Post by Seek on Aug 12, 2012 5:34:28 GMT 10
Title: Hollow Men
Rating: PG
Team: PD/SS
Prompt: Wire without flesh
Word Count: 1203 words
Summary: Mattes gets drunk. Ahuda has to be responsible. Warning: major character death.
Notes: Can be considered to be in the same universe as Dirge. Sequel to Dirge.
-
By the fifth jack, Mattes was utterly smashed. By the sixth, he wasn’t trying to dance with his baton, he was stumbling uncoordinatedly and slurring an old Hurdik drinking song. At least Ahuda assumed it was Hurdik; she had no real way of knowing.
The barkeep gave her a look of relief as she stepped into the Brazen Bottle. Mattes still had his baton in a loose and shaky grip and no one wanted to wrestle down one of the most famous Dogs in the Lower City. No one wanted to rob him blind either, Ahuda thought grimly, which was a mixed blessing.
She gave a curt nod to the barkeep, gauged the situation, and decided there was no point trying to talk Mattes down. He was too far gone for that. She stepped in, grabbed his wrist and twisted. When Ahuda performed it, the move worked on even the Senior Dogs, and an uncoordinated, drunk Mattes Tunstall was in no position to fight her. His fingers flew open and she caught his baton in a smooth movement with her other hand, tucked it beside hers. She took his knives while she was at it, both of them in one hand, and thanked the gods that he hadn’t thought of them.
“Somebody get me water,” she said, in the tone that had even Senior Dogs snapping to. In a few seconds, dozens of buckets and pitchers were thrust in her direction; she selected one of them and dumped its contents unceremoniously over Mattes’ head.
It was cool water; he went still in surprise, blinking owlishly at her. Ahuda still had a grip on his wrist; she shifted it, twisted his arm a little so she had him in a come-along hold. “Tunstall,” she said, still in that voice. “Move.”
Even a thoroughly inebriated and soaked Tunstall knew better than to disobey that voice. Meekly, he followed her out of the Bottle. Ahuda exhaled through her teeth as she thought and kept her hold on Mattes, just in case. In the moonlight, he looked pale and exhausted. She saw dark circles under his eyes, and cursed herself for leaving him on the active duty rosters.
She’d too many balls in the air, too many things to work through after Clary’s death. Mattes had assured her he was up to it. He clearly wasn’t, and she hadn’t been paying attention to the details.
“Your lodgings,” she told him. “Where?” He looked as though he’d keel over before he reached them.
He rattled out his address to her. It was barely comprehensible. Rowan’s Lodgings, Bott Street, Patten District. Ahuda sighed. He had to pick somewhere far from the Bottle.
“Alright,” she said. “Shut up and start walking before I give you extra duty that’ll make my Lord Provost himself cry.”
-
In the end, she had to manhandle him back. Mattes had mostly passed out long before they got back to his lodgings house. She wondered if he used to be that light. Tunstall had always been lanky, but Ahuda hadn’t remember him as being particularly easy to manhandle, even though Dogs were trained to handle semi-conscious bodies.
It’d been ages since she’d done streetwork, now that she’d had Jane Street’s desk.
Sometimes, she thought she missed it.
She deposited Mattes on the mattress and stared at his rooms, lips pursed in annoyance. A mess, she thought. Wrinkled clothing strewn everywhere, as if Mattes didn’t give a sarden damn anymore. Journal pages torn out, fluttering in the breeze. He hadn’t even remembered to close the shutters. She stepped over what must have been a shattered ink bottle; glass crunched beneath her boot. Of course he didn’t give a damn, she thought, pricked by conscience.
She knew how it was like to lose a partner. She’d taken the empty Sergeant’s desk after Herman had died, and she’d only worked with him for six years. Mattes and Clary hadn’t ever worked with someone else since they’d been partnered twelve years ago.
As bad a losing a Puppy, Ahuda thought. She scowled. She hated losing Puppies, hated the feeling there was something else she could have done. But she’d moved on. There were days when she wanted to lie on the bedding and not get up. To get up was to decide to live, to move on from beneath the crushing weight of her grief. Mattes couldn’t make that move. He couldn’t push himself beyond the pain.
She stared at the semi-conscious figure on the mattress, and shook her head. “You’re a right mess, Tunstall,” she said bluntly. “And you’ve got to get it together, somehow.”
-
Finding what she needed to make some good tea wasn’t easy, in the mess that had consumed Mattes’ rooms. In the end, Ahuda left the shutters open. It let some moonlight in, and that wasn’t altogether a bad thing. It was too gloomy as it was, and she wasn’t going to let him stew.
In the end, she finally had the peppermint in the copper pot and boiling. She could use some herself, she thought, and Mattes would almost certainly need one for the hangover he was going to get in the morning. And then she had to leave. Gods only knew what the Night Watch would get up to if she wasn’t there for when they’d had to muster out.
She leaned on the wooden doorframe, which creaked slightly under her weight as she stared at Tunstall’s prone figure. The sharp scent of mint was filling the rooms. She still had his baton; she took it from her belt and left it on the dresser, where he could find it in the morning. She kept his knives. He could claim them from her himself, once he’d sobered up.
She turned to keep an eye on the tea.
“I always expect to see her coming into the yard at muster,” Mattes croaked, in a harsh, mostly slurred whisper. Ahuda glanced at him. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut. “Sometimes I look. Then I realise s’not her. S’someone else.”
Ahuda sighed. Her chest clenched in pity. “Go sleep, Tunstall,” she said.
“S’at an order?”
“Mattes,” Ahuda said. “I’m telling you as a friend. Go sleep. Pull yourself together. You’re not doing any of us any good like this.”
“Clary wouldn’ta wanted this? S’what everyone says. They’re not Clary. How’d they know? Failed her. Shoulda been there.”
She wasn’t arguing with a drunk Tunstall, even if there was a plaintive, lost note in his voice that made her stop when she would have walked away and said enough to coddling him. He was her friend, curse it all, and one of her Dogs. She couldn’t do that.
“Don’t go,” the thin, hollowed-out Dog on the mattress whispered. It hurt, Ahuda thought. This shade wasn’t Mattes Tunstall, and the gods only knew if they could piece him back together after the night in the alley had broken him.
Ahuda sighed. The tea was boiling; she could tell from the trail of steam and smoke. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. Because he needed to know someone was still there, she gripped his forearm for a brief moment, and then left to see to the tea.
Rating: PG
Team: PD/SS
Prompt: Wire without flesh
Word Count: 1203 words
Summary: Mattes gets drunk. Ahuda has to be responsible. Warning: major character death.
Notes: Can be considered to be in the same universe as Dirge. Sequel to Dirge.
-
By the fifth jack, Mattes was utterly smashed. By the sixth, he wasn’t trying to dance with his baton, he was stumbling uncoordinatedly and slurring an old Hurdik drinking song. At least Ahuda assumed it was Hurdik; she had no real way of knowing.
The barkeep gave her a look of relief as she stepped into the Brazen Bottle. Mattes still had his baton in a loose and shaky grip and no one wanted to wrestle down one of the most famous Dogs in the Lower City. No one wanted to rob him blind either, Ahuda thought grimly, which was a mixed blessing.
She gave a curt nod to the barkeep, gauged the situation, and decided there was no point trying to talk Mattes down. He was too far gone for that. She stepped in, grabbed his wrist and twisted. When Ahuda performed it, the move worked on even the Senior Dogs, and an uncoordinated, drunk Mattes Tunstall was in no position to fight her. His fingers flew open and she caught his baton in a smooth movement with her other hand, tucked it beside hers. She took his knives while she was at it, both of them in one hand, and thanked the gods that he hadn’t thought of them.
“Somebody get me water,” she said, in the tone that had even Senior Dogs snapping to. In a few seconds, dozens of buckets and pitchers were thrust in her direction; she selected one of them and dumped its contents unceremoniously over Mattes’ head.
It was cool water; he went still in surprise, blinking owlishly at her. Ahuda still had a grip on his wrist; she shifted it, twisted his arm a little so she had him in a come-along hold. “Tunstall,” she said, still in that voice. “Move.”
Even a thoroughly inebriated and soaked Tunstall knew better than to disobey that voice. Meekly, he followed her out of the Bottle. Ahuda exhaled through her teeth as she thought and kept her hold on Mattes, just in case. In the moonlight, he looked pale and exhausted. She saw dark circles under his eyes, and cursed herself for leaving him on the active duty rosters.
She’d too many balls in the air, too many things to work through after Clary’s death. Mattes had assured her he was up to it. He clearly wasn’t, and she hadn’t been paying attention to the details.
“Your lodgings,” she told him. “Where?” He looked as though he’d keel over before he reached them.
He rattled out his address to her. It was barely comprehensible. Rowan’s Lodgings, Bott Street, Patten District. Ahuda sighed. He had to pick somewhere far from the Bottle.
“Alright,” she said. “Shut up and start walking before I give you extra duty that’ll make my Lord Provost himself cry.”
-
In the end, she had to manhandle him back. Mattes had mostly passed out long before they got back to his lodgings house. She wondered if he used to be that light. Tunstall had always been lanky, but Ahuda hadn’t remember him as being particularly easy to manhandle, even though Dogs were trained to handle semi-conscious bodies.
It’d been ages since she’d done streetwork, now that she’d had Jane Street’s desk.
Sometimes, she thought she missed it.
She deposited Mattes on the mattress and stared at his rooms, lips pursed in annoyance. A mess, she thought. Wrinkled clothing strewn everywhere, as if Mattes didn’t give a sarden damn anymore. Journal pages torn out, fluttering in the breeze. He hadn’t even remembered to close the shutters. She stepped over what must have been a shattered ink bottle; glass crunched beneath her boot. Of course he didn’t give a damn, she thought, pricked by conscience.
She knew how it was like to lose a partner. She’d taken the empty Sergeant’s desk after Herman had died, and she’d only worked with him for six years. Mattes and Clary hadn’t ever worked with someone else since they’d been partnered twelve years ago.
As bad a losing a Puppy, Ahuda thought. She scowled. She hated losing Puppies, hated the feeling there was something else she could have done. But she’d moved on. There were days when she wanted to lie on the bedding and not get up. To get up was to decide to live, to move on from beneath the crushing weight of her grief. Mattes couldn’t make that move. He couldn’t push himself beyond the pain.
She stared at the semi-conscious figure on the mattress, and shook her head. “You’re a right mess, Tunstall,” she said bluntly. “And you’ve got to get it together, somehow.”
-
Finding what she needed to make some good tea wasn’t easy, in the mess that had consumed Mattes’ rooms. In the end, Ahuda left the shutters open. It let some moonlight in, and that wasn’t altogether a bad thing. It was too gloomy as it was, and she wasn’t going to let him stew.
In the end, she finally had the peppermint in the copper pot and boiling. She could use some herself, she thought, and Mattes would almost certainly need one for the hangover he was going to get in the morning. And then she had to leave. Gods only knew what the Night Watch would get up to if she wasn’t there for when they’d had to muster out.
She leaned on the wooden doorframe, which creaked slightly under her weight as she stared at Tunstall’s prone figure. The sharp scent of mint was filling the rooms. She still had his baton; she took it from her belt and left it on the dresser, where he could find it in the morning. She kept his knives. He could claim them from her himself, once he’d sobered up.
She turned to keep an eye on the tea.
“I always expect to see her coming into the yard at muster,” Mattes croaked, in a harsh, mostly slurred whisper. Ahuda glanced at him. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut. “Sometimes I look. Then I realise s’not her. S’someone else.”
Ahuda sighed. Her chest clenched in pity. “Go sleep, Tunstall,” she said.
“S’at an order?”
“Mattes,” Ahuda said. “I’m telling you as a friend. Go sleep. Pull yourself together. You’re not doing any of us any good like this.”
“Clary wouldn’ta wanted this? S’what everyone says. They’re not Clary. How’d they know? Failed her. Shoulda been there.”
She wasn’t arguing with a drunk Tunstall, even if there was a plaintive, lost note in his voice that made her stop when she would have walked away and said enough to coddling him. He was her friend, curse it all, and one of her Dogs. She couldn’t do that.
“Don’t go,” the thin, hollowed-out Dog on the mattress whispered. It hurt, Ahuda thought. This shade wasn’t Mattes Tunstall, and the gods only knew if they could piece him back together after the night in the alley had broken him.
Ahuda sighed. The tea was boiling; she could tell from the trail of steam and smoke. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. Because he needed to know someone was still there, she gripped his forearm for a brief moment, and then left to see to the tea.