Luke Skywalker finds himself on the mysterious planet Earth whilst on a mission to locate stolen kyber crystals, which are necessary for him to craft a new lightsaber. With little knowledge of the planet, he seeks help from cynical university studen...
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Luke's eyes flew open. He had sensed the presence of danger before he'd heard the sound of something being flung across the room, hitting the wall on the other side and making a wretched noise as it clattered onto the floor.
"Shit. Shit!" he heard someone cry out.
Sending a book of matches flying through the air and into his palm, he lit a nearby candle. The room was only illuminated slightly by the tiny flame, but it served its purpose well enough for him to see Avery clutching her left hand close to her chest, her eyes wide in horror.
"Ave?" he whispered, "Did—Oh, you're bleeding."
"Hah, yeah," she replied with a strained laugh, immediately followed by a hiss of pain.
"What—what happened? What was that noise?"
"Don't know, don't know," she mumbled quickly, rocking slightly as she cradled her hand, "God, that hurts!"
"Just a second. Stay right here," he told her.
He took a roll of bandages out of his bag and wet a cloth. He then scurried over to his old workbenches, locating Owen's rusty toolbox and finding a battery powered lantern inside. He went through a few drawers to successfully acquire functional batteries, but when he did, the lantern managed to give off much more light than the dim candle. He carried it back over to where Avery was, placing it down next to her.
"Can I see?"
"You're gonna touch it. No way," she snapped, moving a few inches back from him.
"Do you want to spend the rest of the night getting covered in your own blood? Just let me see," he pleaded, showing her the bandages he'd brought over.
Hesitantly, she unfolded, offering her damaged hand to him. He gently grabbed her wrist, pulling her into better lighting.
"This is deep," he noted, placing the cloth onto her wound, "How did this happen?"
She made a weird face at that, hissing as he wet her wound with the fabric.
"Don't remember. Don't even care that much, it just hurts."
Pausing, he inspected her other hand, grimacing when he found impressions that appeared to be from harshly gripping some sort of handle.
"Oh, wow," she mused dryly, "Self-inflicted, then. And I can't even remember it."
"Not good," he whispered, moving back to work on her other hand, "Not good."
He spent another ten minutes patching her up, putting some salve on her cut and tightly securing the bandages around it. Sighing, she glanced down at the blood that was already seeping through, holding her hand up in front of her face to get a better look at the disappointing spectacle.
