RPlog:Common Thread

Fountain Square - Plaxton City: Caspar

The huge buildings in the background threaten to take over this small patch of green that is the center of Plaxton City. A stone fountain -still in place from another time- sits in the center of the square. It depicts a young woman looking into the sky. Water flares around her and bursts into a star pattern ten feet above her head. The inscription at the base of the fountain is written in the aging language of a more romantic time. 'Farewell, for all journeyers that leave this place shall always return to call it home.'

Lush trees now dominate the square, shading the area from the night sky above is cloudy with patches of clear spots allowing you to see the sky behind them. Deep rich reds, oranges and browns fill the branches, seemingly setting the trees afire with color. Patches of well maintained grass surround the base of the trees, allowing space for visitors to relax or picnic. The central, most famous area of Plaxton City, seems to become more and more park-like with the frequent additions and maintnence.

Early evening it is, cloudy and cool, but not so much of either that it keeps the locals and the visitors from enjoying the cool evening air. The square is well lit, people strolling around the walkways, enjoying the fountain, buying food and drink from the vendors that set up shop at their customary locations. Lynae is seated at a table in one of the open air cafe's, a mug clasped between her hands and a copy of the newest news sheet propped on the table before her.

Xar'on arrives in the square, walking slowly, head scanning from side to side in hopes of finding some familiar landmark. It's painfully obvious that he's a stranger here. He spots the fountain and heads toward it, but halfway there, he stops abruptly. He looks lost in thought for a moment, then reaches into his bag and extracts a datapad, which he assaults mercilessly with a stylus for a few moments. He replaces that and produces a different datapad, which gets similar mistreatment. Apparently satisfied, he heads to the fountain once more.

Tilting her mug upwards until the last of the drink is consumed, Lynae looks up once she does so and spots a new, but familiar, person in the light crowd that enjoys the cool cloudy evening air. "Doctor Tanner," she calls out, attempting to get his attention as he heads towards the fountain.

Xar'on halts and looks around, his deepset eyes squinting warily. Spotting the one familiar face, he relaxes...just a little...and makes his way to the cafe. "Evenin', Doc," he grumbles, as he nears her table. He eyes the mug in her hand suspiciously and grunts, "That better not be a stimulant."

Lynae glances down into the now empty mug then back up at Xar'on, coughs quietly and says, "Of course not," in such a reasonable believable tone of voice. "Care to join me?" she asks, gesturing to the empty chair with one open hand.

Xar'on looks at the surrounds for a moment, then shrugs, "Why not? Ain't doin' nothing productive while we're waitin' fer that damn tech." He moves to the seat and drops his bag under the table before seating himself with a slight wince. "Keepin' relaxed?" he asks, as he adjusts his seat.

Lynae makes the slightest of faces, "Attempting too," she replies with a slight shake of her head, a brief wry smile on her face. "I'm not really designed for keeping quiet and still. I tried to do as instructed, to seclude myself away, but six hours into it I was more stressed than ever before. I was going stir crazy, absolutely insane," she adds with a slight shrug before she squints slightly, "Why the wince?"

Xar'on nods, "Hunh...know what you mean. Need to find yerself a nice bit o' research to dig into." When a server arrives, Xar'on mutters "Chandrilan brandy," without looking up, and apparently oblivious to the inappropriateness of his order in this setting. He rubs his hip at her question and shrugs, "Just a bit slow on recovering from an injury. You know us old folks 'n our hips."

"Ooh no, not again," Lynae says softly, "no. I spent the first half of my career in one lab or another, I've done as much research as I want too for the moment. While I admit that the down time is driving me nuts, I don't really have something that I need to be doing. I have my shift at the hospital, and beyond that," she lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Aye, especially if it was a bad injury. Physicians, heal thyselves?" she asks, jokes, aloud.

Xar'on shrugs again, and says,"Nah...just got shot," absentmindedly. He looks around at the table for the Chandrilan brandy that will likely never appear, and continues, "Could always pick at somethin' new...different from yer line of work with the jack-booted drones."

Lynae's eyebrows climb upwards briefly, "Jack-booted drones," she repeats, head tilting slightly to the side. Instead of appearing offended by the descriptive phrase she seems to be considering the two-words for context and appropriateness, "That is a good description. Though we don't wear boots, I mean, not all of us. Or, rather, we do, but they're ankle high, not knee high. Even dress uniform didn't have knee high boots. Not that I'd have worn those anyway," she adds, still contemplating the mental image.

Xar'on shakes his head slightly. "Wouldn't know myself. I didn't wear one o' those uniforms fer long, and even then, it mainly started out as the old Republic uniforms with that newer gear-wheel-thing emblem. Got the drone part down, though."

Lynae tilts her head again, ever so slightly, her eyes narrows as she studies Xar'on from across the table. "Wait a moment," she says slowly, "Xar'on Tanner, the Doctor Tanner?" she demands quietly. "The man who's works are mostly banned in the Empire especially in medical circles. You're THE Doctor Tanner?"

Xar'on blinks for a moment in confusion. "Uh...yeah...I reck'n that's me. What...am I infamous 'r something? Don't know what the fuss is...as I recall, it was only a couple of things. Damn...and a long time ago at that."

Lynae sets her cup down with a hasty 'thunk' of sound and leans forward, "You're the Doctor Tanner. I've read as much of your work as I could get my hands on. Your work on comparative non-human physiology and comparative human and clone physiology was breakthrough. It was enlightening, you have no idea how hard it was to get a complete copy of it from - " she bites that last of her comment off and goes down a different trail, "I had no idea you were The Doctor Tanner."

Xar'on shrugs. "Hell, someone was bound to do it. The clones alone were fascinating...accelerated growth, altered genetics...PERFECT patients. That got me into lookin' into non-human physiologly. I mean, c'mon...the human body gets a bit mundane. It doesn't take long to know the plumbing and circuitry of a human. Hell, I almost did an entire paper on twi'lek lekku...wait..." his gravelly voice lowers in volume and register. "Why in hell would you have needed my research on non-human physiology?"

Lynae shakes her head slowly from side to side, "I was a specialist, Doctor Tanner. Your research helped improve our response time especially in triage and battlefield first aid stations. Not all the patients that passed through our tent flaps were entirely human. In war, we don't entirely object to have combatants who are not entirely pure human. And I need to remind myself that I am no longer an imperial medical officer," she adds, keeping her gaze level with Xar'on's.

Xar'on spits out a dry, crackling cough. "Right," he says, recovering, his steel gray eyes burning from a deep scowl. "And the /benevolent/ Empire never woulda thought to use my work fer genetically engineered viruses...species-specific bacterium...mind control 'n 'reconditioning'...species-specific 'pacification' devices..." his voice steadily raises until he falls into a coughing fit which lasts a few moments, ending with shuddering shoulders as he catches his breath.

A faint smile, nothing more than the barest curve of her lips upwards, forms on Lynae's face as she listens to Xar'on's reply, her gaze remaining steady. The smile never meets her eyes, blue and unwavering, holding herself silent and still while he coughs. The waiter arrives with his drink just in time, perhaps, and she signals for a refill of her mug as well. "In theory, your research would come in hand for those topics as well."

Xar'on snatches the drink up and drains it in a single gulp. "In theory," he rasps. "Right. Theory." He spits something foul onto the ground. "They banned my work...but you wanna know the pisser? They started hintin' at gettin' me to do detailed species work. Rodians. Twi'leks. Bith. Wookies. They wanted comparative physiology, yes, but specific info on bone densitities...neural frequencies...lung capacities...blood gas anomolies. 'In theory' my wrinkled ass!" he yells, slamming the glass down and shattering it in his hand.

Lynae glances up as the waitress approaches, somewhat warily it might be noted, and pours a refill into Lynae's mug before hastening away with a worried look sent over one shoulder. Lynae reaches for her mug, sipping from it before she arches one eyebrow at Xar'on, a mild expression on her face, "In theory means exactly that, Doctor. That it's speculation. "

Xar'on clears his throat and spits again. He glances at his hand, watching a crimson line running down his forearm from a deep gash in his palm. He mutters a particularly colorful obscenity as he bends over and reaches into his bag, producing a small field packet. Tearing it open, he unwinds a kolcta soaked bandage and harshly wraps his hand, wincing a bit as he tightens the makeshift dressing. "Speculation. Tell that to all them dead wookies. And bothans. And Dacians...'re whatever they're callin' themselves these days." He flexes the fingers on his wounded hand and grunts, "As you can imagine, I didn't last long in Papa Palpatines happy little Empire."

The mild expression remains on Lynae's face, determinedly so, in fact, that she doesn't bat an eye or twitch in the slightest at Xar'ons comments. She sips from the mug again, the cider well blended and sweetened, "You were once an Imperial Officer, Doctor Tanner. But you chose another path. I had another path chosen for me, in a way. And here I am. Here we are all. Would you refuse to do the surgery if I said I conducted some of this research, some of these tests?"

Xar'on eyes her silently for several moments with an unblinking glare. "I chose to be a healer, /Doctor/...a fact I remembered quite well, even before I resigned my commission with the Empire. If Palpatine dropped on the floor right now, chokin' on his scone, I'd fix him...make sure he was well. Spit in his face afterward, but I wouldn't refuse him treatment. That's the path I chose. Never let someone choose yer path for you, kid...you never know when they're gonna take you to a decadent pleasure resort, or Alderaan, about 15 years ago."

"I am no longer an Imperial officer, Doctor Tanner, nor will I ever be again. I signed over my life the minute I walked into a room on Corellia. And I can never go back, nor can I ever have it back. And, in honesty, I do not want it back. Yes," Lynae adds in a low mild voice, "I hate wandering around trying to decide what the heck to wear from civilian outfitters. I hate walking around unarmed. I hate the lack of organization and coherency, goals and standards and criteria and reason to be getting up in the morning. I hate it. But I will not turn my face to the wall. Not now."

Xar'on laughs out loud, the laugh as dry and crackling as his cough, but full of mirth. "Yer a DOCTOR, girl! You sustain life. You cure disease. Relieve pain. Help end suffering. THAT'S the reason you get up every mornin'...whether it's wipin' the snot from some brat's nose 'r tellin' someone their inoperable tumor is gone, every damn day of yer existence 'til the day you buy the farm yerself is devoted to trying...just trying...to make someone feel better. Hell, kid, you don't need no high'n mighty Emperor or some ass-kissin' Moff to order you to do that. Or some New Republic politician or Corporate Sector suit. You do it cuz it's in yer head...in yer blood...in there," he says, punctuating the last by poking her in the chest with a gnarled, scarred finger. "Yer not an Imperial officer anymore...yer a doctor...so BE a doctor. It's that simple kid."

"That's why I came here," Lynae says simply, her expression contemplative and solemn at the same time. "To try to recapture that which I've lost along the way. In the aftermath of battle. Or somewhere in a field hospital or in a lab, I stopped loving my work. And started being most methodical, most efficient, most clinical. I came here," she glances around the square, at the people moving around the fountain caught up in their own lives, "because I wanted to find that again."

Xar'on grunts sharply. "It's my experience that a doctor stops lovin' his...or her...work when they stop bein' doctors and become something else, wrapped in a candy-coated doctor shell. Someone makes you a hotshot bioweapons researcher...or administrator...and yer a doctor in name only. Then you long fer the days when you were settin' bones in the midst of artillery fire, 'r pulling that poor kid out of a tangled mess o' starfighter...or just tellin' someone to take two 'n call you in the mornin'." He shifts a bit in his seat, wincing at both his hand and hip. "We're both combat docs...and it's true, nothin'll be quite as...exhilirating...as doin' yer thing in the middle of a hairy furball, but ultimately, yer a healer. Doesn't matter what the settin' is, whether it's a starship 'r some quite little ball of mud. Just get back to healin' again. Whatever yer lookin' for will find you."

"Truer words have never been spoken," Lynae agrees with a slight smile and a slow nod in agreement. "The minute we start flying a desk, so to speak, is the minute we start to regret being anywhere but in the operating theatre. Yeah, I enjoyed my lab work. I love a challenge. It's what we learned when we became a doctor. Not in school - that isn't where you learn in any case - but when you lay your hands on people and presume to heal them. There are so many there beyond your reach. So many you can never touch so many whose essence you can't find so many who slip through your fingers. But you can't think about them. The only thing you can do - the Only thing - is to try for the one who's in front of you. Act as thought this one patient is the only person in the world - because to do otherwise is to lose that one too. One at a time that's all you can do. And you learn not to despair over all the ones you can't help but only do what you can."

Xar'on rises gingerly, pulling his bag up to the table. "One of the hardest lessons fer a new doc to learn: ya can't help everyone." He pulls out a datapad and stabs a couple of buttons before producing a datachip. "But when ya do get someone you can help, you do yer damndest to not screw it up." He tosses the chip to her casually. "Detailed plan o' the procedure, provided the tech clears the device. Couple o' contingencies in there fer possible undesirable circumstances. O.R. requirements 'n supply list, along with meds. Give it a look...make any changes you think necessary." He winces as he flexes his wounded hand. "Damn...think I left a piece o' glass in there," he mutters offhandedly.

Lynae catches the datachip with one hand, holding it between her fingertips before she says, "I'll review it. And were you planning to dig it out with your teeth or may I take a look at it?" she asks with one eyebrow arched upwards again.

Xar'on waves her off. "I'll just hack it out when I get to my room with better light." He wiggles his fingers a bit more. "Doesn't feel to big. I'd let it work itself out, but I don't want it buggin' me for the surgery." He points to the chip and grunts, "Take a good look at that...don't want no screw-ups with my patient."

"Sit," Lynae says simply, pointing to the chair again. "It'll drive me crazy knowing that you're walking around with a bit of glass in your palm. Just, humor me. Please."

Xar'on chuckles. "That's a good sign. I'll let it drive ya crazy...get used to that feelin' again. You stay relaxed now. And I want yer opinion on my patient soon...Doctor." With a parting wink, he grabs his bag and makes his way to the street.