Citadel of the Ren

Birth of the Skin Changer

Jin yawned and smiled. She motioned vaguly toward the desk that looked like it had been hit with many paint filled balloons from all angles. Well, another yawn, I have an extra sketch pad in there... And some extra supplies... A big stretch. Just don't touch my good stuff. It's really hard to get those acrylics delivered here. But otherwise knock yourself out. Jin laid her head down and was almost out, before sitting bolt upright for one more reminder. Oh! And no going through my personal sketchbook. Got it? Jin didn't wait for confirmation before she collapsed back onto the pillow. Snoring soon issued from her mouth as she slept soundly.

Birth of the Skin Changer

What Fiora asked her didn't click at first. In fact it prompted Jin to sit up even more with a, Huh? Before stretching some more. She looked over at the alarm clock on the desk and registered what time it was and then sighed heavily. Honestly I'm surprised you're still here. Couldn't find any other mischief to cause? I couldn't have been much fun. Jin's mind tried to capture the last vestiges of the dream she had had. Trying desperately to remember but all hope of that was lost when she looked at Fiora. Her eyes then moved from Fiora's face down to the sketch book, noting several pages already flipped over. Well, let's see it then. She said getting up and moving over to her friend, intending to offer some helpful pointers or to burst out laughing depending on how good or bad it was.

Birth of the Skin Changer

Jin took the sketch book in hand. She didn't try to hide her facial expressions as she started from the beginning and worked her way back. An... interesting style choice. Stick me has never looked better! She chuckled as she sat back down on the bed facing Fiora. But over the day's worth of hours, Fiora had improved in later sketches. Jin's amused expression transitioned into impressed. Coming finally to the last page she looked at it closely. The transition from teasing friend to art critique was clear. She studied the sketch carefully and picked out a couple things to note. Jin turned the pad so that her friend could see it too. You see here, the shading is just a little too dark. And these lines here? I can tell you drew those in a little heavily and it locked you in. You're on the right track. Though I would suggest practicing on something not prone to suddenly moving without warning. She passed the pad back to Fioara. Keep it up and you'll surpass me in that too. But it is very important that you practice daily if you can. It doesn't have to be much. Even if it's just something basic, or just exercises.

Like a gaunt, mangy cat wont to wander far and wide returning home to lick its wounds before setting out again, Katsumi returns to the Citadel of the Ren after a prolonged absence, setting her latest stolen ship, a battered A-wing, down in one of the citadel's hangers. Her dark, filthy, tattered robes and onyx-hued skull-like helm even more disheveled and dirty than normal, Katsumi stalks silently like a recently disinterred wraith from the hangar deeper into the citadel, clutching her left arm to her side, what remains of the armorweave wrappings around the arm stained with pus and hanging loosely,  revealing the normally pallid skin beneath is seared near the elbow, inflamed and infected.

After a brief stop in a medical bay to procure what she needs to tend to her wounds and infection, Katsumi slinks towards where her personal quarters had been before, pleased to find that they have not been reassigned in her absence, more dusty yet just as spartan and devoid of any personal touches as she had left them when prompted by the whispering guidance of the Shadow to leave Prakith and go forth to do its bidding.

Hissing softly as she unwraps what remains of the armorweave cloth wound around her injured arm, Katsumi sets about debriding, cleansing and dressing the nasty Shiim that was very nearly a Cho Sun, smiling beneath her helm as she replays the memory of the duel that led to the wound, finding that the injury and resultant infection are a small enough enough price to pay for her victory over her opponent, whom she encountered unexpectedly at the end of her errands for the Shadow, rather like a treat to reward her for work well done. The wound will heal, after all, and the infection will pass, but Katsumi's opponent will not recover from the Sai Cha that ended their encounter.

Seated cross-legged on the floor beside the bed, Katsumi looks up from her arm when the door swishes open, re-stirring the little clouds of dust that had been disturbed when she herself had entered the room earlier. Though her head remains tilted downward as she dabs at the pus leaking from the deeply seared strip of flesh above her elbow with a gauze pad, her eyes beneath the darkened, deep set onyx lenses of her grinning skull mask move towards the masked, feminine figure leaning against the door frame as her sister speaks.

Neith and Katsumi have never formally met or spoken, Katsumi's frequent unexplained absences making her something of an enigmatic oddity among the Ren, but they know of one another in the same osmotic way Force users joined in a common cause know of one another. Averse as she might be to asking for help, Katsumi knows that the remaining work of removing the dead tissue and bits of charred cloth and other debris from her wound will be difficult at best when its location would permit her the use of only one hand, a hand likely to be unsteady from fever, and so she gives a shrug of her shoulder and, her soft, lilting voice raspy from disuse, says, ::Oh, I would be ever so very appreciative, dear sister of mine, provided, of course, you can withstand the smell,:: referring to the odor emanating from her wound, though the warning applies equally well to the scent of smoke, mud, blood, sweat, and unwashed flesh and hair perfuming, as it so often does given the lack of priority Katsumi assigns to hygienic concerns, her tattered robes.

A raspy, merry chuckle sounds from Katsumi's throat as Neith jokes that her helmet will protect her from any assault on her olfactory senses that the festering wound or Katsumi's filthy state might make. Her head leans back to rest against the bed behind her as her sister enters the room and sits beside her, but Katsumi's sulfuric yellow tinged eyes follow Neith's movements from within the empty eye socket-like darkened lenses of her helm for a time.

The heat emanating from Katsumi's fevered body is evident as she tenses momentarily as Neith begins administering to her wounded arm, more from Katsumi's kittenish skittishness when it comes to being touched than from the pain brought about by the ensuing cutting and prodding required to clean and tend to her injury.

Nodding when asked if her return is a triumphant one, Katsumi replies in her soft, hoarse voice in her customarily blithe tone, an almost musical cadence to her words, ::Oh why yes, sister mine, though it was really more a series of missions than a single one by the time all was said and done. You know the way it can sometimes go; off you go when the Shadow whispers that there is a wee little mouse over there to be killed, and so you kill it only to see or maybe hear that another one is squeaking and scuttling away oh so invitingly nearby that it really ought to be killed too since you are near enough that not killing it would be such a shame, and, really, it might be a bother to the Empire someday anyway. One little cheeky, squeaky mouse was such a charismatic chap that he might one day inspire other mice to try and get up to some martial mischief aimed against the Empire, and since we really cant't allow that sort of thing, no, no, no, off I went to stalk and swat him. I rifled through his mind before I swatted him, since the Shadow whispered it was okay to play with my prey just a little on that particular day, and in his mind I found another naughty mouse, this one a sneaky little spy, that was doing horrid little spy things like cultivating assets that just might enable him to learn some Imperial secrets that it really wouldn't do to get out, and so off I went to get him, and his little assets too.::

Sighing with a theatrical exhaustion completely at odds with her pleased and cheery tone, Katsumi goes on with her tale after watching Neith's progress with her arm for a moment, ::And so on and on it went, until I had killed all the mice the Shadow whispered to me about. And do you know what happened next? A Jedi came along, one I met long ago who got away before I could finish playing with her. Oh, but this time, such fun we had together, my sister! She started by saying something righteous and oh so Jedi-ish, like "You will pay for your dastardly crimes, evil-doer!" To which I replied in the only way possible, conversations with Jedi being really rather dull after all, with a maniacal laugh as I ignited my saber while leaping right in and swinging away. It was really such a fun dance, and, she glances down at her arm, she even got one nasty bite in before it was done, but it had to end, naturally, and ended with her meeting her end, which was such a nice end to my time away, wouldn't you say?::

Tilting her head to the side to face Neith in a somewhat rare display of openly paying attention to something for more than a moment or two, Katsumi asks, ::And how have you and our dear siblings all been, sister, while I've been away? Have you any tales to tell? And is there any news about the state of the Empire I should know?::

Katsumi listens to her sister as Neith finishes treating her wounded arm thoroughly, taking in the news of all that has transpired whilst she was away with her head tilted to the side in an attentive manner. Much of what Neith shares is welcome news; the Coalition's demise in particular as it would seem that the Empire, as her sister's news overall  implies, finds itself without any opposition of real concern for the time being. That Harnan now leads the Ren is cheering to Katsumi, though she idly wonders if the role is to her brother's liking and how it is suiting him. Should she and Harnan chance to cross paths while she lingers in the citadel until wandering off once more, Katsumi supposes she might find out for herself. Most welcome of all is the news that both Neith and Harnan have taken on prospective Knights of their own, hearing that the Ren's ranks grow always something that Katsumi finds heartening.

Experimentally moving her arm around once Neith has declared her ministrations have reached their end, neither surprised nor discouraged to find it is somewhat stiff and certainly sore, Katsumi rasps softly, ::Thank you, sister mine. I am ever oh so glad to hear that I will keep the arm. I rather like it where it is, you know, and would miss it so. I have no plans to scamper off just yet, but never know, of course, when the Shadow will whisper that scamper away I must. Letting her arm rest atop her leg, Katsumi settles herself more comfortably against the side of the bed, finding the nausea from the antibiotics and the fever coursing through her oddly pleasant, in a way, as she says, I am glad, too, to hear that both here in our lovely citadel and within the Empire our gardens grow while those of our foes wither and die. If pirates and dissidents are the worst of the pests we need look after, I think we need not worry overmuch about our garden for the time being, which is ever so good, giving as it does you and Harnan time to better tend to our newest additions. How do you find, sister, teaching and tending to your budding prospective Knight? Do you find it agrees with you? I never have taken on a prospective myself. Some of us are better suited to catching rats than instructing after all.::