song_tra_bong | (no subject)

It's a long walk back to Tra Bong.

Mary Anne enjoys every minute of it. She stops along the way for a few minor skirmishes, a quick swim and a chance to sunbathe.

By the time she reaches the village, she has the beginnings of a lovely tan and her wounds are mostly healed. The scar (his name) on her chest, however, has faded very little--if at all. Somehow, she's not surprised.

It's evening when she walks into Tra Bong and is greeted by the usual stares and chorus of whispers, plus a handful of smiles and a few kids tugging on her pant leg. She forks over all the chocolate rations in her bag, then sets up a miniature bivoac on the edge of the village. It's part of the tradition--she gives them their space, they give her hers. And once it's dark, like clockwork, someone shows up to offer her space to sleep on their floor. This time, it's Tuyen.

The other woman eyes Mary Anne's wounds, but is quickly reassured that no, the Americans at the top of the hill don't need to know she's here. She doesn't need their help.

It will all be well.
(celtic cross)
Until she sleeps.
(the sun)
Until she dreams.
(four of swords)
He's alone and he's powerless. She knows that if she strikes now, she can kill him once and for all.
(eight of wands)
"Hello there, pet."
(knight of cups)
He turns at the sound of her voice, visibly surprised. She thrusts the sword into his gut and watches the surprise grow, then fade into glassy nothingness.
(seven of wands)
She jerks the sword free and eyes the corpse with smug satisfaction. Gorlim walks up beside her and rests a hand on her shoulder. She preens in his approval. Finally did something right.
(nine of cups)
He smiles. "Excellent work, Legs."
(three of swords)
The sword clatters to the ground. She draws a knife, slicing the dead man's shirt up the back.
(the fool)
No swords. No tattoo.
(death)
Just scars.
(two of disks)
"Told you you'd be good for my suit." And he laughs.

Her eyes fly open, but she remains absolutely still on her pallet, too well trained to sit up. Too well trained to scream.

That doesn't stop the tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.