Burn Victim's Barter

It's never a good sign, waking up to the distant sounds of medical beeps and hums. Having spent her share of time in detention blocks and medical pods, Ambassador Delgard is quite capable of recognizing the sounds that float through the fuzzy cloud of heavily-sedated, pseudo consciousness. The view is new, though.

Groggy eyelids twitch and flutter, fighting to clear the haze from her eyes. Not that it matters, as all there's to look at is the slick, cold steel of the slab she's laid across. The gauzy sheet draped over her back rustles softly as the woman stirs. Fingernails screeeee as she drags her limp palms a few inches over the surface. Can't go much further. Tethered. The pinch in her hand suggests an IV.

Nachkt stands near the data screens, the automed is doing it job. "I wouldn’t move too much, the skin needs to heal." he advises through the vocoder of his armor, does he ever take it off? The tall alien moves and sets a cup of nutrients and rehydration formula with a straw for her. "A few weeks you should be good as new, well the the new ones from tatooine, can’t do anything about the old ones." he intones in a serious manner. Moving to take a seat at a table nearby. "Dont not roll over, you better off laying on your belly." the ship is weathered from use and shows the trappings of a hunter, in the form of nets and the like. But no large cache of weapons or armor.

The cup goes untouched. Partly because her head feels too heavy to lift and - if memory serves her correctly - any movement in her shoulders, neck, or torso is /really/ going to suck. So Ambrosia doesn't even try. Not yet. Her breathe fogs across the slab's surface. It's cold to the touch...not sand.

Swallowing around the cottony feeling in her throat, she lifts one finger, one finger only. It's a fairly universal gesture, though a little less potent given that the rest of her hand remains passively palm-down on the table, beside her head.

Nachkt rises and moves by her to lift the cup and place the straw by her mouth. "Good, you have spirit." he minds her in the vocoder tone. "Here, sip it. casually. You have been out for a few days."

"Ewan Dain," rasps the hoarse ambassador. Is a question? A demand? Maybe she doesn't even know herself quite yet. One pupil remains more dilated than the other. Little loopy. Then there's a straw poking up her nose, when she finally does wobbly turn her head in that direction, anyway. Crossed eyes stare at the straw, contemplating. After a long moment or three of summoning the gumption to peel her face off the slab, she fumbles at the straw with her lips only. A sip. That's all. The fluid's absorbed into her tongue before she can even taste it. "Where."

Nachkt sets the cup aside. "Gone, apparently he didnt realize what was going on. I think he thought it was a rescue?" the vocoder stutter hisses. "He seems rather focused on you, to the detriment of his own awareness." the hunter leans against the wall near her. "I wouldnt be to hard on him, he did try to save you. But in his hurry to do so, he put himself at the disadvantage."

A low groan muffles into the table as Ambrosia smushes her face back in the other direction. "Then you accept full credit for slaughtering my men..." her voice squeaks at the end. Was this true? Awfully coincidental that the last time she and the producer spoke, it was to follow up with his desire to return to active NRI service. He gave her the concert tickets, to be share with her daughter. Touched her hand. She'd told him she was due to depart for Tatooine in a couple days and could be accessible by holoterm. Then he's here, with the hunter, presumably blasting the life out of her convoy. Awfully coincidental indeed. Felt like a set up.

Then again...he did come off as a happy, free-spirited sort. Sunshine and rainbows. Pretty smiles and ambitious dreams. Maybe he really was an idiot with his head in the clouds.

Nachkt stutter hisses again. "The ambush was my idea, though admittedly. You republic sorts tend to travel the outer sectors will targets painted on." he leans down and offers up the straw again. "When you travel afield within the realm of gangsters, a military convoy is a rather large beacon...clearly states. Someone of importance is here in the center of all thse guns." he isnt being rude, but there is a bit of chastisement in his voice. "You would have been far better off, landing a shuttle in the desert and wearing a desert robe over the finery, one two skilled men with you. Even better would have been travel with small escort on speeder bikes."

Ambrosia stares dully at the bulkhead against her left, away from the offerings of advice and beverage. "At least I know who to properly thank," she mumbles. Odds are, it won't be with flowers and gifts. "...As will Juuka." And Zeak. And his brood. How tragic, for the Delgard matriarch to not accompany them on their upcoming vacation. The children were looking very much forward to spending some quality time getting into trouble together. But that's neither here, nor there. The CSA mogul, while a useful acquaintance and informant to have, was not her reason for being on the dustbowl in the first place. It was the Hutt.

Nachkt sets the cup down. "The Empire...and yourself." his comment is curt and to the point. "You go galavanting off into the galaxy, waving your flag. Often heedless of the fact you are at war and have been at war for a long time." He resumes his seat. "You are aware that the Empire has standing bounties on everyone affiliated with the government and military and Jedi?" the armored helmet does not reflect the tone. "If you stick your hand into the fire place, do you blame the fire for burning you?" the visor lifts to the upper bulkhead. "And please, threats and name dropping mean nothing to me...Dain tried the same thing. Everyone tries it...Oh my you bought yourself trouble by doing so and so!" he waves a hand in the air. "I am a bounty hunter, someone is always gonna be unhappy with what I do. Its the nature of the craft, if the Republic was offering bounties for Imperial officers, guess what. They would be hunted to."

"Those who would hide their proverbial 'flag', good sir, are cowards and not worth their weight in credits," Delgard murmurs tiredly. "Much like those who hide their faces...How fortunate for you that you've found one among those unafraid to announce what it is she stands for." Her right wrist rolls, testing the elasticity of that IV line now that her vision is clear enough to see it properly. Numbed fingers creep over from a stiff, left hand and try to pick at the tape anchoring the catheter to her vein.

"I only mean to open your eyes to alternatives to this paycheck you seem to want, perhaps need, very much." It's no use. Fingernails are torn, useless. So she strains to reach with her mouth and takes hold of it with her teeth. *RIP*

Nachkt shakes his head. "A dead thing cannot change the galaxy, discreation has its place. particularly when you are faced with a foe that will use any means to win." an armored arm lays across the table. "You are an ambassador, do you not tailor your verbal tactics based upon those you are dealing with?" the move to remove the tube elicits no response from the Hunter. "Or do you just do what moves you?"

"I *am* an Ambassador. One of many public faces. We are not always paid to be discreet. Cloak and Dagger is more along the lines of the Intelligence ministry," she spits the needle out and lets the opened veil dribble as it will. Trickle, trickle, little vein...

"We prefer to cater to the people we're assigned to entreat, yes." Tensing her flattened forearms and quads against the table, Ambrosia attempts to arch her back just a tiny bit, break the seal between her belly and steel. Yup. Still exceptionally painful! She goes limp again.

"Which is precisely why Lord Juuka is - was, I suppose - looking forward to unfettered access through Republic shipping lanes and territories. Considering the woman who holds the key to this 'trade' and passage treaty is presently very far from her office and unable to finalize the bargain, I imagine he'll be most disappointed." Not that she sounds particularly sad for the slug. Then, on a completely unrelated topic, she cranes her head 'round to the furthest of its reach. "What have you done with the protocol unit, so unceremoniously pilfered from the smoldering remains of my transport?"

The hunter jerks a thumb in the direction of the ships locker. "In one peice and it was not pilfered, it was part of a clean up. recording tech ect ect that shouldnt be left behind." his tone is curt and he gestures to her again. "Another fine example of your narrrow mind, no idea of internal injuries and rather then find out how bad it is. You just go ripping Dains work out of your arm and just plow ahead heedless of the fact that death may result." his armored shoulders rise and fall. "Was it not short sightedness and thoughtless action driven by passion that brought the Republic to where it is today?"

"And where precisely is that?" Answers an equally curt tone from the ambassador, albeit tainted with a bit of a smirk. "Death will result regardless of how I make myself comfortable here, on board this ship. It awaits me at the destination. Not that it would be the first time my heart ceased to beat while under Imperial custody, but I suspect it would be the last. They don't oft make the same mistake three times. Twice, yes. Most certainly." Like throwing her out onboard a dump ship the first time, rather than executing the girl in proper, precise fashion. That was mistake number one. Mistake number two was sparing her and her eldest daughter on board the Nemesis, thinking for a moment she'd be compliant when opportunity for escape arose. "But not three."

Next, she threads her in-tact fingers through her scalp, finding and clumsily plucking the sensors. The machine whines in response - patient has ceased neural activity, oh nooo..."So, considering that you may very well be the last intelligent conversationalist I'll have in what time's left of this flight, may I at least know your name?"

Nachkt lifts his hands and removes the helmet revealing his Trandoshan appearance. "Nachkt'lyysk, of clan Voth." he offers in return. "you mentioned alternate means of credits...or do you just give up like that?" his red orange eyes stare at the woman and a tongue flicks out to scent the air. "Dain was willing to die for you...odd that he should have more resolve then you." then he stutter hisses. "Oh they have caught Joh a few times and stil she breaths, but then again she is a Jedi. I dont have a grudge against the Republic, nor do I have a particular ideological support of the Empire."

"And yet your wasted time these past ten minutes lecturing me in regards to the ideology and tactics of the poor little Republic would suggest otherwise. Perhaps they've given you a script? Because I confess it does sound awfully familiar." The 'Viper' as Thel had named her during a long ago series of propaganda against the Republic does have more venom left within her than her talk of death would otherwise suggest, it seems. "Nevertheless, Nachkt'lyysk of clan Voth, I did mention alternative means. Care to share the price you've been promised for my head?"

Nachkt tilts his head to the side again, his tongue flicks out. "My mentor fought the NSO, met Darth Malign's creations toe to toe. He had no love of either side. But often pointed out that the Republic would never win because they would never truly fight." he suddenly waves the matter off in afterthought. "High office officials 35k, I can show you an Imperial listing so you can see I am not inflating the price, as I recall I got 50k for Joh...so it sounds reasonable scaling to me."

"Your mentor did not know the Republic..." Ambrosia murmurs, waiting while Nachkt comes up with the numbers. She nods, narrowing her eyes. "I've seen the listings. Now I know you have, as well." Inhaling as deeply as she dare - not much - she closes her eyes. "I'll figure a suitable sum."

And that seems to be all she's offering, for now, lapsing into silence. Maybe sleep.

______Some time Later_______

No telling how long she'd been out. Regrowing skin is exhausting work, apparently. The ambassador's been awake for a little while though, probably wishing she'd left the steady trickle of pain killers in her vein. She was just so desperate to be out. Free. Untethered. Bad memories, laying on slabs.

In her alone time, the 'canary' has found a way to distract herself a little from the overwhelming ouch factor. Doing what she once did best - use her voice.

A haunting tune drifts through the largely hollow space. "...Knoow my heaaart. Knooow my liiife. Foooorget everythiiing..."

Nachkt decends from the bridge, a bowl of meat in hand. Raw by its color, the Hunter dropped off some more humane foods for the woman for when she awoke. He doesnt seem to note the singing or perhaps just doesnt really care. He is still clad in his armor and it is quite evident that the vessel is still in space.

"Now riiise up, rise uuup. Eeever victorious..." Ambrosia's managed to free up some expansion space for her ribs, her lungs, by pushing herself up on her elbows. It's not comfortable, by any means, but she's tired of staring at the scuffed and faded reflection of herself in the table's surface. So maybe this song's a little pep talk to herself. Rise up. It's a new day. A new chance.

The moist smell of bacta still permeates the air, originating from herself, but it's no longer as nauseating for her. Very tenderly, she tests the flexibility of what's under all those patches by slowly bending an arm to gather up the sheet and draw it up tighter to self, tucking it under what she can of her chest, her belly. She watches Nachkt's approach with that bowl from over her shoulder and her voice quiets to a low murmur. The song continues for a few more lines, then stops all together.

She's almost rolled onto her right side.

Nachkt casts a glance at her and his shoulders rise and fall. "Sing if it comforts you...I have no feelings about noise. One way of the other." he assures her and takes up his customary position in the flight chair next to a work table. "I would advise the protein in that bowl, will help with the healing process. Information only, not suggesting you wouldnt know that." another bit of meat is tossed into his mouth and devoured. "Your durable for a soft skin...as Sithspite would phrase it."

"I'm no delicate flower," Ambrosia mumbles in agreement as she stares at the contents of said 'protein' bowl. She's just named after one, is all. Deciding that if this Trandoshan had meant to kill her then he'd have done so already and not wasted the time and resources of keeping her alive, the ambassador cautiously plucks a piece out and nibbles at it. Tastes all right. A little juice. Little iron. Probably something she can use, right now. "Where are we? Your ship, I mean. What system?" *nibble*

Nachkt takes another bit of meat and chews it before answer. "Distant edge of the star system, running silent." the response is casual and he doesnt name the system. Then turns his attention back to his own food, a claw flickers up. "The more resources you give your body, the faster it will heal." the advisment is delivered with a matter of fact manner. If she listens or doesnt, seems of little import to the Trandoshan.

"And the faster you may deliver a whole prize to the Empire, rather than take a loss on your reward." Ambrosia chews the meat anyway, her stomach pains getting the better of her stubbornness. Swallowing it down with a little bit of effort in this horizontal plane, she coughs lightly into her shoulder. Once there was a long, luscious veil of hair there to cover it. Now she can only see bluntly shorn ends. "Or, you may accept a full price and be free of this 'soft skin' faster by delivering her home. Broken, or otherwise."

Nachkt plucks a bit more meat. "You are no prize." he counters and chews a bit more. "Republic, Empire...differant flags. Same end results." he sets the bowl aside and looks up. "You mentioned thinking of a counter amount. You also mentioned concern that if delivered to the Empire, they would kill you in all probability." he nods to her. "As I have no ill will to you a counter offer that would see you avoid death, seems acceptable."

"We're going to need a banking terminal," Ambrosia informs with her mouth half full. * Chew*Chew* "If you want the credits in-hand." Which of course neccesitates a trip to either planet or station...

She swallows. "The running price on my head, as you've stated, is 35,000 Galactic Standard Credits. A decent sum. A better one would be 50,000."

Nachkt nods and considers the amount for a long moment. "That seems fair." the alien remarks and takes up the bowl and snacks on another bit of meat. "To your benefit we are close enough to a world that will work for those purposes, it is a shame though." his tongue flicks out to taste the air. "I will accept your offer despite the hardship it will make for me." another bite taken.

Ambrosia's belly remains sour. Relief would be a premature feeling, as of yet. She pauses in her 'meal', letting things settle. Little bits at a time. Little bits. Presumably there's only one fresher on this ship, and it'd not do to blow it up.

"Then we have an accord. You will be receiving a bigger profit and leaving the transaction with the knowing that it was a morally sound decision. Better than the alternative of orphaning a little girl and laying to waste the many months' hard work of protecting a vanishing people, all for mediocre pay of 35." Okay, one more bite of the meat.

Nachkt glances up ad stutter hisses. "Morally sound?" he shakes his head. "I am buying more trouble then profit, I assure you." he sets the bowl aside. "Very well...we can do business and then you can tell me where you would prefer to end your round about trip." he nods to a locker nearby. "There is a jump suit within, when your ready. I would advise against it. But you seem more concerned with resisting then doing what is good for you." he rises and heads up the accessway to the bridge.

As Nachkt forewarned, the jumpsuit does seem a bad choice, presently. After he's ascended to the bridge, Ambrosia attempts to sit all the way up. The stretching and twisting of bacta-infused mesh over the still-raw center of the afflicted areas sets her nerves on fire. A cry gets silenced before it can fully blurt as she clenches her teeth together. Hard.

She'd endured a few child births, one and the half of which were without medication. But that was a long time ago, and almost forgotten to be a comparison to the here and now. So she'll sit. This is a good step. Also, it enables her to swaddle herself more properly in the sheet.

Nachkt decends the access and looks over at her seeing her still wrapped in the sheet and the suit nearby. "You may view me in a bad light Ambassador, but I do not lie. There is no point in it and in fact. The truth can more often then not, be amusing and entertaining." we are in decent, I am sure you can arrange the sheet as a toga sort of deal so you can look dressed when we land." he moves to take up his helmet. "When we arrive, stay close. Dont wander off and for your own safety, dont try to run. Trandosha is a rough world and Imperial elements have been seen here often."

Ah. The epicenter of the source of all her problems...and the Wookiees'. Ambrosia's brow twitches in thought, but she doesn't make eye contact. Stares ahead at the jumpsuit. "Word tells it Trandosha is more rough than usual, of late. Clan uprisings, slaughter...the Bloodclaws have tipped the scales and are amassing power at an alarming rate. Quite the troublemakers. On world...and elsewhere."

Perhaps the ambassador's not as 'narrow-minded' with her head in the sand as the hunter assumed. But making a dress from this? Not happening. Requires far more mobility and flexibility. She opts for the jumpsuit and scoots her butt forward until her feet touch the floor. Her legs are unsteady, at best, and she leans an elbow on the table for support while shuffling gimpily along to claim the suit.

Nachkt moves with long strides and takes up the suit, quick movements open it and he holds it for her. "Relax, I have seen more naked flesh in various states." he assures her. "Use your arms to steady and just step in, I will see that it brushes your patches as little as possible." he minds her in a tone that remarks efficany over modesty. "Besides, what modesty you may have had, vanished when you were bandaged." On remark of the blood claws. "I try to not mix with current affairs of my homeworld, yes it is as you say. But my world is the galaxy, its not like anyone is going to do anything for Dosha."

"It would be a fine thing, to see the Bloodclaw's leader meet his maker. Such a feat will of course require local support, from the other clans." But that's not a hurdle to overcome at this moment in time. Right now, Ambrosia needs to get dressed without falling over. Doing as suggested, she keeps herself balanced with the table and shakily backs into the legs, picking up her own one at a time. Her lower lip bleeds, clenched between teeth and breath hisses painfully through her nose. Once that's achieved, she pulls the sheet away, wadding it up and letting it fall to the floor.

Modesty isn't her concern. She lost that years upon years ago. Not to mention the media frenzy that ravaged what skeletons in the closet she had left, last year. Sheesh. Okay. Now comes the tricky part. The arms.

Nachkt moves the suit around to assist her and indeed does as he promised and eases the fabric over the patches with great care. "I dont know the details, Sithspite was the warlord sort not I." his tone is amused at that. "The...civilized...worlds of the galaxy would not respect our cultural traditions, as such we are always looked upon as outsiders and abominations. Because our values are those of a hunter."

"We can respect it plenty...for the unique culture that it is. Respect does not obligate agreement or assimilation, of course." Ambrosia holds her arms out, eyes closed while Nachkt finishes the process. At least she doesn't have to worry about her hair being caught in the zipper.

Nachkt stutter hisses. "And if someone were to see merit in the Republic over the threat of the Empire, how would you reconcile a culture based on hunting?" his tongue flickers out and it is a half serious half amused question. "Sithspite often spoke or arrangments with the Republic but at the time closed minds ruled, you an ambassador...let take the fundamental conflict of the matter. It has always been a rite of passage for a Doshan to hunt a wookie. This has been the way since as long as any of these worlds have known." he minds her hands away from the zipper and pulls the front of the suit away from her skin and zips it up slowly. "The Republic screams about it often, yet has it never wondered why Kashyyyk and Dosha have never waged war over the matter?"

"Well, Kashyyyk seems eager for it to end, now. Perhaps the occasional disappearance of their kin was not enough to risk an entire army for. Now, things have escalated well beyond that threshold. Or so I perceived, as an outsider, during my time spent there." Opening her eyes, Ambrosia stares into the helmeted face when he finishes securing her modesty inside the suit. There's a great deal of resentment there, in those bloodshot orbs, but she isn't of a mind to make a break for it. A deal's a deal.

"Let's get this over with then." Because it's going to take her a horrendously long time to walk there. If she makes it.

Nachkt flicks his tongue. "Yes, I am aware of the abductions, sometimes I hunt information as well as bounties if the pay is good enough." he gestures to the hatchway. "It is painfully obvious, but my client wants proof."

Ambrosia narrows her eyes, pausing in the hatchway. "Proof?" Proof of what? What's on the otherside of the hatch? She takes one tiny shuffling step forward.

The armored helmet tilts and he stutter hisses, keying open the hatch the Trandoshan port is revealed and the warm air of the world blasts into the chamber. "Watch your step please, and remember. Here unattended you could become a trophy or someones meal." his now vocoder tinge voice warns in all seriousness.

A shaky sigh puffs some hair away from Ambrosia's face as the blast door reveals they are in fact on planet. "I've no doubt of that," she murmurs softly and begins to inch her way down the ramp, hunchbacked and hobbling. She certainly doesn't appear to be a healthy snack.

The large Doshan follows the woman close, his blaster rifle cradle in his arms with care. One might think that the huge alien was indeed being protective. "Once we are done, we need to go. Eyes are here and I dont trust my homeworld anymore." he warns in a lowered tone.

"Indeed." Ambrosia's short on words at the moment. Eventually, she makes it down the ramp. She's shivering, but it isn't from fear and it ain't cold. Just focus on the task...focus on the task. Just get to the terminal. After what feels like an entire afternoon gone by, the ambassador's limped the distance to a currency station. It has a small banking termial attached, allowing the users to not only withdraw the needed funds but do so in a variety of ways. She leans on it like a lifeline, using just one finger to punch in her account number beneath the cover of her belly.

The armored helmet turns and shifts watching the region around them. "Decide what world aside from Ord Mantell that you wish to go to." his voice remains low. "I do not think you wish to return to Tatooine."

No...no she doesn't. "Kashyyyk is just a hop away," Ambrosia says with a short, bitter laugh. "If you can avoid detection by our added patrol ships." * Beep* The machine accepts her entry and proceeds to churn out some appropriately denominated credit chits. It prints 5 and she subsequently turns around to offer them. "10,000 a piece," she whimpers. Something on her foot is starting to peel and holy hell, it hurts.

Nachkt nods and turns to give her leeway to return to the ship. "Shall we, someone will take notice." he follows her lead, resisting the temption of carrying her for urgency sake.

He probably could toss her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes without so much as a squeak of protest from the Ambassador at this moment. On the otherhand, she does appear to be a legitimate prisoner/property piece right now. Dingy jumpsuit many too sizes big, bare feet, moving like the living dead...just might work out. But, just in case, she tries to shuffle along a little faster. Just gotta get inside. They she can faint dead away. Almost there...almost there.

Once aboard the Doshan gestures to the rack and also the kit with pain meds in it. "It will take a few hours, get some rest." he suggests. "I promise I will wake you when we arrive." he assures her. "They are potent but I think the sleep will do you good."

Probably would. But the ambassador isn't convinced she's out of the woods yet and opts out of plunking herself into a comatose state. Maybe just one wouldn't hurt, though. Looking nervously between the hunter and the kit, she nods and leans on the rack. It's too much of a reach. Not happening. Instead, she crawls back onto her belly and just lays there quietly.

Nachkt hands the meds to her and lets her sleep while he tends to the piloting of the vessel. "Rest, burns take alot out of a body, I wont apologize for the event." he pauses as he moves up the access. "But, the nature of your past prevented me from following through. I have been retained as a hunter to find proof and where the wookies have been taken." he finally reveals the matter at hand. "But the risk of your death, prevents me from using you as an in to the Empire."

Well. Imagine that. "Who hired you?" Ambrosia squints up from her face-plant on the unyielding 'bed'. "To track the Wookiees." Suspicion gnaws at her suddenly. Things are almost making sense.

Nachkt sets his armored helmet aside. "Professionally I can’t tell you that." there is no apology in his voice. "But, sometimes an uncivil hand is needed to track uncivilized doings." the stairs clank as he heads upward. "And nobody would suspect a trandoshan of trying to find wookies, even a bounty hunter one." the voice carries back down as he sets course.

Ambrosia frowns. Some kernel of truth there, to what he said. Letting her eyelids droop, she tries to will the rigidity to melt away from her muscles, her spine. Become floppy and chill..but that's a tall order and she isn't sure she will find sleep during this quick jump. After a time though, the pain control does take the edge off, fading it to a dull, annoying throb. It's manageable.