twiststheblade

Miho pulls away.

Only for a second, though, only to re-sheathe blades (they'll need caring for, later. They're far too wet), before slipping back into Goldy's arms, and this time her own arms slip up in between them, fingers curling hard into the taller woman's shirt.

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There's a chillingly empty sensation in the pit of my stomach. Not painful, but so very unpleasant. I know what it is. But I try and ignore it.

Time passes—seconds, minutes... I've no idea—until I eventually release her and reholster my weapon beneath my sodden T-shirt.

"Who did this to you?"

I'm quite positive, now, that the culprits have already been dealt with. And I know she won't answer. But I have to ask.

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Miho pushes her hair back from her face, flicking rain-water off her hands onto the ground. She shrugs, a little, face impassive. Does it really matter? You can't change the past.

She takes a few steps away, pauses, and looks over her shoulder.

Are they coming? It's raining.

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Mary Anne's been quiet the last few minutes; she couldn't leave, but she didn't want to interrupt.

She gives Miho a nod and starts following her.

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So many questions yammering at me, and bouncing uncontrollably around my head. Where's my Miho, the one I knew and loved? How deep is she buried? How long is it going to take to get her back?

I don't vocalize those though.

"Uh... where are we going?"

It's not that I don't trust this Miho. I don't like following anyone blindly. Especially not in strange places.

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Miho looks back, and frowns. Only for a moment, though, because she manages to turn the frown into a smile. A small, cracked smile, but a smile none-the-less. She stops, waits for Goldy to catch up, and holds out a hand.

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Mary Anne's a little less concerned with where they're going; instead, she's taking in the scenery. Basin City is new territory for her.

She glances back at Goldy, jerking her head in Miho's direction. "Think she's about to show us."

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My heart flutters happily in response to the smile. It's transitory though, and soon replaced by heaviness again.

I take her tiny little hand in mine and say nothing else.

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Miho does give a tiny squeeze to Goldy's hand, as she leads the two blondes through the streets. It's warren-like, Old Town, and just how Miho knows where she's going is an interesting question.

She obviously does, though, because they eventually reach the bottom of an apartment building that looks just the same as all of the other buildings.

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Mary Anne looks up.

"Home sweet home, huh?"

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Something like that.

A key opens the door, and Miho heads across the (spotlessly clean, actually, if somewhat colourless) foyer towards the stairs. There's no elevator.

She begins to ascend. And yes, she lives on the top floor. The fourteenth floor, to be exact.

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I traipse along behind, having let go of her hand a few blocks back.

I'm less scared now, and more angry. The fury is building inside me, like a huge storm massing at the edge of my consciousness, dark and malevolent; like a pack of hungry rottweilers waiting to be unleashed.

I want payback for my loss. For her loss. I want blood.

But that doesn't seem too likely here.

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Up the stairs they go.
(three of swords)
Mary Anne seems to have absorbed some of Miho's silence, keeping her mouth shut once they crossed the threshold.
(ten of swords)
There's things here she doesn't understand, and flashes of her sword siblings' influence. She doesn't like it.

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It gnaws at me, eating away at my self-control. It shoves at me like a petulant school boy.

I want to lash out at something.

Anything...

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One the fourteenth floor is reached, Miho unlocks the door, pauses on the threshold, and tilts her head, inviting her unexpected guests in. She pauses, because this is her space. And no-one comes her. Well, Molly had, back when she still needed caring for. Sometimes she still does. And sometimes, Miho doesn't turn her away.

The apartment is small, fairly bare, very clean. The window, which is surprisingly large, lacks curtains or blinds, and is shielded only by the rain sheeting down it. Miho crosses the room silently, heading for the bathroom. She returns with towels, hands one to each of her guests, and begins wringing the worst of the wet out of her hair.

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"Thanks," she murmurs, accepting the towel and beginning to dry off her hair. After that, she turns her attention to her knives.

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Vaguely reminiscent of her room at the bar, at least in terms of the scant furnishings and minimalism. I don't like it. It just adds to the feeling of emptiness that's welling in my gut.

I... need to turn my attention elsewhere, so I make some peremptory efforts at drying my hair. It's way past simple recovery though, and my rubbing just leaves it horribly frizzy.

Unsurprisingly, this doesn't help my mounting rage.

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Miho leaves the towel over her shoulder, and her blades go onto the table. She'll dry them properly in a moment, once she's no longer sopping wet herself. She strips unceremoniously out of her wet clothes, tossing them through the open door of the bathroom, and turns to a free-standing wardrobe for dry jeans and t-shirt.

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Things are just... happening around me now.

In a blur.

I look over at her and...

No.

From:

solitude exile misery concern

despair suffering conflict defeat degredation dishonor

failure conquered overwhelmed struggle strife

stagnation immobile abandonment surrender

debacle disaster self-destruction

"Oh holy hell."

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No.
Yes.
No...
Yes...
No no no no no no no...

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes...

"NO!"

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Miho turns at the sudden yell, tugging her jeans on, just in time to fail in any attempt she might have made to prevent her floor-lamp from smashing through her window. While she is staring at the wreckage of her window, the door opens, and slams, behind her, and when she turns back, Goldy is nowhere in sight.

She blinks.

And looks to Mary Anne. What just happened?

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Mary Anne runs a hand through her hair.

"'S bit of a shock," she murmurs.

"Seeing your...seeing you." She sinks down onto the futon, patting the space beside her. "C'mere, sweetness."

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