Scars"Blast it, Corso, would you hold still?" Silver groused, instinctively tightening her grip on his shoulder as he flinched. She tried to avoid digging her fingers into the blaster wound she'd been in the process of cleaning out, with limited success.More Like This
"Sorry, Captain," Corso muttered, wincing and fighting the urge to flinch again. "Can't help it. That really hurt."
"I know. I'm bein' as careful as I can," she promised. "But plasteel splinters aren't going to come out by themselves, and you can't reach it, so just bear with me."
Normally, they each took care of their own injuries when necessary, patching themselves up well enough with kolto and synthskin. But their last run-in with the bandits camping out on the Tarisian settlement had involved a much more drawn out fight than usual, and Corso had caught a nasty graze from a blaster bolt across the back of his shoulder. It had seared through his armor, decorating the burn it left in his shoulder with splinters from the plasteel and fragme
CuriousMore Like This
He was curious about the scars.
Corso had spent enough time with Silver and other smugglers, scoundrels, and mercenaries that he knew the rules that came with the life. He knew you let the past stay the past and didn't dig up what someone else wanted to stay buried. And he was fine with that. If he started asking Silver about her past, his would be fair game for the redheaded smuggler, and that was a wound he didn't particularly want to tear open again. Not yet, at least.
He didn't need to know what sentimental reason made the Captain keep carrying that old, beat-up blaster in an ankle holster when she'd bought--or found--and sold ones five times better without batting an eye. He didn't care how she'd developed such a warped sense of humor, and he wasn't terribly curious about jobs she'd had in the past--intriguing as some of her "old friends" they'd run into had made a couple of said jobs sound.
But he was curious, almost to the point of distraction, about the trio of scars tha