what makes you feel so alone?

[mismanagement]

Who: Henry Percy and Maketh Tua
What: Resurrection time.
Where: The general location for the log.
When: Not long after this.
Warnings: Nastiness from the Silent Hill event, swearing.



What happened is this: a choice was made. That choice had consequences.

Maketh knew almost immediately what would happen. She's no fool, never has been, even when it would have been easier. The monster that had come crawling out of the dust was stronger than the others - different too - and a true threat. Not the first that Hadriel had wrung out of their nightmares, but one that couldn't be ignored. Henry would hold the line for as long as he could, but eventually there would be a reckoning.

It would follow them inside. It was looking for her. Hope's ally.

What a farce. Someone else might have laughed.

The truth was stark and simple. The monster would go after her. It would likely hurt others trying to get at its goal.

Thus, move the target away from the civilians.

She didn't have a chance, really. But that was never the point. She got off a few shots, wasted almost a full clip before it pinned her down and killed her. It didn't go quickly.

That too was not the point. It had seen her as an enemy, something to be killed slowly. Beaten to death if possible. So it had.

The armor hadn't helped all that much, in the end.

She wakes up on cold stone, screaming.

Comments

[hotspurred]

Waiting for someone to be revived lends itself to reflection. Reflection is not something Henry wishes to partake of. Memory has become a bitter enemy of his.

For one too many reasons.

Part of him wants to weep in frustration. Though it is over, he cannot seem to escape his torment. Nor could he spare Maketh -- his sister of choice -- torture at the hands of the same monstrous beast. He knows because he found her bloody, pulverised corpse before Hope's magic vanished it.

He knows, suddenly startled from his thoughts, by her screaming now.

There is no hesitation preceding his response. Henry moves to Maketh, and ignoring her nakedness, pulls her into his arms and holds her close. His voice, still hoarse but no longer weak from proximity to death, is choked as he tries to soothe her.

"Maketh... Ah, Maketh, hush. 'Tis over. You are safe."

[mismanagement]

For a moment - for longer than a moment - there's only blind panic. Maketh doesn't fight, never has when she's afraid. She just goes rigid and wheezes, breath tight in her chest. Her joints ache. Everything is cold. And she's alone, she's alone, she's---

No. Stop. Not true. Focus on the moment. Count your breathes. Slow your heartbeat. Be reasonable. Survive. There you are, soldier. Survive. One breathe at a time.

The last time she felt like this was with Henry too. This time, there's no fire.

Maketh shivers, pressing her face against Henry's chest. Maker, she's not alone. She didn't have to wake up alone. "I...uh. Henry."

[hotspurred]

Henry cups the back of Maketh's head. He cannot tell whether the residual scent of blood, metal, seared flesh and smoke that clings to him is nothing but a trick of his overstressed mind, but he hopes so for her comfort. He's already scrubbed himself clean and changed his clothes. Piled neatly at the foot of the altar are some clothes for her and a bottle of water.

"Our fight is now done," he tells her, with a tired sort of relief. "Reaccumstom yourself slowly."

[mismanagement]

It's over? It's over. Maketh shivers, counting her breathes. In and out, control yourself. Be reasonable. Think of nothing that is not somehow relevant. Her arms aren't broken. She can feel her legs, contract her toes. Her chest hurts, a little, but not because of pulped ribs. It's fine. She's fine. She's alive.

Again.

"Did--" She swallows, eyes closed, and thumps her fist against Henry's chest. "Did it get anyone?"

[hotspurred]

"Aside from you?" Henry says, words made sharp by a sense of bitter failure.

He shakes his head, then speaks more softly. "I know not. God have mercy. I grieve for your suffering."

[mismanagement]

"Oh." It comes out small. Maketh shivers, swallowing back the urge to cry. There's no point in that now. What's done has already been done. They need to regroup, figure out what's happened and what's to be done about that. "I didn't--I mad a choice. I swore I'd protect them. I tried, Henry. I really tried."

[hotspurred]

"I know," Henry replies, before his grip tightens. His expression darkens, and the pitch of his voice lowers as he emphasises, "Well do I know."

They can only do their best, in the end. That isn't always enough, but nor does it make their stands pointless.

He wonders how much she heard from the monster before her death. He despises that he is hesitant to speak because of his own weakness. Exhaling heavily, Henry resolves to.

"It thought us Hope's allies," he tells her slowly, with rising anger. "And therefore the best means of forcing Hope to manifest. What choice had we, but to fight it? To abandon our duty and cower inside a temple?"

Yet his flash of temper expires there, and he squeezes his eyes shut. His throat feels tight.

"I wielded Hope's blessing to keep that wretched beast occupied for longer. It would have known that you bore the same. You... you did not get the same opportunity to use yours."

Or so he had surmised as he wept over her body.

[mismanagement]

"Oh."

She almost says it was clever. Undoubtedly it saved his life. And yet, Maketh has a feeling - even an understanding - that the moment hadnt been clever for Henry. He'd fought hard, slowed the monster down long enough to get a warning out to the others, given Maketh enough time to formulate a plan and put someone else in charge. The rest of the temple had survived. That was the most important thing.

It had hurt to die like that, though. She imagined it had hurt even more to survive.

Maketh signs, opening her eyes. She's naked and bruised, clinging to the man she calls brother. She just died because somethings f thought she was on Hope's side.

It's not funny at all, really.

"No," she says after a moment, when she's sure he voice won't quake. "I was no challenge. It finished me quickly."

Lie. It had disarmed her quickly. The rest had taken longer. There is no use in saying that aloud, though, so Maketh does not.

"You're here." She hits him again with her fist, not hard enough to hurt. "You--waited for me."

He waited so she wouldn't have to wake up alone. It's perhaps the kindest thing anyone has ever done for her. Maketh shivers just once. "Thank you."

[hotspurred]

It would be grossly naive to think it possible to keep harm from befalling Maketh, and an insult to her capability besides. Yet he wishes to protect her where he may. Knowing that she possesses a self-sacrificial streak only strengthens that urge. Why is that the women he loves are cursed with one?

Her words grieve him and touch him both.

Henry huffs at the hit, but it chases the shadow cast over him away. His eyes open.

"You doubted me, sister of mine?" he complains with underlying fondness.

As his mood lifts, he musses her hair in retaliation. "Doubt not that hereafter will I do the same."

Henry releases Maketh with that said and gives her shoulders a push in the direction of the pile of clothes. He then pointedly turns his back to her, affording her a measure of privacy.

[mismanagement]

"Doubt my brother? Never."

Doubt herself? Often. But that is another thing that need not be said. Maketh exhales, rubbing her face. Her body aches and her nakedness is beginning to dawn on her. But there's work to be done still. Time to get back up.

And again, Henry proves himself thoughtful. There is a pile of clothes not far away.

Maketh smiles a little. "I'll be most impressed if you remembered my hair pins. But I'm thankful nonetheless."

She grabs for her pants immediately.

[hotspurred]

Henry scoffs lightly. "What would I know of tending to women's hair?"

He shifts his weight from foot to foot as he waits, and pushes a hand through his own hair. He sighs after a moment.

"Must we resume our work with all haste? We cannot tarry long, but a small respite will do no harm."

Battle is straightforward, but the consequences of a campaign never are. The long examinations to follow will be especially difficult.

An echo of pain aches in his bones at the thought of detailing his own report on events.

Twenty minutes. Half an hour. It will not change a thing.

[mismanagement]

"Ah, but are you not a man of the world? Perhaps we should expand your talents."

It's gentle teasing, the sort of talk they get at sometimes when drinking. But it helps, to have something worth smiling over in the aftermath of -- this.

Maketh belts her pants, smoothing her hands over the fabric. "I--put Nick Valentine in command. Lilith said she would back him."

Had promised to do so.

Maketh swallows, reaching for her shirt. "Maybe...maybe we could rest. Just for a little while."

[hotspurred]

"Good," he replies bluntly.

He relaxes just enough to stand still, and sets a hand on his hip. He attempts to push thought of what has happened and what is yet to come aside. It won't last, but he's stubborn enough to ignore that until their break is done. They must gather their strength where they can.

"'Twould not be my hair and scalp put at risk by an attempt."

If his levity is a touch muted, well. Maketh is wise enough not to call him out on it.

[mismanagement]

Maketh snorts, tugging the last of her clothes into place. Her hair is hanging long and messy down her back, but there's nothing to be done about that right now. "True. Though you have enough of your own."

It's true. Henry does have a mess of hair, just long enough to get him into trouble but cut in a way that it won't fall in his eyes. Practical to the extreme.

Maketh hesitates, turning to face him fully. "You're not wearing your armor. Are you...injured?"

[hotspurred]

His half-smile at her reply is cut short by her question. Henry breathes evenly as he struggles to keep his head above the unforgiving tide of memory. He feels half-naked without his armour, and yet mention of it makes him feel sick. A distant sort of horror envelops him like a cloak.

"No. It was... destroyed. Peeled apart."

His hands begin to tremble. It is too fresh in his mind.

"Crushed in places."

His gorget, for example, around his throat.

"Melted in others."

The beast had a particular taste for melting, with that burning stump of its.

He hasn't examined how much of it, if any, is salvageable yet. He will have to at some point in the future.

[mismanagement]

"I--"

The words die in her throat. Maketh shivers before she can hide it. Of course he was in armor. The monster probably -- what it did to her, it did to him as well. Beat him, tried to break him. Pulp his bones.

It didn't. But the damage...

She goes to him without thinking, grabbing his face in her hands. Perhaps too hard, but he needs to focus on this moment and not the memory. "Stop," she hisses, pressing her forehead to his. "It doesn't matter. It's done and you're alive. We're alive. I need you right here."

[hotspurred]

[The roughness helps to ground him; the contact is a comfort. Henry takes a shuddering breath, and grasps onto Maketh's elbows.]

...All right.

[It takes a few more seconds for his tremble to stabilise, to fully shed that horror. But she allows him to.]

I am well. The... memories will fade in time.

[mismanagement]

Maketh bumps her forehead against his one more time. In another moment it might have been teasing. "They will," she agrees. The pain doesn't always make you stronger, but there is often some use in it still. "And we're still here. Our enemies took nothing we cannot recover. That means they lost. Our endurance is our victory."

[hotspurred]

It had been that way in the war against Diabolus too. Henry squeezes Maketh's elbows before he releases them.

"Wisely said, my sister. I shall not forget."

This time, he smiles.

"Esperance," he says with quiet resolve, a promise.

They must be steadfast.

[mismanagement]

"Esperance," she repeats, trying to return his smile. Despite everything, there's a kind of joy at seeing his face.

They're alive. They made it through the siege.

"We will be all right, brother."