hadriel_logs | The dead know better

Entry tags:

The dead know better

Who: Lance Sweets and Maketh Tua
What: Chance encounters. Uneasy conversations.
Where: Outside the Guard post.
When: Forward-dated to June 3rd.
Warnings: Langue, mental health talk.

The sword has been hiding in the back of her closet since the incident with the doubles - perfectly cleaned and sharpened, of course - but out of sight, out of mind. A childish avoidance. Sometimes Maketh has dreams about finding it stuck through her chest again, the double laughing at her, that perfect empty pain. And then she wakes up and puts them away, because a dream is only a dream and means nothing if you are strong.

But the sword is a weapon and weapons must be used. There's no point in hiding this one away, not when it's perfectly serviceable.

Her skills are rusty anyway. And, far more importantly, her conduct has been found wanting.

That cannot stand.

So she takes the blade and goes outside the Guard post after her shift, and makes herself go through every sword drill she ever memorized. Over and over again until she no longer hesitates, until the tension is gone and only the motion remains. The blade is sharp and she must be as well. A clean, simple weapon.

Execute your purpose, soldier.

Time passes. She's stripped down to her undershirt and sweating hard, hair beginning to slip from her bun. But she's no longer afraid. If there are further nightmares, then she will conquer them.

Tomorrow, she'll wear the sword at her belt again.

It feels like an accomplishment of sorts and Maketh allows herself a brief moment of satisfaction. This, at least, she can do properly.

She snaps to attention when she hears someone approaching, moving into a ready stance. "Identify yourself!"

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"It's not?"

Maketh clears her throat. She assumed--

Well, clearly she assumed incorrectly.

"You know a way of manufacturing gunpowder. I see. Will you explain this to my Guardsmen?"

Not to her. Maketh knows her place.

He hesitates at the question, suddenly very unsure about this topic.

"I'm not a chemist. I know how it's done, but not exact details about proportions." Sure, he knows enough that he could probably get it, but he's not exactly interested in experimenting with explosives.

Lance is also not sure about agreeing to explain to the Guard members, but he likes the one he knows well enough so far so perhaps it'd be okay.

"You said it was not difficult."

The Guard is properly motivated. Hux, surely, can determine the correct formula. Maketh holds herself very still. If Sweets knows information that useful, then she needs to determine a way to convince him to share it. Threats won't work. He's proven that already. Threats will likely make things worse.

"You will do this?" She's careful not to look at him this time, but rather the place behind his shoulder. Exactly as protocol dictates. "Nick would understand it. Or Henry could take notes."

"Theoretically, it isn't. I have two coworkers I think could make it without too much trouble." Hodgins and Booth could both surely manage it, and he really wishes they were here despite the dangers. He misses them a lot.

...And she's staring past him, not making eye contact, which makes him suspicious. "I could potentially talk to Nick." He likes Nick, at least from the conversation they'd had and what he's seen of him on the network. But that said, he's really starting to think this might not be a good idea.

Good, he'll speak to Nick. Nick can work with Rey and develop a proper procedure and they'll have more bullets. A proper supply of ammunition, one less thing forcing them to rely upon the gods for. Maketh keeps her eyes straight ahead and nods just once. "That would grant us additional resources. The Guard would be thankful for your aid."

Don't get ahead of yourself there, Maketh. Lance is frowning a little now, posture a bit more tense, because he's really concerned he might've made a mistake at this point.

"I presume these additional resources would only be used for the Guard?" He asks it neutrally, trying not to give away in his voice which answer he's looking for in response.

Maketh forces herself not to twitch. She doesn't like his tone, isn't sure what he's implying or what she's meant to say. The truth hasn't always served her well on these conversations. "They'd go to the armory. Anyone can access them. The Guard uses them more than most for our duties."

He's not sure he believes that, and even if he does is he really interested in helping supply people here with more weapons? Of course, on the other hand they can already deak with one of the gods, but didn't Maketh say that requires trading a corpse? That's not necessarily something he wants anyone to do, and if he could prevent that sort of violence then maybe he should.

But then again, preventing violence by offering more access to weapons doesn't exactly make sense. He'll have to weigh the options later, not on the spot. "I'll think about speaking with Nick." That's all he'll promise for now.

That's good, then.

Maketh pauses. Perhaps she shouldn't say anything. "You are -- reluctant? Why?"

He could choose not to answer, but he decides to be honest. "There's enough violence here already."

He has yet to see or encounter a single monster, although he doesn't doubt they're a threat; so far the only dangers here have been from other people, and arming them even further seems like a really risky choice.

Maketh counts to five before she speaks. She doesn't want to snap that he's being foolish and doesn't know anything. It won't help and in some ways it doesn't matter if it would have been true back home. They're not on Lothal. "You don't want the Guard to defend the city?"

Lance's eyes narrow slightly, not at her having to take the time to respond--that's fine--but what she says. Still, he's not going to be baited into responding directly to that question, offering one himself instead. "Why is that the conclusion you drew from what I said?"

"You hesitate at providing us the means to manufacture bullets. Not just me. I would understand that."

All of this she says while looking straight ahead, back perfectly straight. Her sword hand hasn't wavered once. .

"Therefore you do not want us to have ammunition. Therefore you do not want the Guard to protect the city."

He wants to say that isn't even an attempt at logic, but he holds back; if there were some sort of award for showing restraint, he feels like he really deserves it at this point.

"Or I think giving everyone increased access to easy methods of killing each other might have negative outcomes that could outweigh the positive ones." He finally says, staring back at her, crossing his arms in a minor show of irritation.

"I am not concerned with people. If they mean to kill each other, they will do it with or without access to fire arms."

She says it without emotion, as best she can. It's a simple truth.

"The monsters do not die easily. Go out into the caves if you do not believe me. Then you will understand."

"So far, the only real threats I've seen have been from people." It's stated simply as well, as Lance does his best to ignore what feels like insultingly obvious attempts at manipulation and guilt-tripping. He'd be more annoyed if he thought she meant to come across that way, but he's not even sure she realizes that's what it sounds like if she might be doing it subconsciously.

And now he's doing it again, voice going flat like she's said something wrong or possibly issued a threat. Only Maketh doesn't know where she's gone wrong. Asking is the wrong move; he'll think it's a taunt.

So she holds very still and tries not to snap when she speaks.

"You have not been here very long at all, Doctor Sweets."

She shifts her hold on the sword slightly.

"This blade was used to kill me once. Not by another person here, but by something the gods dragged in. We endure because the next threat will come and unless it is dealt with, more of us will fall. I don't understand you. I know you don't understand me. But I am trying to keep these people alive."

He's watching her posture and motions and they're concerning him, but he made a decision not to allow that sort of thing to alter how he reacts. So he's quiet, listening, and although the part about her history with the sword is momentarily jarring--he feels a mix of emotions ranging from sympathy to confusion--he ignores it for now.

Lance also ignores the comment about how long he's been here, or the continued explanations about what happens in this place; he does make mental note of it all, but only because he's very aware that the more information he can get the better. He just doesn't particularly like the way it feels like it's being used as an excuse.

Her last statement is the only part he responds to, because it's the most important part as far as he's concerned. "I don't doubt that's usually your intention." He thinks that, if she has the choice and everything goes smoothly, she does intend to try to keep people alive. It's just when things go badly that he doesn't believe that desire overrides any other motives she might have.

Maketh feels her mouth twitch, almost a sneer. A placating gesture, that's what he's making. But he doesn't believe her. "You think I am afraid to commit? I will die first if that will save others. I am not afraid of that."

"I think your actions have not always coincided with your stated goal." Lance puts it as formally as possible to create distance, tone calm, but he's really thinking it might be a good idea to end this conversation. He's not getting anywhere good with her, although there is one thing that he really should speak with her about and that's the only reason he's hesitating.

Haven't they? And he thinks he'd know. It occurs to Maketh then that she may have placed entirely too much faith in Doctor Sweets' abilities. She has no way of verifying his schooling or if what he claims is true in his world. It's certainly not true in hers.

She twitches. And then she turns away from him.

"I promised I'd try. And I did. I gave my word."

She twitches. Nods firmly. She tried and now it's done.

"You do not trust me? Fine. You will have no reason to see me again. I will arrange it."

The past tense in her first statements stands out to him as worrying, as are her last ones; although they could be harmless, they could also be interpreted in other ways. He also doesn't like that she's turned away from him, where he can't see her face, and takes a few steps back just in case she suddenly turns on him with the sword.

He also doesn't think he'd get anywhere trying to discuss any of her statements--they feel like a combination of excuses and a bit of a tantrum--and focuses instead on the one question she asked. "Is there any reason why I should trust you?"

It's still neutral, almost curious; he wants to see if she can give a good reason.

"Apparently not."

She's tired suddenly. Nothing she says is right. The truth is supposed to be better but in Hadriel, with this man, that is not the case. Her attempts have faltered, come to nothing. Perhaps it was foolish to hope she could be something else. Perhaps she should simply throw in her lot with Hux and forgot the rest. Loving Henry doesn't mean she'll build him anything worth keeping. And as for Emily --

Well. Emily is perhaps too kind, in this case.

The First Order would have a place for her, Maketh thinks. She'd have to bleed and twist herself in order to fit, but it's a shape that she knows, a role that she's held before. She could be an officer again.

Why not? Whatever options there might have been, she's failed at them.

Well, that got him absolutely nowhere, but it's not a surprising answer either. He'd wanted to help her and believe she had good intentions, but right now he doesn't; he thinks she could, and he feels sympathy for what he knows about her past and how she got here, but that only goes so far. It isn't a permanent excuse, and what happened after Sato's post--and then after all of that as well--has only convinced him she isn't yet willing to commit to making the changes she needs to make.

So he'll move on and tell her what he needs to tell her, and then he can leave. "You should know that Hux suspects we know each other."

Edited 2017-06-03 01:59 (UTC)

Maketh laughs at that, low and mean. She's not afraid of Hux. There's nothing he could do that would possibly hurt. "Why do I care what Hux knows?"

Not to her, at least. But to Doctor Sweets, now that's another matter all together.

This time she looks at him, eyes narrowed tight.

"Well?"

If he brought it up - and brought it up now - there must be a good reason. Otherwise she'll turn away and never speak with him again.

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