The days had blurred together under torture but floating in kolto for saber wounds she didn't remember getting, Aran had to guess that something had happened. She could feel the burn in her side from a slashed saber across her torso, a stab in her back, a shot in her shoulder and a saber to the side - wounds she had no memory of taking. The kolto she could feel helping the wounds she did remember taking - she gave a slight kick in kolto, grateful for the breathing mask as she hissed a twinge of pain at her legs which felt... sore.
Which was a damned sight better than what she feared.
She could taste hatred as her thoughts turned, the bitter bedfellow as her thoughts went towards pain and agony. She was certain she hadn't felt hatred and anger this sharp in years, more than a decade, knowing there was someone she wanted to lose control and hurt. She knew emotions this strong, this cuttingly sharp, this bitter were dangerous and she reveled in feeling it for a moment before she tried to temper it. She could get back at Drakkan later.
Drakkan had been saying something before she lost any recollection, her fellow prisoners cuffed beside her and her attention on Karv and Proteus, watching him do something. Then everything was blank until she woke up floating, consciousness granted in the middle of a kolto bath she didn't recall needing.
With wounds she knew she didn't have before the blackness.
It didn't bode well for the time she was beyond recalling.
She floated and a few bubbles of air as she sighed and moved. For the first time in years she wasn't panicking at the tank, trying to leave. She finally accepted that it was needed. She just didn't know why.
To keep her concentration occupied, before she worked herself up in the tank, she thought about the half-finished pistol she'd been working on. She had to give it to Jallira soon. Before anything happened to her friend. Then she needed to find her other sister, Xynea. She needed to find her and make sure she was safe.
And - she tasted the burning emotion again before pushing it aside. She was master of her emotions, not the other way around. She could calm them. Maybe she needed help though. And time. And help to target the people who threatened her friends and chosen family.
She made a fist in the kolto, fingers tense and knuckles whitened. She needed to find out how everyone was, and heal if she could. She was finally able to brush the Force fully, revelling in the feelings she could see and sense and the Force of the world around her again. But even her connection felt different and as she floated in the tank she wondered what had happened. After a moment she hit the emergency release button and took herself out of the tank, gingerly putting weight on her legs until she realized the phantom shooting pains were momentarily gone.
Pain had been a part of her being since the night she and Drakkan had fought. It felt like a gaping wound to not be in some form of agony and she pulled the breather off her head, tossing it aside as she took a few seedy steps then sat down. She could feel the heat permeating the air as she walked a handful of paces, rummaged in the side bins and pulled out a pair of trousers and robes, putting both on before she took a seat, slowly.
She had to piece together the days and nights since she'd lost her fight with Drakkan, pick out hazed memories from the pain - Sriin had been there, she knew it - and piece everything together. She'd been rescued. It smelt like sand and heat - the walls half-familiar at their Tat digs.
Pushing the hood back she leaned into the rather comfy chair and watched everyone move, counting fellow wounded in tanks and sitting, simply sitting. Xan had been silent in her actions, the Miralukan lifting her head to regard the human as she settled uneasily into the chair.
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