[Maketh wavers, trying to hold herself perfectly still, eyes focused on the wall behind Chris. Hands trembling under the table. No eye contact, no, keep your back straight and hold still. She's better than this, she does not want to cry.
It was the best choice. She's very sure of that. She won't be the thing that hurts these people, no, she has a duty to them. Her failures at Lothal will not be repeated.
The people on Lothal, her allies, would shoot her dead if they saw her now.
And yet here is this man - child, really - sitting across from her and attempting to...what?
Be kind, Maketh supposes. He's trying to be kind to her. Even though she damaged him. Has continued to damage him with her talk of tactics and war. And yet here he sits, trying to speak with her. To share an experience that most wouldn't dare consider, let alone speak of. As if she's done something to earn this when Makeh knows she hasn't. She's tried to protect this community in the ways she knows how, but it hasn't worked, hasn't worked at all, people have died.
She ordered Henry to set her on fire. How does someone get over that? How does someone forgive the person who gave the order in the first place?
This sort of thing isn't supposed to be complicated. It's tactics. Psychology. Maketh is supposed to be good at that. The Empire gave her the best education in the galaxy, she should know better. She never has, though, not with people - the details always slip, she never understands when it matters. She doesn't understand Chris right now, wants suddenly - desperately - to ask him about whatever sharp choice he made that's bouncing around his skull right now. Surely he's thinking about it right now - Maketh thinks about the fire a lot, even when she doesn't want to. The look on Henry's face when he...
It's not supposed to matter. She's dead on Lothal, a traitor in all ways, so why does it matter if she dies here too?
Maketh tightens her jaw]
I'm not crying.
[She's not. Officers don't do that. She's just drunk, which is fine - expected, even - and in a few hours she'll be sick and then she'll pass out into a dead sleep. Then she'll wake up, put on her uniform, and dismiss the lingering thoughts with the remnants of her hangover. So it goes. Drink, get lost, wake up sick and then just let it out. Let it go. Pull yourself together and do your job. It's supposed to be easy.]
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timeasmymeasure
[Action]
Date: 2016-03-04 04:15 am (UTC)It was the best choice. She's very sure of that. She won't be the thing that hurts these people, no, she has a duty to them. Her failures at Lothal will not be repeated.
The people on Lothal, her allies, would shoot her dead if they saw her now.
And yet here is this man - child, really - sitting across from her and attempting to...what?
Be kind, Maketh supposes. He's trying to be kind to her. Even though she damaged him. Has continued to damage him with her talk of tactics and war. And yet here he sits, trying to speak with her. To share an experience that most wouldn't dare consider, let alone speak of. As if she's done something to earn this when Makeh knows she hasn't. She's tried to protect this community in the ways she knows how, but it hasn't worked, hasn't worked at all, people have died.
She ordered Henry to set her on fire. How does someone get over that? How does someone forgive the person who gave the order in the first place?
This sort of thing isn't supposed to be complicated. It's tactics. Psychology. Maketh is supposed to be good at that. The Empire gave her the best education in the galaxy, she should know better. She never has, though, not with people - the details always slip, she never understands when it matters. She doesn't understand Chris right now, wants suddenly - desperately - to ask him about whatever sharp choice he made that's bouncing around his skull right now. Surely he's thinking about it right now - Maketh thinks about the fire a lot, even when she doesn't want to. The look on Henry's face when he...
It's not supposed to matter. She's dead on Lothal, a traitor in all ways, so why does it matter if she dies here too?
Maketh tightens her jaw]
I'm not crying.
[She's not. Officers don't do that. She's just drunk, which is fine - expected, even - and in a few hours she'll be sick and then she'll pass out into a dead sleep. Then she'll wake up, put on her uniform, and dismiss the lingering thoughts with the remnants of her hangover. So it goes. Drink, get lost, wake up sick and then just let it out. Let it go. Pull yourself together and do your job. It's supposed to be easy.]