sergeant, soldier, brother.

Welcome to the story of Niner Skirata, a Star Wars character set in the Star Wars: Republic Commando novel series. Below is the required blog navigation for mobile users:

I put absolutely no stock in your personal commentary on the quality of my humor because you have no taste. ┐( ˘_˘)┌

“Well, now it can be your favourite crop-top.” Thera winced a little as she pulled the fabric away. One small mercy was that with the bleeding and Niner’s moving around it hadn’t had a chance to dry and really stick. But as for that bleeding … she reached for a hypospray - started to do so with the wrong hand, given she was usually on the bed herself and facing the other way around.

She’d clean the mess up later, but right now she had to stop him losing any more. “I’m gonna zap you with a local painkiller, then get some pressure on that big one.”

If she’d slowed down enough to think instead of react, it might have worried her that she wasn’t actually a medic. Her first aid was fine, but she was going to have to hope that the medical machines were able to take care of the details. Because even if he hadn’t been a friend, there was no way she was letting a Republic Commando, a combat veteran, bleed out from a knife wound he’d picked up on a night out. Although, speaking of …

“So …” She smirked, still working but trying to lighten the mood, “Who were you wearing your favourite shirt for, then?”

“Fi would never let me hear the end of it if I wore a crop top to the barracks,” he grumbled, silently thankful for the distraction of Thera’s banter.

Niner grimaced as the hypospray pressed against his skin. A quick jolt made him tense. He exhaled and blinked at the white lights on the ceiling. He felt a warm numbing as the symoxin did its work.

“So … Who were you wearing your favourite shirt for, then?” Thera smirked.

The pillow squeaked as Niner adjusted his head to meet her eyes. “I was on my way over here. Wanted to know if you would let me treat you to a drink. Unfortunately,” he looked down at his bare stomach. “I got stabbed.” 

“Okay, you can shut it now. And you, Fi. Stand down. We’ve all had a bad day, so let’s throttle back on the testosterone and play nicely.” [Niner said.]

-Star Wars, Republic Commando: Triple Zero, page 95

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Shit - ! The blaster clattered to the floor as she caught the sudden extra weight, grabbing with both arms to keep both him and herself on their feet - training and long experience moving cargo crates making that only slightly easier than it ought to be. “A knife - ? Oh Niner, you are absolutely not dying on me until you explain that one!” Especially twice.

The Nocturne’s medical bay was small, and on first glance needlessly crowded. A least until it clicked that the bed and supplies were close together so that someone in there alone had everything within reach. One last burst of strength got Niner onto the low bed, then she dived for a Bacta patch and scissors to cut his shirt away.

“Owe you a drink,” he muttered, exhaling through his teeth as he pulled himself onto the bed. Burning hot pain flared through his side and he bit his tongue, fighting the urge to yell.

He tried to lift his head and see what she was doing while she cut his shirt, but the movement sent excruciating pain up his side. He dropped his head. “That’s my favourite shirt,” he mumbled.

Niner strode over to the small Gurlanin and crouched down. He slid his helmet off, setting it down in front of him and grasping her shoulder.