[hr][hr]

[center][h2] Matthew Mearls [/h2][/center]

[hr][hr]

Míra was tired. She was exhausted, in fact - shattered, even.

Shattered, actually, was probably the best word. The English language - perhaps on account of the English tendency towards sour humour, poor moods, and crappy weather - was blessed with a glorious variety of words to describe fatigue, and how one can become it, but Míra wasn't just [i]tired[/i] in the [i]mundane[/i] sense, she was [i]shattered.[/i]

She was tired. But she was broken too.

Lieutenant Míra Mendez was good at compartmentalising because she had to be. The other night had not been the first time she'd witnessed men die - nor had it been the first time she'd had cause to pull her gun and get involved, or even the first time she'd seen cops die - but, like it always did, it stuck with her. It made her feel irrationally angry, spiteful at the way the world worked, dread for when it would finally be her turn - but more than anything else, it made her feel tired, and it made her feel broken.

Míra had never been good at hiding her emotions.

When she found him, she wasn't even completely sure that she'd been meaning to - but if nothing else he was a distraction, and he was... definitely acting weird.

"Hey, Matt? Everything ok with you man?" Míra looked over the counter at the younger man, having just finished his work on the unassuming form of Kilroy.

"You uh, wanna talk, or anything?"

[hr][hr]

[@Gentlemanvaultboy]