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

[mismanagement]

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.]

Comments

[mismanagement]

You--do not touch me!

[Her reaction is too slow to matter, clawing at his hand long after Henry has hauled her upright. Maketh kicks to keep her balance, eyes wide and suddenly furious. The bottle rolls under the bed.

Briefly, Maketh considers punching him in the face.]

Go away, Henry.

[hotspurred]

No.

[Henry does, however, release her arm. He sets his hands on his hips.]

When was it you were last sober? When did you last have a proper meal?

[mismanagement]

[This is not how this moment is supposed to go. This moment is not supposed to happen at all. Maketh has been careful about arranging her tasks so that she sees as few people as possible, says as little as possible. If she does it just right, she can get away without speaking a single word during her shift and then disappear back to her blankets when it's done. After Henry carried her home from Hope's temple, Maketh had thought - foolishly - that despite everything, they might still carry on as they had.

Then she'd woken up that morning from a nightmare and known that was foolish.

Since then she's been sleeping or drinking during the day and working at night, studiously avoiding everyone.

In the nightmare, her double wears an Imperial uniform and orders everyone she loves shot dead. Henry and Emily are always last. Look what you made me do, traitor.

Maketh shudders and looks away.]

I am off duty. It--it is not your concern!

[hotspurred]

Be not so foolish. Of course it is my concern! Duty has naught to do with this!

[Part of him wants to drag her out of her room, but Henry knows better than to force this part in that way. He takes a breath to calm himself and gentles his tone.]

Please, Maketh. I have cooked from scratch. It shall hardly ruin you to sit with me a short while.

[mismanagement]

Duty is everything, brother.

[She doesn't flinch. She's careful about that. She doesn't meet his eyes in the first place, just glares at the floor because this is foolish, she is being foolish and this moment is not happening. She's not drunk enough to shake it off, not sober enough to come to terms with what Henry wants. An awful combination if ever there were. But here they stand. Maketh takes a slow breath.]

I didn't know you could cook.

[hotspurred]

[Henry gives a short, disbelieving laugh at Maketh's initial statement — the hypocrisy of it.]

What duty do you attend to shut in you room steadfastly drunk? Think you that it does not hurt to see you brought so low?

[He raises a hand and pushes it through his hair.]

...Pell has been teaching me.

[mismanagement]

[Maketh shivers all over. She works at night solely because no one has to see her then and she doesn't need to see anyone else. But there's really no point in telling Henry that. It would only hurt him more.

And she has been hurting him, acting like this.]

Oh. I see.

[Damn it all.

Maketh rubs her face with a groan.]

All right. Fine. I'm coming.

[hotspurred]

Good.

[Henry gives a somewhat grim, mostly humourless smile and offers Maketh his arm to take – he is not certain how steady she is on her feet. Either way he has already left the dining table set up, two plates of freshly cooked food waiting. It's the work of a novice, yet still better than the usual canned and packaged goods scavenged from the shops. Effort has been put into it.]

[mismanagement]

[It shouldn't have come to this. This moment shouldn't be happening at all. Maketh takes his arm, thinking she ought to at least stay upright or risk giving her brother another reason to fret.

Perhaps he has cause, but she does not want to think about that.

She sits, rubbing her face, and glances at the food in some surprise.]

You've worked hard.

[hotspurred]

[Once Maketh is sat, Henry sits down himself, and begins washing his hands in a bowl of water he set aside for this purpose — a custom from home.]

When do I not?

[Of course, he's been working harder than even his normal standards lately. It's been keeping him occupied, which is something.]

[mismanagement]

[Maketh huffs at that, not quite a smile. She's not hungry, not really, but knows she'll have to eat something.] Pell must be proud. What have you made?

[hotspurred]

Pell is too kindly to have been dragged into this cavern.

[Henry looks to his own plate.]

Fish pie with a side of vegetables. Pell grows the latter. [The faintest furrow appears on his brow.] He assured me that green ones are not poisonous, as is common belief whence I came. Nor seem to be these orange carrots.

[Only their wild purple cousins exist in his time, and those most definitely are.]

Worry not. I have made certain.

[He assures Maketh, as though it was ever a concern for anyone but him.]

[mismanagement]

[Poison is a fair concern in Maketh's mind, considering what some of the gods have done in the past. But the color? Maketh frowns slightly.] Your world....can tell a thing is poisonous just by its color?

[It's a curious thing if it's true. It's also a way of distracting him a moment longer so she doesn't have to force herself to eat anything.]

[hotspurred]

'Twas common knowledge. My family employs kitchen staff to worry over such matters, you understand.

[Henry shrugs, then digs in.

He doesn't necessarily expect Maketh to eat it all, just some — but he will notice if she doesn't eat any.]

[mismanagement]

Oh.

[A logical answer. And nothing that can be used to stall any further. Maketh rubs her face again, staring down at her plate. It's hot, which is more than can be said of anything else she's had to eat lately. If she eats slowly she probably won't be sick.

She gives it a prod with her fork.]

[hotspurred]

[Henry's trying. He got her out of her room and to the table. He reaches for patience, and fights off a wave of mental exhaustion. She doesn't want to be here, but he doesn't want to give up.

He concentrates on his own plate, leaving her to hers. He'll see how far she gets in the time it takes to eat his portion.]

[mismanagement]

[For better or worse, Maketh does try to eat. It's necessary and she knows very well it would only make things worse if she passed out in front of him. Henry means well. Her actions are worrying from multiple perspectives. When she allows herself enough mental room to step back and examine the situation, Maketh can see that too.

She doesn't like doing that, though. The point is to avoid thinking. To stop existing as much as she can until she's called up to do her duty. Like what she did in her early days at the Academy, before she'd known what was required of an officer and how to fulfill that obligation with all her being. She's been thinking about the Academy a lot these days. It comes unbidden, digs into her skull with little needle claws, and drags the memories up.

It doesn't matter. It's pointless and she doesn't want to go there.

Every damn night, she has nightmares if she doesn't drink herself empty first.

Maketh sets down her fork abruptly, and stands up.

Then, quite calmly, she marches over to the kitchen and throws up in the sink. It's closer than the bathroom.]

[hotspurred]

[There are many drunks who keep down food just fine — obviously Maketh is not one of them. It's frustrating. Not that she is being sick. That she cannot just communicate about something so simple.

Henry sets his own fork down and pushes out his chair, gets to his feet. He heads into the kitchen and takes a clean glass form the cupboard and puts it down next to the sink for her, then places a hand on her back and rubs it.

Whether it is welcome or not, well.]

Why said you naught?

[He would have hardly forced her if she felt she couldn't keep it down.]

[mismanagement]

[Maketh keeps her eyes closed and just breathes, arms braced on the sink in case she's sick all over again. It's already a mess. No need to make it worse than it already is. She has witnesses. That's the one rule a cadet can never break. Never allow for witnesses.]

It's not a comment on your cooking.

[hotspurred]

[Henry only sighs, and continues to rub her back.]

You are thoroughly drunk.

[He knows.]

It was a mistake. But—

[While he does not have the same aversion to them that Maketh does, he always learns from them. But it leaves him at a loss and that he cannot stand. She does not want his company. He can't see that she is fed properly because the drink leaves her stomach too sensitive. Perhaps he could remove all the alcohol from their apartment, but all that would do is drive her elsewhere. At least while she is in here he can be certain that she's yet breathing.]

But. What else can I do for you?

[mismanagement]

I can't sleep.

[Maketh keeps her head down. She doesn't pull away from him, though. Perhaps it doesn't mean anything. She can't sleep and so she drinks until it works as promised. It's just the way of things. Before, she's been able to get through it without witnesses. Perhaps those days are over.]

I am--like this. Sometimes.

[She huffs, shivering.]

It will pass. And I will be--better.

[hotspurred]

[Henry shakes his head.]

There must be a better way than this wretched misery.

[mismanagement]

[Maketh shivers, almost laughing.]

If there is, I do not know it, brother.

[hotspurred]

[He can feel her shiver through his hand on her back. He wishes that he held an answer, an alternative.]

We might find one... Exercise or remedies that may aid thee.

[mismanagement]

[Sparring is probably not wise, Maketh thinks. The last time they tried that, she did unfortunate things. Henry bore them, though he had cause not to.

She lifts her head slightly, peering back at him.]

You put up with a great deal from me, brother. I--am sorry for it.