milliways_bar | (no subject)

[OOM: History will one day remember it as the last major offensive of the war, but for those who live through it there is only one thing to remember: death. So much death.]

The Makita who trudges into the bar today is almost unrecognizable as the girl who left only a few days ago. Her clothes and face are still spattered with the blood and grime of days of fighting in the streets, but that isn't uncommon for her.

No, the difference is that this Makita is hollow-eyed, almost empty. Her steps are slow and heavy, her eyes are blank, and she doesn't even appear to be aware that she's back in Milliways at all. A close look at her face will reveal the twin streaks of oddly clean skin running down her cheeks; the path the tears have scoured out.

She's not crying now. She has no tears left.

Makita has been many things in her life, but broken has never been one of them. Until now.

[This post open for days and days as it's sort of important to Makita, and likely to go slowtime since I'm still traveling. But don't let that deter you from tagging.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Makita struggles against the unexpected grab. It would be violent if she weren't tired and hungry and completely drained of adrenaline. Instead it only makes her look more pathetic.

"Easy, easy," she mutters. She sounds more like she's talking to a wounded animal than to a person; she feels like it, too.

A swift, murmured conversation with the bar, and then she heads for the couch in front of the fireplace. Times like these, she hates that Makita prefers the bar to a room, but she doesn't want to freak her out any more than she obviously already is.

"C'mon, little thuvasaur. We're gonna sit down."

While she doesn't stop struggling, it becomes weaker and weaker. It's just reflex, with no real thought behind it. Most of her growing calm is simple exhaustion, but some of it is the growing warmth of being near the fire.

It won't be long before she heats up enough to start shivering.

Two rats come hurrying their way. The first is carrying a stack of blankets; Plourr takes them, pointing at the table for the other rat. It chitters and deposits its burden (a tray containing a steaming mug of coffee, a bowl of stew, and a first aid kit) on the table, and scrambles away.

Plourr takes the blankets (big, thick, warm quilts) and wraps Makita in them from head to toe.

"You're in Milliways, Makita. Take it easy; I've got you, alright? Gotcha." She rubs her arms in the hopes of getting blood flowing faster.

Makita is just too far gone to struggle, so she sits numbly as Plourr works to warm her up. It's not long before the thin girl begins shivering uncontrollably as her body moves from 'too cold to feel the cold' to something more survivable.

She sits down, puts an arm across skinny shoulders, and pulls her close. She's cold. Body heat does the trick.

It helps, anyway.

She takes Makita's chin in one big hand and lifts her face so that they're looking eye-to-eye. "Makita, it's Plourr. I need to know if you're hurt."

The shivering intensifies at first before slowly beginning to subside. Makita's stare is still blank, even staring Plourr directly in the face doesn't seem to produce anything resembling recognition.

Makita hasn't winced at any of Plourr's poking and prodding; she doesn't move like somebody injured.

(She moves like the walking dead. She moves like someone whose mind has gone silent but whose body refuses to give up. Plourr's seen it before. Hell, Plourr thinks she's felt it before.)

"Shavit, you're freaky," she mutters, and she lets go of her face; she peels the oversized hat (there is a nearly identical one sitting on her daughter's dresser; she tries not to think about it) off the girl's head. She smoothes matted hair, big fingers a touch clumsy (not used to this), but no less careful for it.

"Seriously freaky." She has her in a half-hug against her side; she momentarily rests her chin against the top of Makita's head. "Come on, girl. I know you're in there somewhere."

It takes time, but eventually Makita's shivering ceases and she simply sits still. More time passes and her body begins shuddering again, but instead of being accompanied by the sound of chattering teeth, it is the sound of rapid, stressed breathing.