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!"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

"So I wanted to warn you that he may ask questions." Lance responds, trying to read why she's reacting like this; is it from this topic specifically, or leftover from the rest of their conversation?

"I'm not entirely sure what he wants, but he clearly disapproved of your choices previously." Which indicates she should really be more careful what she says to Hux, and that's something Lance thinks might be useful to remind her of. It's not only better for her if she and Hux aren't working together, but better for everyone else as well; he doesn't for a moment think they trust each other, but they clearly have some level of connection between them to share information and work together. Breaking that up a little certainly wouldn't hurt. "He actually asked me to stop you, although his message came after I had already left your apartment."

Of course Hux questions her choices. She's a traitor scum who barely held onto her rank while she was alive. Given the opportunity to profit from it, he'll see her dead. All of this is expected. He wouldn't even help her kill Sato unless it benefited him someway - fine. Okay. It's only logical.

But to call someone else -- ?

No. Not possible.

Maketh holds herself very still, working through several different trains of thought at once.

First: it's a betrayal.

Second: it's entirely logical.

Third: she trusted him. She trusted Hux and he --

Stopped her from ruining things.

Stars above. Maketh shivers. Closes her eyes and counts to five. Opens them.

"Of course he did. It was the most effective choice."

It comes out too quickly. She doesn't intend that. It isn't supposed to hurt. Hux is nothing. He's an enemy waiting to betray her in a way that really will matter. He's not her ally, certainly not a friend.

"Is that all, Doctor Sweets? Did you intend that to be a threat? If so, it's a poor one."

His eyes narrow a little further as he watches her reaction, looking for anything that might give him more insight into her and Hux's relationship, and it's... Confusing. Complicated. That's not necessarily a good sign.

When she finally responds, though, neither of her comments are what he expects. The first sure seems logical, only Lance had gotten the impression Maketh is still angry with him over trying to stop her. And the other part--

"Why would that be a threat?" He can't keep the incredulity out of his tone this time, because of all the responses that isn't one he expected. Really? He doesn't threaten, and if he were going to it would surely be a lot more obvious and extremely unintimidating. He knows better than to even try, honestly.

Maketh glares at him. She's beyond acting like a cadet to him - eyes away, back perfectly straight, respect oozing from every inch of her. It doesn't get her anything and he doesn't understand. There's no point. "Because the man who built the Starkiller only cares about what he can take, isn't that right? Any weakness will be crushed. I was weak and he'll hurt me for that. Hah!"

How foolish. She knows where she stands with Hux. It's a relief. It probably shouldn't be.

Maketh laughs. It comes out too loud, too fast.

"I'm the closest thing he has to a command in this damn place." Maketh bares her teeth, laughing. She's laughing and laughing and it hurts, she's laughing all quiet and horse and it's beginning to feel like screaming, a little, only with less air. Stars, she hates this. She wants to go home. She wants to be somewhere else. "They couldn't kill him in the Academy. He was small but he lived. And I lived."

She nods firmly. She's shaking. The sword falls from her hand.

"I fucking lived!"

There is so much in her response that is useful; so much that indicates some of his ideas about her were correct and reaffirms that he thinks he knows how to help, if he could just get through to her about it. So much that indicates she's so close to being self-aware about some of her problems, and so much potential to help her get all the way there.

But he can't, in good faith, address any of that when she's reacting like she is physically. Right now the only thing he should do is try to calm her down, and try to do so without making it worse.

"Maketh." He voice goes a little quieter, calmer, but firm. "Take a deep breath. Whatever is going to happen isn't going to be in the next few minutes." And whatever has already happened is in the past. Right now, she needs to not work herself into any more of an upset state.

Stand up straight. Eyes ahead. Don't speak until called upon. Remember your place, soldier. Stand in line and nothing will happen to you. Nothing will --

Stop.

Maketh grits her teeth until her jaw starts to ache with the force of it. Stop that, don't be foolish, don't be weak. You have witnesses, you cannot do that, you are not weak because if you are weak then you are dead weight and dead weight gets dropped.

It hurts to breathe. There's something heavy caught in her throat, digging in.

Stop. You're being foolish. A disgrace to your command. That cannot stand.

Maketh closes her eyes tight and hits herself in the head with two quick blows. Closed fist, precise strike, just like the instructors would do. Enough to shock her back to present, to focus.

"You can go now, Doctor Sweets."

Her voice is sharp and cold, drawn tight. He's seen. She has a witness.

He doesn't move quickly enough to intervene, not expecting her actions and having put extra distance between them earlier, but he does step forward close enough to be within arm's length before he stops. And no matter what she says, he absolutely can't go now. Not after that.

"Maketh, listen." His own voice is still quiet but firm, unswayed. "I'm speaking to you as a doctor. Take a deep breath." He may not be a medical doctor but in this area his expertise is just as good, if not better than, if he were.

She has witnesses. He's seen, he knows, he knows. Maketh takes a shuddering breath. It's not enough air, somehow. Her ribs feel too small, suddenly, pulled tight or possibly shattered by some blow she didn't see coming. An enemy got under her guard and pulped her insides and now she's going to die foolishly, in front of him.

Stop. Stand up straight, soldier. Your posture is disgraceful.

Maketh coughs. Tries to breathe. She's shaking all over, one hand pressed to her temple, nails digging in. "No, no, no. I am -- I am an Officer of the -- of the Imperial C-court--"

Her ears are ringing.

Enough.

She flinches. Drops her hand.

"That did not happen."

He watches her reaction for a few seconds, a hand raises just slightly in case he needs to move to stop her from doing anything else, but hesitant to do so unless absolutely necessary. He's close enough now, after all, that if she decides to lash out he'd be in real danger.

If he weren't in professional mode at the moment he'd give her a flat look for her last comment, but as it is he completely ignores that she said it at all. Obviously he isn't going to pretend this didn't happen, especially remembering one of their conversations before over the network.

Panic attacks are nothing to be ashamed of, and not particularly uncommon, but somehow he doesn't think Maketh would accept either of those facts if he said them. So won't directly say either, and especially avoid the name; the last he wants is her getting derailed by focusing on insisting she doesn't panic.

"Maketh, what just happened I can help with, if you let me teach you a few things to do. Knowing how to handle it also helps lessen the severity." He's still speaking clinically, although it's for both their sake at the moment; this is a topic he has some personal experience in, and doesn't want that coming across in his words or voice.

It hurts. She dropped her weapon and it hurts to breathe. Less than before, no weight bearing down from the inside, but still there. She has a witness, he saw the whole thing, he saw her be weak.

He saw her drop her weapon. Disgraceful.

Maketh twitches. Forces her hands to unclench. She's very careful to look at anything but Sweets.

"Nothing happened, I am -- perfectly fine!"

She was weak and he saw.

"I am going, I -- I have paperwork."

Paperwork. Yes. Away from him.

"Denying something doesn't make it go away." Lance says, still as evenly as ever, not wanting her to just brush this off. He may not be able to help her with the major issues, but he can at least do something about this one if she'll just listen for five minutes.

"Is it better to face and overcome something that pretend it doesn't exist?" It's advice he's given so many times, to others and to himself, that it's second nature at this point.

She doesn't want to be here, wants to be anywhere else. Even in the caves. Stars, she'd take the cave and all the crawling monsters just for a chance to get out from this moment. She was weak and he saw, she was weak and he won't let it go, he's still talking--

Stop. Just stop.

She's quiet for a long moment, just breathing. Eyes closed tight. Then:

"Continue."

She barely gets the word out. It hurts to speak. Hurts to be there at all, existing. She just wants it to stop.

He's silent while she's just standing there; she isn't lashing out, so he remains where he is and waits, but he can't help but be surprised when she finally does speak. In invitation--or well, order, but he's not being picky at the moment--to talk, and therefore her to listen, is unexpected but not at all unwelcome.

Lance chooses his words carefully, trying to present this in a truthful but least threatening way possible. "I'm sure you're familiar with the idea of a fight or flight reflex, when faced with a threat. What you're experiencing is a misfiring of that reflex, triggered in a stressful but nonlifethreatening situation. It's relatively common, and there are some very simple techniques than can help stop or reverse it."

The sword is on the ground. The sword that killed her is on the ground and she is without a weapon. Unacceptable. She's proven herself weak in front of witnesses.

Maketh takes a breath, tries to let it out slowly. Stars, her chest hurts.

"Such as?"

Her voice comes out too sharp and too weak all at once, almost breathless. Shameful. She can't be doing this.

"Breathing exercises are common and effective. There are also some mental tricks, and a few occasionally useful preventative measures." He knows just about every strategy in the book, of course, although some he finds far more helpful than others.

He's also still surprised she's listening, but he's not going to complain.

"Name them, please."

She's not yelling, she's speaking in a perfectly even tone even if she doesn't want to. This situation is ridiculous, all her fault. It has to stop. She has to fix it.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw for self-harm

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject