Kovacs
the maestro of mad shit.
Caretaker
Makoto Madiyarov
theme
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Location
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Kitchens
Well, there it was; the ornament had at last fallen from its tree. Whether it met the ground with a shattering embrace of a thousand pieces, or remained whole and simply rolled off, was a matter of who exactly heard it fall.
For his younger counterpart, it shattered. Formidable though Jasper was in stature, Makoto had always understood him to be a peacemaker; preferring instead to not rock the boat and preserve what balance his troubled mind had left him.
But now, Abigail's body having floated up to the surface, the ensuing waves seemed to knock the gentle giant off-kilter. The sink creaked under his weight, face twisted to and fro by shock as he maintained his composure by a ship rope's thread. The pain in the Englishman's eyes was sharp and mocking and much too familiar. It called to him too, as if recognizing a past face.
Makoto gritted his teeth. His refusal to answer back led his eyes astray, landing on mouse-brown locks. Trembling faintly, a tear rolled silently down her paled cheek.
Makoto shifted, wishing he had some sort of handkerchief instead of the blonde wonder's knife. It was a British custom he never saw much use to pick up, until now. Though since arriving at the Orphanage, perhaps there had been every good reason to.
Setting the knife aside, Makoto opened his mouth, somewhat ready to offer the woman a few words of comfort. He shut it right back up at her hushed request, watching with tired, guarded but grateful eyes as she made her own offer.
At this point, it felt as natural as breath itself. Miles better than any paltry white cloth, Makoto produced his signature brass cigarette lighter. Alight with flame within moments, he lit Doris' first, taking the moment to glance over at the third man in the room.
Edgar Wells. A fellow wounded soldier who befriended sleep more than his duty most nights at the stairs. Though the sight of Makoto with Abigail in his arms certainly did the trick this time. For him, there was no shattering; the ornament had rolled off slowly, realization cementing as they locked eyes.
Did you hear...what I heard, Wells?
Did you see her shadow, her hands? How I ended back at the windowsill?
Behind him, the soft clink and swirl of dishwater were the only answers. Ever the diligent pupil, Uriel Grace's slender back was turned, wisely absorbed into her task.
Feeling the beginning bites of flame nest too comfortably next his fingers, Makoto stepped back from Doris, jaw angling to the side as he quickly lit his own cigarette.
Doris' question Makoto said nothing to, at first. With a snap, his lighter lost its flame and was tucked back into its proper place. He took a long drag, frayed nerves steaming back into temporary place before the smoke was let out.
Then, leaning against the kitchen mirror wall, he remembered his exchange with Frida.
"As much as they might look it, the kodomo are not stupid. I even witnessed it myself while dealing with our she-wolf, Frida. You all know it too. They will already be asking questions about her."
Makoto shifted again, his gaze meeting Doris' before following her lead. Switching onto Jasper and the other two, he made a mental note to try and find Solinas or Adelaide later.
"Christmas is around the corner," he continued steadily with a sort of military cadence, as if he were laying out the plan for the next trench charge. "Their lists for gifts this year are nearly drawn up. So, I say our best chance is to make Abigail's sudden disappearance..." Makoto took a breath in. "...look like just that. A gift. One that was in the making all alo---"
The kitchen doors burst open. Makoto had no time to turn and see who it was, only feel their charge towards him.
His hand had only just wrapped around his pouch, while the other lightly the knife, sitting centimeters away on the mirror ledge when little, lithe hands tugged at his coat. One or two lugnuts fell to the floor at the impact, breaking the shock holding Makoto captive.
It was none other than Olivia. Her cherry-hazel eyes were as big as saucers, taking up nearly all of her frame of four feet and eight inches. Makoto straightened from his leaned position, gingerly putting a hand across her spine.
"Tshh, tshh," came his voice, finally found and low, almost rumbling. He crouched down, hand still on her back, flicking glances between the doors and the rest of the caretakers. In an instant, they all knew it.
Something was wrong.
Makoto focused back on Olivia, his hand now rested firmly on her shoulder. His gaze softened for a moment.
"Sutte, sutte, haite..." went the little mantra, passed from mother to son, husband to wife, from father to daughter.
Breathe, breathe.
Let it out, Kairi.
"...let it out, Olivia," Makoto murmured, his bluntness almost making it stern. His eye traveled down her arms, catching on her right wrist a worrisome swell. It could have been as simple as a fall done in by a young girl's clumsiness. Yet her tears, this feeling emanating from her could only remind Makoto of one thing. Twisting his soldier's cap tighter, he put a gentle hand around her right wrist. "Start with this. Where did you fall? How? Was it Frida? Speak the truth, and Doris and I, and the others will take care of it."
For his younger counterpart, it shattered. Formidable though Jasper was in stature, Makoto had always understood him to be a peacemaker; preferring instead to not rock the boat and preserve what balance his troubled mind had left him.
But now, Abigail's body having floated up to the surface, the ensuing waves seemed to knock the gentle giant off-kilter. The sink creaked under his weight, face twisted to and fro by shock as he maintained his composure by a ship rope's thread. The pain in the Englishman's eyes was sharp and mocking and much too familiar. It called to him too, as if recognizing a past face.
Makoto gritted his teeth. His refusal to answer back led his eyes astray, landing on mouse-brown locks. Trembling faintly, a tear rolled silently down her paled cheek.
Makoto shifted, wishing he had some sort of handkerchief instead of the blonde wonder's knife. It was a British custom he never saw much use to pick up, until now. Though since arriving at the Orphanage, perhaps there had been every good reason to.
Setting the knife aside, Makoto opened his mouth, somewhat ready to offer the woman a few words of comfort. He shut it right back up at her hushed request, watching with tired, guarded but grateful eyes as she made her own offer.
At this point, it felt as natural as breath itself. Miles better than any paltry white cloth, Makoto produced his signature brass cigarette lighter. Alight with flame within moments, he lit Doris' first, taking the moment to glance over at the third man in the room.
Edgar Wells. A fellow wounded soldier who befriended sleep more than his duty most nights at the stairs. Though the sight of Makoto with Abigail in his arms certainly did the trick this time. For him, there was no shattering; the ornament had rolled off slowly, realization cementing as they locked eyes.
Did you hear...what I heard, Wells?
Did you see her shadow, her hands? How I ended back at the windowsill?
Behind him, the soft clink and swirl of dishwater were the only answers. Ever the diligent pupil, Uriel Grace's slender back was turned, wisely absorbed into her task.
Feeling the beginning bites of flame nest too comfortably next his fingers, Makoto stepped back from Doris, jaw angling to the side as he quickly lit his own cigarette.
Doris' question Makoto said nothing to, at first. With a snap, his lighter lost its flame and was tucked back into its proper place. He took a long drag, frayed nerves steaming back into temporary place before the smoke was let out.
Then, leaning against the kitchen mirror wall, he remembered his exchange with Frida.
"As much as they might look it, the kodomo are not stupid. I even witnessed it myself while dealing with our she-wolf, Frida. You all know it too. They will already be asking questions about her."
Makoto shifted again, his gaze meeting Doris' before following her lead. Switching onto Jasper and the other two, he made a mental note to try and find Solinas or Adelaide later.
"Christmas is around the corner," he continued steadily with a sort of military cadence, as if he were laying out the plan for the next trench charge. "Their lists for gifts this year are nearly drawn up. So, I say our best chance is to make Abigail's sudden disappearance..." Makoto took a breath in. "...look like just that. A gift. One that was in the making all alo---"
The kitchen doors burst open. Makoto had no time to turn and see who it was, only feel their charge towards him.
His hand had only just wrapped around his pouch, while the other lightly the knife, sitting centimeters away on the mirror ledge when little, lithe hands tugged at his coat. One or two lugnuts fell to the floor at the impact, breaking the shock holding Makoto captive.
It was none other than Olivia. Her cherry-hazel eyes were as big as saucers, taking up nearly all of her frame of four feet and eight inches. Makoto straightened from his leaned position, gingerly putting a hand across her spine.
"Tshh, tshh," came his voice, finally found and low, almost rumbling. He crouched down, hand still on her back, flicking glances between the doors and the rest of the caretakers. In an instant, they all knew it.
Something was wrong.
Makoto focused back on Olivia, his hand now rested firmly on her shoulder. His gaze softened for a moment.
"Sutte, sutte, haite..." went the little mantra, passed from mother to son, husband to wife, from father to daughter.
Breathe, breathe.
Let it out, Kairi.
"...let it out, Olivia," Makoto murmured, his bluntness almost making it stern. His eye traveled down her arms, catching on her right wrist a worrisome swell. It could have been as simple as a fall done in by a young girl's clumsiness. Yet her tears, this feeling emanating from her could only remind Makoto of one thing. Twisting his soldier's cap tighter, he put a gentle hand around her right wrist. "Start with this. Where did you fall? How? Was it Frida? Speak the truth, and Doris and I, and the others will take care of it."
CODE BY SEROBLISS / VALOROUS ORDER
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tags
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Frida WagnerOlivia HawthorneAbigail Lipton (NPC)Edgar Wells (NPC)Uriel Grace (NPC)Adelaide FurseDoris MartinJasper CummingsMateo Solinas
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