A Buir of Wolves

Send Drink Me or Eat Me and an effect for my muse to have an "adventure"!

At his choked off question, Plo paused, his heart stilling at the silence that asked everything. He held Jaing's hand tightly.

"never. Unless they are in need of more than I can offer, they stay under my command, and I get them every medical advantage I can summon. Even if they are in need of more, I do what I can to send them to the temple, or the medical corps. " He frowned and sighed. "The admirals do not know, nor the Kaminoans. I will not be one to turn my men away, to risk the carelessness of Kamino." He sighed and, with a gentle push of the Force, encouraged all to ignore them.

"We lose so many. Black Ops department doesn't have.... We doesn't have personal jedi, sir. Not like you." They had Zey, and Jusik, and Etain. Not much at all. "Medical is.... barely there."

Fi, looking so white and pale as the doctors said they would do nothing for him. Fox, fighting desperately to save as many of the Corries as he could.

He gripped Jaing's hand in both of his and leaned closer.

"Then I will help," he answered, his own voice but a whisper but with the weight of a coming storm. "It is beyond unacceptable, it is..." He breathed deeply to keep his temper in check. "It is a failing on our part that we were blinded to it."

He swallowed and took a moment to think. He needed to reach out to his companions and trusted friends to work on it all. He would start that well before going to Mace, may he forgive him. But this was too dire to allow to continue.

"I have two requests in exchange, Jaing, and I hope you are not offended by them," he whispered, looking again at the young man's face, drinking in the fear and desperation to stoke his own fire.

"First, I need you to heal." He squeezed his hand again. "Because then, I will need you to be my eyes, my ears, and my hands where I cannot be, for your brothers. I can move as quickly as I can in small ways, but it will not be enough. I have friends and family who I can reach, those within and outside of the order, who will help. But we need to be able to move the larger pieces and assistance in other ways. I need you to help build those connections with your brothers.

"I think you are a very handsome man who has grown into your own, and gone through so much." Plo smiled gently. "I'm glad to see you are doing well."

[ Say on anon (or don't I ain't ur mom ) what your muse thinks of mine appearance wise! - ACCEPTING! ]

Boba was quiet for moment. Perhaps a moment too long, even for him, as he stared the other down.

It was an old memory now. The words felt like cold comfort really, despite the warmth that clung to the jetii's voice even now, and he uttered a single dismissive 'tch'. It'd be hard to argue against that out of all them, Plo Koon had at least treated him... reasonably. Better than Mace. But he had still been a cog that sent him along to prison. He still took his shoulder, walked besides him, handed him off so that he was suitably out of sight, out of mind.

"I cannot undo the past, and apologizing for the actions, or even trying to explain how my hands were tied is a hollow attempt. I do not ask or seek your forgiveness." He bowed his head to the infamous bounty hunter.

"sixty-two brothers are marching on. One hundred and eight are injured. Twenty will not be able to continue fighting in the field." Plo's heart ached again at the knowledge. He tried not to dwell on the feeling of failure.

This isn't panic. This is- a different sort of fear.

At his choked off question, Plo paused, his heart stilling at the silence that asked everything. He held Jaing's hand tightly.

"never. Unless they are in need of more than I can offer, they stay under my command, and I get them every medical advantage I can summon. Even if they are in need of more, I do what I can to send them to the temple, or the medical corps. " He frowned and sighed. "The admirals do not know, nor the Kaminoans. I will not be one to turn my men away, to risk the carelessness of Kamino." He sighed and, with a gentle push of the Force, encouraged all to ignore them.

"Sorry sir. I just- the concussion, medical. I know... I know I don't do well with it." Jaing Skirata, being honest? About his feelings and fears? Truly - more force osik at play.

He rolls his shoulders, flexes his fingers, breathes deeply and holds it. Little movements to check in on his body, how he's feeling, what he can move and what- doesn't. When he goes to shift his hips, a flare of red-hot pain burns up his spine, and he grimaces. Decides not to test moving his legs at the moment.

"sixty-two brothers are marching on. One hundred and eight are injured. Twenty will not be able to continue fighting in the field." Plo's heart ached again at the knowledge. He tried not to dwell on the feeling of failure.

"Heartline says you should make a full recovery, but that will take time." He said squeezing his hand again. "You...broke your back. There was a fear that you wouldn't walk. But we got to you in time." He said softly, his own fear trying to bubble up again but he suppressed it for now.

If General Koon hadn't been the General... Would Fi's fate be his fate?

He doesn't panic over it; just breathes in relief, and lets his body sink onto the bed more. "I'm not thinking or feeling straight, sir. I'll probably panic more, later. When the bacta and your force osik wear off."

He takes his hand away from his head, and back to his hand, rubbing his thumb along the man's knuckles gently, offering comfort.

"Heartline says you should make a full recovery, but that will take time." He said squeezing his hand again. "You...broke your back. There was a fear that you wouldn't walk. But we got to you in time." He said softly, his own fear trying to bubble up again but he suppressed it for now.

Stilness.

Jaing stares at General Koon, as the world goes soft and calm, as something beats back the waves of confusion and pain in his head. He exhales, and the air leaving is like a warm breeze. His jaw relaxes, teeth coming away from his bloody lip. Down at his sides, his hands unclench from fists.

He takes his hand away from his head, and back to his hand, rubbing his thumb along the man's knuckles gently, offering comfort.

Plo notices the flex of his jaw and frowns. He knows that many clones had poor coping skills when it came to medics and medical procedures, but it still worries him when the action is self mutilation. He keeps his thoughts to himself, though, keeping faith that perhaps one day Jaing would tell him if they continued to have missions together.

When Jaing met his eyes, Plo relaxed slightly. "There we are," he said before sending the panic beginning to boil over in the commander. "It is all right," he said squeezing his hand, trying to gently allow peace and calm to fill the small space.

It's kind, and soft, and gentle. And he, he doesn't know what to do with that, not like this, not like soft hands and breathing- his head is running away, disconnected for his body, and the world is still too blurry to make full sense of just what is happening. The voice that is here melds with the voice that was there.

One is hard, one is kind, and they both tell him to breathe. They both call him- son. there's only one person who's called him that. Who sat by his side, the one time that the training mission led to- serious injuries. Considering the worth of fixing this unit. He can make it if he pulls himself-

As such, when he was alerted of Jaing's awakening, Plo was there at a moments notice to follow up, just as he did with every other man who woke up under his command.

Plo sat carefully on the folding stool, but loud enough to make his presence known.

It helps by giving him a sharp pain to focus his thoughts on - better than that dull pounding in his head.

He turns towards the voice, takes a moment, and then tries opening his eyes again. This time (manage it, don't flinch, don't recoil), he keeps them open.

Oh shit.

Jaing's only experience with people sitting at his bedside like this was when-

Plo notices the flex of his jaw and frowns. He knows that many clones had poor coping skills when it came to medics and medical procedures, but it still worries him when the action is self mutilation. He keeps his thoughts to himself, though, keeping faith that perhaps one day Jaing would tell him if they continued to have missions together.

When Jaing met his eyes, Plo relaxed slightly. "There we are," he said before sending the panic beginning to boil over in the commander. "It is all right," he said squeezing his hand, trying to gently allow peace and calm to fill the small space.

He passed by many of the pack as he danced his way through less and less droids. He wanted confirmation of the canons full destruction and confirm the tactical droid was also destroyed. He also wanted to confirm Jaing was recovered, and hopefully alive. It was a slim chance, he knew that.

He could feel the loss of life seeping across the field, and he knew he would mourn and help the men and women mourn as well. And he would pull every stop he could to help the injured recover.

The clones gather their dead, tended to the injured not taken poorly enough to need the medics. Reports are compiled, lists of weapons and supplies that will need replaces. The units who will need new comrades while recovery and treatment happen.

As such, when he was alerted of Jaing's awakening, Plo was there at a moments notice to follow up, just as he did with every other man who woke up under his command.

Plo sat carefully on the folding stool, but loud enough to make his presence known.

"I need a medic on Jaing's location ASAP. I'm moving toward the cannons." Plo's voice was absolutely even and soft as he moved, although it looked like he was dancing, through the battlefield.

Rare, for personal updates, to the usual general. Not at all unusual for the clones under General Koon to know that their commander would want to know these things. The use of the designation may make the General pause; if pressed, squad leader Crash would just say that he was being offical for communications' sake.

Crash could bury that when he was a cadet, Jaing had been his trainer; had been an asshole, and had ordered them all to use the formal.

He passed by many of the pack as he danced his way through less and less droids. He wanted confirmation of the canons full destruction and confirm the tactical droid was also destroyed. He also wanted to confirm Jaing was recovered, and hopefully alive. It was a slim chance, he knew that.

He could feel the loss of life seeping across the field, and he knew he would mourn and help the men and women mourn as well. And he would pull every stop he could to help the injured recover.