Unexpected Comforts

The world was dark, and the lights seemed to bleed rather than shine. Niome's body still ached. She felt like she was trapped in her frame, because it refused to move. She could hear her own breathing, so she was alive. The air was coppery, and her legs felt sticky. A bag of red liquid hung from a stake above her right arm.

When Niome finally managed to crane her neck, she realized she was dressed. Her feet were covered in her own congealing blood. The room where she laid wasn't barred. Her wrists weren't bound. Nyk sat slumped over in a chair, but his eyes widened when the bounty hunter stirred. He stood quickly, and walked to her side. His voice wasn't mournful anymore. It was sarcastic again. Although now it didn't sound cruel. It sounded like he was just trying to lighten the mood, "I thought that drunk might've finished you instead of fixing you. Would be a damn shame to trade that favor for a corpse." He looked less than well. Like he hadn't slept in a few hours. There was a small bit of pain as he removed the IV from her arm. She could still feel the cold air on her lower half. She felt ****.

Nyk simply studied her face, his dull eyes locked to her violent blue pair. His expression was unreadable, and inexplicable. Only now Niome had time to study him. He was old looking, tired. Grey in more ways than complexion. His hardened exterior had an odd softness to it in the low light. He simply stared, and watched. Niome finally had an inclination to speak to him, to offer the man her voice. She'd been mute since she woke up in a cage. It was soft, weak, "Why?" Niome's question was simple. Nyk nodded, although it wasn't really an answer, and then he spoke, "I'm not quite sure myself, honestly. Give me some time to think about it. Lets get you cleaned up. You've been in this state for a few hours now." That wasn't an answer either, but it was something.

The man was stronger than he looked. He seemed to collect her from the bed quite easily. She felt not the strength, nor desire to escape. To his knowlege he had saved her life. The room where she was brought was little more than a closet, the stretcher was propped up to act as a makeshift bed. It was stained with more blood than Niome could imagine losing. The door opened at Nyk's approach, and shut behind him. With a hiss. The trandoshan guards watched the show wearily, blasters clutched, and at his nod, one of the pair stepped inside to clean up the evidence, perhaps. The other stood vigilant outside.

The halls were deserted, only a few Bomar monks roving, and an odd droid or two prowling from duty to duty. No one paid the Weequay or his woman any mind. She was surprised to find herself in an actual room. A large bed was sprawled along the far wall, and a holoprojector sat at its foot. Nyk quickly removed it from view as he stepped through another door. Niome was surprised to see an actual bathroom. At this point she could muster sitting at least, and ball her hands. She imagined she was feeling the effects of a tranquilizer, or heavy anasthetics, whiched seemed to be gradually wearing off. She sat on the counter while the Weequay drew a bath. The steaming water was alluring. She still felt cold. He asked her plainly, "Do you think you can handle sitting up for a few minutes? I don't want to drown you by accident." Niome nodded, answering carefully to bolster his confidence, "I can handle it. I've done more in worse states." The man nodded simply, and watched the tub fill. He seemed to have decided on an answer, "I can't handle this work anymore. That's why I did it. Every time I see a corpse turn up in a booth, or I see a man flayed by a whip, I see myself in their skin. I feel every wound. Before you ask, you specifically because you caught my eye. You have the look of someone worth more than pleasure."

Niome had no words. Somehow there was hope. Her cheaks turned ever so slightly pink from their blood deprived pale.