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Questions
The Med Bay

Sigrun froze, her lips parted in a silent gasp after the injured fighter asked his question. While the question itself had shocked her, the way he'd looked at her when he'd asked it made it infinitely worse. Contrary to what she'd read in the raunchy romance stories printed by the Highwall Herald, the curious gleam in this man's eyes didn't fill her with passion or longing. It filled her with anger and revulsion. Those slightly bloodshot, colorless eyes reminded Sigi of her mother's eyes. And the look he was giving her was eerily similar to the look Svala Alfhild an Tallak had given her when she'd been exiled. Like she was a stranger, an oddity to be ogled. Sigrun's mouth felt incredibly dry and she shook her head, telling herself she was overreacting. Swiping some residual blood off the man's chin with one of her wet rags, the stormborn medic stalked away, stopping by Bronson's cot to pick up the bottle of homemade corn whiskey she'd found. She took off the cap and took a long swig, walking over to the granite counter and leaning against it. Her eyes were like two chips of ice as she glared at the warrior. 

"And what if I am of Ysmir, buca?" she asked, her voice as cold as the winds that blew across her homeland. Sigrun forced herself to casually gulp down another mouthful of whiskey. "Are you going to kill me?"

In the ensuing silence, Bronson propped himself up on his elbows and asked, "Uhhh...should I go or-?"

"Shut up and lay down," Sigrun snapped and the flabby mariner wordlessly settled back onto his cot, his eyes wide with fear. Sigi's gaze never left her other patient's face. That lined and haggard face. Was it the face of someone who'd leave a note written in human blood? Someone who would kill any vrykul he encountered? Glancing at the travel-stained rifle resting beside the grizzled fighter, Sigrun put down her rag and bottle while slowly moving her right hand closer to one of the linen pouches on the counter. This particular pouch was full of waxy black leaves covered in a clear, tasteless oil. When mixed with warm water, the oil secreted by dalamud leaves could be used to make a powerful sedative. If the oil touched bare skin, however, it would immediately cause painful blisters to appear. Sigrun felt a trickle of cold sweat ooze down the back of her neck. Could she grab a handful of leaves and throw them at this man before he shot her? Her knife and pistol were hanging from her belt, but she'd need time to use them. 

Biting her lower lip, Sigrun tried to remember how long it had been since she'd killed someone. With a jolt, she realized she'd killed two men less than a week ago. They'd tried to rob her after she crossed the border separating Ghersland from Canth. Their bodies were probably still rotting quietly in the ditch by the side of the road where she'd left them.

Brushing her bangs back so the bearded stranger could see the spiral branded onto her forehead, Sigrun asked, "So, what's it going to be, buca? Are you here to kill the vrykul?"

And that's when everything began to tilt backwards. Sigrun opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Life really was full of unpleasant surprises, the stormborn thought to herself as she found herself sliding toward the med bay's doors. Somewhat belatedly, she heard a voice over the intercom saying, "Head's up, Cap'n. There's a hundred-footer between us and safety. The Garrloch can make it over, but we're going to be tossed around a fair bit. We'll be hitting in fifteen seconds, tops. Everyone brace for impact."
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