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| - The Sandbar: Caspar A large, comfortable room creates the main part of Plaxton City's infamous Sandbar, survivor of no less than three rounds of destruction, once more back on its feet. Refurbished to much the same state it had enjoyed prior to the invasion of Caspar at Imperial hands, the place boasts dark wood panelling on its walls, and myriad booths and tables of occasionally battered but sturdy lighter wood, and a number of both old and brand new holoposters hung here and there on the walls. Several deep blue glass windows allow light in from outside, while keeping the ambient light level fairly low. The marble bar that survived the recent war still remains, more battered than before, but once again serving as the domain of Ariani; the loft, too, has been restored, providing yet more seating and an excellent view of the low stage towards the back of the room, where the local band called the Womprats play each night. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- Obvious exits: leads to Fountain Square - Plaxton, Caspar. Uncustomary for him; Keifan is sitting at a distant table, off in the darker corners of the bar, a large bottle of Corellian whiskey nearly gone, and a fresh one right next to him waiting to be opened. Quiet and reserved, he's just relaxing, watching the entire goings on of the bar, it would seem, from his vantage point that can be likened to a predatory bird, for lack of a better term, and one that would seem to define his current mood; at least upon first glance of the man. Entering the Sandbar, Lynae glances around the room quickly, taking in the assembled patrons scattered around the room before spotting Keifan and, of course, the bottle of alcohol at his table. She moves through the room as silently as possible, trying hard to blend into the room and not stand out for her attire or her appearance, and arrives at Keifan's table without pause. She takes the unopened bottle from the table and holds it as she sits down, "May I join you?" Keifan takes a long slow sip from his whiskey glass, yet still apears more than sober enough, and he smiles, standing up and pulling Lynae's chair out, "Doctor, nice to see you." He smiles and waves a waitress on towards their table, having his own seat once Lynae has taken hers, quickly collecting his glass of whiskey in his hand, and smiling at her, "So...how have you been?" Lynae keeps ahold of that bottle of whiskey as Keifan assists her into that chair, in the best of gentlemanly manners, "Dealing. Living. Taking it one day at a time," she answers honestly. She studies Keifan for a long moment, clearly weighing her unspoken words, "And you, how have you been?" Walking slowly into the bar is a man in a flightsuit with the CDU patches for the Naval AeroSpace Arm. A starfighter Jock. Know for being fast, not only in a fighter, but also in life. This one seems fairly clean shaven and polite. he holds the door for an elderly man leaving the establishment after a hard day's drink. Even a little smile crosses his face. After this, the pilot moves into the room and toward the bar. "Hey Emma." He says with another smile to the popular barmaid. "Core whiskey and juice please." he stands at the counter looking around with vague interest. Keifan shrugs, "To put it simply? Shit flying through a fan at 11,000 miles an hour....hence, me sitting in here, staring at a table for now." He sighs slightly and takes another long sip from his whiskey glass, pouring the last bit of the only open bottle on the table in, and sliding it aside for his server. "Looks at least like things will be fine soon." "Does 'fine' involve me smashing this over your head?" Lynae inquires mildly, lifting the bottle of whiskey slightly to emphasize her point. "You know, as well as I do, the ramifications of continued exposure to large quantities of alcohol, let alone the nasty little additives you've been enjoying." Her voice is very soft, carrying far enough to reach Keifan's ears, her gaze intense, "Now, if you're attempting to make it easier for me to map this by being able to slice your cranium open and dissect your brain one wafer thin slice at a time to track it's progress, let me know in advance. Because if you're bound and determined to make it worse every step of the way then I'll sit back and just track your symptoms from afar. If not, then I ask you - as your friend - to moderate your drinking, or stop all together." Some things in life you just pass over. You hear things every day that your brain just dismisses and tosses out with the day's cerebral garbage. Then, every once in a while you hear something so shocking, funny, or whatever, that your mind just latches onto it and makes it push to the forefront of conscious thought. Jamon hears a barrage of insults coming from a table behind him. he turns, ever so slowly and looks at he man and woman seated near him. He just looks at her, his mouth gaping. Keifan shrugs, "Funny, Lynae....very funny." He takes another sip of his whiskey, "You won't do that; so it may work with people who don't know you;but I think you've invested way to much time into putting me back together..." He sighs and runs his hand through his hair, "In all honesty, I haven't decided yet....there's a lot of things I have yet to do. At least the newest venture will help out Caspar a great deal." Putting his glass down, he crosses his arms softly, and reclines in his chair slightly, putting 2 of the legs off the floor while he looks between Lynae and the bottle. Lynae arches one eyebrow but does set the bottle down on the table, "Your point has merit," she says simply, "as breaking you into your composite pieces would be more work for me as I'd be bound to reassemble you, so that Kiare doesn't strangle me. Your bride to be has quite the temper," she says with a slow smile. "And I'm not jesting about the alcohol. Stop drinking it, or moderate it, or I'll ask that you be stuffed in a drunk tank until you dry out. Now, what's this about a new venture?" she asks. As she settles back in her chair, legs crossing beneath the table and hands resting on the table top itself, she happens to glance towards the bar and notices the man staring in her direction with such an expression on her face that she's half tempted to glance over her shoulder in the off chance there's someone behind her that the fellow is staring at instead. She arches that eyebrow again, meeting his gaze with hers for a pointed moment before turning her attention back towards Keifan. Keifan sighs, and pounds his last glass of whiskey down his gullet before he opens up the next bottle and pouring one, "Moderation in point...." He takes a sip of it, for the first time most people have seen him react to it before he quickly dumps the contents of a tube into the whiskey, and refreshing his glass with a small fizzle, taking a long sip and seeming to enjoy it more now, "What do you know about Maffi, Lyn?" He takes another long swig and sets the glass down, crossing his arms, "As for Kiare, I know she has a temper; but she's just overprotective. Can't blame her." Jamon catches himself and furrows his brow at the woman. He turns himself back around as Emma brings him his requested beverage. he takes a sip and looks at some of the other patrons. His ears, however, continue to monitor the strange conversationalist behind him. What ever Lynae was going to say falls to the wayside as she watches Keifan augment his whiskey with something from a small tube. If her eyebrows went any higher they'd hit her hairline and keep on going, "What did you just add to your drink?" she asks in a low, carefully controlled and quiet voice. Keifan shakes his head and waves it off, at least for the time being, "You still haven't answered my question." He smiles and takes a sip of his whiskey, "Besides, you'd think a doctor who was beyond annoyed with the mind tricks of the force could appreciate andriss." Softly, he rubs his temples and relaxes slightly, having yet another drink of his whiskey before he leans back again, looking as if he was waiting for a response from her. Jamon turns his head slightly, but does not look at the two. "Something about this bothers him so he pays attention just in case something goes wrong. Lynae leans back in her chair again, arms crossed before her as she stares at Keifan, "Beyond annoyed is a good descriptive phrase," she begins in reply, her tone of voice slight contemplative. "And very astute, I did not answer your question. Why is it important to know what I know, or don't know for that matter, about the individual and the organization?" she counters in the same low voice. Keifan leans into the table, with a half smile on his face looking at the table before he looks at Lynae, "Let's just say they'll have some problems diversifying their assets very soon....and find it even harder to just have day to day business." He winks at her before leaning back in his chair, scooping his drink up in his hand quick and taking a long sip. Jamon's back is still turned to the two, but he listens even more intently as the two contend with each other. A battle of wits. He sips his drink and pretends to watch a vid screen with some sport. Lynae points one finger at Keifan, a gesture she doesn't normally give impulse to but seems compelled to do this time, "Stop it," she says bluntly. "I don't want to know. I am a doctor, a scientist, nothing more. If you want to go on a crusade, don't tell me about it. I'll patch you up when you get back, you and the rest of your merry band of men. But I don't want to know." She takes a deep breath followed by another one, "You know why I don't want to know. You have a wife to be and children on the way. Please give them some consideration before you hare off and do something radical and dangerous. There are other ways to .. there are other ways, Keifan. " If something could stop him from sipping a drink, this was it, "Other ways to.....what, Lynae?" He's obviously changed for the last few days, weeks even, and he shifts his weight in his seat, "Ways to keep me from meeting Malign and have him taunt me, things to redeem myself from my past?" He shakes his head and drinks the remainder of the glass quickly before slamming it on the table, "I've been your friend for how long now? Haven't you ever thought this is a chance where I can simply make a difference?" He sighs and runs his hand through his hair, "Without a uniform I'm useless in legal jobs." Uniform? That's interesting. Imperials? If so they are not hiding the fact. Jamon keeps listening, though his anger is beginning to well within him. "Do you want to die, is that it?" Lynae asks in a voice that's barely a whisper, so tightly controlled is her voice as she speaks. "Do you think that this time or the next that he'll just give you a pass. You stroll in to a meeting, with as many guards as you want on you, and you think he'll smile, shake hands, play nice?" She leans forward, her hands gripping the edge of the table, "Make a difference another way. You're still a pilot. Those skills have no faded. You could fight, you could fly, pick another banner to serve. How can you even risk it?" she demands again, going back to the first topic and draws breath to speak when a soft beeping sound draws her attention. She swears, picking out several words in a handful of languages, a break from civility that is not customary for her, leaning back in the chair and closing her eyes while she takes calming breaths. Keifan gives a half swat with his hand, once of the empty whiskey glasses taking flight off towards Keifan's left, before he picks up the other, dropping it on the table and filling it, "Dammit you are stubborn, aren't you." He finishes the next glass in one tip, but strangely puts the bottle down, "It's NOT about him. Besdies, if I wanted him dead, it could happen sooner than later." He rubs his hand on his forhead, a small tremor shaking it lightly, "This is for me. Malign wont go near it." He closes his eyes with a few deep breaths, and has another sip of a freshly poured spiced whiskey, "We're not Imperial anymore Lynae." He leans back, holding the cup by his lips, "We're homeless." There you go. Imperials. But not anymore. Interesting. Jamon turns and looks at the two again. He does not approach as of yet, but is far less careful of his intentions. "You're wrong," Lynae says, eyes still closed, ignoring the sound of glass shattering, "we have a home. We're just forbidden from ever going there again." Her words are squeezed out in the same bare whisper, "Exiled from seeing the curve of Coruscant from orbit. Or dancing a ship among a vast nebulae of stars, feeling the ship respond to my guidance without hesitation. We have a home, we're just exiled." She scrubs one hand over her face, the tiny display in her wrist gleaming in the light briefly for that moment. "What's in it for you, Keifan?" she asks, opening her eyes and happening to catch the gaze of the same fellow from before. She holds his gaze calmly as she continues to speak, "What do you hope to gain from it. And yes, I'm stubborn. Stubborn about wanting to remain alive, when I could've died fourteen days ago by refusing to swear. I wanted to refuse, I wanted to scream my defiance, my despite, but I didn't, Keifan. I didn't, and now I'm here. We are here." Keifan shakes his head, "Enough with the past; you know what's in it for me? Money. Lots of it, and the better part of it; is that my children grow up with those people in our neighbourhood." He shrugs and wishes she were in the same seat, "I don't want you to join Lynae, don't look at me that critical....I ruined enough of you my life; don't make me relive it." He takes several gulps from his bottle before filling his glass again, "I know you didn't want to." He takes a deep breath and sighs, "Neither did I but it's hard to argue with most of your body shattered." "Mmmmph," Lynae sounds as she rubs at her left wrist with her right hand, "you didn't ruin my life. I made my decision. And as the ranking line officer in the room, I have faced the consequences of that action. You didn't drag me into that room. You didn't hold a blaster to my head and force me to say what I said. I did so of my own free will, of my own accord out of my own conscience." She says that last word with such bitter humor. "I wanted to die, Keifan. I wanted it so bad, because I don't know how to live like this. But death would've been a victory for them, not for me. Death is the end, not a .. not an option. So money is the most important thing, setting your family up so that they can live comfortably, and live here, among these people," she reiterates, abruptly switching conversational tracks without pause. "I agree that here, surrounded by all this, by these people, is possibly the best environment of all. But have you asked Kiare what she wants?" At this Jamon cannot hold his tongue anymore. He turns around and steps toward the table where Lynae and Keifan are seated. "You are right. This place is a safe haven. And we work, live and even die to keep it that way. Make sure that whatever demons you bring with you, stay where they are and do not jeopardize my home." It would be evident that this man is human and not Sarian. Keifan shrugs, "She's to be my wife, Lynae. She wants me safe in a glass case based on everything that used to excite my life. Rather be on display than doing something worthwhile." He leaves his glass on the able, and relaxes, offering a courteous nod to the new arrival; but leaving politics alone right now, he just seems content to lean back in his chair for the time being. Lynae rises slowly from her chair to face this new arrival, her gaze locked on his, "We have gone to lengths you cannot comprehend to avoid that, Sir," she says bluntly. Her voice is low and clearly enunciated, eyes sparkling with anger. "We did everything we COULD to avoid bringing a fight here. We put our lives on the line, our bodies, our minds, our futures, everything to avoid bringing a fight to here, to your people. I gave up everything to .. to.. " she is literally incoherent and the alarm on her wrist sounds a bare moment before she gasps painfully and drops back into her chair, eyes rolling, her head jerking back as a spasm of pain hits her and she collapses. Jamon curses as he dives to try and catch her as she falls. he looks at her companion and says, "Don't just sit there, help me get her to a doctor." Before Jamon's words even reach her, the table is flipped out of the way by Keifan, and he is on the floor by her side, quickly checking her pulse, he doesn't pay his words any mind yet, "She doesn't need a doctor, she is a doctor. A nice simple argument will have her killed. Remind me to thank you for the company later." Silently, he has one hand on her wrist and the other on her neck, comparing the two and timing them. He looks up at Jamon, check my coat, now, there should be a several small vials in there, one iwth a standard medication, just a sedative for allergic reatctions; it'll drop her heart rate enough without any problems....." He leans down on Lynae and runs his hand on her face, "Nice try Lyn; you're not gonna get out of our figth this easy.....just hang on." As each subsequent jolt is more dangerous than the preceding one, this time Lynae is truly out cold. Her face is pale, pulse unsteady and erratic where Keifan is attempting to time it, her lips faintly blue tinged as well. Jamon rushes to the coat and searches for the vials spoken of. He finds it and quickly brings it to the strange man. Keifan smiles and spits the cover off one of the syringes, about to slide it into her arm before he stops and pulls the needle back, checking the dose yet again, and nodding to himself for reassurance." A small prick into her left arm, he lets the dose drop into her vein quickly, thankful he remembers it's the shortest trip to the heart. He eyes the second vial right now; but keeps his fingers on her wrist for now, counting silently....and waiting. Lynae's head rolls to the side, eyelids fluttering again, a gasp of a breath that sounds painful as the medication burns along her vein. Her breath comes one after another, ragged sounds before she cracks one eye open and manages, "Not again," in a weary voice, swallowing painfully before she flexes her left hand, right hand moving to massage along her left arm. She makes a pained sound as she closes her eyes for another moment, "Please tell me I did not just hit the floor in the bar, Antoine," she says in that same soft voice, actually appearing to hope that he'll tell her that she really didn't just collapse in the bar. Keifan runs his hand softly along Lynae's cheek, and shakes his head, "no, wasnt' your fault....guess I shouldn't start stripping on the tabletop." He has a feeling she knows he's lying; but then again, dodging the truth now was his only primary concern. "Just lay here for a few minutes. I gave you 3ccs of valoscopine....you'll be fine doing jumping jacks in no time...." He looks up at the waitress, " I need a few glasses of water here Em, please...." Turning his attention back to Lynae, he smiles and shakes his head, "I have enough problems with twins babe, I dont' need my doctor on the floor too..." He winks and just sits there by her side again, finally the roles reversed. Lynae is on the floor, doing her best I'm a rug, I'm a rug, I'm a rug impression, though from the look on her face she's clearly still in pain, and not composed enough to be concealing the expression. "You start stripping and I'll tell your wife to be," she threatens with a ghost of a smile, eyes still closed, rubbing at her left arm and trying to not be so visibly embarrassed. She breathes again, "Yeah, lying here, sounds lovely. View of the tables excellent from here, remind me to put this in my travel guide," she mutters before she nods again, "The twins will be fine, they're developing nicely. As for the doctor, I promise if I don't make it that long then I'll find someone who is just as good before the babies are born," she says quietly. The pilot still says nothing, not sure what to say. He feels responsible for the, well I guess it could be called an attack, but he's not sure what it was. Keifan sighs, and shakes his head, "Yeah; like you'd complain about me stripping." He laughs slightly, and continues to hold her wrist softly, checking her pulse, "Allright, we can get you up on a chair now, as long as you promise to relax and not rip me a new hole for anything....." He smirks but seems to resolve not taknig advantage of that." Just then Emma arrives with the water, Keifan taking a glass and handing it to Lynae still kneeling by her, "Wow, this is a change, huh?" Lynae actually laughs quietly, her eyes staying open as she starts to sit up carefully, mindful of the pounding headache that will soon ensue, which it does as soon as she's sitting up completely. "Ooh man," she breathes, holding her head with both hands as she clenches her jaw, "Yes, this is a change. Nasty change. Not liking it one bit," she mutters, "I hate this. I hate this I hate this," she whispers to Keifan. "Two weeks of this.. this punishment, and I hate it," she opens her eyes again, spotting the feet of the stranger before her eyes move upwards to stare into his face, her blue eyes intense with emotion. "I get to live, if you call it living, like this as punishment for defying the Empire because I wouldn't let something awful happen to one of your people, to his own betrothed. Isn't that enough?" she demands. Jamon steps forward. "I'm very sorry to have upset you. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" Her last visit to the Sandbar had ended in a brawl. Oh, how times have changed. Though there's a smirk tugging at her lips as she indulges in a brief bit of nostalgia, it's a different Johanna who wanders on in, one that won't be given to bouts of incoherent hollering and drunkenness. Such poor behavior had gotten her banned from here for a time, and she isn't about to squander the goodwill of those who let her return. A furtive smile escapes her as she catches sight of an old-timer rooted to the same seat she saw him in last. It's a comfortingly familiar thing. Lynae makes a sound that's almost a laugh as she gets to her feet with Keifan's amusement and seats herself again in her chair, accepting the glass of water and sipping at it before she speaks again. "Tell me why you hate me," she says simply. "Me, myself, not the Empire. Tell me why you hate me, I have never met you before. I would recall doing something that would harm you on such a level to bear such enmity." The human pilot pauses for a moment. He opens his mouth to object. To deny this absurd accusation. But he stops, mouth agape. He looks away for a moment. After a bit he looks back. "I don't hate you, I just don't want anything to happen to my home." Keifan shakes his head and looks between Lynae and the pilot, "Good, I don't hate you either....we just ended our lives to prevent it....." With that he still stays on a knee by Lynae, "Are you allright....." He keeps his hand on her wrist checking her pulse with his chrono, "You know this shit ain't cheap." He half smirks, and laughs. Before he stands up with the new count, "Allright, you're grounded, no fun for a month from here on in." He sets the table back up and has a seat, leaning back in his chair and relaxes for now, turning back into his thoughts. Lynae shakes her head, "Well I, certainly, am not going to do anything to your home," she replies. She sips again from the glass of water, her lips still faintly blue and face pale, left hand trembling though she keeps that hand tucked beneath the surface of the table now that the waitress set it back in place. "This is one of the top of the line models, actually," she says to Keifan, nodding towards the display inset in her wrist. "Possibly the best generation out there. I happened to speak with one of the developers while they were in progress and was impressed, I am still, though not quite as impressed as when I saw one in action properly." She rubs at her left arm again as Keifan reclaims his seat, "And if this is fun, I'm asking you to shoot me now. Just, go borrow a weapon, shoot me." Now, it's not the *best* idea to spend time at an establishment where intoxicants are served if one is in her position, but the pilot is determined to make the best of it. After all, something has drawn her here (NO, NOT THE BOOZE) and it's her job to go with her hunches. Curses, that bar is tempting. And those bottles. Yes... ah, the bot... no. No, not allowed! With a resolute turn on her heel, Johanna moves so that she's not being taunted by the endless selection of drinks. Fortunately the shift brings another familiar face -- albeit bruised this time -- into her line of sight. Can that really be the doctor? "Ly --" she begins, only to cut herself short in favor of a more cautious and measured approach, closing the distance slowly. Jamon sees that he is no longer being spoken to so he dismisses himself and heads back to his drink. Keifan stands up sharply, and smiles to Lynae, dowing the last of his bottle, before setting it empty on the table, and tapping Lynae's hand softly, "Thanks for everything Commodore." He winks a warm smile of old friendship to her, and a half, but long drawn out smile; before he heads up to the bar, ordering something most of the patrons can't hear. Lynae glances up as the stranger, unintroduced unfortunately, steps away from the table and frees her line of sight to spot Johanna approaching at a cautious pace. A wry smile forms on her face, "Yes, it's me," she answers the unspoken question, half forgetting what the bruises look like to other eyes than hers. "Long time no see," she adds as she starts to rise from her chair, thinks better of it, and sets the glass down to wave to one of the empty chairs at the table, "Please join us," she says as Keifan stands and speaks, her gaze shifting back to him as a frown settles on her face, "I'm not - " her words trail off as he moves away from the table leaving her to staring after him with that frown on her face before she turns back towards Johanna. "I feel like I'm in a revolving door," she comments aloud, "but please join me?" she asks. "Long time indeed," Johanna replies with a nod as she claims one of the chairs for herself, watching Lynae with little thought to the other woman's possible discomfort at such scrutiny, "Perhaps too long? You look like you've tangled with a rancor, or at least run into that revolving door." She's never been one to put things delicately. Still, her words don't embellish or exaggerate the situation. "Oh, I'm not going to ask you anything you don't feel like sharing. I just hope the other guy took his fair share of the beating." It seems she's content to leave it at that. If Lynae wants to direct the conversation down that path, she's willing to listen, but she won't lead. Webb trudges in out of the rain, looking as if he's been out in it for a while. He's positively drenched, his face pale from the cool and dampness. He peels off a rain-poncho, and hangs it by the door, leaving it dripping upon a coatrack. Whereas most folks' teeth would chatter, Webb's jaw is simply is simply clenched. He trudges a sodden path towards the bar, only to have a towel tossed squarely at him by Ariani the barkeep. "Thanks," he mutters, proceeding to dry his face as his gaze scans down the length of the room. Lynae chuckles and summarizes it in three neat words, "Treason. Punishment. Exile," as though that explains it all, but she gives one of those gallic shrugs before saying, "As for the other fella, no. It's rather hard to hit back when my hands were a bit tied up at the moment. I wouldn't have anyway, well didn't, until the end," she adds with a frown. "But I kicked him then, so I get points." She reaches for her glass of water again as the door opens to admit another rain drenched patron along with a gust of cool damp air. "You look well though," she says to Johanna, "though I find it so many shades of funny that we meet in another bar." Treason? Whether Johanna approves or not isn't clear; an eyebrow is raised at Lynae's words and nothing more. "It sounds like you've had your plate rather full, then. I'm sorry to hear you were in a spot of trouble. As for the bar..." she shrugs, chewing on her lower lip for a moment and then letting out a short laugh, "This place holds a lot of memories for me. I suppose you could say I did a lot of growing up over good conversation in the Sandbar. Thanks for saying I look well." She probably appears a little gaunt in comparison to when she was last in contact with the doctor, but travel in uncharted space will do that to a being. Lynae glances slowly around the bar in response to Johanna's statement, taking in more of the actual room instead of just focusing on the immediate amenities available. She tilts her head back slightly to glance upwards, either just noticing or really just paying attention to the fact that there's a loft above the main floor. "All things considered, Johanna, of all the places to find good conversations, this looks like a good place." She drinks from the glass again, watching as one of the waitresses approach, "What would you like to drink?" she asks, "on my tab. Might as well spend my 'pension' such as it is. "I really shouldn't. Actually, I can't. I certainly don't mean to refuse a friendly offer. But as a physician I am sure you will understand when I say that I've reached my limit." She never thought she'd utter those words, but she's done it. A small sense of pride washes over her at the accomplishment. "You're as fine a drinking partner as anyone could ask for, though. Seems I chased away your last companion?" Again she watches Lynae, gauging the other woman's expression. A hint of concern reveals itself in the pilot's dark eyes. "Pardon me for sounding forward, Doctor Caiton," she says in a quieter tone, "But are you really quite okay?" Webb sits there silently upon that barstool for a moment, rubbing the towel against his face to lend it some semblance of dryness. When he looks up, Ariani has placed a mug full of some manner of hot beverage in front of him. Webb opens his mouth as if to say something, but is cut short by a stern expression from Ariani, who has apparently decided that the hot beverage is exactly what the Marine wanted. Webb arches an eyebrow, and apparently decides against protest, and lifts the mug to his lips. As he sips from it, he turns his eyes down the bar, peering at the various other patrons over the mug's rim. "I meant mineral water, or just plain water, or tea, they serve a good cup of caf too, by the by," Lynae answers first, before spotting the concerned look on Johanna's face. She sighs then, "Not really, no. At while the options aren't plentiful, I'm chasing down two that might remedy the situation, but it's not easy of course." Absently rubbing her fingertips over her left wrist as she speaks, "This was meant to be a punishment, a lasting one, and it'll ultimately kill me if I don't make some drastic changes in my life style, or find a skilled surgeon that's at least as good as I am. I say that not in arrogance," she hastens to add. "But out of the knowledge that if I go under the knife, such as it is, at the hand of a surgeon who doesn't know his stuff, then I'm going to go out and not come back, it's that simple." She quietly goes on to explain the implantation of the rewired pacemaker and how it all works as a punishment. While Lynae tells her story it seems that Johanna grows withdrawn, or at least far more quiet than usual. Her eyes narrow as the details are revealed and she settles into a state that would appear to others as one of being only half-awake. In fact, she's listening with more than just her ears, sussing out the geography of the doctor's Force-presence and her physical state. For a long moment she says nothing. Then she sighs. "The job was thorough. You don't... *feel* right to me. I guess you don't feel right to yourself, either. But everything about you is off right now and the damage being done is dangerous. I know someone who might be able to help. I'm just not sure if he'll be willing to put his considerable technical skill to use on... you." A frown creases her forehead. "I'm not saying that to offend you. It's just... how things are. I *could* bring you to Skywalker, or try something myself, but we're not surgeons like... well... Doctor Finian is." Lynae's jaw sets in a fine line, drawing a deep steadying breath before she nods slowly, battling back a whole host of emotions that chase across her face. "I don't imagine that he'd be any more willing to see me, peaceably, than I am him. But the irony is that I've already sent him a holo message. Which, if he received, should be putting him into gales of laughter," she says in a voice of dry amusement. "Me, asking Him, for help. The irony is so thick I could cut it with a knife. Not that I have one," she mumbles, "but the irony is there." She closes her eyes for a moment, taking the time to breathe again before opening her eyes again, "I like you, Johanna. I respect you. I count you as friend, if you'll allow, and I don't have a huge circle of friends. But when it comes to Brandis I have.. god the images Johanna. The images," she rubs at her eyes with her fingertips. "It took weeks and weeks to get over them, and sometimes I'm not sure if all of me came back. By all rights, he should say no, and watch me die. After - " she cuts herself off and shakes her head again. "What did you do to him?" The question is posited in as clinical a manner as is possible, devoid of all emotion and calculated to be utterly direct. The pilot leans forward to place her elbows upon the table, hands folded, expression one of infinite patience. "I don't mean the Empire. I mean you, Lynae Caiton, personally. I find it intriguing that you would contact Brandis for help if you feel culpable for having caused the good doctor a significant amount of pain. He and I have never been warm to one another, but I respect his powers as a healer and he helped save my life once. I esteem him. It is my right to know your share in the guilt if you wish for me to be an agent of negotiation on your behalf." Emma drops a glass as a familiar face walks in, but he waves her off for now, quickly aimed at the other end of the bar, Once he takes his seat, he drops his coat behind the bar, taking his ale with a smile and lights a cigarra, the smell of andriss quickly filling the air around him, as he quietly relaxes off in the background. Lynae's right hand grips the near empty glass for a moment, white knuckled as she meets Johanna's gaze. Lynae's jaw remains set in that fine line, and for a moment it's almost as though someone else is looking through her eyes as she speaks. "I will preface my answer by saying that I will not now, nor ever, apologize for my actions and deeds as a officer of the Empire. For if I do that, it negates everything I have ever done, and I will not do that. I did my job, Johanna. And I did it well. I've worked for some of the.. most challenging people in the Universe, and came through it, in as many pieces as necessary to survive." She clenches her left hand, trying to control the trembling that she can't quite control before continuing. "I, under orders from Malign, aided and assisted Fleming in the interrogation and torture of Brandis Finian. Furthermore, I aided and assisted with the torture of his mate, Kyrin. I also vowed that every life I took between that point and when I met him again in combat would be a life that I extinguished in his place." Her normally clear blue eyes have paled to ice as she speaks slowly, clearly, her voice pitched to carry to Johanna's ears only. "I did my job, Johanna. It did it, and I live with the smell of blood, the image the memories of broken bodies and the sounds, the sounds Johanna," her voice drops for a moment, her eyes unseeing as she stares inward. "The blood. Do you know what blood looks like when it pains the walls of an interrogation chamber? As it slides down in r-- " the device on her wrist sounds again and she abruptly stops speaking, her right hand shattering the glass held so tightly during her recitation. She gasps, going into a deep breathing exercise as her pulse levels out in the high 120's again. Johanna seems unmoved by Lynae's grisly recollections of what she did in the name of the Empire. "You're lying," she finally says, "If you felt no guilt, or truly believed in your mission, you wouldn't just nearly have... well. Your doubts have revealed themselves in a very obvious fashion. I know Fleming, I'm familiar with some of his methods, though it's probably to my benefit that I don't know about most of them. As for Malign..." Her expression sours momentarily, "... I'm not surprised. The fruit has fallen very far from the tree. But you, Lynae... you are a different creature entirely." Her elbows scoot back as she takes her arms off the table to fold her hands in her lap. "I've done my share of killing. Some of it in self-defense, some of it in defense of the Republic, and some of it simply because I didn't like the way the being looked at me. Some of it I've done for money... and some of it to satisfy what the dark side told me to do, because I enjoyed it. I have to live with that for the rest of my days." A beat, then, "You don't strike me as someone who did it for pleasure, and you have yet to convince me you think it was acceptable. Orders or no orders, that little device in your body telegraphs your conscience very well." Lynae's eyes open slowly, and if one were paying very close attention it would seem that her eyes are shifting from that ice blue back to the cerulean blue she normally sports. "I did what I was ordered to do, Johanna. I did it with skill, with aptitude. I am what s- " she breathes deeply, "I am what I was trained to be. It doesn't matter if I found it acceptable. Mine is not, was not, the place to question. To inquire. To dispute. One does not question orders! One obeys!" she says in a low voice with heavy emphasis on the word Obey. Dareus takes a long sip of his Ale, nodding to Emma silently, a few small words go back and forth, as he just silently sits, staring at the bar, or some apparently enticing shotglass. "If you believed that," the pilot shrugs, "You wouldn't find any of this disturbing. You'd sleep fine at night and have no problems with these memories, because you'd have abnegated your responsibility and left it at that. You're not to blame in any way. What were you but a cog in the machine, powerless to stop it? Ah, but you don't think that. Don't lie to me, Doctor Caiton. I will gladly hear you out but I will not suffer someone's self-deception for the sake of shielding their bruised ego." Lynae laughs bitterly, shaking her head, "How could I stop it? If it hadn't been me, it would've been someone else. At least I had the chance to do something.." she pauses the forces out the word, "right, from time to time. Streamlined the efficiency of the OR. Retrained the first response medics so that triage was done the best way possible. It was a fair trade, it had to be a fair trade. She picked me, it was an Honor, Johanna, it was an honor to be noticed to be considered protegee material. I was just a bioweapons specialist, just another doctor on the line, from obscure postings out in the back of beyond to have her notice me it was an honor." She stops speaking as one of the waitresses hesitantly approaches and cleans up the shattered glass, pressing a clean towel towards Lynae to blot up the blood that is dripping from her hand, unnoticed. Lynae wraps the towel around her hand mechanically, "I did what I had to do, because that's what we do. That's what I do. And it's my fault that I can't stop the images, it's my fault that I'm not strong enough to block out the sights and the sounds and the smells." "You're right about one thing, Lynae. It would have been someone else." It's not that the Jedi is without feeling, or cannot sense the turmoil roiling in the former Imperial. She simply cannot condone what Lynae did... or what she herself has done. There are crimes she doesn't doubt she will pay for dearly one day. "I claim my share of responsibility for the deaths of the civilians on Cochran. I didn't order that world to be fired upon, but I stood idly by as it happened, knowing well in advance that it *would* happen. The dark side had utterly corrupted my conscience. The dark side works in us all... in you, in your colleagues, in mine. Or at least it tries to. It's not something limited to those who can manipulate the Force. You've bitten off more of it than you can chew and now you're tasting just how bitter it is. If you blocked out those images of your guilt, you wouldn't be proving your strength. You'd just be proving how weak you really are. Denial is the coward's way out." Suddenly she seems more animated and her voice fills up the space between the two women with an otherworldly quality. "Punish your ego and admit your guilt, and perhaps there will be hope for you." "I'd forgotten," Lynae says softly, "that you were there. I'd forgotten, or made myself forget, that you were there. Did you know that Danik gave me the choice of conducting the bombardment myself or standing by while he did it?" she says in that same soft voice. "I volunteered, because I wanted to be.. to prove myself. To prove that I wasn't just another cut out copy, that I was just as good as the men on the bridge. That I would be the one to," her sentences, comments, are choppy and half formed. "What hope, Johanna?" she asks suddenly, "What hope? Everything I was, everything I'd trained to be is gone. Is over. I can never go home. The one remaining person I had left alive in this world I am forbidden from seeing again, as long as he lives he'll be watched. My marriage ended months ago when he didn't come with the team that freed me from the Reprisal. He gave us the choice," she switches threads yet again, "to swear, and live. Or refuse to swear, and die. I wanted to refuse, I wanted to spit my refusal, my despite in his teeth and refuse to swear. But I knelt and did it, I swore to be loyal to the Empire to the Emperor that I wanted to over throw. I did it and here I am and I don't.. what hope?" she demands, shaking her head from side to side, "There is no hope. The blood, I can't stop seeing the blood on my hands," she adds in a bitter voice. "Hope for your survival, Lynae. Unless you come to a very important realization sometime within the near future, I don't think I'll be able to do much for you. Short of shoving my hand into your open chest and hoping I don't pull out something vital, there's little that can be done to assist you if Doctor Finian doesn't step in. As with all things, that aid will come with a price. The going rate is your contrition. If you can reasonably say that you're proud of having smeared the lifeblood of sentients across the walls of your last few posts, then fine. By all means, tell me so I can get up and go. But if you regret it -- which by all appearances you do, if you'll pardon my being so forward -- then you'll have to tell me that as well." Maybe she's impatient, or she's grown older during her time in the uncharted regions. What's for certain is that Johanna isn't joking this time. While she cares for Lynae's welfare, she can ill afford to abet someone who will present a liability to the cause of the Republic in the future. Johanna's words strike Lynae exactly as they were intended, with the ring of truth that makes Lynae take a silent few moments to think before she replies. "Rodriga asked me, once upon a time, why I did the things that I did. I told him that I did what I had to do so that soldiers under my command would stop dying. So that I could stop singing death certificates, stop sending letters to the surviving kin, stop seeing flag draped coffins when there were enough remains left to bury or jettison into space. That my people.. " a half smile curves her lips upwards briefly as the phrase that is no longer accurate, "would stop dying. And that the only way to accomplish that was to eliminate the threat. Eradicate the threat." Her eyes are distant as she speaks quietly to Johanna, seeing something other than the bar and her friend as she forms her reply. "I took an oath, once upon a time, to serve the Empire, and I took it freely, of my own accord, believing with every fiber of my being that it was the right thing to do. Before I swore that oath I took one to use my knowledge, my skills, every ounce of my training to heal, to help repair the damage that life and war and accident does to the body. And for years I believed that the two oaths ran in tandem with each other, serving hand in hand. I can tell you exactly when that stopped," she says, her voice dropping as she focuses on Johanna. "The first time I was ordered to cut into someone in interrogation to wring the confession from them that was required." Lynae clears her throat softly, rubbing her right hand over her left wrist, studying her left hand where it rests on the table, fingertips still twitching slightly, a frown on her face as she stares at it. "Perhaps this punishment is fitting. It's clever, in a way that I would not have thought of. You tell me that the going rate is Contrition, is Regret. And I tell you that I do feel that, that I live and breathe it. But what price is my contrition worth? What value my regret? It changes nothings. I don't know how to hope, Johanna. I've believed in nothing for all these years but for the thought that the day will begin anew, that my life is ordered, structured, everything neatly arranged and set forth in categories and lists. Rules and regulations, structure and format. Where does hope fit into that?" Sarray strides in through the door, his hands jammed into the pocket of his field jacket. He gives a brief glance around and smiles. Picks up his steps as he heads for the bar, a tune is whistled softly. Fair enough. "I can show you a different sort of life, if you'd be at all interested," the pilot sighs, tipping her chair back a little precariously as she lights up a smoke, "And no, it doesn't involve blowing sunshine up everyone's... well, you know how that one ends. I'm not the kind to promise you happy fields of bliss where you can retire guilt-free. It's going to be difficult to rewrite your life, to reinvent yourself. I won't lie and say that shifting gears will be simple. But if you want to live..." a shrug, and then, "... if you want to live instead of mucking through this half-dead state you're in, or dying altogether, then you'll have to relocate for a time." She eyes Lynae with some wariness before venturing, "You *do* want to live, right? I won't waste my time on someone who'd rather space themselves than face facts and try to salvage what they can of their existence. No offense intended." Sarray catches a few bits and pieces of the conversation as he orders his drink and smiles at the mention of living and dying. "Give me something easy, altered state is fine, I just want to have a stomach after." he tosses a few credits on the bar and then realizes the state of one of the women and eyes her curiously. Lynae head snaps up as she stares at Johanna, "Relocate where?" is her asked question, staring at Johanna as though Johanna just said the most confusing thing ever. "I could no more turn into sunshine and light than.. " she makes another one of those sounds that tries to encompass frustration as she frowns at Johanna. "Guilt free, right, like that's going to happen. What do you mean reinvent myself?" she asks next, clearly finding most of Johanna's statement to be rebuttal worthy and having a 'do you want to know more?' moment. "Yes, I want to live. Or I'd already be dead, it would've been a lot faster than going out one jolt at a time, Johanna. But I'm not ready to die. But relocate where?" "It won't be a permanent move. You'd come with me for a time... I have several properties, and a small fleet of ships at my disposal. I'm a spacefaring creature, we'd be on our merry way most days and I'd get a better sense of where you are in your life. I don't mean to sound condescending in any fashion. You wouldn't be my assistant. It's just that things have changed with me and there are variables to consider that weren't there before. Think of it as being hired on for a sort of... well... traveling-buddy job. Being alone in space bores me witless, there's only Cricket to keep me company and he's a demented little bugger. It would be nice to have a smart person along for the ride." The offer is on the table, so all that remains is for Lynae to render her judgment and make a reply. Johanna doesn't doubt that it will be an interesting one no matter what the ex-Imperial decides. The door swings open and along with a few other souls arrives a well dressed near human, his jet features scan the room and alight on a familiar figure quite quickly and then shifts to the unfamiliar one. Malign was among the populations of Caspar these days, absorbing the scenery and enjoying the weather. Rain, clouds, rain, snow, more rain, cloudy, snowy, the list of weather conditions never cease to amaze the Sith and he wonders why the world isn't underwater like Calamari. The Sandbar was as good a place as any to have a drink, but there were always ulterior motives for a Sith to venture anywhere outside their fortresses of solitude and brooding. His black essence spills into the room like a waterfall of negative energy, never being the type to hide when he was on official state business. Flanking the Sith were a pair of black garbed figures with a simple white Imperial starburst on their left shoulders, no doubt guards, their faces were covered by hoods and silk fabric. The bar was a good place to start this adventure, his hazel eyes drifting over the happenings of the establishment before he takes a seat at it and orders a drink, "Whiskey, nice and proper, leave the bottle." Simple instructions from the Empire's newest Ambassador to the CDU and CSA, the fun would be in the observing of two of his old friends having a hear to heart and to keep his distance as to not disturb Lynae in her, delicate, position. If Lynae's eyebrows could they would hit her hairline and stay there, but since even she is not that expressive she remains staring at Johanna with a look of such honest startlement that she's doing a credible imitation of a landed fish. So focused is she that she doesn't immediately notice the new arrivals in the room while she works on forming some sort of reply that is, in any way, coherent and reasoned out. The fact that it takes so long for her to do so is merely a reflection of how startled she is along with how much she prefers to think things through thoroughly before doing anything. After all, blurting out the first thing that leaps to mind is, generally speaking, not her standard MO. Rubbing one hand against the back of her neck, Lynae stares at Johanna and works her way through her answer as she speaks. "First, I want to say that your offer is generous beyond imagination. Secondly, it's also tempting beyond belief. You're right, on most if not all of those points. I can't simply transition from what I was to nothing, then from nothing to something else - something new - with no stops or intersections in between. Though being alone in space would be my idea of the perfect time to read every medical journal that I've let stack up in the last year and a half," she adds with a ghost of a smile. She rubs the back of her neck again, a sign of thoughtfulness and tension all rolled into one neat gesture. "I need to think about it, Johanna. Caspar isn't just 'a port in the storm', so to speak. Not to me." Malif alters his course with a curious quirk of his brow and approaches the table, but pauses for a moment at the thickening of the air and turns back to see what has changed the very feel of the room. Well known to him is the man that sits at the bar, this causes him tp pause for but a moment and then he continues on his planned course and arrives by the table. "Greetings." he offers Lynae is a polite and soft tone. Of course Tyler would pick RIGHT NOW as the moment to walk into the Sandbar. OF COURSE! Just when things are looking up, and Johanna is having a sensible, important conversation with Lynae. Who else should stroll in but Tyler Damion? His timing is, as always, impeccable and surely an instrument of the galaxy's sense of irony. "Don't be so quick to call it generous just yet," she begins, only to stop short and narrow her eyes as her gaze grows momentarily distant, her hand stopping in midair ere she can put the smoke to her lips again, "... and pardon me if I seem a little distracted. I'm not ignoring you, it's just that I have to divide my attention between two things at once on occasion and now is one of those times where it's prudent to do so." Here's hoping that Lynae doesn't keel over at the sight of Joh's wayward sibling. The pilot doesn't relish the thought of damage control. Whiskey, a compact and nice drink, one of the golden brown beverages of distillery. The offered glass was ignored by the Sith as he takes a firm hold onto the bottle and turns up a long swig from it turning around on his stool to watch Lynae and Johanna's table. A lot of the man that he once was now gone, and the dark and bitter soul was stripped of its identity and given a label, Malign, his slow deliberate destruction of his ego was extremely easy to identify within his stern eyes. Darkness wraps around his aura like a cloak hiding the decay of his spirit and the totally erasure of his morality. What remained inside of him were raw ambition, goals, and agenda that fit his place in the galaxy. A once idealistic crusade that he set out on might as well been burned to ash he was now a prisoner of his own desires for power. Malign drinks another hard drink from his bottle, reaching out slowly attempting to pick up imprints in the Force around Johanna, Lynae, and now Malif. He doesn't disguise his probing pressing firmly toward the surfaces of minds and objects around them trying to grab from the mood or whatever leaks from their consciousness. His two guards stand beside him on either side stoically facing forward, most certainly not human, likely machine. Doom was what he projects to his sister and sorrow. The Damion family had no place among Jedi and he quietly reminds his own blood of this revelation, she knew in her heart her role in the galaxy. It wasn't his intention to turn her, rivalry would certainly blossom from that, but the constant reminder of her family history would be a way to discourage her and weaken her attempts to rescue anyone's soul, her soul would be difficult enough to keep from the darkness that followed their family. After another drink he grows tired of the liquor and places a half full bottle on the bar with a few credit chips and slides down from the stool and starts a very deliberate and slow stroll toward the table he was so interested in. "Malif," Lynae says aloud in greeting, tearing her attention away from Johanna to stare upwards at Malif in surprise, "when did you arrive?" she asks, a bit of a smile forming on her face as she nods her head in greeting. Her right hand sweeps out in a gesture that would begin to introduce Johanna and Malif but the gesture and the introduction freezes and dies entirely when she follows Johanna's line of sight. Freeze she does, rather like a small animal catching sight of a large bird of prey, or some fleeting analogy that runs through her mind. Her right hand drops to the surface of the table, left hand clenched into a fist below the surface of the table, finally tearing her gaze away out of a sense of self preservation. "Not again, really, not again," she says aloud, though it's more of a breath of sound as she stares very intently at the empty glass of water that sits in front of her, the other one broken not long ago. She rises from her seat, movements fluid and devoid of any haste. "Hello Tyler." The tone is as steady as her posture. Johanna knows better than to assume her brother is just coming over for a friendly chat -- the way he's already tried to intrude upon her psychic space lets her know that the way no words ever could. "I didn't realize you were on Caspar, much less in CDU space. Then again I've been out of the loop for a while." It's more for Lynae's sake than her own that she keeps so calm, knowing one unpleasant episode can spiral out of control where that device is concerned. "I see you're still drinking." He probably never stops that. Someday it'll kill him. Unlike others who can touch the Force, Tyler probably doesn't bother to detoxify the alcohol in his system. Malif freezes in mid-sentence, something akin to fury flits across his features and the table is forgotten suddenly. His upper body turns enough so that his head can pivot to take in Malign. "By the dead and gone, you dabble in cheap trickery as well." his voice is completely coated in venom. "Parlor tricks of a Maffi wannabe and you employ them?" there is just a tad bit of astonishment in the near human's voice. "I would think your understanding of the nature of the universe would put you above such...tricks." Malign's expression remains neutral as he gets what some might assume are greetings from the table he is approaching, Malif's venom would be the first to gain his complete attention as he turns to focus completely on the former criminal henchman of that fool Tyy'sun, "Oh yes, I am light-years above trickery old friend." His aura darkening with some anger as it begins to boil within him, "Maffi is dead to me, with any luck it will be wiped from the universe in a few short months, mark my words." Malign hisses as his old name is called,, so many people grasping out at a past the Sith, himself, as already put behind him. "Johanna." He replies coolly, forcing his anger down into his gut, "I frequent the slice quite often now as an Ambassador for the Galactic Empire, since our previous administrations felt a need to go against the Order I have been tasked with filling the void and seeing to day to day business of the government again." He smiles warmly toward Lynae, "Seems there are many people who could find comfort in a fool like Kreldin over our beloved Emperor, if they only knew the Danik you and I knew, yes?" Outside, there is the sound of a speeder grounding, its engines spooling down to idle. It's an unremarkable craft of decidedly utilitarian exterior and long life - a craft of economy and practicality, not luxury. One body panel has been replaced with one of somewhat mismatched colour at some point in its life cycle, but the engines sound eerily perfect. Lynae breathes deeply, unable to explain coherently why it is that Malign always 'trips her triggers' so to speak, but all in a bad - very bad - way. She doesn't bother trying to follow the flow of conversation between Malif, Johanna and Tyler and instead focuses on that empty glass. Attempting to empty her thoughts, ground her own emotions, focus on staying calm, breathing deeply. She exhales quietly, forcing a neutral expression on her face, having long prided herself for being calm, neutral, bland, blending in with the herd so to speak. But Malign just had to speak to her, and her gaze lifts from the glass to stare at him. "If I'd brought him in, on my own, or brought his head to you and Korolov, would I be here now?" she asks the question in a low voice, one that is fighting for control and even tonality while she speaks. "Would we all have been through this song, this dance, through all of it?" she continues, her left hand beginning to twitch ever so slightly and she uses her right hand to curl her left one into a fist. "Kreldin spoke what some of us had already thought. That the Empire, guided by a mere handful of individuals whose only claim to power is the ability manipulate this 'Force' through some shady training is, at best, a crazy government model. I would rather live well, and die free, than continue to turn my hand towards more slaughter even if I am -- was -- very good at it." And she is not quite visibly trembling with the effort to remain calm, but her face is pale, eyes wide as she speaks. "That's very nice, Tyler. Now why don't you run off to agitate someone else?" His sister, it seems, is having none of it, displeased with the manner in which his words upset Lynae, "Danik Kreldin is no more in the Empire and some of us are trying to begin new chapters in our lives. So pardon me for being curt, but step off before I decide I don't like these kinds of intrusions." So much for keeping her words mellow, even if her tone remains calm. "Doctor Caiton, you'll have to excuse my brother. He's not been among civilized society very long and is still learning the ropes." Ah, business as usual, it seems! No doubt Tyler will fire back with some kind of disgruntled reply about the dark side and her inevitable place in it. It's all she can do to keep back a snort at the thought of those words. Johanna's words were always sharp and to the point, she was one of the few people that could break down Malign's stoic appearance, his neutral face cracking into a perverse imitation smile as she speaks, "Always on point aren't you Johanna?" His tone remains even as he speaks. Lynae's words were not forgotten and he certainly would broach the topic of her betrayal, but first his sister, "Yes, yes, you are running from your destiny and you are innately evil and wrong doing." He says it like it was a cue or talking point or perhaps he felt that his sister anticipated, "In truth Johanna you are a kryat in bantha's clothing and your true colors only surface when I come in to test the water, if you were truly what the Jedi expected of you my presence would simply blow across your lake of serenity like a cool breeze, but I cause something to ripple inside of you, something like regret." He lets out a light chuckle as his hazel eyes turn toward Lynae. "My apologies Commodore, but yes my sister is indeed correct. I am not the most civilized member of our galaxy, I am a bit rough around the edges, but sharpened with realism." He steps forward, "Your failure, Lynae, was when you fled with prisoners to this system, you showed yourself and you were the one that foiled Danik's plans, you and you alone saved our Emperor and maintained our government. You are little more than a martyr of the impact of fear. Giving into you fear, a poor commander indeed, and to think I came personally to rescue you from the New Republic and this is the thanks I get." He spits on the floor and rises to his full height, "You sicken me, we all make our sacrifices to serve, and you are a coward." "Coward?" Lynae replies, finding calm finally in anger, her usual method of approach. "No, not this time. You call me a coward, but when I said that I would rather live well and die free, I meant it. How afraid is the Empire of free will? How afraid is the Empire of people - sentient beings - making their own decisions. Good or ill, making them, then living with the consequences. Or not, as the case may, and sometimes is, be?" She pushes to her feet, still pale but determined, "I am not a coward. I never, ever, once backed down from or refused an order. Never, ever, did I order any one of my people to do something that I would not. Ever. I've served in field hospitals where the mud and the blood covered us from ankle to knee and the sounds of the dead and the dying were worse than the battle itself. And never shirked my duty, never refused to keep moving, keep helping, keep daring to put my hands on people and attempt to heal them. Coward? No. If you want to look for a coward, look into yourself, Malign. What are You so afraid of that you think the Empire's way, crushing all opposition - all dissent - in it's wake for fear that there might be another, a better way?" She sweeps her right hand in a gesture to indicate the room, and the world beyond, "They do it. Every day. Make their own decisions. Believe what they want, live how they want, pick their own leaders even. The Empire could learn a lot from the Caspians, I know that I did," she says simply. A fine sheen of perspiration stands out on Lynae's forehead by the time she's done, her pulse climbing steadily through her own rebuttal and the monitor on her wrist is a few points from sounding off by the time she's done speaking. But speak her mind she did, for better or for ill. Malif considers the rising matters here and chooses to fall back out of the fray . shifting to the bar and a hard drink. There was a message, and a debate was held after it was received, on whether or not Brandis should actually follow through with the request. There is a great deal of trepidation on his part on even coming here. It isn't that he's a coward, he just doesn't want to get Lynae's hopes up if the ultimate decision is to refuse to aid her. His reason for making that choice in person is that he wants to see what she has become, to determine if there's anything worth saving before he ever tries. Of course, he wasn't really prepared for everyone present to actually be...present when he steps into the Sandbar. The last time he was here, Snarl got into a brawl. He hopes they've forgotten him. If Lynae wants to handle this, very well. Johanna won't stand in her way. The pilot decides to back off and let the doctor do as she sees fit, though she remains mindful of what Lynae's system is being subjected to and how it's being affected by the confrontation. She spares Tyler a look of disdain. "Don't flatter yourself, Mister Damion." Then, through the Force, something decidedly more... colorful, as only a sibling can manage. She's made her pitch to Lynae and now has to watch and gauge if the ex-Imperial is serious about mending her ways and starting anew. If she's going to plead her case to the other Jedi... there had better be solid grounds for this endorsement. Malign wasn't blind and he certainly was a fool, if he were in Lynae's shoes and allowed to hide behind a Jedi and point fingers at someone that embodied her frustrations he would probably do the same. His expression grows cold again as he prepares a polite but pointed response, unnaturally calm, "You did follow a great deal of orders Commodore, but in the end your breaking a standing order and abandoning your post when the weight and pressure became to great. Partly principles partly fear of what myself or Mr. Fleming would have done if we discovered your plot." The Sith shrugs. He steps forward but doesn't project any threatening aura or 'charge up' of negative energy that would signal a flagrant use of the Force and whispers to Lynae, "To be honest I never cared about governments just my values, I do as I please and I get enjoyment from my work." He shrugs, "I like to kill people Commodore, I like to make beings suffer if they disobey the Emperor, but at least people can see their limitations in the Empire, the slavery and evil here and on worlds like this rest behind a veil of lies and illusions. Democracy is smoke and mirrors, a small group of elite projecting an image but doing everything they can to stay in power and to be a have over a have not, rigging elections isn't a difficult task." The Sith laughs, "Besides the Republic might be a democracy but some of its member worlds are just as totalitarian as the Empire and appoint their representatives." He shrugs, "The galaxy you wish for will never exist, go back to what you are good at, torturing living creatures..like.." his hazel eyes turn to the entrance as Brandis enters, "Like the Jedi who entered the bar." He gives Johanna another smile, "I only flatter myself when I know I am speaking the truth, today I flatter myself." He shrugs, "But even though we are sworn enemies, you're still family so I'll lend you a helping hand if you ever need it, you know where to contact me." He winks gesturing to the bartender to bring him his half-finished bottle of whiskey. With Brandis stepping into the fray things would only grow more interesting, maybe this was a test orchestrated from Coruscant, Vadim manipulating the universe to test his agent's ability to be patient and to bring the world down around them through speech and not action, Malign welcomes challenges. "I didn't fear what you, or Fleming, would do, Malign. I knew without a doubt, with absolute certainty, what would happen next. But you're wrong on a few of those key points," Lynae says as she refuses to retreat despite the fact that Malign is entirely too close for comfort. "I didn't fear for myself. If I feared for myself I'd have kept on going and not returned, ever, to this side of the galaxy. Which, from my calculations, is entirely large enough to have found a new place to live. No, I knew that if I didn't remove Dareus and Quinn from holding that the next thing that they would 'Enjoy' was a taste of Imperial Hospitality. I know the penalty for treason, be it thought word or deed. No one ever asked me, so I'm going to offer it up. I removed them from holding on the working logic that clearer heads might prevail. So that someone would wise up and remember that a dignitary, a diplomat of a government that the Empire holds a treaty with is not to have her rights trampled so neatly or cast aside. You like killing people, that's your kick, not mine. If I wanted to be a killer it would be easy, Malign. I'm a physician, I know how to heal a body and I know how to break it apart into tiny pieces that can be tucked into a nice compact sized box. But that's not my idea of purpose in this life. You want to roll yourself in gore and blood and use the Empire as a way to continue to enjoy doing what you clearly love doing, for your own ends, by all means enjoy yourself." She smiles then, or something that resembles a smile but is a mere baring of teeth, her hands white knuckled at her sides, fingers curled tightly as she shifts her gaze over Tyler's shoulder and towards the door and the new arrival into the Sandbar. Were it possible for her to go more pale she would, but it simply isn't possible, her mouth opening to continue saying something .. well, something that would be considered 'mouthy' more or less, but what's left of her self control is blasted away by the soft beep of the device inset in her left wrist and she has no choice but to seat herself again, jaw clenched as she tries to avoid another smacking of self into floor, which simply isn't fun. "Well spoken." the young doctor says softly as Lynae's speech apprises him quite neatly of the situation. "Still annoying people I see, Tyler. You really need to get out more...find new hobbies." Brandis studies the rugged man with clear blue eyes, the fact that he can see at all should be something of a surprise for Tyler. He inclines his head into a respectful half-bow toward Johanna, who's presence has been duly noted before focusing his gaze on Lynae. She's the reason he is here at all. Her next actions will determine whether or not she gets his help. "With all due...respect, I greet you, Dr. Caiton. Let's find out if my journey here was an unequivocated waste of time, shall we?" his eyes flick back to Johanna once more, as though questioning her motives in the company she keeps, but with a hint of humor to it all. If he doesn't trust /her/ it doesn't show at this juncture. Outside, there are the sounds of sentients disembarking from the speeder - doors opening, and booted feet hitting pavement. Apparently they pause to mingle and confer near the door. It's a short conversation, before the front door is drawn open and two figures clad in matte grey body armor stride through the door. Caspian-made carbines (model C27) are slung across their chests, humorless stoicism etched upon their faces, and the emblem of the Presidential Guards emblazoned upon their shoulders. They have distinct genetic differences, but their mannerisms show of intensive training to work as a team, with carbon- copy postures and synchronized movements. Each has his right hand on the carbine's grip, but keep their fingers clear of the trigger. One looks left, the other right, as they take up posts beside the door in identical, decidedly combat-ready postures. Scarcely a half a breath passes before their charge strides into their midst. Identical frowns upon the guardsman's faces show their intensive dislike for their charge's tendencies to wade out into odd situations. Perhaps he gets away with it because he does not look political. Surely, were it not for the Guardsmen, he could probably stride into here without initially being noticed. He looks more like the sort who should be working with the Constabulary, kicking in the doors on gangsters... and once, before the unfortunate business with President Tracer, he was a Marine. His eyes turn immediately towards Lyn's table, his expression suggesting that he already knew exactly what to expect in here. Looking between Lynae and those who the doctor has drawn, he pulls a breath, and lets it out slow in a sigh. Then he pauses to light the cigar that's clenched in the corner of the mouth, first employing a cutter to amputate the tip. Interesting that Tyler should suspect this a test from Vadim. Johanna suspects it to be a test from another source entirely, especially with the arrival of Brandis, the very person she's been planning to apply to for help on behalf of an erstwhile agent of evil. The Force must have a hand in this meeting, surely. "We are not sworn anythings, as far as I know," she replies to her brother, "But indeed, we are still family. I must say, however, that the only helping hand I've known you to lend is the one that would make my life *more* difficult, not less. I'm not the one you're interested in aiding. The only one you care for is yourself -- and maybe that twisted creature you've adopted as a Master, even as he spins his lies for you." Then she retreats once more to let Lynae have her say, the concern evident on her features as the Doctor overexerts herself. In a flash she is at her side, a hand hovering near that wrist. Physical touch will no doubt be unwelcome... it's a good thing Johanna has the Force to do some work for her. "If you insist on getting yourself riled, I'll be tempted to jolt you with a remedy of my own," the pilot mutters, none too keen on the idea of having her buddy die on her, "Tyler's full of hot air and he's pushing all your buttons in just the right places." And as if to underscore her point, the escorts who followed Brandis here look none too pleased by the developments. "Can we avoid a bloodbath in here? I'm quite sick of those, mostly because I'll have to do all the killing and I'm kind of tired and hoping I could have a mostly nice day today in spite of the rain." It wasn't him, this time that apparently pushed Lynae over the edge and into her seat, it was Brandis. The good natured doctor coming to her aid and Johanna's his sister now asking to avoid bloodshed, but apparently lacked the power to tell her friends to hold their tongue around those who are not concerned with self-restraint. Having his way, Malign would bring the establishment down to the ground and turn it to ashes. Instead he quietly pulls a cigarette from his pack and lights it and takes a few drags from it turning to Brandis and projecting his aura around him, a comfortable reminder of who had once taken his sight away from him, "Watch your Tongue Brandis, I afford you no curtsey to speak to me." The Sith frowns. With the appearance of the CDU's presidential guard things would only get more interesting, "Careful Johanna." He advises quietly with a mischievous grin reminiscent of the old Tyler but tinged with the darkness of Darth Malign, "Your friends are pushing all the wrong buttons and seem to be begging for violence, again the only thing that keeps the tides of pain from enveloping your friends is my restraint and respect for the CDU's laws and sovereignty." Naturally all of this was lies but it sounded good. His hazel eyes stare intently at the traitor, "Lynae you try to justify your actions anyway you feel will give you peace, but mark my words, your treachery is remembered and as long as I brief air and roam this galaxy, I will find you and torment your existence. Not because it is my job, but because it is something fun to do. Pray to whatever you believe in, because nothing can save you from the Sith and the anger of the Emperor." He smirks and presses his way back toward the bar his aura almost dissipating all together as he wraps it tightly around himself and begins to mask his presence in the Force. His guards emerge from shadows and flank him leading him to the exit, to return to 'official' duties. Mahon stays back initially, drawing on that cigar until the tip finally glows brilliantly orange, turning the cigar so that it doesn't end up burning lopsided. And once lit he pulls the fragrant smoke into his mouth and exhales it in a liesurely fashion. His expression is a tired one, his eyes ancient as they watch the exchange between light and dark... the familiar dance. He listens intently to every word of Tyler's threat to Lynae. And as Tyler is on his way out, Mahon interposes himself... long enough to speak three words, "Persona... non... grata." While it's not that the gesture itself is unwelcome, it's simply that Lynae is not a touchie feelie sort of person, least of all when self control hinges on little things. Like touch. Or phrasing. Tone of voice. Lynae is concentrating for all she's worth on deep calm breaths, her gaze shifting steadily from person to person while working on getting her heart rate under control, "Dr Finian," she says in a voice that is very carefully controlled, and for the first time since there is no seething anger or fury in her voice, expression or anything when she says it, nor in the glance that she aims in his direction. Her gaze shifts right on past Tyler again and back up towards Johanna, "I don't do it on purpose," she says with a breath of laughter, "and getting blood out of good flooring is so difficult. Sometimes you just have to rip it up and start all over." Again her gaze sweeps around the room before alighting on the new arrival and straightening ever so slightly in her chair in the process. Another measure of calm, wrapping her composure around herself like a cloak, another deep breath, falling silent as Malign issues his statement, his warning before lighting up and making for the door. While she hears the words that pass between Malign and the President she doesn't see the exchange, having propped one elbow on the table and placed her forehead firmly in the palm of one hand. "They should go into business together," she says quietly, and with a good deal of asperity as the alarm beeps again and Lynae fumbles with the device long enough to mute the bloody thing and continues, "Rall and Malign, two part horror show bringing vindictiveness and vengeance to the galaxy, one heart stopping show at a time." Yeah, that's humor. Brandis keeps his own voice neutral, for his feelings concerning Lynae are less than conciliatory. However, if he were to hold onto anger, to hate...she would have already defeated him, and far too easily. So it is with the same generosity with which he healed her broken arm, despite the fact that she had only too recently taken part in his torture, that he comes to her now to assess the damage more fully in person. "I see, Dr. Caiton, that a dose of your own medicine seems to have come rather close to ending your....career." it's a small dig, really, but enough for her to understand that he takes no real pleasure in this meeting. And very likely never will be truly comfortable keeping her company. "I shall endeavor not to begin anything that would further tire you, Johanna. The last time I was here, Snarl trashed the place." "The irony has not escaped me, Dr Finian," Lynae replies in a voice heavy with dry humor. She rubs at her temples with her fingertips, "I didn't think you would come in person," she says next, "I expected that if you replied it would be via holo message, though truth be told I'm also surprised it even reached you without there being a cadre of ISB agents rappelling into the room about five seconds later," she mumbles. Brandis keeps his own voice neutral, for his feelings concerning Lynae are less than conciliatory. However, if he were to hold onto anger, to hate...she would have already defeated him, and far too easily. So it is with the same generosity with which he healed her broken arm, despite the fact that she had only too recently taken part in his torture, that he comes to her now to assess the damage more fully in person. "I see, Dr. Caiton, that a dose of your own medicine seems to have come rather close to ending your....career." it's a small dig, really, but enough for her to understand that he takes no real pleasure in this meeting. And very likely never will be truly comfortable keeping her company. "I shall endeavor not to begin anything that would further tire you, Johanna. The last time I was here, Snarl trashed the place." "The irony has not escaped me, Dr Finian," Lynae replies in a voice heavy with dry humor. She rubs at her temples with her fingertips, "I didn't think you would come in person," she says next, "I expected that if you replied it would be via holo message, though truth be told I'm also surprised it even reached you without there being a cadre of ISB agents rappelling into the room about five seconds later," she mumbles. Brandis chuckles softly, "ISB tends to overlook messages for me. I think they've forgotten that I'm minor nobility on Corellia, little good it does me." There is a great deal of dry irony in his own voice as he settles into a seat without really asking for permission. She asked him here, she can bear his presence with good grace or not, as the situation demands. "I wouldn't say that the fact that the message being for you would have been so significant, Dr Finian, but that it would've carried my name on it," Lynae says quietly, eyes intently observing Brandis as she speaks. Once he settles she straightens in her chair, running one hand down her face and attempting to compose herself in some manner as she does so. Her right hand moves to curl her left hand again, tucking her hand beneath the table and meeting his eyes with hers. "I suppose you'd have to ask yourself who they'd be more interested in catching, Dr. Caiton. You...or me?" Brandis has no real illusions about which of them might be held more valuable in the eyes of the Empire at this point. It would seem that she has outlived her usefulness to them, if the ticking death trap in her chest can be held as any indication. "You asked for my help, and I've come to determine if I should give it. Show me that you've changed enough to merit the assistance of a Jedi, when you swore you'd be the death of me when last we spoke." Lynae tilts to the side slightly, blue eyes narrowing a bit as she contemplates his question and her answer before speaking it aloud. "Without contest: you. For I am nothing more than a.. regretful annoyance that can be executed at whim. You, on the other hand, remain one of the Great Enemies of the Galactic Empire." This last bit, of course, is said with such irony it almost leaps out of the air and gallivants around the room under it's own power. Brandis shakes his head, "You're dodging the request, Lynae. You asked for my help, and I don't keep saying that just to rub your nose in it. It's very simple that letting you die would relieve a great many of my worries. I wouldn't have to wonder how many more innocents would die at your hand in my name. I sincerely doubt that your opinion of me has altered all that greatly, just because your life is on the line." if he is skeptical, he has every right to be. "I healed your arm when you came so very close to breaking me because I was sick inside with how much I hated you. So I turned it into something good, and it still blew up in my face. You can only see me as an enemy of your ideal. You refuse to see what /I/ represent, not as a Jedi, but as an individual." Lynae sits quietly for one of those long moments where one if faced with the option to stare back or start finding something else to stare at. She does though, she studies Brandis with intensity in her gaze that she has not shown previously in their albeit short conversation. "What you're really asking me is what will I do with my life if you heal me and I'm free to do what I want, again. You're asking me if I will then, or once again, employ my talents to kill and maim and bathe in the blood and sounds of pain of the victims to which I would be.. tasked. You're asking if I, without the will of the Empire behind me, will continue to do these things. To break, to injure, to harm and to kill. Perhaps it would surprise you to know that I have never taken up a weapon in hand to hand combat and injured another. My job was never that, to fight hand to hand on the line. I was a physician, a scientist. I was tasked to other things," her voice is so carefully blandly empty that it matches the intensity of her gaze. "You are the embodiment of everything that I was taught was the enemy of the Empire. Every living hour that you move around and exist, you embody that which we are supposed to fight against." She rubs at her left arm absently while speaking, her gaze never wavering. "I do not change my spots, so to speak, on a whim. Nor do I claim that I am suddenly embracing a life of sweetness and light, throwing myself at your mercy and sobbing about the wrongs that I have done. Yes," she says in a low but hard tone of voice, "I did things that were wrong. I don't need to list them, for I am certain you are aware of my career record as I am of yours. But it is not my leaving of the Empire that would still my hand. I hold those oaths in abeyance, Dr Finian. For I have made a promise that binds me more than the oath I was forced to swear in the end. And that one I will hold too, for no one else - nothing else - has the right to ask it of me. I gave my word that I would not harm anyone while in the shelter of the Caspain people. I willingly gave that oath, and I will keep it. " Brandis' mouth curves slightly as he takes a turn at tilting his head, "Only so long as you are within the shelter of the Caspian people, you say? And is this an indication that you'll live the rest of your life here? Because the moment you move from the planet, you're no longer bound by the terms of that oath. Am I correct?" "I had a feeling you would interpret my statement that way," Lynae replies with a quiet almost smile of her own. "But the answer to that question is No. For the moment, being with these people reminds me that there is another way to live. For the moment, being among them makes me - I believe - to be a better person. Will I need to remain on this planet for the rest of my life in order to rein in my Bad Habits? No. My promise is my promise, my word, that I will keep no matter where I travel. There is nothing here that requires such actions of me. And given leave to make my own decisions, I have not been slaughtering and wading in blood." Brandis shrugs in a Gallic manner, "Forgive me for choosing to interpret it in the most practical way possible. I've healed you before, and your reward for such was torturing my mate. Forgive me for feeling that your enmity is still a long way from being gone. The only reason you've begged for my help at all is because you know I can do the job you need done." he holds up his hand to keep her from responding immediately, and there comes to his face a far-off look, or rather an unfocused one as he searches her life essence with a sight that has nothing to do with the eyes. "You've taken a great deal of damage from this device, already. Soon, you'll begin having heart attacks without any assistance." "I know," Lynae says calmly. "I can feel the twinges already. Stiffening of my left arm. The muscle cramps in my hand. Light headedness, if I move to fast I get dizzy and see black spots in my vision," Lynae says simply. "If it's not removed, I'll simply die. The further irony is that if I'd refuse to swear loyalty again then I would already be dead and we wouldn't be having this conversation. But I wanted to live," she says in that same quiet, calm voice. "I won't ask you to try to see things from my perspective. I cannot explain it in any way that makes sense when it's spoken aloud. Nor any sense if you're not inside my head. Do I hate you? I don't know. Right now I don't feel anything for you or towards you, Dr Finian. No hatred, no.. just nothing. I feel nothing, and have operated for so long in this nothing this gray enveloping nothing ness that is the only way I know how to operate that I can't honestly tell you that I've surrendered my feelings for you because frankly I don't feel anything. It's the way I keep my sanity, such as it is. " Brandis is silent, his head bowed as he seems to study the grain of the wood of the faux tabletop between them. There is so much that he has to weigh, the good of the many, or the good of the one. "Would you swear an oath to me, if I agree to this? Not to reverse everything you've believed in...I don't expect the impossible...." he pauses and licks his lips, wetting them after long moments of quiet breathing, deep contemplation. "If ever I have need of a favor from you, swear that it will be mine for the asking. Do that, and I will help you all I can. I can help you even now...give you more time if you decide my price is too high." he flicks his eyes around the bar, not the most conducive atmosphere for what he proposes to do. "The decision remains yours." "I swear it," Lynae says quietly. "For you alone would not ask of me something that would violate the oaths that I have already sworn. And I would have done anything, anything at all that you asked, for even one more month," she continues in a low and fervent tone of voice. The fervent tone being jut the barest hint of emotion that for her speaks volumes. Brandis holds out his hand, palm up, toward the female physician. "Give me your hand, Lynae." His tone is neither forceful, nor demanding. He only asks that she cooperate, so that he can do his bid to assist her in this time of need. He is still of two minds. Once before he offered his aid where it was not wanted, nor asked for. When she'd broken her arm fighting against her captors. Now she is all but begging, yet he can still not be assured she won't resume her ways once the deed is done. And yet...something within him is telling him to trust his gut on this one. Her oath seems sincere enough, he'd know it immediately if she were lying. "Give me your hand, that I may begin to give you a life of your own choosing." Lynae is not, by any means, a touchie feelie person. She is the least likely person in any given room of a sampling of average people to reach out and touch someone else - anyone else - for any reason. Even as a physician she keeps her physical interaction to the minimum level required to do the job. Not because she's shy, but because it is her preference. Exhaling quietly, Lynae studies Brandis without forming a reply before she lifts her left hand from where she'd concealed it beneath the table and extends her hand forward to place it in his right. Brandis could probably do what he's about to do without the benefit of touching her, but his sight within the Force sharpens considerably as soon as she makes contact with his hand. He wouldn't have offered her his left anyway, as the mechanical nature of it would have interfered with the connection he's attempting to establish. His breathing slows a great deal as he drops into a trance, his awareness and understanding of the damage to her heart increased by his knowledge of medicine and the human body. Sitting still and quiet, not Lynae's strong suits. Sitting still, and quiet, with her hand resting in Brandis's is also not something she's going to be particularly good at. But she does it mainly by alternately staring at him or down at the table top itself. It hurts at first. There can be no healing without some pain, no matter how minor. It's actually a forcible rearrangement of the damaged tissues as the young Jedi works at restoring them to what he knows they should be, as opposed to what they've been reduced to by repeated abuse. His task is threefold, and that's what makes it all the harder. He must heal the damage already done. He must keep Lynae's pulse from going far too quickly and thus stimulating another 'attack', and he must do it all while shutting out the noise and hubbub of a busy bar. It should be no wonder that sweat beads quickly on his brow and upper lip as he wields a power that most cannot begin to comprehend. If she is aware at all, she'll notice that her ability to feel is dampened by an influence outside herself, a security blanket flicked over her shoulders, invisible, but the faintest bit restrictive. It's an odd sort of lethargy, and it feels alien to her, if she probes it too deeply, or is even capable of noticing. His breathing shallows out, and it would appear that he's not even breathing, so deeply is he meditating on the problem at hand. Lynae shivers once before her breath escapes her in a soft exhale, eyes half closing. She twitches once, then again, her left hand curling, small muscle twitches jumping over her left eye, making her shoulders move, her breath staying entirely calm all the while. She doesn't pull away, simply held in place in a calm state that she can't think past. Healing another comes far easier to Brandis than healing himself. His own pain causes distractions that are difficult to get around. But even so, it's never a task he undertakes lightly. More long moments pass as he reconstructs a damaged heart to the point where it seems as though she's never had the trauma, though her memories will speak otherwise. She'll have to live with those, since Brandis has learned through hard experience that his forte is not mucking about in other people's minds. Finally, he draws his hand away, his palm damp with the sweat his hard work brought about. "I know it is difficult," he breathes finally, panting slightly from his exertions, "But you must remain calm for the next little while. Keep yourself in seclusion if you must, to avoid drama that will spike your pulse. Arrange for a medical suite in the hospital of your choosing. Arrange for an operating room that can be put at my disposal, and I will see what can be done about getting that device out of your chest. If...if it all comes to pass, you will leave the hospital without even a physical scar to remind you. That is the best I can offer." Lynae is pale, rather even more pale that is, than before she placed her hand in his and shaking ever so slightly. No stranger to pain, as it has been a method used to instruct her before, she made no sound during the time elapsed and if asked she could not even begin to guess how long they say there, hand in hand. She blinks several times before she manages a reply, "I will make the arrangements. If you don't object, I even have another physician who would be of help, Dr Xar'on Tanner," she adds before she rubs her left hand again with her right hand. "I.. thank you," she says softly, her eyes intense, "May I offer you any .. do You have somewhere that you are staying? I can see to it that you're given very good and reliable accommodations." Brandis shakes his head, his lips pressed together, "I hope you do not take exception to my lack of trust, but I prefer to bunk aboard my ship. That way, if the worst should come to pass, and I must leave in a hurry, I don't have to make my way to the spaceport to make my getaway, as it were." the last is said with a hint of humor, as he honestly hopes she won't be offended by his refusal. "Not at all, and were I in your place I would do the same. The only thing I would've done is contacted Ambassador Quinn and arranged official quarters for you on planet," Lynae explains and something that is almost a smile forms on her face. "Though I don't see the CDU leaping to war footing with the Republic right now, but I never take chances especially if there aren't at least two exits and a window to dive through."
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