[Maketh takes the--waterskin? People still use these things?-and drinks carefully. It hurts to tip her head back to drink, hurts to swallow - a sharp pain she remembers vaguely from her time in the academy. She hands the waterskin back, watching the man carefully. She doesn't recognize his face, or the clothes he's wearing.]
It's nothing I won't survive.
[Probably. Unless she's bleeding internally, in which case she's dead all over again. Maketh brushes off her uniform vaguely. It doesn't help much. She's covered in soot, boots half-melted and stuck with shrapnel. Her helmet's long gone, along with most of her dignity.
She doesn't try to stand just yet. Mostly because she's not certain she won't scream if she tries. Hiding pain has never been Maketh's strong suit, though she knows better than to look weak in front of a stranger.]
no subject
It's nothing I won't survive.
[Probably. Unless she's bleeding internally, in which case she's dead all over again. Maketh brushes off her uniform vaguely. It doesn't help much. She's covered in soot, boots half-melted and stuck with shrapnel. Her helmet's long gone, along with most of her dignity.
She doesn't try to stand just yet. Mostly because she's not certain she won't scream if she tries. Hiding pain has never been Maketh's strong suit, though she knows better than to look weak in front of a stranger.]
Who are you?