud and clear. This is something else- or I mean, something else has come up”. “Oh?”, Vassyl eagerly questioned, “A last minute patron? Wait- don’t tell me: they insist on taking my corner suite for themselves”. “Its not that, Sir”, the put-upon manager insisted, “Someone- someone on your VIP list has just checked in”. “You don’t say”, Doren cheerily ribbed, “And who will I have the pleasure of visiting this time around?”. “Miss… Sarela Malkova”, Dweir croaked in spite of himself, “And you’d best hurry”.

***
The moment the Reverent broke from hyperspace over the Captain’s homeworld, Doren was already soaring out from the Star Destroyer’s belly in his personal attackcraft. Vassyl’s XM-1 missileboat was hardly designed for atmospheric flight, especially when engaging its overbearing sublight drives, but he cared not. The vertigo would fade, and so long as Doren maintained awareness of his constitution, the hammering g-forces were but a dull pain brushing across the Captain’s torso. In a record hour and a half, the Proudclad let loose a screeching thunderclap as it appeared above the old hotel, before twisting and turning down towards the landing pad below. Marching through the double doors at double-time, Dweir blinked, and almost missed the nod his overseer sent his way before vanished down the corridor.

“Ninebee!”, Vassyl hollered out, producing a slight but noticeable echo, “Status report!”. “Gracious Captain”, the aquamarine automaton exclaimed, waddling out from behind a white synthweave curtain, “I’ve given the poor girl a lion’s share of sedatives- but I won’t have you waking her up now”. “My apologies”, Vassyl adjusted down to a lower volume, “How is she?”. “Still very much alive”, the droid affirmed, provoking a somber grin on Doren’s face, “And just barely stable. For now, all we can do is wait, and let the bacta handle the rest”. “How long was she on the table?”, Vassyl probed, secretly wishing the droid would deny him the answer. “Six hours, twelve minutes, and forty seconds on the dot”, Ninebee expressed in an empathetic tone.

“Six hours!”, Doren choked out, the wind having seemingly vacated his lungs, “Empress have mercy...”. Vassyl ran a glum hand over his face, and retreated to a frigid durasteel chair off in the corner, “If only I’d arrived sooner- I could have done something”. “Blubbered about my office and made a mess, that’s what you’d have done!”, Ninebee scolded half-heartedly, “Really, don’t beat yourself up over it”. “I suppose you’re right”, Doren conceded, leaning back so that his gaze met with the ceiling, “How long until she regains consciousness?”. “With any luck”, the droid explained, “Late tomorrow morning”. Floating his eyes off to the right, Vassyl observed the shadowed outline of a bacta tank behind the cloth partition, and quietly concluded, “It seems we’ve the night shift then”.

[Sarela Malkova]

Shifting in and out of conciseness chilled, yet comforting, jelly-like liquid seemed to move against her skin, much like some deep diver within a vast ocean of clouds. Or bathing in the thickest of water. Her chest moved much freer than it had in days, and short breaths escaped from her mouth in a uniformed fashion. Soon though, after what seemed like hours, Sarela’s eyes fluttered open for a single moment and then closed once more. She was beginning to ease out from the disorientation that perplexed her senses, and the feeling of the straps from the breathing mask attached to her face caused her breath to quicken, thinking back to when Illrian Pesqui had slammed her down onto the ground by her throat, more agile than Sarela would have thought a man of his size could be. Heartbeat quickening at the thoughts that bombarded her, mainly memories of the man's boots slamming into her side repeatedly; all the while as Sarela had tried to protect her face, being too slow to stop the kick that had smashed into her cheek as she’d crashed to the blood red floor. Having tucked into the fetal position, Prequi’s onslaught had paused for just a moment, and then his hands had grabbed at her wrists and thighs, trying to pry her meagre defences open and continue on with the senseless beating. If not for the Twi’lek’s intervention and the adrenalin that seemed to fuel her escape, Sarela would have become nothing but a bloody mess on the hard flooring of the madman's private quarters.

Heart still thumping, Sarela was finally able to centre her thoughts enough to open her eyes, once more disoriented as the view from within the glass prison became apparent. Touching at her face, she felt the breathing mask that had brought the memories to the forefront of her mind, and she attempted to remove it, her movements sluggish within the jellied liquid. After only a few more moments of struggling with the mask, realization dawned of her. She was within a bacta tank, rather than some strange glass-like prison. Unable to help herself, Sarela pushed forward with her upper body until her hand met the glass, and she rested her forehead against it, eyes closing. Being inside of the tank was strange but almost peaceful; knowing that whoever had placed her in cared enough for her wellbeing that they wished her a speedy recovery. At this thought, she remembered just where she was, mind still clearing from the foggy overturn that muddled her line of thinking. She was on Jaemus, Sarela remembered, mouthing the coordinates given to her by Doren, that being of Hotel Providence, x57, y78, Jaemus System, Obtrexta Sector.

Eyes fluttering open once more at this realisation, the outline of something entering into view from what resembled an area divider made up of richly woven cloth. Squinting her eyes at the outlined figure, the inhuman shape of it marked it as a droid, or what seemed like one, at least, Sarela deducted. As more moments passed, her mind cleared more, until the sickening sweetness in her throat became overwhelming, causing her stomach to roll with unease. Warmness began building in the back of her throat, and Sarela forced down whatever little bile was there, fearing of possibly choking on whatever disgusting intestinal acid that might come forth. Thankfully, as if reading her mind, the liquid within beginning to disappear, until, finally, the only thing holding her up was the tightly secured straps suspending her in midair within the tank. A few more moments passed, and she was freed, placed on a gurney-like transport, most likely to keep her from reinjuring whatever had been done to her, and wheeled past the cloth barrier.

Now outside of the disorientating bacta tank, Sarela looked up at the droid, which could only be that of surgical design, and wondered just how long she’d been sleeping. Her wounds ached, but it was an only slight discomfort, rather than full out excruciating torment, as before. “W-where am I?” Sarela’s voice was raw, the sweetness once more bombarding her, forcing her eyes closed. “We are currently heading towards the Recuperation Ward of the Hotel Providence,” a feminine voice replied from above. A sudden wave of dizziness overtook her, and Sarela found herself asking more questions, “How long have I been here?” The no-nonsense voice once more began speaking, “Your surgery lasted that of six hours, twelve minutes, and forty seconds, while your recuperation time within the bacta tank has been thirteen hours, fifty-three minutes and eight seconds. All together, you have been mostly unconscious for twenty hours, five minutes and forty-eight seconds, save for the amount of time taken to place you within and remove you from the tank itself, and random bouts of consciousness here and there.” Sarela’s brain hurt just trying to contemplate the droids words. “And where are you taking me?” Her voice was hoarse, and she desperately wished for something cool to drink, “As I've already said, to the Recuperation Ward, so that you may rest upon one of the medical beds provided within. You still have many days ahead before you’re fully able to move freely, and I won’t have you messing up all the hard work put into patching you up. Four broken ribs to the left side of your body, with three more being seriously fractured, multiple minor lacerations across your breast, hip, and back areas, muscle bruising around the neck, arms and thighs, added together with a fractured cheekbone, and severe dehydration and malnourishment. You’re lucky to have made it as long as you did, after having pushed your body to its limits.” Sarela had the uncanny feeling that she was being scolded like some misbehaved child.

Unable to help herself, a small chuckle escaped, until another thought entered into her mind as the lined beds drew closer, the droid taking her to the one nearest the window that offered a beautiful view outside, “When might I see the Captain?” The droid tsked, and easily transported Sarela onto the surprisingly comfortable bed, “Whenever he awakens. The stubborn man refused to leave your side throughout most of your recovery time within the tank. At least his body had enough sense to turn itself off and allow sleep to take over; when he wakes up, I’ll inform him that you're requesting his person.” Sarela quietly nodded her head in reply, a small smile forming at thinking of Captain Vassyl, which caused her cheeks to turn light pink. Giving her head a light shake, she turned towards the early morning rays of sunlight that soon shimmered through the window, lighting up the beautiful lake outside in an almost magical radiance. Sarela couldn’t help but feel that maybe all the pain and hardship had been worth it, to witness such a stunning sunrise as the one that peaked over the cloudless sky and tranquil Jaemus landscape.

[Professor Mors]

Doren awoke with a jerk as the chirping of spring birds broke him from a trying and unpleasant slumber. Yet another loud and uninvited morning. Wait. Morning? “Sarela!”, Vassyl cried, all but leaping out of bed. The avian singers trilled once more, and snapping his gaze to a nearby window, the beleaguered Captain zeroed in on the crested shadows cast by a set of trees down below. By the young officer’s estimate, it might well have been midday, or close to it! Sprinting forward towards the door, Doren nearly made it halfway across the room, until his pace abruptly came to a halt. There seemed to be a little too much wind whistling between the Captain’s legs, and looking down, Vassyl gave panicked yelp. “Trousers!”, Doren exclaimed, marching back towards the closet, “Trousers!”.

It did not take the Captain long to locate a wearable pair of pants, yet as he dug through this drawer and that, the sleep-encrusted Jaeman could not help but reflect on the previous night’s events. At some point, it seemed that sleep had successfully claimed Doren his immediate consciousness. Occasionally, had become aware of his surroundings, and it was likely someone- or multiple someones had carried him upstairs and ordered him to rest on the all-too familiar bed. In his half-sleeping stupor, it was likely the floundering officer had attempted to change out of his military attire before collapsing once more, but only partially succeeded. Now, as he glanced across the way at a small wall-mounted mirror, Vassyl got a frontal view of his sorry state.

The otherwise-orderly military man was doing his uniform an egregious diservice. The outer gray tunic, so commonly fastened neatly in front, hung loosely about Doren’s shoulder like some sort of cape. All the while, the central flaps of the garment were parted to such a degree that the Captain’s plain white undershirt was totally exposed. Likewise, the purple sacs of winded flesh under Vassyl’s eyes were so bloated and swollen, they looked like they might burst and fall to the floor at any moment. The young, sleepless naval official grasped the hair on both sides of his head, and took to tugging on one or the other in cosmetic frustration, until he finally abandoned the act. “Enough of your dawdling!”, Doren crowed at his own reflection, “It's time to go!”.

Despite being uninjured himself, Vassyl wobbled to and fro, quickly realizing his sleeping posture mirrored some sort of twisted pastry. Forgoing the service lift for the stairs in the interest of time, the zombified Captain passed a handful of patrons who were utterly dumbstruck by the sight of him. Making a sharp right into the eastern corridor on the second floor, Doren very nearly knocked Ninebee to the ground as he shot by. “Where”, the Captain shouted, forming less of a question and more a command. “Ward One!”, the slightly-battered droid quipped back, “And do watch where you’re going!”. At last, Vassyl reached his intended destination, and rapped a gloved fist on the door before entering, “Miss Malkova: I sincerely apologize for my tardiness. How are you feeling?”.

[Sarela Malkova]

Sitting upright, feeling much better after a few moments rest inside of the bed, Sarela’s gaze lingered outside, still watching as light shimmered from the lake’s water, helping to ease her into a sense of relaxation. A glass of water had been brought in, and she'd taken it with gratitude, gulping it down within seconds of receiving it. Once Sarela had finished with the refreshing water, her sights had gone back towards the lake, which was now filling up with a handful of people, each doing their own thing. The warmth of the sun that seeped through the open window was comforting, neither overbearing or intrusive, and the natural temperature on the planet Jaemus was one of the most relaxing she’d been on in some time. It was tranquil, at least for the moment; something that Sarela had been searching for since escaping from Orvax IV. A few minutes of uninterrupted people-watching ensued, Sarela spotting what looked to be a family playing along the lake's edge, when the sound of knocking came from her closed door, and a man stepped through.

A smile quickly formed at seeing Doren, and she raised her right arm upwards, giving the Captain a more practised salute than the one she'd given when the two had parted ways on Sembla, "Hello, Sir." After a few seconds of taking in Doren's dishevelled appearance, her brows raised in confusion, and she answered his question, tone playful, "That's quite alright, Sir. I'm also feeling considerably better, thank you for asking. There's also no need to apologize, the droid told me that you stayed while I recuperated within the bacta tank, and I want you to know how much that means to me." Her cheeks blushed, and she looked away, gaze lingering outside before returning to Doren, "I hope that you were able to get enough rest? I know you must still be tried, after staying up for so long." She took a moment to look around the room, spotting a chair off to the right of Doren, which she pointed towards; the sheet that covered most of her upper body falling away as she did so, revealing the white sleeveless top she still wore from inside the bacta tank, and some of the bruising that was still faintly visible on the left side of her body, now a light-yellow colour, easily visible on her pale skin, "If you'd like to pull the chair up and sit for a while, I'd welcome the company."

Thanking nothing of it, Sarela waited for a moment to see if the Captain would take her up on the proposition, and ran her fingers through her grey hair, hoping that she at least looked presentable. "I do understand if you want to get some more sleep in, as well. You must still be somewhat tired." She was a little discouraged at offering up the escape, but Sarela fully understood if Doren welcomed it, knowing that a good rest was something that was hard to come by. As she spoke, Sarela began moving out from under the white sheet, finding it slightly overbearing with the suns rays shimmering from the window. While moving her body brought about small discomforts, she was eventually able to move so that her bare legs dangled over the side of the bed, until she was positioned facing the door, where Doren still stood, offering up another welcoming smile. Though if it had been some time since last seeing the Captain, she found his presence comforting. He was, after all, one of the few people within all the planets and systems Sarela had visited that had offered her aid, with nothing expected in return.

[Professor Mors]

Doren could not help but smile at the refined motion of Sarela’s greeting. And, though he was winded for his part, the young Captain did not hesitate to return the gesture. Then, as the once-small girl gestured towards a chair at the other end of the room, the camouflage distorting Miss Malkova’s wounds fell from her side, and Vassyl was presented with the grim reality of the Sephi’s recent journey. The Captain immediately adjusted his gaze up, and peered but a little past Sarela’s head, so as to not see anything he should not. Still, from the treacherous outline formed by his peripheral vision, it did not take Doren long to realize this was not the small young lady he had set loose over Sembla some two cycles ago.

“Of course, I’d be delighted to sit and catch up for a turn”, Vassyl earnestly announced, doing his best to put forth a positive countenance, “And please, you needn't worry about me. With regards to sleep, I have managed for far longer on far less”. Yes, Doren was all too happy to plant his tuckus back onto any sort of surface given his current state of fatigue. Nonetheless, compared to the visible hardships Sarela had seemingly endured, the gravity tugging at the officer’s eyelids was no more potent that a light itch. “Besides”, Vassyl continued, beaming a little brighter, “Ages may well have passed since you and I last saw one another”. That was no overstatement. Thyferra, the ceasefire, the mission to Moraband- the stream of conflict and chance encounters was ever-growing it seemed.

“Tell me”, the Captain persisted in a light, friendly tone, “Now you’ve had your chance to see the nooks and crannies of the Galaxy: what do you make of it? Where did you go? What sorts of people did you meet?”. It was a leading set of inquiries, and though it might rouse certain unpleasantries, Doren knew exactly what he was doing. Firstly, the unfortunate series of events that led Sarela to seek asylum would certainly come to light, and Vassyl’s responses could be tailored to the facts thereafter. Second, and even more important, was to gauge the young woman’s interest in Imperial Citizenship once more. She had escaped the Captain’s original offer, but as the naval leader’s troubles had multiplied, so too had his privileges and powers. Surely something could be done to aid this youthful soul.

[Sarela Malkova]

Relaxing her muscles, Sarela thought of Doren’s question, wondering just how truthful she should be. When they’d first met aboard the Starlight, Sarela had done everything she believed was essential to escape becoming what she thought would be something similar to being a slave in all but name, but since parting ways on Sembla, Sarela had grown as not only a person but a woman as well, and had learned much about how the Galaxy around them operated. She knew now that the Captain had only been trying to aid her, yet she’d deceived and betrayed his trust, and a part of Sarela remained regretful towards not taking Doren up on his offer. Now, the young woman had no such wish to tell misguided half-truths, especially after the events on not just Alsakan, but those that had transpired before. Downcasting her eyes, she looked away, and back, then away once more, “I suppose to give the full story as to how everything you listed went, I should start at the beginning, where each started.” A sigh released as she said this, and Sarela began removing bits of the chipped red nail polish on her left thumb, "I was born on Orvax IV, or at least I believe so. It's the only place I can remember ever being in my earliest years." Once the polish was removed from her thumb, she then started on her pointer finger, "I'm unsure if you know much about Orvax IV, but it was a rather unpleasant place to reside on, especially for one such as myself." Sarela allowed her words to hang for a moment, as well as to catch her breath, and continued, "I grew up for some thirteen cycles there, I honestly haven't much of an idea when my real birthday is, only a general timeframe, before being able to leave from the planet."

"After the departure from Orvax IV, I was able to board a transport to Savareen, which then made its way from Enarc to Naboo, taking me more than a fair share of months to move from each of the systems, as numerous people were hesitant to offer any aid, or to even allow me to board their spaceships, fearing I was some runaway, rather than escapee. It was on the spaceport of Naboo that I found Captain Azalyn Shoma, and was able to gain passage aboard the Starlight. She was offering up what was to be her last intergalactic tour of the Galaxy, which I guess is where everything truly started." A troubled frown formed at this, "Sadly, the more I've looked into Azalyn Shoma, it would seem not everything was as it appeared." Polish now stipped from her left hand's pointer finger, she moved to the next in line, "We travelled from Naboo to Harrin on the Luxury Starliner, and then to Corellia and Ixtlar, and then from Ixtlar to Gizer, picking up passengers along the way. Thinking back on it now, I find it strange how she was able to move from system to system, Alliance to Imperial space with the ease that she did." After another short breath, Sarela moved forward with the tale, "From there, we travelled to Lantillies and Lianna, and then, oddly enough, to Elerion, which was never on the list of planets that Captain Shoma had mapped out, and was oddly out of the way, compared to most of the other destinations on the trip. Altogether, almost two years had passed since I'd gotten off of Orvax IV when your crew boarded the Starlight, and we left for Sembla after Shoma's true coloured bled through regarding me." Though thinking back on the memory no longer caused Sarela pain, she wondered how things might have transpired if not for Doren's intervention and kindness regarding an underaged, and unwanted, orphan, "After we parted ways, I left Sembla and boarded a transport for Cantonica." She chuckled at the planets mention and crossed her legs, the white shorts Sarela wore from her time within the bacta tank showing off much of her legs and winced at the strain it caused her left side, "Cantonica was an odd place. Those with credits thrived, and by that point, I scarcely had any. A nice older man, who must have thought I was up to no good, offered me a free one-way trip for Serenno, I suppose fearing for my young innocence." So engrossed in telling Doren her story, she thoughtlessly began removing the paint from the next finger, which hardly had any left on it, and then onto her pinky, "I didn't stay long on Serenno. The planet wasn't for me, and neither was my stay there very pleasant. After Serenno came Axxila, which I suppose I finally settled on for a while, where I began renting out my apartment and met Draze. He's the one that actually got me into my current, or I guess now former, line of work."

With a fair share of her journey mapped out, Sarela began removing the polish from her right hand, "I want to say that was almost a third of a cycle after we met, and I was somewhere around sixteen cycles of age, maybe more, give or take a few weeks. Draze helped me to understand the best ways to go about gathering and distributing information within the planet of Axxila's underworld. A few jobs popped up here and there, and from Axxila I went to the planets of Edusa, Wayland and Agamar, each being a vastly different experience, even if I only stayed for a limited amount of time, just long enough to collect what knowledge I needed on each of them. I almost visited the homeworld of the Sephi, since it was so close to my current locations at the time, but I decided against it. Draze had told me how unwelcoming towards half-breeds they were, and I didn't really want to undergo more segregation than I already had." Pausing, her eyes shifted down towards her hands, noticing that her natural pink nails once more on display, no longer coloured over, "Telos IV was my last stop, and then I returned to Axxila, well enough off on credits to last for a while, up until I was requested by a man who goes by the name "the Collector", someone I'd heard about, but never actually thought he'd contact me, let alone ask, or more so, demand, I carry out his request. Three or so months passed with relative peace, and Axxila, no matter all its faults, can be a rather charming planet to explore. There's many different cantinas and clubs to visit, and it became a makeshift home of sorts, even though I knew my stay would only be temporary."

Sarela took a moment to look at Doren, who'd remained silent throughout, and once more went about finding a relaxing position, her side beginning to throb once more, "Draze, the man I'd mentioned before, felt the need to book one of the nicer night clubs for my birthday, or at least the one listed on my trader's license. So, I guess in hindsight, I'm of legal age now." A laugh bubbled forth, "No shipping me off, hmm?" Sarela joked, voice light and airy, "Anyways, as often my luck happens to be, one of the Collectors thugs held me at blaster point, demanding I go to Alsakan, leading to how you see me now." She motions towards her bruised and formally broken, body, feeling a little uncomfortable mentioning such, but she proceeded onwards, still holding eye contact, "The actual journey to Alsakan was a long and drawn out one, and I won't make you suffer through the boring details of all the legalities it took to get on the planet itself, seeing as I was an off-planet visitor trying to set foot on already one of the Galaxies most populated planets." Without a thought, Sarela moved a stay strand of grey hair that had fallen across her face, mildly annoyed at its intrusive distraction, "Once I landed on Alsakan, I had been instructed to go to Club Lotus. Probably one of the most unseemly places I've ever set foot in, and that's saying something, its reputation much preseeding all expectations," rubbing at her neck, Sarela found the next part hard to speak about, "and if you ever happen to hear the name Valery Novastar, ignore it, okay? That's my unwholesome persona." Another chuckle escaped, "Anyways, Illrian Pesqui, the establishment's proprietor, and the Collector, without my knowing, had apparently brokered a deal. Seems like they figured if someone is good at what they do, it means that it can be used against them." She took a moment to massage her neck, "I was marked for death, and Pesqui had every intention of completing his task. Once I was close enough, he went in for the kill. I can truthfully tell you that being slammed onto the ground by your throat by a roughly four-hundred-pound man isn't the most pleasureful of outcomes, or having your chest kicked in as well, while you strain to catch any semblance of breath at all. If it wasn't for this Twi'lek who worked at Club Lotus, I'd have likely been beaten to death." Nearing the end of her rather depressing story, Sarela looked down at her healing body, wondering if having Pesqui end her back within Club Lotus might have been the simpler outcome to what she would no doubt face in the future, and she also felt horrible for drawing Doren into her problems.

"For once, I guess luck was on my side, and I was able to get off the planet with a little quick thinking and solely being in the right place at the right time, with the transport heading off towards Dorin, and from Dorin to Ord Mantell, Orinda, Entralla and finally to arriving on Jaemus. The trip as a whole lasted a little over a week, maybe upwards of eight to nine days." Lacing her fingers together, Sarela gazed back to Doren, "You were the only person who'd ever offered me unconditional help and kindness, seeing as Draze often has his own alternative motives regarding visiting or speaking with me, and I deeply regret any problems I've caused you, now or when we first met. So, in finality, I guess to answer your questions truthfully, the Galaxy is a rather depressing place, with several unsavoury destinations I'd never wish to visit again, and people who, as a whole, are only looking to use, abuse and do away with you when the time comes." Letting out a shaky sigh, she looked back at the lake, which was now void of life, small, puffy, dark clouds rolling in. Maybe her disheartening tale was enough for the planet of Jaemus to decide it desired nothing to do with her horrendous luck, or it was just a mid-day drizzle. She preferred to think of it as the later, but you never knew. The Galaxy was a finicky place, and Sarela was simply along for the ride that it offered those within it. Choosing to push the thoughts from her mind, she moved her head to the side, hair falling over her right shoulder, and gave Doren a disarming smile, "Enough about me. How have you been doing, Captain? I'm sure you have just as many stories to share with me, as I do you."

[Professor Mors]

Vassyl did his utmost to refrain from frowning throughout Sarela’s narrative. Nonetheless, the Captain could not help but clench a spiteful fist as the young Sephi reached the bruised and battered portion of her tale. For those that had harmed this blameless girl, they were most fortunate to find themselves far, far away from Jaemus at that moment. And, needless to say, despite his attempts to focus all his attention on his injured friend, the darker reaches of Doren’s mind were abuzz with activity- carefully calculating the specifics of how and when the perpetrators would suffer the full wrath of Her Majesty’s Peacekeepers. For a tense, handful of moments, the color drained from Vassyl’s face, as a new thought sprang to the forefront of his conscience: this was his fault.

It was Doren that had violated procedure. Doren that had cut corners, torn down the red tape, and foolishly assumed his own scruples were superior to that of the Empire’s. The physical toll was Sarela’s to claim, but so far as Vassyl was concerned, he might as well have taken a vibroblade to the gut. The young officer’s heart weighed heavy in his tired chest, and he stooped over some, as if the gravitas of his failure were attempting to throw him on the floor. Doren’s grasp tightened further, and forcing a slower pace to his breath, the Captain worked to center himself. Self-defacement would not solve the problem at hand. The true villains lay elsewhere, in due time, Vassyl would locate them, and bring down the merciless hammer of Imperial Justice.

“I am sorry your travels did not prove more rewarding”, Doren conceded, “For my part, I know it has many a grim and gruesome corridor”. Releasing his fists, the Captain placed pale palms over his knees. His gloves having been misplaced at some point in the night, the gnarled, four-inch scar running between Doren’s right middle and index fingers scowled out at the injured woman from across the way. Unconsciously, Vassyl raised his left hand up to part a knotted lock away from his face, simultaneously unveiling another warped gash that bisected the young man’s left eyebrow. “Sadly”, Doren continued, “I know have no friendly story to tell from my end of things”. “War is war, Miss Malkova”, Vassyl explained, flicking his scarred hand out with a lecturer’s twirl, “One can only doll things up so much”.

“Still”, Doren added with a smile, “You have seem to have heard of my advancement in the ranks. It has made me a much busier man, but I am deeply humbled by the faith High Command has placed in me”. The happiness faded from Vassyl’s face as quickly as it had appeared, and a serious countenance came over the winded proprietor, “Rather than talk of the past, if you’ll forgive my forwardness, I think we’d best turn our attention to the present”. Yes, Sarela still had enemies, and while she was a liscensed tradeswoman, that had its limitations so far as the security the military could- or would provide. “I once spoke to you about sustained residency within the Empire”, Vassyl recalled, “So I am wondering, will you not reconsider an altered version of my original offer?”.

[Sarela Malkova]

Looking from Doren's scarred hand to his entangled hair, Sarela used the knowledge she'd gathered throughout the years to read, at least, a semblance of the man's reactions towards her story; starting with when he'd slanted forward, as if it had affected him more than Sarela believed it might. Heart giving a small flutter, guilt flooded the young woman. More than anything, she didn't want anyone's pity, but rather, their mutual trust in one another and understanding. In comparison, Sarela hated to see the Captain in such a dishevelled state, all due to her judgments, and the consequences wrought by them. More than anything, Doren and Draze were the two people she wished to bring no ill-begotten wrongdoings upon due to her actions. Be it physical, emotional or of the like.

Licking her lips, mouth seemingly dry once more, she listened with noiselessness, as he'd done for her. She knew that war was hardly a story of refinement and class, and it was hard for Sarela to place him within her mind as someone often on the frontlines, though she knew it was as such. In contrast, she believed that she'd lived a rather selfishly lead existence, one of acting in the best benefit for herself, rather than those around her. Her heart gave another pitiful patter, and she recollected, how, after escaping, she'd wished nothing more than one day to assist those around her, especially those with little ability to do so, as Doren had done for her. Interlocking her fingers together, Sarela considered what the war veteran before her might have faced through the years. More so than anything Sarela had travelled throughout the Galaxy, certainly. Still, when the Captain's offer was given, that of a more permanent residency within the Empire, a promise and companionship with a group people that, to an extent, looked out for each other, a flicker of self-doubt trickled within her. She had little to offer, and even less to fight for, those within the army without a doubt putting their lives on the line for loved ones back home. Sarela only had herself and what few she found trustworthy, being one, maybe two, at the most. Without doubt, the emotional turmoil was on full displace, a battle between selfishness and selflessness.

Mindlessly taking a grey strand of hair, and twirling around her fingers, her eyes lowered and Sarela remained quiet. She wondered if, anything, maybe this was where her path had been leading the young half-Sephi. Sarela was a devout believer that, no matter what, the Galaxy was a vast ocean of possibilities, some rivers that diverged drying up as time went on, while others grew and flourished. Just as the plants she cultivated and dressed into captivating displays of grandeur as each flower worked together to enhance the next, so too did one's actions bring about the full capabilities in an individual. Even if she did feel like all she could do was of little use when it came to some matters, maybe what skills she'd gathered could be put to use in a better and more productive way.

Mind made up, Sarela stood and looked at the Captain, ignoring the pinching at her side, wincing only slightly as the tenderness of the still healing wound disagreed with the sudden movement she'd made. A hint of vulnerability bleed through as she spoke, unsure as to what the Captain might say to her proposal, "Alright, Sir, but only if you'll allow me a simple request before you do so, no matter what the altered version might be." Biting her bottom lip, Sarela then smiled, face seeming to light, "I'd like to be a part of your crew, and offer up what little skills I might afford to contribute, be it painting, flower arranging, herbalism, my limited knowledge of medical usages, information gathering, or simply a possible friend going forward." Even if her request was most likely more of a hindrance for Doren and his crew, Sarela doubtlessly believed, with time and practice, she could train to become someone just as useful as the next aboard the Reverent.

[Professor Mors]

Doren stared utterly dumbfounded as Sarela made her humble plea. He might have expected the Sephi woman to defer to a higher status of citizenship- but to request service in or alongside the Imperial Military was a total shock to the system. Indeed, for a solid minute or so, Vassyl gazed at his old acquaintance in complete stupefaction, as if the matured youth had suddenly turned a deep verdant and sprouted wings. Finally, the Captain found the strength to recompose himself, and cross-examined, “Given your recent tribulations, jumping into the draft office is scarcely my recommendation, Miss Malkova”. The stoic facade crumbled as soon as the words left Vassyl mouth, and presenting a gracious smile, he added immediately thereafter, “Still, if this is the lot you intend to draw, I am in no place to stop you”.

“Not too mention”, Doren continued, retrieving a small, pocket-datapad from the inner pocket of his wrinkled tunic, “I of all people should know what a labor it would be to attempt to change your mind”. For a few moments, Vassyl flicked his thumb back and forth across the holoscreen, double and triple-checking to confirm his information was accurate, “Given the generous skill sets you hope to offer Her Majesty, it seems only natural for you to apply to the Imperial MediCorps-”. A shiver fell across Vassyl’s person, as he completed his diagnosis, “Or the Investigation Branch of the Security Bureau”. In some distant, far-flung corner of the Galaxy, Doren could almost feel the obtrusive stare and sinister grin of a much disliked colleague searing into his backside.

Still, this was Miss Malkova’s decision to make, and whatever path she chose, Doren was determined to support it in whatever way could be managed. “Either avenue will come with its combatant and non-commissioned roles to play”, Vassyl explained in a more level tone, “And while for your sake I wish you the utmost distance from the battlefront, you will doubtless have access to some of the finest training of our modern age”. “But for now”, the Captain started with a playful grin, “I think refreshments are in order”. Punching a set of commands into the datapad once more, Vassyl bade his ailing guest to wait for a time, until the rhythmic ‘thunk-thunk’ of metal limbs could be heard from down the hall. Then, all at once, a large silver frame smacked up against the door-frame, oblivious to its cumbersome size.

ASP-475 was not the most intelligent labor droid on the market, nor was it intended to function as a serving unit by any stretch of the imagination. Nonetheless, Vassyl had made it a personal project to expand the put-upon load-lifter’s programming. And, while a small entryway was beyond its comprehension, the older automaton had succeeded in stocking a shining platter with all the necessary accouterments for a nice, hot beverage. Gingerly taking the tea tray from his stocky associate, Doren quickly set about preparing serving its contents, chattering contentedly as he did so, “Violet Moonbow: an import blend found only on Genassa, and one of the finest herbal mixes I’ve had the pleasure of indulging”. Handing a small mug to Sarela, the purple liquid swirled about with an almost hypnotic pattern, and wafted a pleasant, floral fragrance up at its recipient. Truly, it would by the hallmark of a late morning, and consolation for the long, arduous night before.

[Sarela Malkova]

Releasing the hair that she’d been twisting around her right hand's pointer finger, still standing, Sarela contemplated Doren’s two recommendations, that being of the Imperial MediCorps and Investigation Branch of the Security Bureau, leaning personally more towards the medically include of the two, finding that, in a way, she might be able to help on a more personal level. Still, she would have to think profoundly on both and choose the one that suited her skillet to the fullest potential. Whichever Sarela determined to decide, she knew that it would be a long and gruelling process until she would be at the utmost usefulness in terms of experience. At most, what she knew was homebred tribulations and self-taught knowledge, even if it was some of the finest, at least in her comprehensive understanding and appreciation for herbalism.

Sitting back down on the bed, Sarela nodded her head in understanding, "Thank you, Sir," her voice was once more light, and she smiled at the mentioning of refreshments, finding her mouth and throat more dyer than before, most likely due to how much she'd spoken. "Something to drink would be lovely." Both choices still weighed heavily on her mind, but the young woman pushed them aside, questions bubbling up that could wait, along with stands of thought that seemed to bombard her. Combative situations or not, Sarela didn't mind, either way, so long as she believed in the cause put forth. Her wellbeing was a trivial matter, each situation she'd encountered demonstrating just how quickly someone's flame could be extinguished if put into the right situation, especially without sufficient information and the needed understanding to perform one’s duties.

These thoughts were, however, shelved away as a droid appeared with a shimmering tray of violet refreshments, which Doren quickly gathered and identified at Violet Moonbow, something that she'd never heard of before but looked and smelt lovely. Her eyes shifted from the droid, finding it rather adorable, oddly enough, to the herbal concoction, with its purple appearance and beautiful patterns, wondering if she'd be able to get the colours and patterns correct if she were to paint them. One of the mugs that contained the beautiful and aromatic rich Violet Moonbow was handed to Sarela, a smile given in thanks. She brought the tea upwards, closing her eyes for a brief moment, and then took a delicate sip, surprised with how much flavour was offered in just the smallest of taste testing. Opening her eyes, she gave Doren another smile, brightening her facial features in the process, "It's delicious," Sarela said, taking another small drink as a thought began to form.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, Sir," Sarela started, the smile still in place, "but I hope asking for a few things to paint and sketch with won't be out of the question." Indeed, over the years, Sarela had taken to sketching out the places she'd visited, and then, once home on Axxila, taking the time to go about painting each of them. Most of her paintings had begun gravitating more towards landscape art, some abstract, others not, but she'd also begun crafting the occasional portrait as well. Acrylic, oil, pastel and watercolours, were among her favourite painting styles, but she was always trying to extend her understanding, and, over the years since seeing Doren, her skills had become more refined and practised. If given the opportunity, Sarela would love to paint the outside lake, the glimmering sun overhead, and, maybe, offer the Captain a sketch of himself, as thanks for everything he'd done for her.

Pushing the artistic notions away, at least for the moment, Sarela leaned forward, "I have another request, Sir, and I apologize if I'm being overly inquiring, but would you mind telling me more about Jaemus? It's a beautiful planet, and I'm sure that you'd be able to give me a fair understanding of how things function from day-to-day." Admittedly, Sarela was more so interested in just how welcoming the planet's populace was towards off-worlders, from humans to non-humans alike. She found it tranquil on the planet's surface, and, hopefully, wished to explore more of the planet once she became reasonably acquainted with the Hotel and surrounding areas. That is if Doren was available to show her around, at least, as she didn't want to come across as overly needy or demanding. Sarela's life had, after all, been saved by his staff and the kindness towards her was something Sarela had no wish of exploiting or taking advantage of; though she figured it couldn't hurt to ask somewhere in the near future if it were a possibility.