runmakitarun | Entries tagged with proto

The light of the rising sun barely kisses the broken buildings of the city of Bahamut as Proto and Makita walk across the snow-covered streets. They pick their way across broken rubble, broken vehicles, and broken bodies in silence.

The station isn't far now and Makita glances over at Proto and jerks her head to suggest they approach from the east to keep the brightening dawn at their backs.

Makita's breathless laughter proceeds her entrance into the bunker that is the closest thing she has to a home in Bahamut. She glances back over her shoulder to grin up at Proto, "I won, so you have to cook dinner. Really, Proto," she teases, "How are you going to fight off all those Reds if you can't run any faster than that."

The bunker doesn't really deserve the word. It's just the basement of a bombed out apartment building connected by tunnels to other basements in the area. Makita remembers a time when it was cramped with all the people packed into it, but the war has not been kind to the population of the city, and now the space feels almost too large for the two young people who remain.

The week passes quickly with Makita and Proto chipping in wherever the squad needs help. Trenches are dug, walls reinforced, supplies cached, and ambush points prepared. A single week with no fighting should add at least a month to the time that the Reds can be kept out of this sector. It's another holding action, sure, but that's what the 'Gorkas are reduced to these days. They don't have much in the way of infrastructure left, and the Reds still have the remains of an empire.

Work is not the only thing that is done during the storm. There is singing, dancing, and shared laughter around the fire. Makita spends time with her papa as he tells her stories of the old days before the war. He speaks of the Battle of Ka'Dathra's Gate where he had fought beside the Red Fleet and watched the Nistaani break the empire's back. He speaks of the legends of the people, of the times before the coming of the Reds, of the Golden Horde who taught the 'Gorkas to fight when they invaded centuries ago.

The stories are good, but the real joy is a daughter simply spending time with her father, and in between the stories they speak of the things that truly matter.

As they sit beside the fire Makita leans in under her father's arm, "I've missed you papa."

"I've missed you, too, my beautiful girl."

"Stop that." Normally Makita would punctuate her admonition with an elbow in the ribs, but she's to comfortable where she is to bother.

"Quit what?" papa asks, but his voice is teasing as if he already knows.

"I'm not beautiful."

He turns to look down at her, his eyes serious. "You, are, you know. You are so much like your mother, and she was the most beautiful woman I've ever known..."

Makita straightens slightly, "You never talk about her."

"And I won't start today, my child," he smiles.

This time she does elbow him in the ribs, "You do that on purpose, don't you?" She shakes her head with a fond grin, "Changing the subject isn't really going to prove you right, you know."

Papa's laugh is deep and rich and sounds like home and safety and better times. "You want me to prove it to you, then? Why that is the easiest thing in the world." When Makita smirks and leans back as if to say "prove it" he grins and calls out, "Proto, come here, I've got a question for you."

"Hey!" That's cheating!

Papa reaches down and playfully covers Makita's mouth with a hand, "You wanted me to prove it, and so I will." There's a grin on his face as he turns to Proto, "Proto, Makita and I are having a little disagreement. Tell me: is she beautiful?"

Proto knows them both well enough to piece together most of the conversation and he smiles widely. "I don't know..." he teases. Then Makita sticks her tongue out at him and he laughs.

Papa is adamant, "Come on, Proto, you can't weasel your way out of this. You've got to answer."

With a nod Proto turns and looks straight at Makita, eyes serious. "The most beautiful woman I've ever known."

The Reds use mines in the traditional way: seeding them into minefields in order to slow or halt attacks from a given direction. The 'Gorkas do things a bit differently. Makita and Proto work together, wandering the perimeter of the camp finding the best approaches and oversight positions for a commando team. The mines are placed in such a way as to provide an early warning (by making a conspicuous booming sound) if someone uses those approaches as much as they're placed to take out those commando squads.

The advantage of doing things this way is that it either forces the Reds to move slowly and carefully as if the entire city is a minefield, or to learn the hard way that the Mk XII is an amazing feat of death-dealing engineering. The disadvantage is that it really does turn the entire city into a sparsely-populated minefield. The 'Gorkas have priorities, though: kill all the Reds, then worry about how to make the city inhabitable.

It takes most of the morning to place nineteen mines from the case and slide the last one into Makita's backpack. While everyone else breaks for lunch, Makita and Proto meet with the squad priestess. Makita grins, "Hey, Nastya."

Nastya smiles back. Most of the older people (where "older" means being at least twenty) in papa's squad tend to do that a lot around Makita. She's sort of the adopted daughter they're all so proud of. "It has been a while, Makinoshka." She nods in greeting to Proto, "Shall we begin?" When both of the young people nod Nastya closes her eyes and begins to chant.

A floating three-dimensional map of the area wavers into view in front of them rotating slowly. It only takes a quarter of an hour for each of the placed mines to be labeled with a pulsing red dot. Nastya nods once and lets the map fade. "I'm going to link to We'll familiarize the squad with the pattern after lunch. You two go eat, I'm going to contact the Council and have this added to the master map."

It isn't until Makita and Proto join the troops eating tasteless ration bars and speaking boisterously that they realize that another group has linked up with papa's squad for the duration of the storm: a unit of Black Widows. She knows they didn't like it, but Makita pities them anyway. The Widows are composed of those who have lost the most. More than orphans, they have lost everyone they hold dear. They are the women who no longer have the ability to rebuild their families. Most have been through at least two squads as sole survivors, and losing everyone you care about three times is more than most souls can bear.

The twin lines of ash drawn down their cheeks is unsettling. Few of the Widows prioritize personal survival, they've lost too much to care anymore. Proto nods respectfully in their direction and offers the tradtional words to the dying, "We will carry on your will." Some of the women nod back, most can't find it in them to care.

And then they are past the visible reminder of the costs of war, and Makita smiles as they approach papa. Life, family, love. The Reds have taken much from her, but not everything. Not everything.

They enter the camp silently. It's habit more than anything else, but there's also a certain challenge in trying to sneak into one of their own camps. The storm still blows and Makita and Proto are widely considered to be two of the stealthiest and deadliest members of the resistance. It's almost disappointingly easy to get through the sentries and then approach one of them from behind. Makita reaches out quietly to pick up the rifle lying against the wall before she sighs theatrically, "You're getting sloppy, Mishka." Mishka, predictably, starts and his hand darts toward the rifle which is no longer there before he recognizes her.

"Geez, Makita! What are you trying to do? Give an old man a heart attack?" At twenty-three, Mishka is one of the oldest members of the squad.

"What a silly idea," Makita grins. "I just didn't want you to cut your hand on the bayonet. Because then someone would have to patch you up and it'd be so much trouble." She runs a thumb experimentally down the blade in question then smirks, "Oh, huh... Looks like I didn't need to be concerned. You couldn't cut paper with this thing, much less something important." After catching his eyes to make sure he's ready, Makita tosses the rifle back to him.

Mishka looks over Makita's shoulder to smirk at Proto, "How do you keep up with this girl, Proto? I get exhausted just looking at her."

"Well," Proto smiles softly, "She certainly keeps me on my toes."

"I'll bet." Mishka shakes his head and then jerks a thumb over his shoulder and says to Makita, "Your papa's a hundred meters that way organizing the group that's reinforcing the wall."

With a nod Makita starts walking that way, but she pauses to shoot Mishka a serious look, "That really was sloppy, Mishka. If we'd been a Red kill squad things would have gotten messy." She holds his eyes until he nods once, then she turns and strides toward the wall.

There's a reason that papa's still alive despite having been in the war since it started, despite having fought in the war in Al'Istaan. Makita and Proto move silently even in the safety of the camp, but he still turns and smiles with immense fondness, "Hello, my child." He reaches out to grip her shoulders, "Let me look at you."

"Oh, papa," Makita rolls her eyes and wraps her arms tightly around him. She whispers into his coat, "I've missed you."

His eyes meet Proto's and an imperceptable nod passes between them: they will protect this girl with their lives, and they know that she will do the same for them. His smile is fond as he hugs his daughter back and reaches up to run a hand through her hair. "I have missed you too, my little soldier."

"Enough," he says as he reluctantly disengages the embrace. "There will be time for sentiment after we have driven the Reds off. Come, I can use two more pairs of hands." He smiles, "We managed to find a case of Red Fleet Mk XII anit-personel mines. You two probably know better than anyone in my squad how to set them up to protect us from stealthy approaches."

Makita's eyes widen and she grins, "Can I keep one of them?"

"Yes, but only one." He waves at the opened case of mines nearby, "Now get to it."

The morning dawns cold. This isn't much of a surprise. It is Bahamut, after all. The storm still howls, and the thick snow blocks any view of the sun, any view of anything farther than five meters away. Makita and Proto both ghost through the oddly shadowed whiteness. They move with the lethal silence that so quickly taught the Reds that leaving troops on the ground during a storm was a good way to get them all killed before they even knew they were under attack.
The discussion had been short: "I guess we should go find papa." To which Proto had simply nodded, "He's at the northern front. He'll need help erecting new fortifications."

So they trudge through the biting wind and freezing snow. Even during the storm they move with care: the Reds always leave a few special ops teams on the ground, hoping to catch a unit or two of the resistance slacking on security or trying to move into position for an ambush when the weather cleared. Makita and Proto have been working together long enough that they don't even need to speak to coordinate their movements.

She's faster and has quicker reflexes, she watches around the ground level for unexpected surprises. He's more experienced and has better eyes, he checks their backtrail and the upper floors of buildings for anyone following them or trying to take up a sniper position. If every so often Makita lets herself focus for a second on his face while he's watching, or if every so often Proto drifts close enough to let his fingers brush hers, it's not a serious distraction.

You can move quickly, quietly, or safely in a storm like this: pick two. Since silence and safety are their priorities, Makita and Proto move slowly. When noon arrives (heralded only by internal clocks and a sense of hunger) they are still about an hour and a half from their destination. Proto catches Makita's eye and jerks his head toward a nearby building. A little break for lunch is worth taking.

The lure of tasteless ration bars isn't really the reason for this stop, and Makita knows it. She smiles as they both duck into the foyer of an old apartment building. The old-style architecture means there aren't a lot of windows in the foyer, and that means that there aren't a lot of holes where broken glass no longer keeps out the whether. Inside the wind drops considerably and Makita shrugs off her pack.

Proto watches her, "I'm not really hungry, you know."

She grins, "Yeah, well you're going to have to eat anyway." Makita reaches into the bag and pulls out a bar wrapped in wax paper.

"That's," Proto frowns, "That's not a ration bar."

"Nope," her grin widens as she peels back the paper to reveal a dark block. She breaks off a corner and pops it in her mouth clearly savoring the flavor.

His eyes widen, "Is that...?"

Makita looks up and then leans forward to kiss him, "You tell me." When she leans back Proto's smile matches hers.

"Chocolate..." There's wonder in his voice.

"Now," she holds out a ration bar in one hand, "Eat lunch like a good boy and then I'll let you have some dessert." Makita illustrates by waving the chocolate in the other before carefully rewrapping it and sliding it into her pocket.

Proto's eyes twinkle and he reaches out and runs a finger across Makita's lower lip to snag a smear of chocolate, "Do I get to choose how I get it?"

With a grin she flicks his nose, "You're a bad boy, Proto." He just shrugs and unwraps his ration bar with a smile.

They spend most of their time just walking the city together. Proto pointing out ambush points and good places to take cover, and Makita letting him do it even though they both know that she's as good as he is with this sort of thing. By tacit agreement neither of them ever bring up life after the war ends; there's no guarantee that they'll both survive, after all. The storm still rages, so they have to hold hands to make sure that they're not separated... really they do.

A temporary break in the storm finds them walking past one of the old plazas. The fountain doesn't have water cascading from it, but it still manages to be breathtaking with the ice frozen in glittering spikes. Neither of them notice. They're too busy examining the terrain.

"Clear area, four meter walls, just the sort of space the Reds like for troop gates," Proto muses.

Makita's only half-paying attention, her eyes flash around taking in where the walls have archways and where the war has blown new holes in it. With a quick grin at Proto she dashes forward to run partway up the wall, just far enough to get a hand on the lip and pull herself up to the top where she plops down to survey the area.

After a minute to examine the roads leading by the plaza and a chance to see how all the breaks in the wall fit together she nods to herself and turns to look down. "Proto, build me a ramp. Right here. Tall. Right to the top." Her hand extends to point out the shape of the thing.

"Here?! What for!?"

Makita responds with a teasing smile, "Because you love me?"

"Yes. But whaaat fooor?" he drags the last two words out. "How many little mouse-holes have I built for you in this city already? I can't even count them!"

"I just have this little plan..."

"Oh nooo. It's always dangerous when you say that... Hmm. What could you be up to...?" Proto's voice is teasing, "And if I do? What's next, a house?"

There's a moment of silence. Houses are after the war. Makita slides forward and drops lightly from the wall. Her eyes are serious and her voice soft, "Someday..."

The silence stretches before they both let the future fade and Proto grins, "I don't know. You still haven't told me why..."

"I'll give you a hundred kisses..."

His grin turns mischievous, "Do I get to choose where?"

Makita's answering smile means she's holding back laughter, "Bad! Bad boy!" She reaches up to tap his nose in reprimand, then leans forward to convince him that he really wants to build that ramp.

Most of this dialog is quoted directly from The Red Star Annual #1 "Run Makita Run" by Christian Gossett.

The garden is something of a miracle in Bahamut.

It isn’t really a garden, not any more, at any rate. No one has the time to keep it up; it's hard enough just staying alive. No one has the skills (Rita's pitiful window box of flowers) either; children must learn to kill not to cultivate flowers. But somehow, despite the fighting, every pane of glass that makes up the greenhouse is intact. Some of the hardier plants have survived as well, even untended, and the garden is an explosion of life in the middle of the barren city.

As always, the sight of the garden is enchanting. Makita finds herself staring at the vibrant life of it, marvelling at its tenacity. A smile creases her face as she remembers when she and Proto established it as a meeting place when they first stumbled across it.

"It's... beautiful," her voice had been full of wonder.

Proto grinned and reached out to lightly poke Makita's nose, "Just like you, pretty girl." He cocked his head and nodded decisively, "Very well, then. If you like it, it's yours." With his arms spread expansively Proto said, "I hereby declare this garden to be Makita's."

She punched him in the shoulder, "How come you get to declare who the garden belongs to, huh? I certainly don't remember you owning it. Or anything, really." Of course she was still smiling softly as her voice softened, "Though maybe... one day... one like it..."

Proto smiled back and promised, "One day... if you--"

"Hey, pretty girl, have you forgottene everything I taught you?" Memories of Proto's voice are interrupted by his actual voice and Makita spins around to see where he's leaning against a wall. "Always be aware of your surroundings. If I'd been a Red, you'd have been dead."

Heavy boots crunch in the snow as Makita stalks over to him and grabs a handfull of Proto's shirt, "C'mere." She pulls him slightly off balance so that she doesn't have to lean very far to kiss him; his hand slides up under her hat to run through her hair. Eventually they both lean back slightly, smiling and staring into one anothers' eyes. Then Makita looks around and frowns, "Where's whoever you're partnered with these days?"

"I was supposed to be working with Vadik from Lena's squad starting today, but when the storm blew in the elders decided to leave him with the squad until the Reds come back. Easier to let him work with his squad than to move him to me just to get stuck with some squad he doesn't know for the duration." Proto's grin is mock-serious, "Which means, I suppose, that it's just you and me."

"Whatever will we do?" Makita's answering grin is teasing.

"I'm sure we'll think of something."