(no subject)
Makita is sitting at a table. Without her coat. The lack of the oversized garment makes her seem somehow smaller. It's much easier to tell that she spent much of her life without enough food.
On the table in front of her lies an impressive pile of weapons. Grenades, a number of pistols, a stack of magazines. And her room key. She's looking at them, trying to figure out how she's going to carry them all around now.
On the table in front of her lies an impressive pile of weapons. Grenades, a number of pistols, a stack of magazines. And her room key. She's looking at them, trying to figure out how she's going to carry them all around now.