Blameless Mingle

[shishkebub]

Who: Those who are without blame
Broadcast: Nope
Action: On the Blameless
When: Whenever we feel like it! Gawd!

[A brand new crew has been assigned to a brand new ship. Can they find it within themselves to get along? Find out next time! Or you know, in this actual log.]

Comments

[pyroelectric]

[Her pride is already severely wounded-- hell if that doesn't just make it worse. Ugh. She should've just burned the wound and been done with it before anyone came along. Through gritted teeth:]

Don't tell me what to do.

[t65]

[Luke pulls something labeled 'disinfectant paste' out of the cabinet. Hope that's written in Aurebesh!] Azula, you're hurt. You shouldn't be exerting yourself.

[pyroelectric]

... I am perfectly capable of handling myself. Give me that.

[t65]

[Luke gives out one of his rarely-seen long suffering sighs (he learned it from watching you, Ben). He holds out his hand and makes a gentle motion with it in front of Azula's face, while staring directly into her eyes.]

You want to sit down.

[pyroelectric]

How much more time are we going to waste doing this? Give me the bottle and go back to-- whatever it was you were doing. I don't really care.

[t65]

You must have a very strong will, Azula; you should be proud. [Given what he's about to do, that should sound either condescending or ironic, yet somehow he manages to keep his tone mostly genuine. He then twitches his still-outstretched hand, and Azula may feel herself begin to drift, as though pushed by unseen hands, toward the nearest chair.]

[pyroelectric]

[Azula's eyes widen as she does, indeed, start drifting to the nearest chair without moving a muscle.]

What-- stop that immediately!

[t65]

[Luke uses the Force to gently-- but firmly-- deposit Azula in the nearest chair. I'm his possibly most optimistic move yet, he doesn't use it to keep her there. Now holding an assortment of medical supplies, he walks over to her.] Here. How bad is the injury?

[pyroelectric]

[Azula's stubborn as all get out, but at least she isn't entirely stupid. Once she's deposited in the chair, she recognizes that she's lost. So she stays put. Not without some sulking, of course.]

... It was a disarming shot, not a killing one. [Somehow, that's even more galling.] No vital organs. Small puncture wound, clean through. If you don't hurry up though, blood loss will be a concern.

'im his possibly' why do i phonetag.

[t65]

[Luke is just pleased to see her sitting still.] All the better reason not to overexert yourself. Here. [He hands her a thin cloth lightly covered with disinfectant paste.] Apply pressure and I'll wrap. [Someone's clearly been around the wounded before. He's holding bandage and gauze at the ready.]

Do you want to tell me how this happened?

i didn't even notice. i'm fluent in typo.

[pyroelectric]

[Azula does as instructed. She's not foolish enough to argue at this point. Even if she is going to pout the whole time.]

It was a simple philosophical disagreement. It's none of your concern.

[t65]

[Luke, a champion pouter, appreciates her dedication to the art form.]

A philosophical disagreement ended in a stabbing? [He doesn't know whether he should laugh. Probably shouldn't. He feels like Azula would misinterpret it.] Does that happen to you a lot?

[pyroelectric]

Don't be ridiculous. Of course it doesn't.

[Usually it ends in the other person dead or surrendering.]

[t65]

If you ever want to talk about it, [he doesn't think she will,] you can talk to me.

[In the last few years, Luke has learned the importance of making offers that will likely be rebuffed, but doing so with genuine hope that they will not. Faith and hope cannot be forced, only offered; he thinks that may have something to do with the passivity of the Force untouched by darkness.]

[Or maybe he's just an idealistic fool. It depends on who you ask.]

[He finishes wrapping Azula's wound.]

I was scorch marks, too-- did you get burnt?

[pyroelectric]

[Luke can't possibly know how insulting that question is to Azula.]

Do I look burned to you?

[t65]

[Luke resists the temptation to say 'you look stabbed'.]

You look like you were just in a violent fight, and I'm worried about you.

[pyroelectric]

... You needn't concern yourself. A small scratch like this will hardly stop me from adequately performing my duties as security officer on board this ship.

[t65]

[Luke isn't quite sure how to respond to that.]

I said I was worried about you. Not your job. But... [He wonders if he should reach out and try to read her feelings through the Force. What if she's afraid after the confrontation? No, she has a right to her privacy.] Whatever happened, happened in this ship; I saw the damage. Are you sure everything is alright?

[After he's said it, it still feels like the wrong thing to say.]

[pyroelectric]

[Well that's strange and unsettling, but then she figures, perhaps he's just trying to cozy up to her in case he loses his position as captain. Yes, that makes more sense.]

... Everything is fine. You are worrying over nothing. Most of that damage was caused by me. I told you, I can handle myself.

[t65]

If you're sure. [He can't push much farther without insulting them both.] Get some rest, alright? It'll speed the healing process. [A beat. He smiles.] But you know that already, don't you?

[pyroelectric]

Of course. I'm not stupid.

... While you're still captain, though, you should have the maintenance boy clean up the mess in the corridors.

[There. That'll teach Logan, she thinks.]

[t65]

[He thinks he's starting to get the hang of this. (He isn't.) He pretends to consider it.] Do you really think it's so bad that the droids can't manage it?

[pyroelectric]

No. But it will teach him a lesson in respect.

[t65]

Was that your disagreement? [Luke smiles, just a little.] Philosophically speaking.

[pyroelectric]

... He was insufferably rude. I won't have it.