She'd been slowly unhinging in the silence and solitude; she'd spent the first few days in what felt like a ship trying to think and plan and coming up empty. Even her exhaustive memory of songs couldn't stretch more than two days and that was including the banned and illegal verses of the Jedi, the Hutt, and the Sith so by the time K'raal had been picked up the hours had slid into meaningless and uncountable time and she'd started to mutter. The snatches of training to withstand torture accounted for being interrogated not the endless time before that happened; or more correctly it'd been covered, then left aside as if it was unlikely that whoever captured someone wouldn't want information. But the time was good, she repeated softly to herself, unaware that the dialogue was becoming vocal instead of only mental.
K'raal's arrival had been bad - but she'd needed it, because she'd started to talk aloud enough that she could recognize the craving for company. She'd liked being alone but there'd always been voices, people - there'd always been the Force if nothing else, and who could be alone with that around them? But she'd dug into the flesh of her wrists and tried to force the cuffs off from around her hands and even though she could feel the sticky, tacky blood on her fingers, the tear on her nails, the muted and dull pain from trying so hard to dig into skin to get them off and failed. And that had left her trapped in her own mind, alone, with nothing to stop the slowly building panic or the gnawing guilts for things she'd done which started to seem impossible to make amy kind of amend for. Or which were impossible to make amends for - the silence, the barest sounds of being held on the ship and a hum of the engines, was broken only when she made herself sing.
Fingernails picked at the cuffs again and she made a sound, feeling one finger in particular start to apply pressure before slipping so the side. That.. she could feel her mind flinch from that thought train but she could only sing so much and she figured that another rousing chorus of songs would end up with someone dead this time. At least right now. She was handling the loss of direct feedback from her fingers overall better than she figured she might be but she counted that as a growing desire to resist.
She tried to rap a finger against the cell walls, the sharp crack helping her place the world better. But then she nearly kicked herself as she stood, discreetly running a hand in her hair and finally turning on Zhee's present. And she let out a slow breath, the vague feeling of everything being suddenly too much was better than being utterly and completely blind. She still moved as slowly though now there was a faint visible - well not visible - echo. She rapped a finger sharp on the floor and some of the tension drained from her shoulders as she could finally see the room in a way that almost made sense.
When she got out - it had to be a when, Aran decided, because she could lock out and ease away the clawing desire to start hurting and raging as long as this was a moment of time that would come to an end - she owed Zhee again. "Wonder if kolto can cut this," she flexed her hands, one balling up and the other feeling... wrong. Shakily, slowly, as if still just as blind she felt her way around the cell and put her back to the cot, sliding down and staggering as she recalled - painfully - she had more than what felt like a broken hand to worry about. She mouthed the droid's name, feeling everything ease and pull as she futilely tried to feel the Force. That the methodical torture had been painful was obvious. She tried to move every finger and realized that kolto floating wasn't going to fix this. And without being able to reach the Force herself she couldn't manage the same trick she'd done while dealing with the other Sith - what was his name anyways? - that had made resisting his torture possible. Or dealing with it.
Effective? She tried to think about what had to have been hours and even though it hurt she still wrapped around around her torso, head moving as if looking around to reassure herself from the sudden need to know Hostility wasn't there. She didn't like droids already before, hating - disliking - that she couldn't see them. Hostility was... persistent. And the longer she'd spent so close the more it'd been hard to distract herself from the screaming, the pain. Nothing she could do to Hostility had worked, the droid too heavy to push away with her weakened grip on the Force. Whatever else she'd been thinking of doing was forgotten as her hands balled into fists, then fingers raked through hair with more pressure than was strictly necessary as she forgot the droid wasn't there, she wasn't strapped to the table again with it screaming or asking or demanding at her, muttering a litany under her breath.
Every footfall on the ground was starting to spook her she dimly realized. And trying to coach the other woman through checking on her wounds was impossible when she couldn't judge them. She started to speak then bit down on her tongue to stop, a half-cracked offer dying in her throat. She knew Proteus wanted something and she was inclined to not remind him if his current successes were making him forget. What had Alasha once said? "You tend to know more than you think, and information is always valuable." Breathe. In, and out. Order actions. She didn't try to settle into some form of meditative seating but remained where she was, looking huddled, trying to tense and relax muscles. You know how to treat the wounds. Catalogue, move as evenly as possible. Strain as little as possible, feel where it is still tender. Reserve mouthing off until it's vital to protect something. She would end up favoring her leg soon, one finger quickly feeling the burn through trousers on the thigh. Nothing felt like an infection, but the half-mad offer still wouldn't leave her mind alone no matter how much she tried to push it away. No no, no, won't make it, don't make it... lies got you this so far, lies and Hostility. Too many lies and they'll stop playing, and you just need to go long enough, far enough, that once they stop playing nothing can make sense..? She hissed softly, a strangled sound as she tried to push that idea away too.
K'raal had said there was a reason. Force willed it. Her head turned towards his cell. If there was a reason for this other than a mad Darth wanting his advantage she couldn't tell what it was. But now that she could see the cell she groaned softly, feeling it closing in with a shudder that started in her mind, maybe; she wanted to bang on the walls with a ferocity she didn't usually feel, head buried now before she tried to jump off the cot and give the walls a kick with her good leg. But that feeling wouldn't go away and she worried if it was worth seeing to see this room, or if she'd be better off shutting the implant off and embracing the endless and hedging darkness.
"The lady smiled 'n turned 'er head,
The kaath showed her his foot,
She bent o'r 'n down,
So then 'e showed her his root~"
At least the tune was catchy. Aran started to sing it again, knowing she was far from in-tune and hoarser than she liked when singing, but she could at least get back to being annoying. It would make this all much easier to deal with, she decided quickly.
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