Mel lay there as silently as she could, listening. Her master's footsteps were fading out until she couldn't hear them over her own heartbeat any more. Down in the training room they were about to review the security tapes of The Incident, life-size. Obviously, she was dying to be included, but hadn't been cleared yet. So, not surprisingly, she was planning to get up and walk anyway.
Slowly, she rolled to one side, and levered herself into a sitting position. This brought about a coughing fit, but thankfully she'd been spewing less and less blood lately. Resting a moment, she wrapped an arm around her ribs protectively. It was just so weird, this constant tightness and shortness of breath. But it had been getting better…
Gritting her teeth, not liking all these mental pictures of being 'invalid' forever, she threw herself into a standing position, and strode to the door.
And nearly collapsed against the frame. Clutching at it for support, she coughed so hard she began to black out. Of course, as a symbol of her rebellion she had not grabbed the bowl, and instead splashed red blood in a morbid arc across his wall. As the invisible band across her ribs tightened, she found herself ruing her own stubbornness. I'm going to fall over and die here, just because I was too impatient to wait…
But this too came to pass, and soon she could breathe. Straightening, she smiled rather haughtily at the door, which had become something of the damned symbol of her imprisonment in its failure to open for her. Pressing the button melodramatically, she began to walk down the hall. It was more strolling gingerly, as every breath caused a sharp stab across her middle. But she ignored this, drawn inexorably towards an end, or the means of one.
- - -
The room looked rather grandly surreal, what with life-size flickering figures of blue rushing about and dying upon the floor. Katie was sitting atop a platform near the one that had fallen, and found it rather thrilling. That is, until she watched 'herself' become drenched in blood as she ripped into the carcass of the 'Jedi' man. Seeing her friend crushed by the platform again was just as heart stopping, though she felt even more incredulous that Mel had managed to survive. Shuddering as she thought of how very easy it would have been for her friend not to have, she (surreptitiously) slid her hand into Anakin's (who was standing beside her, protectively). He intertwined their fingers, and would have done more if Obi-wan had not been there. Despite this is was hard to choke down a sense of grandeur, to beat back the grandiose sentiments of war. Death was not to be celebrated, should not bring on that hunter's high. But it did, and any regrets paled besides. What a slippery slope indeed, between control and losing it.
Melissa, lit in broad relief as she stood it the doorway left ajar, felt not these twisted strands of reasoning. Or, if she did, they did not come close to the sprays of remorse that had begun to cloak her thinking. They looked so young, so naive and not at fault, both side alike. Too young to have been thrown into this melee, too young know the start of this war. War was hell, and it was with that that she watched. Madness, that's all it was. Sheer and legal madness. After all, what did the Resistance do but defend their homes? Their livelihood? Their freedom? It had such parallels to that revolution so past in her own homeland, yet not too long ago. Was there any right or wrong to this, or would it descend to needless, pointless carnage? Was that the future, or what she saw while astride a newly clean battlefield? For that was what it was. And one bright, viciously shining moment, she felt the pure terror of a trapped animal. She did not start this, and she would not ever end it, and it would cost her. Her sanity, her friends (friend?), her life… she knew not what. But this was one horridly heavy rock atop a steep hill, and once it was started would destroy all that lay in its path. And with this she turned away, feeling at once repulsed from and drawn to this perfectly, lethally clear sentence. So she left this room with its echoes, walking with a new purpose. Her own pains were forgotten, and she was heedless of the blood trail she left in her wake.
But she was watched, not maliciously, but rather protectively. He had been unable to watch the reenactment as well, and could relate to the mixed, twisting emotions upon her face. He could not but admire her strength, in bearing the pain both physical and mental. Scolding her was out of the question. On her face her own questions were apparent as well, ones he would (could? should?) answer sooner than later. If she was to live in this mushroom-cloud of a world she might as well hear as to how it had come to this, the flawless rains of fire.