Lexiconus hurried across the alley and towards the cantina door, his robe and hood protecting him from the worst of the heavy rain, but not the wind. His brown cloak whipped and flowed chaotically, as the Quarren commanded the door to open with his hand. Hissing and retreating into its den, the door disappeared and Lexiconus stumbled inside, bringing the ice cold rain with him. The thick smoke of tobacco and other intoxicating scents burst outside, along with the hot air and music. It was a soft and slow trance beat, aimed to soothe and relax the patrons, and it worked wonders on Lexiconus.
He walked through the cantina, his soggy and damp robe dripping all kinds, and nodded to the bar-lass. She was a cheery Falleen, her forest green complexion lit up when she smiled and winked at the Quarren. Her worker’s hands polished the table, her off-hand picking up empty glasses along the way. Lexiconus felt a sense of joy and love from her, it was an easy sensation to let in. They both approached the bar from opposite ends and she was the first to speak.
“Hi there, welcome to Sith-face Joe’s! What’s your poison?” Her accent was bubbly and cheery, a sign of her young age. This was probably her first job. With a heavy sigh, the Quarren flicked his hand at the rum selection, he wasn’t concerned about the brand. He didn’t care. With a flick of her dark hair, the Falleen twisted on her high heels and brought a full bottle with a glass to the front bar. Lexiconus licked his dry lips and decided to lower the temperature of his drink beforehand, summoning the bucket to slide across and meet his open hand. Two rocks should do it, with a clink they bounced and settled into the short glass. He picked up the bottle and glass then turned to leave, but the bar-lass coughed to bring his attention back to her. With her hands on the nearby till, it seemed to Lexiconus that she wanted payment before taking the products. It was going to be a long night for the Quarren, who simply sighed with contempt.
“Just open a tab for me.” He said with the minimum effort he could.At first, the Falleen didn’t quite catch it, but all she needed to hear was tab and the instructions from Joe was what she followed.
“Alright sir, what should I name it under?” A name usually meant people would see who was drinking tonight, who was in a vulnerable state or spending their credits. It is something the Quarren didn’t want to deal with tonight, a false name will do.
“Just put it under Doctor.” Then left to a corner booth, nestled in the darkness and broken lights. Shuffling himself onto the immovable bench and right into the corner, Lexiconus poured the glass to the near-rim. The rocks of ice slowly bobbed and twirled without interruption, a peaceful scene for the Quarren to focus on for a moment. Balancing his elbow on the table, he slowly started to spin his finger clockwise, which slowly controlled the ice to also spin clockwise. With a heavy and exhausting sigh, Lexiconus declared this day over.
Oh, what have I done?
The Quarren tilted his head forward and pushed the damp hood off, and inhaled the smoky scents from around him. His scanning stopped at the sight of Alara Deathbane, a half-Sephi on the Tacitus Athanasius assassin squad, and an infamous member for her techniques. A lot of corpses the emergency services brought to the morgue were from her and her company, but that wasn’t the reason he was winding down tonight. Any Force Sensitive could feel the emotions of anger, fear and depression falling from him. As if he broke a promise, as if he failed in a duty. Just exactly as if he didn’t do his job.
No, stop. Get out of my head. Get. Out, please stop.
His free hand smacking against his forehead as his eyes were clenched tightly. His face shriveled up, he didn’t want this memory to stay. Vivid flashes of red on white, the sounds of screaming, wailing and intense chatter echoed through his mind. The droning sound of metal ringing, shaking its limbs and frame. It came to him as clear as it were in front of him. On this very table. A screaming woman, wrapped in a bloodied night gown. It used to innocent and white, but now stained with her own blood and clawed by her nails. His own overalls drenched with the same colour, a reminder of his choice of life. His mind continued with the story, his hands working sorcery, stitching and patching her open wounds. But his mind censored something else. There was a portion of this whole ordeal, a key factor in the procedure seemed to be missing from his memory, the essential catalyst on why he and his colleagues were covered in so much blood. Then he remembered the smell. The foul, rotten, and rich smell.
There was a babe. I had to save the babe.
His free hand wiped down his face, the Quarren still felt the trickling of blood down his cheeks and forehead. But it wasn’t blood. Only his sweat and tears, reminding him of the harsh realities his job lay on him. They poured from his sapphire eyes, as he continued to scan the intense and disturbing images his mind fed. Alara looked over at the Quarren and furrowed her neat brow, the dark side poured from him in this vulnerable moment. She felt fear, regret, failure, worry and dismay. And yet he appeared calm and reserved.
An infant, that’s all he had saved, a small, crying, pale infant Human. Fresh from the womb. It was already birthed from the mother through cesarean, but the worry was far from over. His gaze was forced to turn inside the memory and towards an adjacent bed, and the familiar rickety sound of the metallic frame rang again.
He’s having a seizure, just restrain him until he’s done!
A lithe yet tall Zabrak lay on the covers, his limbs straight and vibrating madly, while his head tilted back as far as he could. The whites of his eyes riddled with veins and tears. There was pain. That is all Lexiconus could feel from this boy, just pain. A quick read from the report told the Quarren that these two were in a traffic collision that tumbled down into the mountain, destroying their vehicle and giving him a concussion. With lack of blood circulating to his head, it told Lexiconus that the boy was struggling to survive in this ordeal. With his violent and wild movements shaking the bed and bouncing his body, the Quarren’s sharp hearing picked up a sharp click sound. Then the boy dropped still and silent. Lifeless. The mother then began her wailing and crying of pain, her vocal cords destroyed and yet she continued to call for her partner to return. Oh, how Lexiconus was able to remember every single detail.
The clinking and chiming of the glass brought him back to reality, and the Quaestor saw in front of him the chaos he was causing. The glass levitated into the air as all the rum drenched the table and the opposite bench, while the ice cubes spun at a blurring rate. Lexiconus quickly snatched the glass back and cleaned the table with his cape. Filling the glass back up, he took a small sip and rubbed his dry forehead.
“I have got to find a way to control these visions. This is madness.” He mumbled in his native tongue. It had indeed been a hard day.