[center]~| 21 minutes after prisoner arrival on the Kaggath |~
~| Aboard the Kaggath, Main Prison Complex |~[/center]

Breathing hurt.

He became aware, first and foremost, that he [i]was[/i] breathing, followed immediately by the jagged drag with each one of them. Something punctured, he was sure--echani knew their bodies, knew how to listen and what to say, and Arix could tell immediately that something wasn't right in his chest. Would he, he wondered, have woken up without it to draw him back? Without that sharp catch-drag-pierce of pain every autonomic breath? Considering how much he hurt everywhere else, he wouldn't have doubted it.

But it was more than the hurt. It was that awful knowledge that he had failed, first and foremost, that set his teeth on edge. He'd fought, he'd killed, and ultimately he'd lost. Much as he wanted to believe it had only been from weakness, from exhaustion, it didn't change the fact that his cheek was against cold durasteel, his saber was missing--he'd [i]lost[/i] it, what kind of Jedi lost his saber--and he'd failed. What could he have done? Who knew. Who cared. Obviously something else, the [i]right[/i] thing, because this couldn't have been how it was supposed to end up. He could hear talking in the background, the gentle murmuring of scared voices, but he wasn't scared. Not really.

He was [i]furious[/i].

In his mind, she fell again. The whirling saber, the Sith rolling past her, the three of them it had taken to cut her down. The zabrak he'd dueled, who had punted him across the damn hallway and left him unconscious. His fists balled at his sides, his teeth clenched, and with a low, dull snarl he slammed his hands against the steel below in a vicious jerk that left them throbbing and left his chest feeling like it had been stabbed. He needed the vent, needed the moment and the flicker of pain to clear his head, and against that backdrop he was able to let it go and focus like she would have wanted to. Focus enough to ignore that jag of pain that she would never tell him that again as he sat up, face flickering impassively against the pain, and took in a ragged breath.

Good. Enough about step one. Now, two through ten.

Opening his eyes, he saw exactly what he expected to see--a smattering of scared padawan, rag-tag and roughed up. What did they see when they looked to him, he wondered? If he was concerned for his outburst, he didn't let it show--Focus, as his master would have said. Master yourself, master your surroundings, master your world.

"How many of us are there?" He managed to croak, coughing and wishing he hadn't before repeating it a bit more clearly. Whatever the iridonian had put into her kick had lingered--he could practically feel the treads on his ribcage. "How many of us made it? Is everyone alright?"

Stupid question, but if he was lucky they'd know what he meant. He wondered if they recognized him, that jerk from the saber training hall. Some of them looked familiar but he couldn't place them off the top of his head. Not while it was spinning like this. 

Welcome, a snide little part of him smiled, to the rest of your life.