| abstract | - 2/26/2008 Vanix II: Castella Delore - Tower Entrance The entrance to the Castella Delore Tower is another example of overdone grandeur, though considerably less so than the entrance to the ship itself. Several chairs line the walls, which are decorated with old-fashioned paintings, and these chairs very often seat guests and hopefuls, seeking government help, the Delore nobles or perhaps just wanting to get into the politics of the Delore faction. A grand stairway in the center of the room leads upwards towards the top of the tower and the living quarters of the Delore nobles, and downwards into the government chambers. Heavyset blast doors, sticking out in the exquisite decoration of the room, lead to the Amidships section. What was once a stately tower of incrediable grandeur has been nearly destroyed. Paintings hang in shreds over walls marked with blaster marks. Chairs have been broken and left to lie in haphazard pieces across the tower entrance, jutting their sharp edges and jagged tears in dangerous directions. The stairway that leads upward shows signs of battle as well - blood splatters, burn marks, muddy footprints where one of two soldiers tried to scramble upward for safety or a better vantage point. But most noticable, most dreadful, is the absolute mass of dead or dying soldiers who litter the space. There is no neat line between the corpses of clones and the corpses of the Republic, there is simply blood and gore and, every now and then, a low moan or faint twitch of movement. The activity in here belongs to Republic soldiers. They work primarily in pairs, carrying medkits and stretchers as they first scan for thsoe who can be treated and then carry out those for whom there is no hope. It is a tedious work, a gorey and grim work, but it is part of the job. Caring for their fallen comrades. In the midst of this, Briseis Karakas moves with a slow care and painstakingly deliberate movements. She's still in her black armor, but her helmet has been removed, and her long braid frees swing down her back. She steps over the sprawl of a clone to glance toward Brae, expression set into something hard. An extremely young Guard officer picks her way carefully through the carnage. Brae's bearing is awkwardly mincing, as if she's afraid that stepping on anything and causing more destruction is simply unthinkable. Once neat and tidy, whisps of hair escape from a disintegrating bun and fluff out from underneath the rim of her uniform cap. Her deep brown eyes are shadowed with fatigue, but there is grim determination in them as she returns Briseis' glance. Bri's head turns quickly, snapping to the left before she glances at Brae and jerks her chin in indication. "I think I saw movement," she explains, and her careful step takes her around a fallen Republic soldier, his blast armor blown half away, and then over another clone. Her eyes widening in response to Briseis' sudden indication of alert, Brae's feet freeze silently in their movement. She brings one small hand up to the large holster that hangs by her side, and another hand up toward one of the utility patches on her belt. Not drawing anything yet, just waiting. Bri's hand falls likewise to her holstered blaster, and she actually pulls it free as she moves. Careful, cautious. Hopeful. When she arrives in the area, however, she can't find the source of movement, and she looks up to her companion with a frown. "Do you see--?" she begins. If Briseis is drawing, Brae's mind is made up and she draws too. There is a very slight rustle as the carbine is freed from its holster. The petite young gal uses both of her hands to steady the weapon. Peering in the direction the other officer is searching, Brae squints, blinks thickly, and then shakes her head to clear it. "No," she murmurs. Across the entrance, other pairs are doing the same. One or two are bent to help a fallen soldier. Others are doing the macbre duty of collecting useable supplies. Next to Bri and Brae, though, there is still silence. And then-- there! Just to the left of Brae, there is the feeble stirring of a nearly-dead clone. It doesn't have all the body parts where they should be, and gaping wounds still ooze something like blood. Briseis swings her weapon around fast to aim at the movement, and her jaw tightens. The carbine in Brae's hand swivels to follow Briseis' movement. The young lady's eyes blaze. But she hesitates, a cool haziness settling on her eyes as they unfocus. She shakes her head again, swallows, and then flashes the other officer an apology in her eyes right before she turns around to pick her way northward. Her eyes fall to search the ground ahead. To the north there is a rather subtle pile of clones, and guard, covered in goo and blood that is collected. Amongst that pile of corpses where the ground actually falls rests shredded, and tatttered remains of a brown robe, covered in blood and goop. Bri's gaze tightens on Brae, lingering on the other woman for a moment as she picks her way away from the clone. When she looks back, /she/ does not hesitate - she shoots, once, and the clone twitches its death throes before falling still. Only then does she take off after Brae, her steps quick as she moves over and around the fallen. Drawing closer to where the brown robe sticks out of a pile, Brae starts taking deep breaths. The sight of so much carnage makes her brows gradually tighten into a worried knot. She holsters the carbine. Stooping closer to the ground and then pausing her careful forward progress, she inspects the robe more closely. "Brae?" Bri's voice rises from behind the other woman as she approaches, and she keeps her blaster held firm in one hand. With movement of the robe, more becomes visible as it shifts to reveal that of a very pale hand that is far to small to belong to a guard, the rest vanishing into the pile. Brae's eyes widen and she kneels sharply, her knees settling with a muted squishing splok into a slightly crunchy puddle of gore. "Over here, Karakas!" she calls urgently. "I need your help!" "/What/?" Briseis shouts in return, and at the urgency in Brae's voice she begins to move faster. Her boot goes skidding on a patch of blood, and she has to pause briefly to regain her footing before she closes in on the other Captain. It only takes her a moment to note brown robe. To note the hand. As she comes clattering to a halt behind Brae, she has no words. The ivory skinned hand/wrist that is visible is slashed open from the palm across the wrist, little meat tendrils peeking out. Then something odd happens to the hand for the pinky upon it moves barely. The twitch throws Brae into action. "Oh, heavens. We don't have much time." She thrusts her hands into the pile of corpses and tries to find some footing to heave the leaking skeleton of a clone off the top. Briseis curses, her voice loud enough for a pair of soldiers nearby to glance at her. "Jana?" she asks, voice tight in her chest as she shoves her blaster back into its holster and drops instantly to one knee to heave with Brae. The clones on top come away considering they are mostly a husk of exoskeletan with the innards having been gooified. The bodies are stacked not to high, only about 4 deep around the bleeding arm/wrist/hand combo that becomes slightly more revealed with work done. As quickly as she can, trying to not disturb Jana's form and risk causing her further injury, Brae shoves more clone corpses out of the way. "DON'T move her yet if at all possible," Brae barks. "Wasn't planning to," Briseis replies, her voice clipped as she works. She has to pause once to wipe some unpleasant subtance along the leg of her pants before she can get her grip again to shift another clone, carefully. The clones/corpses tumble away and soon the wholeness of Jana can be seen. Well what wholeness there is. Intact is one way to consider it. The right arm of the girl is there although partway sewn through at the shoulder, attached however still. A long cut that did the damage visible beginning midhip and running up along exposed ribs. Various other horrid gashes and deep cuts visible, a compound fracture of a leg... all in all a complete disaster. There is no movement that is visible in any way from the girl for very long moments until the barest hint of a lift of her chest on the left side, bare and minor before that ceases again. When enough of Jana has been dug out, Brae asseses the situation in one all-encompassing glance. She is struck speechless for a moment before exclaiming, "Call to the Watcher for medical team!" Her messy encrusted hands tremble slightly, fingers slipping on the clasp of her utility belt for a moment as she tries to fish out tightly rolled bandages. Looking a little green around the gills and with tension in her eyes, she immediately starts binding the area with the most bleeding, though these narrow strips can only do so much. Briseis stands motionless and usefully for several seconds, her gaze fixed tight on the prone figure of Jana. There's no immediate reach for her comlink. "Is she--?" Dead? Moreso than alive, that much is for certain. If there is life it is a tendril of it. The pale ivory skin is far more pale and with movements her hair shifts, revealing a slashed over her face that bisects her left cheek. Brae's eyes blaze, but she doesn't have time to glance away from Jana. "Karakas! Call the Watcher. Now!" she repeats sharply. Bri's expression shuts down and she turns away from the wounded Jedi. She does, however, lift her comlink to speak swiftly into it, and her voice is steady as she requests immediate assistance for Jedi Knight Dawnrunner. She doesn't have the tools necessary to deal with the precarious shoulder, and Brae tries to not look at it too much. But she packs the torso gash with clean bandages and pulls out a sharp switchblade. She makes some strategic cuts in the parts of the robes she can see, and turns the robes themselves into the outer binding, tying the knots as tight as her mucky fingers will allow. Right before the med team arrives to take over, Brae pulls out a small self-contained vial of antibiotic and jabs the uncapped pointy end unceremoniously into Jana's thigh. It takes her a moment to get out of the way when they finally arrive, her eyes staring blankly at Jana now that the adrenaline surge is subsiding. They get right to work, knowing their craft a lot better than she does. Briseis, in the meantime, stands and stares hopelessly over Brae's shoulder. She's not a medic - there's nothing she can do. She simply waits. Actionless. Helpless. Only once she's waved the team over and they carry Jana off does she stir again, her jaw set tight as she moves forward to continue the work. Lots to be done, after all.
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