hadriel_logs | Gotta slow up, gotta shake this high

Entry tags:

Gotta slow up, gotta shake this high

Who: Lance Sweets and Maketh Tua
What: Chance encounters in the middle of the night.
Where: Orchard.
When: Late night on the 7th.
Warnings: Alcoholism, language, mental health issue

[Henry has gotten more perceptive over the months, careful with the dishes and hawk-eyed when it comes to the number of bottles Maketh has hidden away. It's only prudent to do her drinking elsewhere, where he won't have reason to confront her over the evidence. The orchard is safe enough, as these places go, and Maketh likes taking her boots off and digging her toes through the dirt. Just for the feel of it. It reminds her of home and Lilith, Newt. Itani and Kareem. Her parents. All the people she doesn't have anymore.

Maybe they're in a better place. Maybe they're just dead.

She lifts her bottle in a solemn salute. For the dead, she thinks.

Then she drinks. She's been doing that for a whole now and her thoughts are pleasantly sluggish, not rushing through her head and rebounding off the walls before she can contain them. Nothing hurts and everything is easy.

Stars, she loves whiskey. It never hurts until the morning. And she can endure that just fine.]

Don't be lonely.

[She smiles at the bottle, not sure who she's directing the prayer to. Everyone she's ever known. She's down most of the bottle and in no mood to stop. Her hair is out of its regular bun, braided into a loose tail that hangs over her shoulder. Her boots and coat have been stacked neatly out of the way. She's comfortable sitting under a tree - not the tree Lilith first kissed her under, but a place like that - and drinking.

Later, she'll have work to do. For now, she's drinking.]

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[Lance is exhausted, but he can't sleep.

That's certainly not unusual--his thoughts are often difficult to turn off after a case or something at home and that hasn't changed here--but it is inconvenient, especially when there's so little to do. He knows it's probably for the best that it's boring, considering the horror stories he's heard, but right now it just means he has no way to distract himself while staying in bed.

So he decides to talk a walk instead. It's late, and quiet, and the little lights shining on the cave ceiling are beautiful and calming; he starts to feel a little better the more he wanders, and so he decides to venture further than he's been before.

That's how he ends up at the orchard, which he wasn't intending to find but recognizes immediately when he does so. It's nice to know where it is, even if it's vaguely eerie in the night, and even if he suddenly realizes he's not alone here.

He hears her say something but can't make it out, although he places the voice quickly enough; a brief glance around and he catches sight of her in the dark, still a decent distance away. And now he has to decide what to do.

He should leave, because he has absolutely zero interest in dealing with someone who is potentially dangerous while in such an isolated place, especially alone. It should be a very simple decision and it almost is, until he realizes what it is Maketh is doing; apparently getting drunk or already there and continuing to drink, while sitting alone in the night in an orchard. That's... Not weird at all, of course not, and the psychologist side of him--along with the very large part of him that cares for just about anything and everyone--is certainly not telling him he should be doing something to help. Not at all.

And so that's how he ends up drawing a little nearer, but still keeps quite a distance between them--he'd like to be far enough away to have options if the situation turns--when he speaks up quietly.]

Are you celebrating or mourning?

[Apparently she has company. Maketh glances over briefly, then returns to her bottle.]

I am drinking.

[Obviously. And she doesn't intend to share with Doctor Sweets. He's an annoyance and a possible threat, worming his way under the surface and seeing far more than he ought to. Just like Will.

Despite the amount of whiskey she's conquered, Maketh's voice is surprisingly clear.]

Maybe I am remembering.

In the middle of the night in an orchard?

[It's asked mildly, but he's pretty sure there's a distinct reason for this; he also doesn't point out that 'remembering' typically falls into one of the categories he mentioned.]

It's quiet.

[Or it would have been, if he hadn't shown up. Maketh eyes her bottle and wonders how much more she can drink before she's done for the night.]

What do you want, Doctor Sweets?

[That's actually a good question, because he's not entirely sure himself; or, more accurately, he has a few conflicting motives he's trying to decide between. He really wants to just saying 'sure, whatever' and leave but he's still concerned, despite everything, and mostly because of the way their last conversation went.

So, against his better judgement, he decides to answer honestly instead of just leaving.]

Drinking alone is not always a cause for concern, but in this situation it seems to be.

[So the implication of what he wants is clear; he's trying to figure out if he should be doing something to help and if so, what.]

[A cause for concern. Really. Maketh snorts, tipping her head back to drink again. She wants out of her head and away from her thoughts. They've been spiraling too easily, going places she can't control.] Why?

[Others have mentioned that she drinks a great deal - Henry and Emily in particular - but Maketh chooses not to think about that.]

Because the reasons why someone would drink to excess are limited, and most of the arguably positive ones are only applicable in social situations.

[And those that aren't he can't really see being applicable here.]

I am off duty. I am allowed to drink when I'm off duty.

[Maketh is careful with her words, so she won't slur. She's off duty and therefore it is acceptable to drink as much as she wants, so long as she shows up on time and prepared to do her duty in the morning.]

That has very little to do with what I said.

[Just pointing that out there.]

Then say something useful or go away.

[Her tone isn't as harsh as it would have been sober. Maketh doesn't usually have enemies once she's had enough to drink, not unless she's gone into it with a purpose or Hux is involved. And it's getting harder and harder to hate Hux these days. He isn't difficult like the others.]

[He's so, so tempted.

But he's spoken with enough people at this point and gotten enough opinions that, combined with his own experience, it's obvious that if he's going to figure out a solution to the whole disastrous situation that seems to be going on he'll need to use a different approach.

So he stays, and offers a very direct question in response.]

Is there something wrong?

[Not with him being there--he's sure she doesn't like that--but that prompted this little drinking binge.]

No. I am fixing it.

[She grins at the bottle. Her head feels too small, sometimes, for all the thoughts racing through it..]

I'll be better tomorrow.

[Well that's a yes; at least he got something. But what the actual issue is could be a multitude of things.]

I can state, professionally, that this is not a way of fixing anything.

[Maketh frowns at him. It's worked just fine before]

What else is there?

[It's a genuine question.]

[This question he is one he knows very well how to answer.]

Facing whatever your problem is, rather than temporarily finding a way to ignore it. It's difficult--much more difficult--in the short term, but in the long term...

[It's the only way to ever move on.]

Is that 'therapy'?

[Maketh rests her head back against the tree. She's still dubious about the concept.]

Will told me about it. It sounds strange.

Not necessarily; you can do it on your own.

[And sometimes you have no other choice, but if you do--]

However, it's usually more effective when a professional can assist, yes.

[Maketh watches him for a long moment. Then:]

Describe the process.

[He watches her in return, trying to figure out where this is going.]

Presuming you're talking about therapy, it varies by the individual and their needs. However, the underlying idea is to identify issues and come up with a way to confront and resolve them.

That is foolish. Revealing a weakness is asking for your enemies to take advantage.

[Maketh huffs, eying her bottle. She wants to finish it and possibly start another before she passes out. Instead she's doing---what? Sitting on the dirt and listening to a stranger talk at her.]

Your world cannot possibly allow that.

So you've told me, numerous times.

[But instead of leaving it there, he continues.]

But you're making a mistake in seeing it as a weakness. Being willing to face your problems, to relive and work through difficult experiences, and to trust someone else to help you in those things all take incredible strength.

Edited 2017-05-08 20:57 (UTC)

[Maketh consider that, watching the light reflect off her bottle. It's true that she's felt--relieved, almost, when she's told Henry certain things. Even with Hux, there was a sense of a weight lifted. The truth had been told, someone else listened. The wound was ripped open and exposed to the air so it might heal. Or at least scab over and not grow sour with infection.]

What would I have to tell you?

[He really can't believe she's even considering this and highly doubts she'll feel the same way when sober, and he has mixed feelings about that; the advice he's giving is genuine, and he does want to help, but he also has exactly zero interest in formally counseling her. That's mostly due to the fact that he's very worried about what might happen when there are volatile emotions brought up.

But he'll take figuring these problems out one step at a time, and the first step is how her opinion might change as soon as she's no longer drunk.]

Nothing you don't want to; the more honest you are the more effective therapy is, but it's not unusual to avoid certain subjects or refuse to answer certain questions, particularly at the beginning.

Edited 2017-05-08 21:10 (UTC)

[Maketh frowns at her bottle. She's drunk enough that the thoughts don't hurt when they come to her, each one sluggish and pared down. No sharp edges.] This is allowed here.

[It's said more to herself than to Sweets. Maketh huffs, then takes a drink.]

I'm remembering. You asked. If you remember the dead, they don't get lonely.

[She grimaces.]

Or something. I don't know.

[He's quiet a short time at that admission, mostly because it's following his last answer, and he's trying to quickly figure out whether she's talking as she normally would while drunk or more along the lines of counseling; there are different rules about how to act and what to do with the information. Either way, he should probably end this conversation and leave it for another time when she's more sober.

But what she says he can't ignore because it's a feeling he understands well, and recently in a new way entirely.]

In the end, being remembered is all we can really ask for.

[And, preferably, remembered for good things; things that are important. Making a difference in others' lives, leaving them for the better for having known them, loving others and being loved.

He hopes that's how he'll be remembered, and that those are the things Daisy and his friends will tell his son about him.]

But if whoever you're remembering is someone who cared about you, they would probably not want you drinking alone in the middle of nowhere. You should go home.

[And that's the same advice he'd give anyone, whether he likes them or not.]

Edited 2017-05-08 21:58 (UTC)

[Maketh actually laughs at that, bumping her head back against the tree. It doesn't hurt. Part of her wishes it would, just a little. But that's not the sort of clarity that lasts. Not the kind she gets when she drinks, either. This is temporary. This will pass. All of it.]

I want to drink in peace, Doctor Sweets.

[She frowns.]

Henry gets upset. I don't understand why. I don't understand a lot of things.

[Talking to Maketh sort of feels like talking to a potentially dangerous b rick wall a lot of the time, but her very last comment--that she doesn't understand a lot of things--reminds Lance distinctly of Brennan; Brennan is brilliant, and understands many things, but social cues and emotions don't come easily to her. The frustration and confusion he knows she feels in those sort of situations makes him feel more sympathy for Maketh than he otherwise might've.]

Presuming he's your friend, he probably gets upset for the reasons I stated earlier.

[Such as that it's a bad habit to get into and not a good way of dealing with things, and so Henry's concerned. Of course, Lance has yet to meet Henry, but he thinks it's probably a fair guess.]

He's my brother.

[She smiles faintly.]

He told me so. I'm not a very good sister. He gets upset a lot.

[She pauses, glancing at Sweets.]

Don't tell him. Okay?

[He presumes she doesn't mean they're actually siblings, but the kind that are chosen, and those are just as important if not more so.

But when people start talking the way Maketh is talking, they're usually very drunk. Enough so that it would be unethical to continue talking to her, no matter how much he dislikes her or thinks he might be able to glean useful information. It's best to leave this encounter on as positive a note as possible, even if he's not all that happy with the idea of allowing her to continue drinking out here and so decides to make one last effort on that subject.]

I won't. But considering you know he worries, it would be best for both of you if you go home.

[Maketh shakes her head slowly. She's starting to feel sluggish and heavy, a sure sign that she's close to done.]

I like it here.

[She's probably going to sleep here.]

[Great, that didn't work. So at the very least he wants to know--]

Is it safe here?

[Or at least as safe as it can be.]

[Maketh snorts.]

Relatively.

[It won't be comfortable, but she's used to that.]

Why are you asking? I've insulted you. Repeatedly. You think I am a threat.

['Relatively' isn't great, but it's probably the best answer he can ask for here. As for the question, it's easy to answer.]

None of that means that I could, in good conscience, leave you here drunk if I thought it'd be dangerous for you.

[Maketh tips her head to the side, frowning.]

I don't understand. It would make things easier for you.

[Teach her a lesson. Give him an advantage if he was smart enough to take it.]

[Isn't that the story of his life.]

The easy choice isn't always the right one. Usually isn't, actually.

Edited 2017-05-09 02:16 (UTC)

Is there something wrong with me, that I don't understand?

[Maketh shakes her head again. In a better moment she wouldn't have said, wouldn't have allowed this moment to happen in the first place. In this one she's drunk and vaguely sad all of a sudden. She misses Henry, suddenly. She shouldn't have tried to hide from him.]

I don't understand any of you.

[Her question, again, reminds him of Brennan, but he's well aware that Maketh is a very different person. Still, he's silent several seconds before responding, voice quiet.]

I can't answer that.

[And he means can't, not won't; he has his suspicions, has his concerns, has his theories, but he doesn't know her well enough to actually make a diagnosis of any sort.]

Oh.

[That's all right, Maketh supposes. That's honest. She prefers it when people are honest with her. Like Will was.]

You should probably go home, Doctor Sweets.

So should you.

[He'll give it one last shot on the subject.]

Maybe.

[Part of her wants to. Maybe Henry would still be awake. Maybe he wouldn't be upset if he heard her coming back. Maybe he'd just--

Stop that. You are being foolish.

Maketh tips her head back and smiles. She was feeling good for a while. That was nice, while it lasted.]

[Some part of him wants to offer to make sure she gets back to wherever she lives, if she's willing to go, but that would involve getting near her and he's still not interested in risking that. So he'll take the maybe as probably the best he's going to get, and hopefully she does decide to go home. If not, then he hope she really will be fine here.]

Think about it, at least.

Goodnight.

[He should be getting back, either way.]

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Gotta slow up, gotta shake this high

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