Post by Machie on Feb 12, 2018 23:45:46 GMT -5
Several weeks had passed since Machie’s last mission with Merrick, or maybe months. The feline woman glanced over at the new calendar that sat next to her bed. It had been a couple months. The thin woman had alternated between physical training and deep meditation, interspersed with missions caring for the hell butterflies. The days blurred together, especially with Machie’s inconsistent schedule. She slept for two or four hours at a time, ate just enough to stave off light-headedness, and exercised until her muscles trembled. For the time being, Machie had all but abandoned her various studies in favor of doing what she did best: avoidance.
Since that mission with the medic, Machie had been plagued with flashbacks and strange dreams. Only the harshest of training and meditation could purge the images that haunted her or stave off feelings of helplessness. Being unable to control herself had put the feline woman in a foul mood, one that meant she made herself scarce to everyone, even her fellow combat specialists.
Machie ran, punched, kicked, and focused herself into exhaustion. Eventually, her body gave in. Instead of waking up from yet another dream about cutting open another woman’s hand or being bound and helpless, Machie slept and dreamt. Again and again.
When her eyes finally opened, the dark skinned woman sat up with a gasp. Her hair was too dry, her mouth sticky, and her blankets a tangled mass around her thinning form. With a groan, Machie extricated herself from the pile of blankets on her futon and shuffled towards the shower. While the cool water washed over her feverish body, the shinigami pondered what to do next.
Fifteen minutes later, Machie was in the Third Division’s library with an armful of books to return. The feline shinigami would have left after dropping the books off, but a familiar spiritual pressure caught her attention. On a whim, she followed it until she found a medic with dark hair and glasses. The woman paused, hazel eyes trailing over the form of the seated man. As usual, he appeared engrossed in a thick tome.
Gently, Machie flared her reiatsu to get his attention as she walked closer.
363
Since that mission with the medic, Machie had been plagued with flashbacks and strange dreams. Only the harshest of training and meditation could purge the images that haunted her or stave off feelings of helplessness. Being unable to control herself had put the feline woman in a foul mood, one that meant she made herself scarce to everyone, even her fellow combat specialists.
Machie ran, punched, kicked, and focused herself into exhaustion. Eventually, her body gave in. Instead of waking up from yet another dream about cutting open another woman’s hand or being bound and helpless, Machie slept and dreamt. Again and again.
When her eyes finally opened, the dark skinned woman sat up with a gasp. Her hair was too dry, her mouth sticky, and her blankets a tangled mass around her thinning form. With a groan, Machie extricated herself from the pile of blankets on her futon and shuffled towards the shower. While the cool water washed over her feverish body, the shinigami pondered what to do next.
Fifteen minutes later, Machie was in the Third Division’s library with an armful of books to return. The feline shinigami would have left after dropping the books off, but a familiar spiritual pressure caught her attention. On a whim, she followed it until she found a medic with dark hair and glasses. The woman paused, hazel eyes trailing over the form of the seated man. As usual, he appeared engrossed in a thick tome.
Gently, Machie flared her reiatsu to get his attention as she walked closer.
363