Chirrut Imwe

Baze would respond to Chirrut if he were able, but he's currently submerged in a bacta tank. He's never really liked them, being three and a half inches too tall and far too hefty for a standard cistern, but his wounds are too extensive for mere patches. Baze's head hangs limp, his arms at his sides--until he spots Chirrut. Then he bangs on the side of the tank with a meaty fist, in a shave-and-a-haircut rhythm.