Low altitude shuttles flew by over head, their exhaust filtering downwards to the civilian walkways. The few walking down the pathway covered their faces with scarfs or masks as the exhaust and general condition was thick with pollution. The buildings rose high in the sky, shaping the pathways for the shuttles to follow.
Behind, the naval spaceport was an impressive sight. Tall pillars of communication arrays and landing decks neatly placed for maximum useful space. It was a shame it sat over such a slum.
Malachy shook his head. He turned away from the spaceport and continued down the road. It was a short walk from the spaceport to his new apartment. He sported his pilot suit with a heavy jacket slung over his shoulders, his flight bag in hand. A scarf was rapped around his nose and mouth to keep the smog out. He still coughed regardless.
Getting to the building, he took out his knew keycard, swiped it, and entered. A rather glorious entrance of an unmanned desk and the elevators greeted him. He walked to the elevator and checked a piece of paper in his hand. 843-B was his assigned room. Sighing, he pressed the button and waited.
After what seemed forever, the elevator creaked down and opened. He stepped in, pressed "8" and waited. The ride was fairly quick and he walked out into a carpeted hallway. He looked a sign and found that his room was near the end of the hallway. He gripped his back better and went down to his room.
His room key took three swipes to work, and when it did, the door took about 10 seconds to activate. Opening the door, a rather sparce living quarters was displayed. It was better than the recruitment area he was staying in, but this was only a tad better. Without looking around, he found a small couch and sat in it. Malachy closed his eyes and felt like just going to sleep, pilot suit and all.
Hurrying through the narrow Manhattan streets, Marisa cursed for the umpteenth time. What the hell was he thinking? She'd barely been able to believe the brief mail Mal had sent her, at first taking it as a joke in poor taste. As it turned out, she'd been proven wrong, and now she was worried sick.
Clouds rumbled ominously overhead, causing her to quicken her pace. The air and streets themselves were both filthy, and getting caught in the rain would only make her feel worse. Christ. This sorta area's where he got his apartment?
Turning yet another corner, she arrived at the prescribed block of flats; a dull, uninspiring block of metal, concrete and glass. Producing a public-access keycard from a pocket, she triggered the main doors to swing open.
She stepped inside and crossed quickly through the lobby, noting the empty reception desk and generally disheveled state of the building's interior. Figures. Doesn' get any better on the inside, neither.
"Floor eigh'," she muttered, calling the lift down. "Room, uh, eight-four-three-B?" She checked her hastily-scribbled directions, just to make sure.
After a brief trip up eight stories, Marisa stood outside the marked door. This's the place, then. She was surprised how apprehensive she felt, although it was more out of concern than anything else. Mal had always been anything but impulsive - and yet here he'd gone and followed her all the way out to Liberty. Christ. That was one thing she hadn't foreseen.
Taking a deep breath, she hammered on the door, figuring that the doorbell probably didn't work.
"Mal!" she yelled, not caring about the noise she was making. "Mal, it's me! Open the damn door!"
Oh please, not now. Pleeeeeease sis, just let me sleep, said Malachy to himself. He reaked of sweat and ozone from flight practice. His entire body ached from being thrown around his practice naval ship. How being thrown around in a bone stock fighter was practice he'd never know.
He sat for a few moments more, hoping the pounding would stop. For a second it did, and he almost passed out again only to be smacked back awake to more banging. He should know his sister better than that.
He slowly stood up, feeling the pain flare through his body. Turning to the door, he stepped heavily as if each movement brought pain. His flight suit, a bit large for his small skinny body, seemed to drag behind him as the folds drooped to the floor.
Once at the door he slowly opened it, abruptly cutting another round of banging short by his sister. He stood there, baggy eyes matching his dirty over sized flight suit. His eyes were almost glazed over as he stared at his sister. He stood there as his sister looked onward, hand still raised from knocking on the door.
Marisa was about to redouble the volume of her shouting when the door was finally pulled open, revealing the unkempt form of her brother. His appearance was so shocking that, for a moment, all she could do was stare at him in consternation.
Then, she launched herself forwards, enveloping him in a fierce, furious hug.
"Jesus Christ, Mal!" she exclaimed, her tone caught midway between all three of anger, relief, and concern. "Why the hell did you- why did you-"
She released her brother suddenly, glaring at him in dismay.
"Why did ya have to come follow me, Mal?" Marisa shouted, torn between worry and distress. "What were you thinkin'?"
Standing there, he stared blanking past his sister as she hugged him, the display of emotion not registering to him. His mind was blank, even when she pulled back and questioned him. He finally locked eyes with Marisa and could see her concern, love, and worry that she was torn by. His eyes lost their glaze and his lip began to quiver. He continued to stare at his sister, standing awkwardly in his baggy pilot suit.
Malachy burst into tears.
She muttered something under her breath, before hastily slamming the still-open door shut with a firm clunk.
"Shut up, Mal!" she barked, glaring sharply at him. "The hell are y' doing?" Irritation and anxiety warred briefly within her, forming a volatile mixture of emotions, and she instantly regretted her outburst. Malachy had always been a sensitive soul, and this probably wasn't the correct time to berate him.
Again, she hugged her brother tightly, uncaring of the grime clinging to his uniform.
"'S gonna be okay," she murmured awkwardly, doing her best to sound reassuring. "It'll all be okay."
He wrapped his arms around his sister, enjoying the familiar embrace of family. Malachy wiped the tears from his eyes and smile.
The past few moments snapped into focus suddenly. He let go of his sister to chuckle at his idiotic display, but a fit of coughing ended it as soon as it started. He slumped onto a nearby wall until the coughing stopped. Using his dirty hands, he wiped his mouth as his breathing become normal. His eyes looked upon his sister again.
"Thanks, and... Sorry. I screwed up," he whispered out in a weak, childish voice.
Shaking her head slowly, Marisa let out a huge sigh.
"I'll put on some tea," she ventured, picking her way across the apartment. The dreariness of the room was almost oppressive; the bare walls and general shabbiness a far cry from her own flat, which wasn't even that impressive to begin with.
Leaving her brother to finish calming down, she set about boiling the kettle, and located a small box of teabags nestled behind an empty biscuit tin.
A few minutes later, Marisa returned to the main living room and made her way over to the couch, wielding two steaming mugs of tea; one black and one white.
"Here," she said, offering the milked cup to Malachy. "Things won' seem so bad after this."