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]

[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.

[hotspurred]

[Henry reaches out with his other hand and tucks a lock of Maketh's hair behind her ear.]

Do not be. That is the purpose of family.

[He won't hear it.]

[mismanagement]

[Maketh can't help but smile at that a little. Her mouth is sour and her head swimming just with the thought of standing upright, but Henry--

Stars, she's never met anyone quite like him.]

I'll be better. In time.

[She always is.]

[hotspurred]

Promise me that you speak truth, sister.

[Because it feels an awful lot like standing aside and leaving Maketh to self-destruct. Henry cannot abide the thought, even knowing there is little choice.

Even if not forever, he has lost God and everything familiar to him — and he is losing her too to this despair of hers.]

[mismanagement]

[Promises are dangerous. They break too easily. Maketh tries to smile nonetheless.

Stars, she's tired.]

I will lie to many people, but not you. Not on purpose.

[hotspurred]

[While unhappy about the situation, Henry believes Maketh. He nods slowly, his eyes dark, then indicates to the glass.]

...Rinse your mouth. I will tidy up.

[mismanagement]

[That's probably wise. Maketh drops her head with a sigh, bracing her hands on the counter. She doesn't want to be this way. There's something wrong with her that's rearing its head. Perhaps something was always wrong with her.

How foolish. Stop that immediately.

She takes a long moment to compose herself as Henry busies himself. Maybe it helps. It's supposed to help.

When she'd done and her mouth no longer tastes sour, Maketh pads over with a sigh, leaning against the wall.]

I suppose there are ways not to--be as I am.

[She smiles crookedly.]

The Empire taught us ways to avoid it. But most of the things they taught us were--wrong, somehow. I don't know. I--am probably sick somehow. I don't mean to be like this, Henry.

[hotspurred]

[Henry heads back to the table and collects her plate. From the untouched portion he adds a little extra to his own plate, then takes the rest and scrapes it out into the bin, before leaving the plate with the rest of the washing up stacked on the counter. He pops over to the sink, bends down to the cabinet beneath and pulls out a pair of gloves and a bottle of bleach. He gives the sink a quick scrub clean. After he plugs it, squirts in some washing up liquid, and fills the sink before dumping the washing up in to soak. Peeling off the gloves, he looks to her.]

...I know, Maketh.

[Leaving the gloves on the side, he strides over to her and simply pulls her into an embrace.]

Yet you have people alongside you now whom may share your burdens. You need not be so alone.

[mismanagement]

[Maketh just puts her head on his shoulder. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She meant to make him stronger - make him the best possible leader that his world could know. Instead--

Well.

She shakes her head.]

I do--love you, Henry. Brother.

[It ought to be said.]

[hotspurred]

[Holding her close, Henry feels like he can protect Maketh from the gods, from herself. A fool's wish, he knows.

Her words at least are a balm for his heart. There is that.]

And I you, sister.

[Even when everything goes wrong, that remains.]