Cover him? Oh. She meant examine and patch up his wounds. That wasn't how he intended for this to go. Ilana had turned the very regulations he cited around on him and implied that if he refused treatment, she could as well. The Arkanian had outfoxed him. Upon realization, the blond youth's eyes became half-lidded and a twitch of his eyebrow suggested his annoyance. "Agreed," he surrendered in a dry tone, barely hiding his vexation. Corran had gone to great lengths to avoid using Doctor Morata's talents as a medical professional on himself. Mostly because she said that's how the universe saw her - as a service to be paid for. He wanted to prove he liked Ilana around for her, the individual. A secondary point was... the blond youth wasn't a very good patient and he didn't want the doctor to know that. Corran would have to build up all the courage he could muster.
But first, the Ranger must see to the Affiliate's injuries. The armored coat had done pretty well, given that Corran didn't have much faith in it before. It looked more stylish than practical from his perspective. In this instance, he was glad to be proven one. Some of the lethal energy still made it through and scorched the snowy-white flesh beneath. It was almost a similar red to the one on her cheek prior, funnily enough. The Ranger took his time examining the wounded area, peering at it from different angles and thinking through his options, even as Doctor Morata gave him rudimentary instructs that almost anyone could follow. The sleeve would have to be cut away; no point in trying to salvage it. Taking the shirt off, up and over her head, would be a nuisance and likely cause discomfort to the shoulder. "I think I can handle this," Corran confirmed to his patient.
One by one, the young man set out the necessary tools and liquids in the order they would be utilized on the desk. First, the scissors were used to cut away the sleeve. This took a bit more time than one would expect as the young man was exceedingly careful, the determined focus clear on his face as he squinted and paused to make sure the cuts were precise. It was curious how even with a burn, the wintery woman's skin was still cold. Next came washing the wound, which the blond youth gingerly brushed off the carbon ash that burnt through the armor and residue of the shirt. Finally came the bacta, which was applied methodically before a cover-bandage was applied in the same precise and overly-focused way as the one on Ilana's cheek on the Smuggler's Moon. Throughout the entire process, sky blue eyes would periodically look up for approval or discomfort. To his credit, there were no thoughts beyond providing the aid. Emotions were placid, which was somewhat intentional for the Arkanian.
The Ranger stood at his full height and sighed with satisfaction, releasing some of his own tension, "There. How'd I do?" In the field or space naval actions, Corran was much quicker in applying aid. Although, slapping a bacta patch on a graze or open wound was more crude and entirely meant to be temporary. With Ilana... it was more of an art. His medical skill would never impress, especially someone as talented as an actual doctor like her, but his degree of care might be noteworthy.
If the bandaging was satisfactory, it was Corran's turn. It was something he wasn't looking forward to. Like a man walking to the gallows, he would lean against the desk that now doubled as an ad-hoc examination table. Anxiousness began to bubble up in his chest. The empath would be able to feel it and the young man knew it. It was best to explain to save them both some trouble, even if he hated it. His eyes resolutely stared at the doctor, "Just be gentle. I don't like my ouchies being touched." The Ranger's face was stone-cold serious and voice gravelly. "They hurt."
@Killa Ree
But first, the Ranger must see to the Affiliate's injuries. The armored coat had done pretty well, given that Corran didn't have much faith in it before. It looked more stylish than practical from his perspective. In this instance, he was glad to be proven one. Some of the lethal energy still made it through and scorched the snowy-white flesh beneath. It was almost a similar red to the one on her cheek prior, funnily enough. The Ranger took his time examining the wounded area, peering at it from different angles and thinking through his options, even as Doctor Morata gave him rudimentary instructs that almost anyone could follow. The sleeve would have to be cut away; no point in trying to salvage it. Taking the shirt off, up and over her head, would be a nuisance and likely cause discomfort to the shoulder. "I think I can handle this," Corran confirmed to his patient.
One by one, the young man set out the necessary tools and liquids in the order they would be utilized on the desk. First, the scissors were used to cut away the sleeve. This took a bit more time than one would expect as the young man was exceedingly careful, the determined focus clear on his face as he squinted and paused to make sure the cuts were precise. It was curious how even with a burn, the wintery woman's skin was still cold. Next came washing the wound, which the blond youth gingerly brushed off the carbon ash that burnt through the armor and residue of the shirt. Finally came the bacta, which was applied methodically before a cover-bandage was applied in the same precise and overly-focused way as the one on Ilana's cheek on the Smuggler's Moon. Throughout the entire process, sky blue eyes would periodically look up for approval or discomfort. To his credit, there were no thoughts beyond providing the aid. Emotions were placid, which was somewhat intentional for the Arkanian.
The Ranger stood at his full height and sighed with satisfaction, releasing some of his own tension, "There. How'd I do?" In the field or space naval actions, Corran was much quicker in applying aid. Although, slapping a bacta patch on a graze or open wound was more crude and entirely meant to be temporary. With Ilana... it was more of an art. His medical skill would never impress, especially someone as talented as an actual doctor like her, but his degree of care might be noteworthy.
If the bandaging was satisfactory, it was Corran's turn. It was something he wasn't looking forward to. Like a man walking to the gallows, he would lean against the desk that now doubled as an ad-hoc examination table. Anxiousness began to bubble up in his chest. The empath would be able to feel it and the young man knew it. It was best to explain to save them both some trouble, even if he hated it. His eyes resolutely stared at the doctor, "Just be gentle. I don't like my ouchies being touched." The Ranger's face was stone-cold serious and voice gravelly. "They hurt."
@Killa Ree