[Video/Action]

[chartom]

[If he were thinking clearly, Talbot would be approaching his first network transmission with a bit more finesse, restricting the communication to a voice or text message. But not only is he in a fix, he's fixated: if Drake or Sullivan were dragged down into this godawful place with him, he wants them to see his face; he wants them to experience the itching of a gaze on their backs every time they step outside.]

I need a surgeon. [The video feed is unreliable, but the splash of aged blood around the entry wound in his shoulder is hard to miss on the backdrop of his white shirt when it momentarily sputters into clarity. He tilts the screen up, putting his tired face into view.

There's a hiss of static, then:] --and I need information.

((OOC: If you're a castmate, your thread's probably going to get encrypted to prevent eavesdroppers!))

Comments

[chartom]

[A low growl of discomfort rolls in the back of his throat, though it's less due to the man's bizarre appearance more the immediate invasion of Talbot's person.

Since the call ended, he's already removed the dressing and exposed the shoulder, revealing the bullet-torn flesh in all its infected glory.]

It happened before I arrived. If they're here, finding the responsible parties is my priority.

[illfavored]

[There's no response to the growl aside from a look of warning-- but he sets his fingers against the damaged skin, channeling the Force into it to mend both the hole and the infection that's collected around it. It's not a pleasant process by any means, but it removes every trace of the wound. Hope you don't mind a little pain, Talbot.]

A shame this place interferes with vital business. [Of any kind.]

[chartom]

[When it comes to unpleasantness in general, Talbot's of the mind the end justifies the means. The procedure is met with some rigidness and an audible gritting of teeth.

When it's over, he brings his chin to his shoulder to examine the wound and has to bite off a curse at the improbable sight of bone, muscle, and skin completely restored.]

That...it is.

[Talbot turns his gaze back on the stranger, considering him for some time before continuing: ] Thank you.

[illfavored]

[Tritios cants his head just slightly. He's obviously proud of his work, and also probably never said the words 'you're welcome' a day in his life.]

You may call me Tritios. Darth Tritios, or Lord, if you like.

[Now that his work is done, he quickly gets himself out of Talbot's personal space. Screw being close.] Fortunate that I happened upon your transmission when I did. I was not aware that there were Agents out on the field.

Are there others here?

[chartom]

[It's fortunate introductions have come after the show, because if not for the miracle he'd just witnessed, Talbot would have quickly dismissed this man as insane.

But no, he's more than that: he's useful.]

Not that I'm aware. But as you know, communication has been unreliable.

[illfavored]

So it has.

I suppose we're on our own now. [No structure, no rules, no backlash for killing his master? He's not sure how he feels about it yet...]Strange.

[chartom]

[The words touch a nerve, because for him, they're agonizingly accurate. He clenches his jaw against a very different kind of pain this time.]

I've a feeling it's only about to get stranger [he says darkly.

A pause.]

My name is Talbot, by the way. And I believe I owe you a favor.

[illfavored]

[Tritios considers this. Is he owed something? It's not as if the Empire exists here to keep tally...or maintain rules. In this situation, he supposes it's something of an equalizer.]

You owe nothing. You performed your duties, as did I.

Loyalty means little without something to be loyal to. So, we're...equal. Allies. [That's the term, right?]

[chartom]

[It's an unexpected--but not unwelcome--response. Beyond all his tricks, Talbot is, after all, only one man. Allies are a valuable resource.]

I like the sound of that.

[illfavored]

I trust you can manage on your own from here on out?

[His eyes fall on the dart gun. Is that thing really a weapon? It looks so...low tech.]

[chartom]

Yes, I believe I have the situation under control.

[He feels more secure with this rifle in his hand than he would almost any other weapon. It is, in fact, an embodiment of control.]

[illfavored]

[...well, if it works, it works.]

As you say.

I will be in touch.[ And with that, he strolls off, because human contact, bleh.]