hadriel_logs | he was down on the floor with his lips to a glass

Entry tags:

he was down on the floor with his lips to a glass

Who: Maketh Tua and open
What: Aftermath of the doubles event.
Where: Apartments, Guard HQ
When: 26th and onward
Warnings: Alcoholism, depression, mentions of death and torture, probably swearing. I will match format.

Apartment

[Stars, she's tired. All the time now. Ever since Henry took her home from Hope's temple, she's been drawn to her bed and its blankets, a refuge that she can hide in and forget everything else. Anyone who knows Maketh will have noticed a change in her routine. She's sleeping almost the entire day, getting up only to drink or vomit from the drinking. If she goes out at all, it's in the middle of the night, a move engineered to let her avoid as many people as possible.

The best way to get in touch is to bang on her door, loud enough that she can't ignore it.]

Guard HQ

[Quietly, Maketh has changed all of her shifts to avoid the most people possible. So while she's still performing her duties, she's doing them out of sight and largely around two in the morning. If you've got insomnia and happen to wander in at odd hours, you might see her rewriting damaged reports, or trying to clean the mess off the floor.

Often she keeps a bottle of whiskey on her desk. Not to drink - not when she's working - but as a taunt. She often stares at it.]

Around the city

[By choice Maketh has turned into something of a nocturnal creature, rarely leaving the apartment - or indeed the room - during the day. But at night she goes out, either to check things with the guard or just to wander. Sometimes she goes to the river and tries to imagine what lives at the bottom. Either way she's alone.]

Wildcard

[Dealer's choice. Hit me.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Her reaction is understandable. Rey is loathe to making requests from the gods as much as anyone, even Maketh.

"Repairs on this place is going to require a lot of equipment that we don't have. Have you ever tried putting together concrete with superglue? It probably wouldn't be pretty."

Maketh jerks her eyes away, digging her nails into her palms to hide the shaking. She's going to make the gods suffer. Each of them. "I have made do with less. I will do my duty."

"And what exactly is your duty?" Rey asks flatly.

It's almost accusatory. Saying that you'll hammer two rocks together to build a city is one thing -- actually doing it is another. And everyone has their limitations, and their breaking points.

Maketh stiffens, eyes narrowed. "To serve with honor and and dedication as--! As..."

It's then she falters. The mantra stutters out.

...as an officer of the Imperial Court.

It should be easy. Just say the words. Say the damn words.

Maketh stops dead, shivering. Damn you, idiot, do your job. Do your fucking job. Say the words and move on. Rey is watching. You have witnesses. Fix your mess, soldier. Fix it. Fix it now, you know better, you were taught better, you are a disgrace to your superiors stop this nonsense right now--

Fix it. Do your duty.

~~She can't breathe.~~

There's too much noise in her head, blocking out the objective. Maketh turns, fists clenched tight, and bangs her head against the wall hard enough to see stars.

The shock of it jolts her back to the moment. It's almost better.

For a moment, it's like looking into a reflection. Seeing herself, beating her head against walls. Her fists into holes until her knuckles cracked. Sliding the gashes across her face with pieces of broken glass, until streams of red oozed from the surface.

Don't worry. It's only skin.

Skin that isn't hers; no more than the many names she has claimed over the century.

Sad to say, however, that this is almost an improvement. Rey acts quick, though. Moves forward to pull Maketh towards her in what could be perceived as a bear hug. But, really, she's putting herself between Maketh and the wall. To prevent the other woman from hurting herself again.

Just because she has been there herself doesn't mean that she is going to let this happen in front of her. Not if she can help it, anyway.

"Stop that," she snaps as she tightens her grip.

"Get off me!"

Maketh rears back, head spinning, and claws at Rey's arms.

Anger is better. Anger is useful.

Claw as Maketh does, Rey's hold only tightens. It's preferable this way. Having that anger directed somewhere other than herself. Rey doesn't mind.

"No," she hisses between her teeth. "You can hurt me all you want. Am not going to let you hurt yourself."

Not like she doesn't deserve it.

"No, no, no! I'll fucking kill you!"

This cannot be happening. Maketh howls, surging forward and kicking. She can't break free so she reacts exactly as trained. Do what you must. Win at all costs.

She bites. Digs her teeth into Rey's arm.

The teeth are minor stings compared to what she's been through. Lucky for Rey, she has the pain threshold of a shark, and barely flinches at the reaction. Which is pretty unlucky for Maketh trying to escape her hold. She can thrash and struggle with all her might, but she isn't going to let go. Not if Maketh is going to hurt herself again.

"Then do it. Try." It comes out almost as a dare, almost a threat. Hard to tell what she means, even to herself. "You'd be doing me a favor."

To the old Rey, maybe.

The Rey she is now? That old sentiment is more confusing.

Maketh howls. She doesn't mean to. It just happens. It's awful, disgraceful, the sort of foolishness she should know better than to indulge in.

This cannot be happening. Rey cannot be this strong, holding strong against everything Maketh tries to hurt her with.

There's blood in her mouth. Between her teeth. Maketh tries to headbutt Rey.

The grip doesn't lessen at all.

Maketh stops abruptly, sagging in Rey's grip. Her chest heaves painfully. Everything hurts.

"Let go. Now."

It is disgraceful. Horrid to watch, even. Rey can only imagine how she just have looked to her brother during similar -- and oftentimes worse -- episodes.

Blood drains down the bite mark in Maketh had left in her arm, but Rey gives it and the pain little regard. She rears her head back as Maketh tried to slam the back of hers into Rey's face.

The strain of her hold only eases up a bit as Maketh ceases her struggle.

"Are you going to do that again?"

Maketh laughs, rough and ugly. "Let's find out, hmm?"

There's no possible way she can win a fight against Rey. Not like this. There's no way around that.

But stars, something in Maketh - something even she knows is irrational and twisted - wants to try. Make her bleed a little more.

Make them both bleed.

"Fine."

As the harsh syllable leaves her lips, she throws Maketh forward with enough force that she'll either stumble or fall. It's obvious that she has something to work out, and it's going to take more than words to clear it up.

Or, at least, it's best not to leave it up to Rey to solve problems with words. That's something her roommate is more apt to do.

Flinging her arms out, she makes for an opening for a starting blow. Whether or not she'll retaliate, it's hard to say. Her deadened expression does no one any favors.

"Do it."

Maketh stumbles, catching herself against the wall with a hiss. Her head is throbbing, pain sharp in the place right above her eyes. She shudders hard, twisting to face Rey. "Gutter born bitch!"

Get her.

There's no chance it will work. Maketh lunges anyway, aiming for Rey's eyes. It's a logical weak point.

Contrary to Maketh's expectations, there's no attempt to block or dodge. Not even a counter. All she does is turn her head, making it so that at least one eye can be salvaged. She's come back from being impaled and near-disembowelment; she can handle this.

After a flash of a second, Rey is just caught off balance. Feet shuffling back a bit. She regains her equilibrium fast and easy enough, as any weapon capable of being shot and blown up multiple times and still keep on trucking should do.

"That the best you can do?" She spits at the ground, both at Maketh's endeavor and her insult when there's not even a hint of blood drawn. She's been called worse. Been hated much worse. Was hit and knocked around infinitely worse. "Fucking pathetic."

The blow lands. The shock of it nearly makes Maketh drop her guard and she doesn't redouble the attack fast enough to make use of the advantage.

Focus. Get her. Make her fucking hurt.

Maketh bares her teeth and attacks again. She has a knife hidden up her sleeve. This time she uses it.

Rey just wants to stand there and take it? Fine. Maketh will stab her fucking eyes out.

Once again, Rey doesn't attack. But she isn't about to let herself get stabbed in the eye, either.

The alternative just isn't much better.

Her hand lashes out. A blurred motion. Rather than seizing Maketh by the wrist as she very well could have done, she goes for the blade. Her hold stops all the way to the hilt to prevent Maketh from stabbing any farther.

Under the force of the knife, her fingers do bleed. However, it's going to take more than a swipe to sever those metal bones that hold her body together.

"No!"

It's not that Rey bleeds. That's expected. It's that she doesn't retaliate. Maketh tries to jerk the blade free but finds that she cannot. Even with the blade slicing into tendons - or what would be tendons in anyone else - Rey holds fast. Implacable like a damn statue.

Like this means nothing to her. Nothing at all.

Maketh tries to punch her. It only hurts her hand.

"Fight back, damn you!"

That punch barely gets a reaction. It's clear that Maketh only hurt herself in the process, anyway.

Eyes narrowed, Rey focuses her attention on the woman before her. Fingers not releasing the knife.

She could turn this around, easy enough. Overpower Maketh and knock her to the floor. Beat her to a pulp if she wants to. But still, she does not.

"Why? So you can feel better about killing me?" Rey yanks the knife towards her abdomen, intending to keep Maketh's hold of it. Though she had been stabbed there quite recently with the machete her double had weild, the wound has already healed over. "Go ahead. Don't make a liar out of yourself. I'm waiting."

Damn it all. Maketh's hands are shaking so much she can barely hold the knife, even with Rey grabbing onto the blade. She thinks it won't hurt? That Maketh is so fucking weak she needs to be coddled like a child?

"You do not condescend to me!"

She tries her damn best to stab Rey in the gut.

Rey jerks the knife by taking Maketh's forearm, forcing the blade to avoid any vitals that would be a pain to heal over the next day or so. Being made of an immortal cell line with a feat for rapid healing has its perks. She isn't even remotely worried.

All she does is bleed. That's all she had to do.

"See?" Rey speaks in a ragged voice, trying to steady her breathing. "That wasn't so hard."

Blood splashes Maketh's hands. The heat of it shocks her into silence. The knife went in, easy as slicing butter. All it takes is pressure. Apply and twist.

Rey didn't even flinch.

Maketh stares at her in stupid confusion. It wasn't supposed to go like this. It wasn't.

"Wha--why did you do that?"

"Because," Rey says between gnashed teeth. Her tones are different. The complete antithesis of the indifferent husk that she had bore to Hadriel many months ago. "No matter what sort, I can handle the pain."

It's just too bad that the emotion she is expressing to Maketh right now isn't a very happy one.

Rey squints, hand still holding the knife inward. "I'm going to ask you again, what is your 'duty'?"

There's blood. That would be irrelevant except for the internal damage that produced it. Maketh twitches, dropping the knife. It doesn't fall. Rey holds it fast. Maketh can't tell if it hit any organs or some vital piece of machinery. Rey is different, hardier than most, but she can still die.

No. Stop that. She is not allowed to die.

Maketh jerks her coat off, eyes wide, and holds it out to Rey. "Put pressure on that, damn you!"

Rey staggers back when Maketh pulls away, finding a wall to rest on. She shakes her head when the other woman offers her coat.

"That's not the right answer."

As she says this, she wrenches out the knife, tossing it onto the floor.

Blood splatters, spits out of the wound afterwards. Staining the blade.

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cw for self-harm

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