Lt. N-7 has entered the medical bay. General Taae is present, be sure to greet her. @silverxhealer
Post-mission settling can be described in a condense of chaos: the give and take of loss and counting armament against armor and bodies with all the parts attached versus the ones without. Dampers triggered the artificial gravity well of the destroyer, but wired as he was, his senses tracked the breach of atmosphere and the release of the planet’s gravity upon hitting far enough away.
His HUD certainly kept him updated on their destroyer’s progress along their choice trajectory. A handful of moments before they cleared the jump into the blue of hyperspace, and abandoned the system behind them.
ARC Lieutenant N-7 could hardly wait — not that he should, as all hands now fell to the command of the Captain at the helm, and the ghosted jetiise on-board. How many? Enough, but not enough to matter.
His steps carried him along, hurried but not overtly so, with purpose and the kind of straight-backed posture that parted people as the seas of Ibarra when the forth moon rose. His destination: the Medical Bay. His actual destination: the bedside of an ARC, and the medical readouts that cased his status, forthwith.
Upon the dual doors cycling open to the Medical Bay, Lt. N-7 met with a chaos of sound and activity. Medical droids and personnel drummed and beat to the sound of controlled panic. Helmet still on, his HUD rolled with the visual noise until he tuned out extraneous data automatically — rather than shut it off entirely, or remove his safety piece. Seconds ticked by until, to his gratitude, his HUD read all vitals in the bay as stable. Sorely needed and good, good, news … but it did not tell him where ARC CT-7537 rested.
The fettering back and forth of organic and synthetic personnel held his steps in place at the door.
A quick glance about the bay, and he found peace at the center of the storm by the shape of a General not far away, in between paces, in between tasks — though he could not guess her reason for being there, and would not make the mistake of doing so. He approached her instead, gradual and slow in comparison to the hectic buzz of everyone around them.
“General Taae.” Polite, if clipped, he smiled to himself within the helmet so it would reflect in his tone, and would disguise his discomfort — for whatever given manner of distance disguise could go. “I take it it was a busy day?”
Verra felt some of the knot of anxiety ease within her as she felt the shift as the ship made the jump to hyperspace before she returns her attention to the now. Taking in the state of each wounded man she came to and either barking out orders to medic or droid or taking care of treatment herself.
For all that she struggled with tactics and strategy on the battlefield, it was in this arena of war that she truly felt like a General, leading her troops in the most important battle of all. The battle against Death.
She falls into a rhythm not unlike one of a battlefield, relying on her training and her instincts to guide her in the knitting of flesh and bone and distribution of the proper meds to the men who need them.
She was in the process of hooking up an I.V. bag to a man who was badly burned on his left side as she hears someone call her name. She looks up and offers a smile of her own. “You have a gift for understatement I see.”
She returns her attention to making sure the burnes were properly dressed with bacta-soaked bandages and making sure the I.V. was dripping properly before peeling off the blood-stained gloves she wore and disposed of them before grabbing another pair and slipping them on. “How can I help you, Mereel?”
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