#shared oc's

Prompt 13: “You’re all I have left!”

Taken from this list of prompts

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A streetlight splutters a shower of sparks that hit the pavement and vanish when they strike cold concrete or the hood of a beat-up cop car parked underneath it.  The short-lived display of light jolts the driver awake, prompting a soft moan as her body screams in protest at the sudden movement. 

Her hair is a straggled mess, falling out of the pins which usually kept it in place. A bruise blooms just above her upper lip; a nice addition to the old scar that dragged down her forehead, across her left eye, curving around her mouth to her chin.  The rest of her isn’t faring much better, if the pain in her side and her throbbing right wrist were any indication.

She moans again, curling into the seat’s worn leather.  A hazy blue glow from the car’s built-in computer washes over her, making her eyes sting and sleep impossible.

Not that she’s meant to be sleeping, probably.

She pushes herself up, running a hand absently through her hair (her left hand, as her right wrist is almost too painful to move).  There isn’t much in here to work with...she had used up the few first aid supplies this car supplied in past assignments.

No. 

It’s just her, a busted streetlight, a blue screen, and a worn beanie that rests over the headrest of the passenger seat. 

“..I’m not going anywhere,” she mumbles at last, eyes flickering to the beanie. 

It doesn’t respond, of course, being a beanie. But she can almost picture its wearer...former...wearer, seated beside her, that little frown on his face as he shakes his head slowly.

“But you’re not well, Oriali. You should get looked at.”

Oriali drags a hand over her eyes, looking out the window at the night.

“I’ve been worse,” she mutters with a dismissive wave.

The beanie doesn’t deign to comment.

 “And you’ll keep getting worse. Those injuries look serious.”

Another burst of sparks.  Oriali’s eyes gleam for a moment with the reflected light.  She sighs, the breath dragging through weighted lungs as she attempts to sit up.

“And even if they are?”

If she weren’t so tired, those words may have chilled herself.  As it stood, she’s alone, it’s dark, everything hurts, and the passenger seat beside her is empty. 

“Don’t speak that way about yourself, Oriali!  There is so much..so much to do, so much more for you to give-”

“NO!” she erupts, twisting to glare at the beanie, knowing that it would hurt and not caring, “There’s nothing! You’re all I have left!”

Except, of course, in the silence that rings after her shout, she realizes she’s yelling at a hat. A piece of fabric.

“...All I had..” 

Oriali groans and smacks her head against the back of her own seat.  Having an emotional heart-to-heart with a beanie probably meant that she was dying.  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make a stop...there was a local hospital only a couple blocks away.  She’d seen it while giving those two ruffians a..friendly chat in a back alley just up the road.

She grabs the keys, stuffing them into the ignition port and flicking on the cop lights.  A speedy, traffic-free ride sounds nice.  The beanie is tucked into the glove compartment so she isn’t tempted to talk to it again, and she curls her left hand around the wheel.

A quick stop.  She’ll go the hospital, get checked up, and then go on her way.

She has no reason to stay. 

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Fandom: Star Wars Warnings: Mentions of blood and injury Disclaimers: I in no way own any part of Star Wars. Of the OC’s featured in this short work, Lady Oriali belongs to me. Lord Caligo belongs to @supesofherown