| It Takes One to Know One By Jemmiah |
| For the next five days Jemmiah continued to visit Evla in the gardens after school. Sane conversation was something that seemed particularly thin on the ground since the departure of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, but in Evla Jemmy felt she had found…well, almost a soul mate: somebody who was prepared to listen without looking down on her, or shoving gratuitous advice down her throat all the time. It was, the Corellian thought, simply wonderful the way Evla seemed to understand the loneliness that she was feeling, unlike Sal-Fina, who appeared determined to add to Jemmy's problems… Sal-Fina herself had proven a mild source of amusement in a roundabout sort of way. The 'green' problem she had been suffering suddenly accelerated without warning, something that repeated trips to the infirmary had been unable to get to grips with! Jemmiah had waited to play her trump card, telling the fair haired master that her mythical 'friend' who'd suffered with the same problem had been diagnosed with having drunk too many cheap bottles of wine, a problem she'd simply ignored in favor of endless days of drunken debauchery. To this Sal-Fina had scornfully laughed, telling Jemmy that there was nothing wrong with her diet or her cast iron stomach…only for the Corellian to come home in time to see the woman pouring all her half-price discount alcohol down the fresher! Jemmiah had enjoyed that one. Ah, yes: revenge was sweet! An-Paj had apparently told Sal-Fina that her problem would most likely clear itself up over the coming days, whilst Jemmy made a mental note to increase the number of tablets she was putting in Sal's stim tea. And that very evening Evla had invited her around to supper! For one of the few times since settling within the temple Jemmy began to feel as if somebody other than her guardians were actually taking an interest in her: the feeling was so good that she almost felt as if she could single handedly take on the porcine Sophie in unarmed combat! Still, it had seemed so unbelievable to Jemmy that she had somehow summoned up the courage to ask Evla to her face why she was being so nice to her, and why she'd invented so many excuses to meet with her in the gardens (without the initiates) whilst attempting unconvincingly to make it look coincidental. Not to mention her kindness in asking her back to her place for supper. "Because I like the company." Evla had smiled at her. Looking back on it, that had been the landmark day Jemmiah could categorically say she'd learned to trust again, and despite the show of Corellian bravado she'd been honest enough to admit to herself that the feeling was one of the most wonderful things she'd ever experienced. The next few day had seen an increase in Sophie's violent tactics: everything from the unpleasant discovery of a very smelly dead rat in Jemmy's locker along with a flimsy note claiming that she was next (perhaps the rat had taken one look at her and died?), from her attempts to flush Jemmy's head down the fresher. The latter incident had been interrupted by the dashing but dour Mr. Kingly, the principal language teacher at Jemmy's school. A stickler for discipline, the man had not taken kindly to such irresponsible antics and had promptly detained Sophie and two of her cronies long enough for Jemmy to catch her aircab unmolested! One noticeable occasion where Jemmiah had been pursued she'd managed to evade capture by ducking inside a cantina whilst her ignorant classmates had ran safely by, unaware of her subterfuge. Fortunately, the patrons of the cantina had found the whole incident rather amusing and had gone as far as to hide Jemmiah lest Sophie actually use her brain and think for the first time in her existence… The cantina had been an eye-opener, even for one who had seen the inside workings of a brothel in close up and personal fashion. The people…the noise…the species…the smoke… She could have sworn Evla had sniffed suspiciously in her direction when she'd entered the crèche master's apartment for her invitation supper. One thing about smoke was that it tended to cling, and frankly Jemmiah wasn't even sure if it had been normal tabac or something a little more exotic. Although she hadn't cared for the aroma, the place itself seemed interesting even in light of her rather nasty recent encounter with the vagrant on the back streets. Jemmiah had made a note that day to pay the colorfully named Hell's Chance Cantina a visit once again when she was older… At the weekend she had actually gone shopping with Evla! It had been window shopping in actual fact, for Jemmiah's rather pitiful allowance provided by the charity and good grace of the council didn't really enable her to do anything else but look. But looking itself had been exciting! Imagining the possibilities had been fun, not to mention getting inspiration for the future. Even better, Evla had (for a jedi) an eye for fashion and style: even going as far as to add her own ideas and notions. Shopping, Jemmiah had discovered, was so much better when there was a willing participant by your side entering into the spirit of the thing! And, force bless her, Evla had thrown herself into it with self-deprecating gusto. "When I grow up -" Jemmy had pulled a disgusted face as she had looked down at her own flat, childlike body, "if I ever do - I'm going to be a style guru. I'm gonna wear lots of pretty clothes and go to lots of parties and stuff. And people will think I'm so gorgeous that they won't be able to take their eyes off me." The elfin face broke into an impish grin. "Poor Quiggy won't know what to think…hang on," Jemmy paused, "I thought a guru was some kind of weird animal or something?" "You mean Gnu." Evla had laughed good humoredly back at her. "Sorry - yeah!" Jemmy rolled her eyes at her stupidity. "I'm gonna be a style gnu!" She'd never quite worked out why Evla had spent the rest of the day looking as if she were trying desperately not to grin. Of course Corellian law dictated that for every up there had to be several downs as well. If the shopping trip had been the high point of the week then Sophie's antics proved to be the most dreadful low that Jemmiah had experienced in over three years, but what happened that day took even the redoubtable Corellian by surprise… It had started on the way home from school, as per usual. Jemmiah had been waiting for it - waiting for them - to begin their harassment the second that the dismissal bell had sounded and sure enough they hadn't disappointed. This time however, things had begun a lot more slowly than before: there had been no mad dash, no haring through the streets of Coruscant, at least not to begin with. As Jemmy had walked, head held high and jacket slung nonchalantly over her shoulder (attempting to ignore the ten bigger children walking only steps behind), Sophie made no initial attempts to chase. Instead it seemed that a verbal attack was her chosen weapon that day. "Why don't you crawl back into the sewers?" Digwurt had asked in a loud voice amidst the snickering of her friends, all walking abreast of each other. "Coz there's no room for me with you there already." Jemmiah called over her shoulder, deliberately hiking her step a few paces faster. Sophie saw the move. "Yeah, run back to your stupid jedi!" she snapped, putting as much vitriol into her voice as she possibly could. "They're just con artists…just as bad as people who beg on the streets, except they're worse because they pretend to do something they can't! There's no such thing as the force!" "There's certainly no mind-trick that would work on you!" Jemmy shouted back. "Coz the force only works on the weak minded. You don't even have a brain to trick!" "You're nothing but a parasite." Sophie jeered, beginning to walk much faster in a bid not to let the Corellian get too far ahead. "When they burn your lying jedi out their precious temple you'll be out on the streets where you belong!" "If I belong in the streets, you belong in a coffin!" Jemmy felt her face beginning to burn with outrage. Personal remarks were one thing, but she wasn't prepared to let the likes of Sophie insult Qui-Gon, Ben, Dex…or Evla. "Stunted bog-weed!" Sophie began to sing song. "Slugslime pondscum! Scrawny Jawa!" Jemmy spun around on her heel, taking Sophie so by surprise that she very nearly ran into the back of her. Digwurt's ten companions all took a largish pace backwards, uncertain by the unusual turn of events, but Sophie stood her ground, towering over the outraged Jemmiah. But for once Jemmy didn't care. "You know, I may be small and skinny," Jemmiah addressed Sophie directly, daring to look her in the eye, "but I think the problem is that you're too tall. And you know why? Coz I reckon when you moved to our school last year from your old one that you were sooooooooooo stupid that they kept you back an entire year! Maybe even two or three!" Sophie's jaw nearly hit the pavement. "Who told you?!?" She screamed, looking for all the world as if she were on the verge of exploding with fury. "I want to know?!?! Tell me now!!!" The other children began to laugh behind Sophie's back. Ordinarily Jemmy would have thought this an absolute triumph, a total masterstroke. She'd made Sophie look silly in front of her friends! She'd belittled her…made her an object of snide derision and scorn! One look at the faces of the other kids in the group showed Jemmiah that they'd found the whole thing hilarious - but a further glance at Sophie indicated that muck was about to hit the proverbial fan, and Jemmy found herself edging backwards very, very slowly… "Just guessing." She tried to put on as brave a face as she could. "I mean, as you're as thick as a permacrete brick it wasn't too difficult to work out…" Even before she'd finished speaking Jemmiah became aware of a hand - a large, meaty fist - reaching straight for her and instinctively ducked to her side to miss the anticipated contact but instead Sophie did not go for her - but for school jacket! A quick snatch, a blur of flesh and pinafore…and then Sophie was gone, taking her uniform with her, not to mention ten high-spirited friends still on the lookout for blood; not caring whose it was. Jemmy gritted her teeth together so hard she thought they might break. That jacket had cost an awful lot of money. Considering the memory of her need to go 'window' shopping with Evla as opposed to proper retail therapy, Jemmiah knew she couldn't afford to let Sophie get her grubby hands upon it. If she didn't get it back then Digwurt would tear it to shreds! And on his return Qui-Gon would demand to know why she had been so careless as to lose it, and she wouldn't have an answer. Then he'd be so ashamed of her! Before she'd even been aware of the fact Jemmy started to give pursuit…down the streets, desperately trying not to bowl over any elderly pedestrians who were walking by. Kriff, she thought angrily to herself as her feet pounded the permacrete beneath them, her cab would be waiting! And this time there was no guarantee the driver would wait for her, especially if Sophie was in a mind to lead her a merry dance all evening. Then she'd be late for supper with Evla, who would be annoyed at her staying out on the streets by herself again… Force, her legs were so heavy! Jemmiah felt the breath burning her lungs as she ran, smaller legs making heavier weather of it all. If she gave up now then Sophie would win! Imagine the awfulness of next day where she'd be teased and tormented with no letups…no, she had to get that jacket back. She had to! Sophie's gang had ducked around behind what appeared to be a cantina of some kind and Jemmy dug as deep as she possibly could, head lowered like a stampeding Reek, determined not to let her get away. Play dirty, would she? Jemmiah lifted her lactic filled legs as fast as she could and headed straight for the corner of the wall, chin against her chest and eyes boring straight ahead… And then suddenly there was a sharp pain at the back of her head…and then nothing but darkness. "Mungo!" The trouble with Wookie males, as Flint saw things, was that they had a terrible tendency to develop selective hearing at the most inconvenient times. Generally this phenomena occurred whenever there was work to be done, or whenever the final of the galactic Gabali championships was taking place…or if they were planning on getting drunk in cantinas late in the evening (and sometimes early in the morning, should they not find their way home). The latter wasn't a particular problem for Mungo as he actually owned his own cantina, and had only to navigate the stairs to his room should he find himself all the worse for too many glasses of Wookie Hooch. This did not make things any easier for Flint, for invariably whenever a barrel needed changing or crates needed lifting, Mungo would suddenly make himself utterly invisible. She had no idea how her cousin managed it, infuriating Wookie that he was!!! "Muuuuuungo!" Flint growled throatily. "Move your sorry carcass down here this instant! We need more supplies brought up from the cellar! The Cutlass Ale delivery has been made and we need some crates shifted! And the pavements need sweeping outside!" She added a touch maliciously, even although she knew fine well that the individual wielding the broom would undoubtedly be herself. Good, she thought silently, a toothy grin breaking across her rubbery lips. There was much an armed and dangerous Wookie female could do when aided by such a handy weapon as a broom, especially ones with extra thick bristles… The Monastery was an old, traditional kind of cantina. It was a homely sort of place even if the patrons at the bar were possibly less agreeable than the décor gave lie. Artificial stone cladding and timber beams created the impression of extreme age, promoting a comfortable sort of atmosphere. At least, that was what Flint liked to think: she'd bullied Mungo into changing the appearance of the place in accordance to he wishes in an attempt to do something different from all the other brightly lit, artificial, garish bars that littered the streets of Coruscant. Built along the lines of a giant Wookie house, high amongst the trees of Kashyyyk, the themed cantina was proving to be a roaring (no pun intended) success especially amongst the other Wookies, Togorians and other forest dwellers forced by circumstances to live on Coruscant, far away from home. "Mungo!" Flint was beginning to get more than a little cross. Why should she have to do all the work? Just because she was female, and could therefore do it better? There was some truth in that, she decided with a rueful shake of her head, but she wasn't about to sit back and allow Mungo to get away with being lazy just because she herself happened to be too darned efficient! Her brows knitted together suspiciously…she was prepared to money on the fact that he was attempting to chat up that Wookie female bar worker he'd recently hired; the one with the green-flecked eyes! "Men!" Grumbled Flint ominously beneath her breath, looking around for the spare broom. "He had better be out in the streets behind the cantina tidying up the garbage or I will set about him in a manner most injurious to his person! And chatting to females will be all he's capable of doing!" It wasn't that she didn't like Mungo: the truth was that she felt much affection towards her cousin - as she did to all her relatives - but sometimes he needed prodding (literally) in order to get him to do something! Behind the bar he was charming, happy-go-lucky and the most wonderful raconteur imaginable with a story for every occasion. He would greet customers with a smile and a handshake, yet if trouble ever broke out in his bar then by thunder, the fur would fly! Actually it was so long since Flint had actually witnessed a fight within The Monastery that she found herself feeling more than a little wistful. There was nothing like a good punch-up to bring the customers in! Smoothing down the chestnut brown hair on her head, Flint grabbed a nearby bucket and purposely marched out through the back doors of the cantina. There was always so much to do: cleaning up…mopping…sweeping…serving drinks…it was a never ending cycle of tedious labor made worse by the fact that she was the only one doing it! "So help me, I'll throw this bucket over his head and jam it down so tight upon his massive, thick skull that he will be walking about like a blind astromech droid!" Wuffled the Wookie female, roughly pushing aside one half of the door as it swung back and tried to hit her in the face. "Stupid scaredy-Gundark! Afraid of a little hard work…" Flint raised her head, tilting it to one side, listening. Somewhere nearby she could hear scuffling and shouting mixed through with excited high-pitched squealing, giving her the impression of many tiny bodies running around at the back of the connecting yard. Damn, Flint wondered, had those drunken Ugnaughts wandered out the bar and gotten lost? Just what were they doing…and more to the point: WHERE WAS MUNGO?!? "I'm not having this!" Flint cursed, rolling her top lip threateningly and casting the bucket to one side with a clatter of metal against permacrete. "There is nothing those frightful Ugnaughts like better than to cause a rumpus! Who can say what they are up to…and I told Mungo that one with the squint looked very shifty!" Flint loosed a distressed roar and launched herself into the adjoining yard…they were probably raking amongst the bins! All that garbage pulled out on the ground for the rats to scrabble and fight over! Bursting onto the scene with as much Wookie menace as she could project, Flint rounded upon her unwelcome guests only to find herself looking at a huddle of shocked and angry looking human youngsters intent on kicking a heap of rags around with their feet! Flint roared a warning for them to clear out, and if they did not speak or understand a word of Shyriiwook then the message was nonetheless instantly clear to each and every one of them. Wisely they turned tail, kicked up their heels and fled round the corner of the building; all save for the largest of the youngsters who stopped to aim one further kick at the heap of rags before following her fellow troublemakers out of sight. Messy things, children, thought Flint with a disparaging snort. You had to teach them right and wrong at an early age, not let them run about the streets to trespass onto private property causing willful destruction and mayhem wherever they went. A small swat on the rump had never done her any harm as baby Wooklet! Flint couldn't understand the reason for playing such ridiculous games: what fun could be derived from playing 'kick-ball' with a bundle of torn clothing she just could not imagine… Just as she was running the thought through he mind the bundle of rags gave a tiny moan. The Wookie's eyes widened in surprise. What could have made that noise? There wasn't a rat in the galaxy that could make a sound like that…there it was again! More of a whimper this time…coming from the direction of the scattered clothing! Half obscured by the darkness of the towering Coruscant buildings Flint could hardly make out a single thing, although her sense of smell informed he that there was indeed a human presence still lingering within the yard. Reluctantly Flint wandered forth, stretching her neck ahead so that she might see through the gloom that little bit better. Two things struck Flint immediately through her further investigation of the yard: firstly that there were no rats visible, which was a blessing because if there was one thing that Flint didn't like it was dirty, filthy verminoids scurrying round the back of her nice, clean cantina! Secondly, the bundle of crumpled fabric had proven to be something other than mere rags. As Flint stood looking down upon the object, a half-closed eye stared glazedly back at her, almost making the giant Wookie jump back in shock. A human child, small and by the look of things extremely badly beaten lay twisted upon her side in the most painful and awkward looking position that Flint could imagine. Judging by the bruises that Flint could just about make out in the dim light the poor creature had been given a severe beating long before she'd interrupted the 'sport' of the other children…who knew what might have happened if she'd not interrupted when she had? Flint remained utterly aghast. How could such young creatures of the same species turn on one of their own in this way? To be kicked around like some kind of loose stone underfoot? Instinctively Flint lowered herself down on her long, hairy haunches until she was crouched beside the child, instinctively reaching out a gentle hand and placing it against the girl's forehead. Such unnecessary savagery would never have happened within Wookie society! What kind of future did Coruscant have, Flint pondered bleakly, if this kind of outrage was carried out against what appeared to be a helpless innocent! Whether through fear or pain the child blacked out, her eyes no longer attempting to focus on the Wookie. The poor thing had, guessed Flint, been stamped upon if the shoe marks on her torn clothing was anything to go by. But who was she? Maybe there was something about her person…some form of ID? One thing was for certain: somebody somewhere would be missing her very soon. Flint thoroughly disliked the idea of some parent or relative agonizing over the whereabouts of a missing child; even as a non-parent she could hardly imagine a more distressing thing. It was therefore down to herself and her cousin to try and restore the child to her nearest and dearest as soon as possible…after calling an air cab to take them to the nearest infirmary. "MUNGO!!!" Flint gave an almost impossible shriek: a sound rarely manageable by the Wookie vocal chords. "GET OUT HERE THIS INSTANT! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!!!" "I am here!" An extremely displeased roaring cut her off mid-sentence. "There is no need to shout! If it is about the sweeping up in the yard then I have not yet managed to…" "I wish you to call an air cab." Flint turned to face the mass of near auburn hair standing in the doorway. "This human child is hurt and we cannot leave her in such a state." "Child?" Mungo blinked in astonishment. "What child? Why would a child be in our yard? What is wrong with this child? And where is the air cab going to?" Flint straightened up, holding Jemmiah's school identity tag between hairy fingers, scrutinizing it closely. The girl's school bag and its contents lay scattered all over the ground, similarly covered in footprints, but all bearing the same name: Jemmiah Gleshan of the jedi temple. "We're going to the jedi infirmary." Replied Flint, mournfully regarding the broken figure at her feet, not sure whether or not it was safe to pick the girl up and move her to somewhere more comfortable. "I know of a healer there who might be able to help…" Evla had waited. And waited…then waited some more. When Jemmiah had not shown up at her apartment for supper as arranged the crèche master had wandered, deeply puzzled, down to the gardens just incase the child had somehow decided to visit their other meeting place instead. Of course, just as Evla had suspected deep down, Jemmiah was not there - nor was she in the library, or the observation tower, or any of the other places in the temple in which she would try to hide from Sal-Fina. It was such a strange thing that the girl hadn't turned up, Evla thought, when the arrangements for Jemmiah coming to dine at her place had remained the same for the past few days. With no sudden alteration to the plans there could surely have been no confusion or any reason at all for the youngster to stay away… Unless of course she didn't want to visit anymore. Evla sighed, hoping that it wasn't true. Had she maybe said something to put Jemmiah off? Been too inquisitive or shown too much interest in her? From what Evla could see the Corellian was extremely sensitive to any mention of her life prior to her arrival in Coruscant. What if she'd somehow upset her whilst not meaning to do so? But no: she'd looked so happy the last time they'd parted. Maybe the problem wasn't with her? Perhaps it was Sal-Fina…possibly putting her foot down at long last, declaring that she didn't want her to visit anymore? Evla thinned her lips. It did seem the likeliest scenario, given the way that Sal-Fina was prone to act. How utterly typical that she should try to stick her nose in where it wasn't needed and ruin Evla's best attempts at trying to socialize the girl into temple life! Couldn't she just mind her own business and leave her alone? Or was the past burned too deeply into her mind for her to pass up the chance to cause trouble? Feeling strangely disappointed that Jemmiah was not to be found anywhere and that she had not seen fit to get word to her of her inability to visit that evening, Evla couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't perhaps some other reason for the girl's absence…something untoward? The truth was that she had become rather fond of Qui-Gon's young ward, enjoying the exuberant wit and the energy she always seemed to bring to every conversation. At first, on not knowing anything about Jemmiah at all apart from hearsay and temple gossip, Evla had considered her to be lucky to have Master Jinn as a guardian: few others would have thought of offering her a home as he had done. Now, on knowing her better, Evla was prepared to say she thought that Qui-Gon was also pretty lucky to have her… I'm worrying over nothing. Evla tried to shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong clean out of her mind. There will be an explanation for this unusual behavior. She's always punctual and pleased to escape from Sal-Fina. If she hasn't managed to tell me she can't come then there will be a reason for it: a good one. I think I know her well enough to say that she'd never deliberately let anyone down. So why was she worrying? After what nearly happened out on the streets the other day, is it any wonder that I worry? Evla's face became grim, turning to face the direction of her rooms once again. I guess it's possible we might have missed each other. Maybe she's waiting for me outside my apartment? Valiantly pushing aside her growing concern, Evla took a deep breath and started off back home, hoping and praying that she'd find the Corellian sitting by her front door on her return… "I do not understand you." Mungo was saying, scratching his head in confusion. "You bring the poor child all this way to get treatment…" "It is hardly a long journey." Replied Flint as she managed to squeeze her way out of the aircab, the unconscious Corellian child wrapped protectively in her large arms. The cab driver gave the three passengers a peculiar looking stare as if to back up Mungo's bewilderment, clearly wondering why two extremely large Wookies and a clearly badly injured human female had hired his transport in the first place, although a large sheaf of Republic credits had caused him to bite his tongue. Still, Flint had not liked the way he had looked them all over. The man was probably wondering if she had gone berserk and maimed the youngster she was currently lugging all over the place as if she were an awkward sack. She didn't have to be a jedi to interpret the man's expression, and clearly Mungo was uncomfortable at the inference as well. "…And then you say that you will simply deposit her in the infirmary and then leave! Do you not," the male Wookie enquired, helping Flint to carry the child by supporting her legs, "wish to know how she fares? Perhaps the healers will wish to ask you some questions about where you found her or what you saw…" "I saw little of any help." Growled Flint in a warning tone. "I can do nothing to help this youngster except make sure that she reaches the healers and receives the treatment that she needs to recover. Here," she threw some more credits at the cab driver, "wait until we come back, please. We shall not be long." The cab driver opened his mouth as if to make some kind of comment, but closed his jaws with an audible snap on seeing Flint's ominous expression. Tangling with Wookies was not generally considered to be a career-prolonging move… "Why did we not arrange for the child to be collected by a healer?" Whined Mungo, not liking it when he was unable to work out the motivations behind Flint's actions. "Surely somebody would have agreed to do so. After all," he looked down at the oblivious face of the young girl, "it may not have been wise to move someone so obviously fragile." "Are you questioning my opinion?" Retorted Flint, eyes narrowing. Mungo thought it over for a few seconds. "Yes." "You've never done it before, cousin!" The female huffed, altering her grip on the patient so as to make certain of not dropping her through arm fatigue. "Don't do it again." Mungo looked down at his feet, much abashed. Flint was so worldly-wise for one with barely two hundred years to her credit, and whilst he did not consider himself stupid in any way it was times like these which reduced him to feeling as if he had the IQ of a sand maggot! No doubt Flint knew what she was doing and her reasons, even although they remained a mystery to the likes of him, were bound to be good ones. Still, there was a part of Mungo - the naturally suspicious part - that was forever searching for the ulterior motive behind every action. It was especially true in the case of Flint, who never did anything for the sake of it. "How do we get to the infirmary from here?" Mungo ventured, hoping that Flint would have another smart answer, enabling them to get off temple property as soon as possible. Even with a good reason Mungo still felt as if they were trespassing: it was the effect that jedi tended to have on him. Infirmaries made him just a tiny bit nervous… come to think of it, Flint wasn't terribly keen on them either. The last time she had been to the temple infirmary she had become so wound up regarding the possible extraction of one of her back teeth that she had run out on her treatment half way through the procedure. That jedi fellow, Inkerson, hadn't really put her at ease with his off the cuff remarks and raucous, trumpeting laughter! Mungo's eyes lit up as realization dawned upon him. No wonder Flint didn't want to linger! "You are afraid that Master Inkerson will haul you back into his lair and finish off his treatment!" Mungo grinned toothily. "I am right!" "That is a lie!" Scolded Flint, trying to hide her embarrassment at being so easily discovered. "We simply have no business here. When we get to the doors we will inform the person in the reception area that there is a patient to be attended to, and then we will leave. And, if Healer Inkerson does appear," Flint gave an involuntary shudder, "I will tell him that I am too busy for any treatment as I have a cantina to help run…" "It is my cantina." Mungo said reasonably. "Have the day off!" Flint shot Mungo's hide with tiny, dart-like arrows of disgust. "Just open the doors." She grumbled, nodding at her cousin to go on ahead. "And tell the people on duty that we have someone for the Ossar jedi to look at." Just as Mungo was about to leave, she added in a barely audible murmur whilst looking tenderly down at the injured girl: "And ask them to hurry. Please?" An-Paj was in the middle of a rather animated debate at that moment with the rather headstrong apprentice Gethin Territ. A lecture, most people would have called it, except that An-Paj was loathed to raise his voice to anybody even if it were deserved. And there was no question that Gethin was attempting, somewhat unsuccessfully, to defend himself against the charges laid at his door. Maybe debate was the appropriate word after all. Let the young man have his say, thought An-Paj, provided he backed down in due course with an admission of guilt… "Gethin, did I give you permission to try that treatment out on Master Ziz?" The blue skinned healer asked, eyes scrutinizing the padawan for any sign of a guilty conscience. Instead, the only thing that the Ossar could sense from the recalcitrant padawan was downright stubbornness and belligerence. Both of them stood, arms folded in a bizarre mirror image of the other, not prepared to give a single inch. "Is there anything on the roster that said you were to even think of trying out such a remedy?" "Master An-Paj," Gethin said carefully, trying to remain calm and respectful, "it worked!" "But it might not have! And surely that is the point…young man, you must learn to temper your need to call attention to yourself." "Master, I truly resent that!" Gethin looked stung. "I had the patient's best interests at heart. I didn't just administer the treatment to the patient: I explained my ideas and she agreed! She was so desperate for relief that she would have tried just about anything!" "I don't care." An-Paj replied curtly. "I'm not trying to be horrible, Gethin. You are a bright young man with great healing skills. You could be such an asset to the infirmary if you just tried to observe and learn…not rush on ahead trying out every new idea that occurs or treating the patients like they were experimental Nerfs in a laboratory!" An-Paj let his antennae droop to half-mast as a small symbol of his irritation having for the most part worn away. Gethin was so infuriating at times! A young padawan healer on the verge of knighthood - possibly too close for comfort to that day for An-Paj's liking - with an abundance of talent at his finger tips…and what did he do? Insist on going it alone instead of consulting his fellow, more experienced healers! Oh, he had some bright idea, true enough! And his enthusiasm and his rapport with the patients were genuine, but at the end of the day An-Paj wasn't sure that was enough to see him through his trials. The healer drummed his fingers on the work surface, regarding the lightly framed figure squirm indignantly under his watchful gaze. What could he say to make Gethin see the need to ask before running wild with his fanciful - if often accurate - ideas? "I have one important word to say to you: permission, permission, permission!" He eventually remarked. "That's three words." Gethin smiled insouciantly. "And you need your hair cut." An-Paj offered his opinion bluntly, changing the subject. "I don't approve of all that floppy hair flying about the face. It doesn't present a tidy image. Nor is it hygienic. Get your master to give it a cut if you find it too difficult to manage yourself." "It's tied back." Gethin replied reasonably. "And I like my hair long. It puts non-jedi at ease to see normal hair instead of the padawan skull cut, so I've found. You see, I do have the patient's best interests at heart, even if you don't believe me." An-Paj shook his head, laughingly giving over the battle. "Gethin," he grinned wearily, "does it have to end like this? A long and interesting friendship brought violently to close by my telling your master that you tripped whilst carrying a tray of upturned syringes?" "If you told her Dimallie had been playing hypodermic darts you'd have a better chance of convincing her." Gethin managed a chuckle in deference to the olive branch that An-Paj had held out. "So, if you'll forgive me - I'd better go and tell Master Ziz that I have to take her medicine away…" An-Paj waved a dismissive hand at the apprentice healer. "Oh, get out of here, you plague of a padawan! You and Simeon between the pair of you will see me placed on an early funeral pyre!" An-Paj grasped a few strands of his naturally white hair between thumb and forefinger, rubbing the strands just to make sure they hadn't fallen out already through all the aggravation he'd been dealt! "See this? Worry and stress…and none of it down to the patients! Really, it's enough to give a person red hair!" But Gethin was no longer listening to the master healer, rather to the concerned gathering outside An-Paj's little hideaway…a vague sense of milling in the corridor - and milling was not something that healers tended to approve of per se. An-Paj himself raised a questioning antenna at the commotion. "Don't tell me Master Montal has gotten loose again." Gethin's shoulders sagged, dreading the reply. "You know how long it took to get him down from the light fitting the last time…" "Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this?" An-Paj replied out the corner of his mouth, neatly sidestepping Gethin and almost running smack-bang into Simeon Cates in the process. What was wrong with everyone today? Would nobody take things easy…why all the need for haste and pandemonium? "Young man, this had better be good. Nobody runs in the infirmary without it being an emergency." He tapped his foot against the floor a couple of times. "IS it an emergency?" "Master," Simeon grabbed An-Paj by the sleeve and started to manhandle him out into the gleaming white corridor, "There were these two Wookies in an aircab, and one of them said…" "Simeon, you'd better not have dragged me out here to listen to another one of your appalling jokes." This time An-Paj's eyebrows seemed to be dueling one another, warning Simeon to cut to the chase. "Eh? N-no…no, master! It's Jemmiah…" "Jemmiah's jokes or your jokes; I don't care whose they are. I'm in no mood for hilarity. Infact if you believed the initiate's gossip I'd just about be ready to go out an 'stake' some hapless victim. IF there's a point, could you please tell me what it is before it drowns in a swamp of confusion?" Simeon started again. "Master," he implored the man, tugging once more on his master's sleeves, "Jemmiah's been hurt…some Wookie brought her in. Found her beaten up at the back of a cantina, probably heading home from school, considering one of the Wookies handed in her school bag at the same time. Master, she's a real mess…" "Who'd want to beat up a small girl?" Gethin hissed, much disgusted. An-Paj's expression was grim. "Let's see what we can find out, shall we? There may be more to this than meets the eye…oh, and Simeon?" The healer stopped in his tracks, addressing his padawan. "Master?" "See if you can find Master Falmar? Try and get her down here: I suppose the girl ought to have someone with her in Master Jinn's absence. IF you can find her, that is…" he muttered as he and Gethin walked down the corridor in search of more information. Knowing Sal-Fina, he wasn't about to hold his breath… |
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