milliways_bar | (no subject)

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[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.]

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Makita's shoulder twitch in what would be a violent motion if the girl had enough energy to be violent. Instead it just comes across as feeble, and she doesn't even turn to see who's touching her.

"Mel..." Alex says this in a tone of almost desperate relief. "Something happened. I think she's in shellshock." Never mind that Mel might not know the term. It's the only thing that comes to mind.

Mel wraps the arm around Makita more firmly, ignoring any resistance on the 'Gorka's side.

She glances to Knox, and nods. "She come in the front door?"

There's no sign from Makita that she's aware that they're talking about her, or even that they're there.

"I think so, Mel. Gotta be from a battle." He pauses. "I've never seen anyone like this. I don't know what to do. But we have to do something." It's been too long since he took anything resembling first aid. What do you do for shock? He can't remember.

"I have," Mel says bluntly. "Me. After killing my brother. Com'on, 'Keet."

Accepting no physical protest from Makita, she steers her gently towards the stairs. "We're going upstairs. Get a change of clothes for her from bar."

While Makita offers some token resistance, it's not enough to make things at all difficult for Mel. It probably wouldn't make things difficult for most people. It's sort of pathetic, really.

Alex follows quietly, feeling as if he's very much in someplace he has never been. But he has to do what he can for Kita. She's family.

The literal someplace he's never been is 132. Mel would even pick Kita up if she thought it would help, but she makes her walk anyway.

Once there, Mel pulls her to the couch.

"Sit with her," to Knox. "I'm going to get a bowl of water."

Makita folds, limply and automatically, onto the couch. Her breath still comes far too quickly, but it seems to have settled quite a bit from what it was when she entered the bar.

Alex sits next to the battered young woman. He can smell blood, and something cold and foul beyond that. Something that he smelled that day in Bahamut so many months ago. "We're gonna help you, Kita. You know that. We are gonna help." He can barely make himself look at Kita, and looks around the room for a moment, seeing some clear signs of Mike's presence but not really paying attention.

"No, we're not."

Mel's tone, when it's stripped of snark and humour, is blunt and business like. She grabs a bowl from the kitchen and fills it with warm water and soap from the bathroom before returning with a sponge.

"Because you don't need help, right, Keets? You're under there."

Then, she starts cleaning the dirt off Makita's face.

Makita whimpers softly at the first touch of water. On her cold skin it's almost scalding, but it's definitely what she needs.

All of a sudden she sighs out a long breath and the blank look leaves her face as her eyes sag closed. The emptiness is gone, replaced with an anguish so deep that there aren't really words to describe it.

Silent tears join the water from the sponge on her face.

There is only one thing to do when you see a face that filled with pain.

You just grab Kita for a hug. You say nothing because it really is beyond words, but you hold her, at least till she shoves you back.

Mel doesn't hug, she just carries on until either Makita's face is clean or she can't access it anymore.

She's waiting for the breaking to finish.

With the numbness that was protecting her pulled away be her friends, the shuddering sobs become more and more intense until Makita inhales deeply and releases a piercingly loud wail of anguish.

Startled, Alex lets go. The howl washes over him, terrifying and sad.

Mel sits back for it, and then sits up next to Makita, taking over hug duty. She knocks her hat to the floor and rests a hand on 'Kita's hair.

"I know."

More than once Makita has to pause for breath before trying, again and again, to express just how much she hurts when words are simply insufficient. But she's been days without sleep, and now that she's stopped and warm and (somehow) safe... she doesn't even notice when her eyes slide closed and her breathing evens out.

"Is she asleep," he whispers very carefully to Mel.

"Probably."

Mel pulls Makita's prone body to her, not letting her out of the hug yet.

"I'll keep her here overnight."

The pain etched into Makita's features remains even in sleep, but it's far less harsh as her breath slips in and out rhythmically.

"Yeah, of course." He slowly gets up. "Listen...if you need anything, or if she needs anything, come find me. Or Rapunzel. She's family to both of us, and..." He can't say anything more as he chokes up, scared for Kita, her howl still echoing. He gives Rapunzel's room number (now his room as well). "And thanks for being here, Mel."

"She's mine too." Simply.

"Come see her tomorrow if she's not in bar."

Mel looks up at Knox finally. "You know it could be only one thing, right?"

"Yeah. The goddamn war. That terrible miserable war that made her an orphan." He doesn't curse. Somehow he never got the habit. But the tone of his voice, the strength of his anger, make every word sound like a profanity. To match that war.