Drak grabbed the clothes handed to him and got himself changed into them. Fixing himself into the clothes he walked out of the bathroom. "Forget about what?" Drak asked curiously, sitting down next to Enthir, a man he wouldn't have expected to be a medical professional of any kind. Drak still held onto his dislocated shoulder, which was painful with any movement. Sitting was also difficult as the wound on his abdomen shifted and caused pain. He really didn't like being weak like this, not by any means.<br/><br/>Drak showed Enthir each of his wounds, and despite Enthir's protests, Drak explained how he got them, just not why. "What am I looking at for recovery time?" Drak asked the man, hoping it would be short. "I know realistically I can't soak in a bacta tank, right?" Drak was hoping that maybe, in some off chance, the man would have a bacta tank hidden in his bag of tricks, but obviously that made no sense. Drak just knew to save his brother he would have to be at one hundred percent, and he'd be willing to do whatever it took to recover as fast as possible.<br/><br/>Drak sat back as Enthir focused first on his stomach wound, much to Drak's relief. He knew that putting an arm back in place wouldn't be a walk in the park, so he was glad to put it off for now. Drak looked over to Ziv. There really was something about her, the way she held herself, her beauty, and the way she killed those men. Killing those men was a terrible thing even if self-defence, but she was so graceful, perfect, and fierce. Then there was her kind heart. The way she was helping him made him feel drawn to her. He was suddenly pulled out of his gaze by the pain of his wound being stitched it up.<br/><br/>To make a bit of small chat, and because of obvious curiosity, he asked Ziv the question he somewhat knew. "So what do you do to make a living Ziv?"