“WHAT THA FU-”
The last thing he had registered were his own words-- the sounds that had escaped his lips in the moment before his head had made contact with the durasteel.
Blackness-- total and all consuming-- had engulfed Laeonas’ consciousness. The boy registered nothing-- not the crack in his skull, not the pooling blood exiting his body, not the medical staff picking him and his personal possessions to be hauled off the arena. He was in a world of his own-- a world of non-existence. His brain had been so shocked by the impact of Poffo’s attack that it didn’t even conjure up a dream to occupy Laeonas as he recovered.
So when Laeonas woke up, he was more than a little shocked.
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The droids were specialized for dealing with physical injuries like the ones that he had suffered from. The standard treatment was a simple set of stitches, a blood transfusion to help him recuperate from the liters that had spilled out in the arena, and a bacta dip. The pale, gangly human had woken up inside the tank-- and the surprise on his face was matched by the overwhelming pain that came with it. He screamed inside of the breathe mask, flailing around inside the tube, bubbles kicking up and around him as he thrashed around. Usually, most people would have taken far longer to wake from such an injury, but Laeonas’ connection to the force had helped him re-enter the living world far quicker.
The droids had quickly allowed him to get out of the dip, draining the tank and letting him float down. He ran out of the tank the moment it opened, stopping short as a wave of pain shot through his systems.
“GyaaaEEEEEEEEE!” He sounded, the groan turning into an abrupt screech. He’d clutch his head on one side, but pull back as the touch against the raw stitches across his forehead and upper temples sent another wave through him. “AaaeGGGHHHNNN,” he cried, silencing himself midway through by shutting his lips.
To the droids, his response was erratic. Most victims of a concussion a severe as Laeonas would’ve remained unconscious. Instead, the cocktail of routine drugs, combined with the bacta dip and Laeonas’ force sensitivity, put him in a limbo between the two. His will forced him to wake and move as if nothing was wrong-- but his body was still suffering from the intense pain, and the various symptoms of his trauma. Laeonas was half blinded by the light, one of his eyes was wide while the other was half open-- and he finally started vomiting seconds later.
No sooner had he escaped the tank than he had curled up on the floor in a complete mess.
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Theme
When he stumbled back onto the field, he looked… different.
Thanks to a sudden injection of heavy painkillers, Laeonas was no longer doubled over in agonizing pain. His injury was covered up by bandages that wrapped around his forehead, and his hair pulled back into a pony tail. His eyes were still irregular, and the face paint he’d worn had partially smeared from the bacta, appearing less as a feathered pattern and now like a black blotch covering the area around both his eyes. All of this was covered up by a pair of sunshades, however-- both to preserve his image, and to prevent disorientation from the bright lights of the arena.
None of that meant Laeonas was cured; while the headaches were no longer overwhelming, there was still a steady throbbing that engulfed his head. His coordination was shot, and he’d needed to walk in place for a solid five minutes to be able to move without immediately stumbling over.
But the force was still coursing through him, helping to further dull the pain and expand his awareness; and the first thing he’d picked up on was the energy lance, too close to disregard.
He’d heard his other teammates’ words. He didn’t grin, or give a quip. The words mirrored his thoughts exactly, so he’d give an idle grunt-- right before the ray shield came down.
Bursting forward, the force aided in his coordination, helping carry his body-- at a normal pace-- towards the energy lance. Seizing it, he’d begin running across the platform, heading for one man in particular.
The oddly dressed man who’d slammed him earlier stuck out. An easy target-- one that the boy was intent on felling before anything like what had happened earlier could repeat. He wasn’t about to risk a melee with Macho-- but he wasn’t going to let him get anywhere near the ball.
He'd point the odd but powerful weapon in the direction of his opponent, and begin firing like mad.
@The Good Doctor
OOC: rolled to grab the energy lance and shoot at poffo; 18/20, -1 due to penalty, total 17