"Welcome to Camp Metella , sirs."
Groaning, the riders in the car got out, stretching their...
Groaning, the riders in the car got out, stretching their...
Beads and Brass: Tales from Metella
- Thread starter 7734
- Start date
- Original
- Created
- Status
- Ongoing
- Watchers
- 51
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 34
-
Statistics (22 threadmarks, 36k words)
User Total NothingNow 8 7734 13 Swartzkopf56 1 -
Loading…
-
Loading…
-
Loading…
Welcome to the Other Side
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
"Welcome to Camp Metella , sirs."
Groaning, the riders in the car got out, stretching their legs out cautiously. The driver was much more casual, just flexing supline as he walked up to the guard shack.
"Mornin', Sergeant." He said, pulling out a sheaf of papers. "Here's the two captains and the major, plus a pair of butterbars we got thrown in for free. Mind waving us through?"
The staff NCO sighed, and shook his head. "You know how it is. You're gonna want to give them a moment before I can read 'em the new guy list."
The driver groaned theatrically. "Do I have to suffer through it again too?"
"Yep."
Sighing, the Lance Corporal slunk back to the car as the seargent broke out the Great Big Book and lumbered over.
"Good morning sirs. Now, before we can have you enter Camp Metella, we need to go over a few safety items and procedures."
The Sergeant looked over at the stray Lance Corporal, and gestured him back into the pack. "To begin, the natives at Camp Metella are of many tribal affiliations and origins, many of which are learning English as a second language to do business. Please do not complete any barter or trade without a Marine Translator present, as on this post Marines have nearly found themselves in violation of almost all rules regarding the possession of forbidden items up to and including the thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution."
The two lieutenants looked over at each other. "Isn't that one about slavery?" the first asked, screwing up his eyebrows thinking.
"Yes?" his compatriot said, trying to pay attention.
"-and as such any efforts to learn the local languages are appreciated. Continuing on, there are many off-base missions that will need to be conducted, at which point you will inevitably meet the other natives of the area surrounding Camp Metella. On meeting these people, certain physical abnormalities will become readily apparent. Please do not comment on them, as it is both detrimental to relations and can be offensive."
Now the Captain had to frown slightly. He'd been in Afghanistan, and was familiar with the fact of life that people got crippled very easily, along with the fact that even if someone was down a leg or hand they could and did still work. But enough for it to be in the formal briefing? What sort of hellhole were they getting sent to?
A few minutes later, the speech and lecture concluded, and the driver re-started the car. Once everyone was aboard, it drove through the gates.
"Major, correct me if I'm wrong, but this area seems to be rather small. Maybe sixty meters by sixty of fencing sound about right?" the Captain said, looking around.
"Yeah." The Major said. "It's odd, but I can't put my finger on how-"
Then they went through the portal.
---
"-it's… off…" the Major trailed off, looking at the busy lot they'd just pulled into. As the HMVV pulled off onto a very clearly marked road, the four officers started ogling their surroundings carefully. Once they were out of the lot, the half-dozen buildings that looked like buried and fortified shipping containers stared out at them, the painted signs over them reading such things as "Medical" and "PX" and "Church" on them in rather large block letters. Past them, a line of barrack tents were set up, and only just beyond that was a wall of HESCOs.
The lieutenants were the first to break composure. "What the FUCK?!" one yelled, plastering himself to the window as he ogled. "Since when do we have portals to other fucking worlds?"
"Since about three months ago, sir." The Lance Corporal said. "Major, I believe you're supposed to let you off here. Captain, you're going to the boat yard, and the two lieutenants are supposed to be heading to Firebase Charlie."
As the Major climbed out of the vehicle, the Captain took his place and the Lieutenants decompressed happily. As the vehicle drove off, the group left the military areas and started down the road to the boat yard. Passing through on the road slowly, the Lieutenants were practically ogling everything as they passed.
"Is… is that some snake-girl?" one of the two asked. "Holy shit. I think that's a snake girl!"
Meanwhile, the Lance Corporal sighed and checked his watch. "Eight minutes, dangit."
At the Captain's look, the Lance Corporal explained. "There's a pool on whoever gets someone who hasn't been to the Other Side yet to stick their foot in it- the record's six minutes twenty seconds. Although, last one was a Meledli earning the stupid… hmm…"
The Captain sighed. "I didn't see, but I'm almost scared to ask."
"Good plan, sir."
---
As the Lance Corporal finished fielding questions and dropping off the two butterbars, he sighed happily and went home. Several people assigned to headquarters lived off-base, and he liked his apartment building by one of the inns. As he came through the door, he smiled and sighed, dropping off his cover. Moments later, he picked up a few wampum, and headed out for some drinks and dinner.
At the bar in front of the place, he smiled faintly. Inside, a hibachi was running, the charcoal burning happily as the owner started babbling at him. Shaking his head, the Lance Corporal tapped the bar twice and pointed at the hibachi grill, then once at the keg near the edge of the table. Laughing, the cook and barkeep poured him a heavy ceramic tumbler full of the local beer and two cuts of the local fish in exchange for a wampum belt. Two hundred shining beads held in a double-strung arrangement, it was both a convenient means of the Marines spending their pay, and for the locals to barter and decorate with.
Not like the Americans didn't have long traditions of trading beads and pelts with people anyway. At least this time they were being fair about it.
Moments later, as the bar started filling up with a mix of uniforms and locals, the Lance Corporal sighed and smiled. It almost felt like home. All it needed were some pretty women, and-
Hello, ma'am! Were his eyes mistaken, or was that a very good-looking catgirl over there? Either way, only one way to find out!
---
Smiling tiredly, the Colonel looked out his small window at the base and the world outside it. As his old console victrola, a souvenir of San Diego, wound down, he sighed and pulled out his bottle of whisky. It would be good to relax, tonight.
"Here's to another day in this brave new world."
Groaning, the riders in the car got out, stretching their legs out cautiously. The driver was much more casual, just flexing supline as he walked up to the guard shack.
"Mornin', Sergeant." He said, pulling out a sheaf of papers. "Here's the two captains and the major, plus a pair of butterbars we got thrown in for free. Mind waving us through?"
The staff NCO sighed, and shook his head. "You know how it is. You're gonna want to give them a moment before I can read 'em the new guy list."
The driver groaned theatrically. "Do I have to suffer through it again too?"
"Yep."
Sighing, the Lance Corporal slunk back to the car as the seargent broke out the Great Big Book and lumbered over.
"Good morning sirs. Now, before we can have you enter Camp Metella, we need to go over a few safety items and procedures."
The Sergeant looked over at the stray Lance Corporal, and gestured him back into the pack. "To begin, the natives at Camp Metella are of many tribal affiliations and origins, many of which are learning English as a second language to do business. Please do not complete any barter or trade without a Marine Translator present, as on this post Marines have nearly found themselves in violation of almost all rules regarding the possession of forbidden items up to and including the thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution."
The two lieutenants looked over at each other. "Isn't that one about slavery?" the first asked, screwing up his eyebrows thinking.
"Yes?" his compatriot said, trying to pay attention.
"-and as such any efforts to learn the local languages are appreciated. Continuing on, there are many off-base missions that will need to be conducted, at which point you will inevitably meet the other natives of the area surrounding Camp Metella. On meeting these people, certain physical abnormalities will become readily apparent. Please do not comment on them, as it is both detrimental to relations and can be offensive."
Now the Captain had to frown slightly. He'd been in Afghanistan, and was familiar with the fact of life that people got crippled very easily, along with the fact that even if someone was down a leg or hand they could and did still work. But enough for it to be in the formal briefing? What sort of hellhole were they getting sent to?
A few minutes later, the speech and lecture concluded, and the driver re-started the car. Once everyone was aboard, it drove through the gates.
"Major, correct me if I'm wrong, but this area seems to be rather small. Maybe sixty meters by sixty of fencing sound about right?" the Captain said, looking around.
"Yeah." The Major said. "It's odd, but I can't put my finger on how-"
Then they went through the portal.
---
"-it's… off…" the Major trailed off, looking at the busy lot they'd just pulled into. As the HMVV pulled off onto a very clearly marked road, the four officers started ogling their surroundings carefully. Once they were out of the lot, the half-dozen buildings that looked like buried and fortified shipping containers stared out at them, the painted signs over them reading such things as "Medical" and "PX" and "Church" on them in rather large block letters. Past them, a line of barrack tents were set up, and only just beyond that was a wall of HESCOs.
The lieutenants were the first to break composure. "What the FUCK?!" one yelled, plastering himself to the window as he ogled. "Since when do we have portals to other fucking worlds?"
"Since about three months ago, sir." The Lance Corporal said. "Major, I believe you're supposed to let you off here. Captain, you're going to the boat yard, and the two lieutenants are supposed to be heading to Firebase Charlie."
As the Major climbed out of the vehicle, the Captain took his place and the Lieutenants decompressed happily. As the vehicle drove off, the group left the military areas and started down the road to the boat yard. Passing through on the road slowly, the Lieutenants were practically ogling everything as they passed.
"Is… is that some snake-girl?" one of the two asked. "Holy shit. I think that's a snake girl!"
Meanwhile, the Lance Corporal sighed and checked his watch. "Eight minutes, dangit."
At the Captain's look, the Lance Corporal explained. "There's a pool on whoever gets someone who hasn't been to the Other Side yet to stick their foot in it- the record's six minutes twenty seconds. Although, last one was a Meledli earning the stupid… hmm…"
The Captain sighed. "I didn't see, but I'm almost scared to ask."
"Good plan, sir."
---
As the Lance Corporal finished fielding questions and dropping off the two butterbars, he sighed happily and went home. Several people assigned to headquarters lived off-base, and he liked his apartment building by one of the inns. As he came through the door, he smiled and sighed, dropping off his cover. Moments later, he picked up a few wampum, and headed out for some drinks and dinner.
At the bar in front of the place, he smiled faintly. Inside, a hibachi was running, the charcoal burning happily as the owner started babbling at him. Shaking his head, the Lance Corporal tapped the bar twice and pointed at the hibachi grill, then once at the keg near the edge of the table. Laughing, the cook and barkeep poured him a heavy ceramic tumbler full of the local beer and two cuts of the local fish in exchange for a wampum belt. Two hundred shining beads held in a double-strung arrangement, it was both a convenient means of the Marines spending their pay, and for the locals to barter and decorate with.
Not like the Americans didn't have long traditions of trading beads and pelts with people anyway. At least this time they were being fair about it.
Moments later, as the bar started filling up with a mix of uniforms and locals, the Lance Corporal sighed and smiled. It almost felt like home. All it needed were some pretty women, and-
Hello, ma'am! Were his eyes mistaken, or was that a very good-looking catgirl over there? Either way, only one way to find out!
---
Smiling tiredly, the Colonel looked out his small window at the base and the world outside it. As his old console victrola, a souvenir of San Diego, wound down, he sighed and pulled out his bottle of whisky. It would be good to relax, tonight.
"Here's to another day in this brave new world."
List of Contributors
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
List of Main Contributors
@7734
@NothingNow
@Always Late
List of Secondary Contributors
@Strypgia
@Whiskey Golf
@moonberserker
List of Confirmed Writers
List of Omake Writers
INFO: The rules for your placement on the list are simple. If you write five snips, you're up to Omake Writer. Ten snips (including the previous five) which are consistent with the cannon when they are written makes you a Confirmed Writer. Fifteen total snippets plus a vote on the Discord makes you a Secondary Contributor, and twenty total snippets plus vote on the Discord makes you a Primary Contributor.
@7734
@NothingNow
@Always Late
List of Secondary Contributors
@Strypgia
@Whiskey Golf
@moonberserker
List of Confirmed Writers
List of Omake Writers
INFO: The rules for your placement on the list are simple. If you write five snips, you're up to Omake Writer. Ten snips (including the previous five) which are consistent with the cannon when they are written makes you a Confirmed Writer. Fifteen total snippets plus a vote on the Discord makes you a Secondary Contributor, and twenty total snippets plus vote on the Discord makes you a Primary Contributor.
Last edited:
List of Resources
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
List of Resources
Timeline Doc(May comment at Confirmed Writer and above) (Credit; Tabac Iberez)
Basic Guide to A Native Language (Paste, edited occasionally) (Credit; Tabac Iberez)
Gloss of A Native Language (Under Construction)
Map of the Outpost (Credit; NothingNow)
Map of the Surrounding Territory (Credit; NothingNow)
Timeline Doc(May comment at Confirmed Writer and above) (Credit; Tabac Iberez)
Basic Guide to A Native Language (Paste, edited occasionally) (Credit; Tabac Iberez)
Gloss of A Native Language (Under Construction)
Map of the Outpost (Credit; NothingNow)
Map of the Surrounding Territory (Credit; NothingNow)
Last edited:
Shiny Things (Week 5)
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
It was just past dawn, and as per the usual at the unnamed firebase, there were Marines with nothing to do except twiddle their thumbs. While most Marines knew exactly what boredom would do and as such sought to prevent it at all costs, some poor unlucky souls weren't smart enough to stock up on Tom Clancy and iPod rechargers. Two of these green-as-grass Marines, one Lance Corporal Richards and his good friend Private First Class Marius, were about to accidentally make history.
It all started off innocently enough. They were going down from the firebase to the small civilian area where the shipping and receiving crew had set up shop, and more importantly some of the natives had started setting up a village. Mostly it was just them taking advantage of the river confluence about a quarter mile upstream, plus the handful of horseshoe lakes downstream that were good fishing. Either way, Richards and Marius were off-duty and looking for something to do.
Their firebase, technically Firebase Bravo, was on a slight rise over a creek from the main area. Strapping up their safety belts, the two Marines forded the creek and tromped into the main area. Past a thin line of full HESCO units and a half-dozen containers-turned-storage areas, there was the Official Civilian Buildings. All two of them, to be fair- a PX working out of a mess of containers, and a very small restraunt that served food slightly, theoretically better than cold MREs. The assorted labritories didn't count, as far as two bored Marines were concerned.
Walking up to the restaurant, the Marines noticed the 'closed' sign with quiet despair. Damnint. The PX was no better, either, and stomachs were rumbling too.
"Well, fuck." Marius opined, sighing as he grumbled. "Looks like there's nothing to do so far."
Richards, who'd been a Marine for exactly one week longer, nodded sagely. "I've heard you can usually find some good stuff with the locals. Wanna take a peak at that area?"
"Sure." Marius said, looking at his friend. "Lead on, Richards!"
Ten minutes later, the two had found their way to the little village that the natives had been setting up. Aside from a lot of what looked sorta like longhouses and lots of cooking fires, the place felt kinda empty.
"Haakal! Haakal ciernos! Ashiel perscotes, Haakal ciernos!"
As two Marine heads turned towards the softly-calling barker, they smelled the fish cooking on a hot rock. Gravitating steadily towards it, they started salivating softly. Sure, it was fish cooked on a rock, but you know that was a good ammount of fish and the barker was putting on an ear of what looked kinda like corn next to it.
Walking up, the pair tried to look disarming, smiling. "Hi." Marius said, looking at the fish."Two, please."
"Kierbock?"
Sighing, Richards pointed at the fish. "Fish."
The barker looked back, and down. Pointing at the fish, he replied. "Haakal."
"Two fish."
"Haakal ciernos."
Richards nodded. "Haakal ciernos. Two, please."
Smiling, the barker deftly took a clean stick out of the fire, tapped some ash off it, and neatly folded the fish into a husk of what looked like the corn. Holding it, the barker held out a hand.
"Ohshit." Richards said. "Marius, you got your wallet?"
"No..." Marius replied. "Uh..."
As the barker raised an eyebrow, Richards dug through his pocket and pulled out a couple of brass casings. Handing them over, the barker shook his head and pushed the hand back. Then, smiling, he reached out for Richard's safety belt.
"You want it?" Richards asked, fiddling with the buckle. "You can have it."
Snatching it up, the vendor laughed for a minute, before Marius handed over his for a fish too. As the two Marines ate their meal and left, the vendor laughed and danced, before hiding them in his longhouse.
---
In his office, the Captain in charge of Bravo Firebase just sighed. They'd been here for less than a week, and nothing had been sane. For starters, the fact the quartermasters reported they were out of Safety Belts. Normally, the dang things just sat around, collecting dust; but now they'd been withdrawn en masse for *something*.
"Sir." his aide said, a very junior Lieutenant. "Firebase Alpha is on the phone, they'd like to know if you know anything about the locals all wearing decorative safety belts everywhere."
Facepalming quietly, the Captain sighed. "No, I most certainly do not. Probably some Lance Corporal gave it to some kids or something."
"I'll send that, sir."
The Captain sighed, regretting the prohibitions against drinking on duty. He'd need a stiff one before going to bed tonight.
How Wyta Met Bear (Week 12)
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
So my first big thing for this, which is kinda strange since it's my baby. But Lieutenant Bear has had a hard life and it isn't about to get any easier.
How Wyta met the Lieutenant
(Week 12)
I'd already had a long day so far, and the woman across from me just insisted on making it longer it seemed. I'd already rode in a boat for two hours, heading up the coast to visit the local king for diplomatic reasons, just so I could install a weather station at the palace. It would've been nice to just ignore her, but the king's daughter was the only reason we got to put this god-damned weather station up in the first place, so we had to play nice.
"Pieske, tlasre coor aes sillion voyes?" She said, as she sat on a stool she'd had one of her servants bring out to the patio we'd decided to mount it in.
"She asked 'what are we putting up now?'" Our translator, a former prostitute with a knack for languages said. The king's daughter had wonderful timing too, since the translator's husband and I were too busy wrestling with a particularly ungainly solar panel mount to think of a good response.
"Arwi, can you tell her that we're putting up something to power the machine." I said as I tried to tighten down some of the bolts on the back of the frame.
After Arwi translated my comment, I just heard an affirmative noise from the King's Daughter, and that's generally how it went for the rest of our time installing the panels.
I kept up the conversation with the king's daughter through Arwi as the day continued. After we finished testing out the weather station, we were treated to a banquet as guests of the king. Thanks to that, I woke up the next morning at five sharp with a painful hangover when my phone went off. It doesn't have a signal out here, but fuck it, it's still useful.
"The fuck is that?" The woman curled up next to me said.
"'S my alarm." I replied, "Just let me turn it off, and you can go back to sleep."
She grunted in affirmation, as I turned the alarm off.
"Wait," I said, as I started to wake up. "Who the fuck are you?"
The woman rolled over passive aggressively. "I'm Wyta, King Aede's daughter you asshole! Do you remember anything about last night?"
"No, not really." I replied. "And how are you speaking English?"
"Magic. I don't gotta explain shit," Wyta said. "Unlike you. I mean, you ruined my favorite dress, and then passed out drunk in my bed. My father is going to be pissed when he wakes up."
"What did I do?"
"Aside from throwing up in my lap? You did nothing Lieutenant."
"Oh thank god- waitaminute, threw up in your lap?"
"Yes. Word of advice, you should probably drink less and chew more. A lot more."
"I'm sorry, there must have been something I'm not used to in the drink. Is anything going to happen?"
"My Father might still want to kill you." Wyta said with a smile. "I could smooth this all over if you apologized for the dress though."
"I'm- well- ah, oh Hell. I was very drunk, and I'll buy you a new dress. Will that help?" I replied quickly.
"Well, you better. What sort of husband doesn't indulge his wife with nice clothes?" She replied, raising an eyebrow. "What is your name, anyway? I can't well go to my father and beg for your life and approval of our love if I'm just calling you Lieutenant, or Bear. That's clearly a nickname, I hope."
"Fine. I'm Lieutenant Joseph Bear of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration Commissioned Officer Corps." I replied. "Does that make you happy?"
"So, is Bear like a clan name or something?" Wyta continued. "And are like all of your relatives as big as you? Is one of them a bear?"
"No, I- wait, Husband‽"
"You did just pass out in my bed. Everyone is going to think we slept together." She replied with a predatory smile. "And well, you're cute, smart, well-connected if this National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration is as big as it sounds, and you're not terrified of me yet, so from where I'm sitting, you're definitely a keeper."
"Oh joy." I replied. "Am I going to have to pay something?"
"You'll have to exchange gifts, but that won't be too big of a deal for you people." She continued, smirking "Now then, we've got time to kill. Do you want to fuck?"
"Wait, what?"
"You, me, tangling the sheets. I just said I was going to marry you, Joseph Bear, and that does include certain duties on your part. Myself, I prefer to think of them as benefits, but I don't know how you'd see them yourself.
I nodded, determined. Might as well to be hung for a sheep as a lamb.
❧
When a servant came to fetch Wyta, I was already up and dressed. Wyta, on the other hand, was still in bed. She sat up grumpily, letting the blankets flop down around her, before she slid out of bed. Watching my new wife angrily riffle through a dresser while grumbling in Meledli was a nice treat.
I hadn't ever seen a Meledli woman actually get dressed before, nor do I think anyone ever committed a description to writing. As a base layer, Wyta wore a plain loincloth and a breast band, and under her boots she wore footwraps. Her actual dress was a large and elaborately decorated shawl that she wrapped around herself, and then over her shoulders before tying it in place. Pressed for time, Wyta didn't really bother with her hair or much in the way of jewelry, just a massive necklace and a pair of bracelets.
Needless to say, appearing before the king in his Megaron was more than a little uncomfortable. A throne room of stone, the center hearth fire left the raised wooden ceiling black with soot as Wyta and I were placed in the position directly forward of the throne and king. Around us to both sides were a collection of people, the ones to the door some of the Marines we'd brought with us, and towards the wall the King's men. None of them looked happy, aside from a few of the grunts. Arwi, the translator, was practically chuckling into her husband's ear, while the other officers practiced looking nonchalant. I was alone in a room full of sharks. I didn't get to speak in my own defense, and instead had to deal with Wyta speaking for me. The whole exchange was in Meledli and angry gestures, so I didn't understand anything from the King's side. Wyta's argument was persuasive, though- in that terrifying way a woman has when she holds all the cards and isn't afraid to let the rest of the room know it.
I did understand the look of pity I got from the king after everything was all said and done though.
How Wyta met the Lieutenant
(Week 12)
I'd already had a long day so far, and the woman across from me just insisted on making it longer it seemed. I'd already rode in a boat for two hours, heading up the coast to visit the local king for diplomatic reasons, just so I could install a weather station at the palace. It would've been nice to just ignore her, but the king's daughter was the only reason we got to put this god-damned weather station up in the first place, so we had to play nice.
"Pieske, tlasre coor aes sillion voyes?" She said, as she sat on a stool she'd had one of her servants bring out to the patio we'd decided to mount it in.
"She asked 'what are we putting up now?'" Our translator, a former prostitute with a knack for languages said. The king's daughter had wonderful timing too, since the translator's husband and I were too busy wrestling with a particularly ungainly solar panel mount to think of a good response.
"Arwi, can you tell her that we're putting up something to power the machine." I said as I tried to tighten down some of the bolts on the back of the frame.
After Arwi translated my comment, I just heard an affirmative noise from the King's Daughter, and that's generally how it went for the rest of our time installing the panels.
I kept up the conversation with the king's daughter through Arwi as the day continued. After we finished testing out the weather station, we were treated to a banquet as guests of the king. Thanks to that, I woke up the next morning at five sharp with a painful hangover when my phone went off. It doesn't have a signal out here, but fuck it, it's still useful.
"The fuck is that?" The woman curled up next to me said.
"'S my alarm." I replied, "Just let me turn it off, and you can go back to sleep."
She grunted in affirmation, as I turned the alarm off.
"Wait," I said, as I started to wake up. "Who the fuck are you?"
The woman rolled over passive aggressively. "I'm Wyta, King Aede's daughter you asshole! Do you remember anything about last night?"
"No, not really." I replied. "And how are you speaking English?"
"Magic. I don't gotta explain shit," Wyta said. "Unlike you. I mean, you ruined my favorite dress, and then passed out drunk in my bed. My father is going to be pissed when he wakes up."
"What did I do?"
"Aside from throwing up in my lap? You did nothing Lieutenant."
"Oh thank god- waitaminute, threw up in your lap?"
"Yes. Word of advice, you should probably drink less and chew more. A lot more."
"I'm sorry, there must have been something I'm not used to in the drink. Is anything going to happen?"
"My Father might still want to kill you." Wyta said with a smile. "I could smooth this all over if you apologized for the dress though."
"I'm- well- ah, oh Hell. I was very drunk, and I'll buy you a new dress. Will that help?" I replied quickly.
"Well, you better. What sort of husband doesn't indulge his wife with nice clothes?" She replied, raising an eyebrow. "What is your name, anyway? I can't well go to my father and beg for your life and approval of our love if I'm just calling you Lieutenant, or Bear. That's clearly a nickname, I hope."
"Fine. I'm Lieutenant Joseph Bear of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration Commissioned Officer Corps." I replied. "Does that make you happy?"
"So, is Bear like a clan name or something?" Wyta continued. "And are like all of your relatives as big as you? Is one of them a bear?"
"No, I- wait, Husband‽"
"You did just pass out in my bed. Everyone is going to think we slept together." She replied with a predatory smile. "And well, you're cute, smart, well-connected if this National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration is as big as it sounds, and you're not terrified of me yet, so from where I'm sitting, you're definitely a keeper."
"Oh joy." I replied. "Am I going to have to pay something?"
"You'll have to exchange gifts, but that won't be too big of a deal for you people." She continued, smirking "Now then, we've got time to kill. Do you want to fuck?"
"Wait, what?"
"You, me, tangling the sheets. I just said I was going to marry you, Joseph Bear, and that does include certain duties on your part. Myself, I prefer to think of them as benefits, but I don't know how you'd see them yourself.
I nodded, determined. Might as well to be hung for a sheep as a lamb.
❧
When a servant came to fetch Wyta, I was already up and dressed. Wyta, on the other hand, was still in bed. She sat up grumpily, letting the blankets flop down around her, before she slid out of bed. Watching my new wife angrily riffle through a dresser while grumbling in Meledli was a nice treat.
I hadn't ever seen a Meledli woman actually get dressed before, nor do I think anyone ever committed a description to writing. As a base layer, Wyta wore a plain loincloth and a breast band, and under her boots she wore footwraps. Her actual dress was a large and elaborately decorated shawl that she wrapped around herself, and then over her shoulders before tying it in place. Pressed for time, Wyta didn't really bother with her hair or much in the way of jewelry, just a massive necklace and a pair of bracelets.
Needless to say, appearing before the king in his Megaron was more than a little uncomfortable. A throne room of stone, the center hearth fire left the raised wooden ceiling black with soot as Wyta and I were placed in the position directly forward of the throne and king. Around us to both sides were a collection of people, the ones to the door some of the Marines we'd brought with us, and towards the wall the King's men. None of them looked happy, aside from a few of the grunts. Arwi, the translator, was practically chuckling into her husband's ear, while the other officers practiced looking nonchalant. I was alone in a room full of sharks. I didn't get to speak in my own defense, and instead had to deal with Wyta speaking for me. The whole exchange was in Meledli and angry gestures, so I didn't understand anything from the King's side. Wyta's argument was persuasive, though- in that terrifying way a woman has when she holds all the cards and isn't afraid to let the rest of the room know it.
I did understand the look of pity I got from the king after everything was all said and done though.
Last edited:
Part and Parcel (Week 4)
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Looking over the map, Staff Sergeant Pellas scratched his chin carefully. Someone, probably the Colonel, had decided that the best way to do outreach on the local areas was to improve the local road network. He didn't even use any buzzwords according to the rumor from the staff- a blessing unto itself.
Didn't change the fact that there was no local road network to improve, but it was the sincerity of the thought that counted. Considering the fact that they were now building a road network from scratch, though, everything mattered. And not in the nice way. Oh, drone mapping and the likes of techno-wizardry would take place, but that didn't change too much. They'd still need to survey the route, poke every prospective square inch, and check for the lay of the land. There was more to it than elevation and slope, a thousand little factors going together to decide where the roadbed went.
One of the Lance Corporals farted, bringing Pellas back to reality. He wasn't an engineer, no. He was the platoon sergeant of a mess of infantry, which was going to be put in charge of taking care of a little five-vic of engineers turned surveyors while they Did Their Thing, whatever that entailed. More accurately, they were the security element, scouts, map-checkers, camp-setters, pioneers, and interpreters for the engineers. After Pellas got a look at the engineers, Pellas agreed wholeheartedly with the decision as the techies bumbled around their new quarters.
"They don't make 'em like they used to, eh?" Pellas' second said, grinning.
"What, salt-encrusted and moaning about their beds not rocking them to sleep every night?"
"I was gonna say 'needing to shave' but that works."
As one of the engineers tripped over an old dent in the road from when they were still digging out this segment of the firebase, Pellas' hand made its way to his face.
"Go make sure our lieutenant hasn't fallen into a well, please." Pellas asked, groaning slightly. "I gotta go make sure my ruck is ready to play demo for when we teach the boots how to do a foot march."
"Alright, Staff Sergeant."
--
It was three days later that the group started out, and four days before shit hit the fan. All in all, Pellas was actually rather amazed things hadn't gone in the crapper by the end of the first day. The cause of all this fuss was simple. It was not enemy action. It was not friendly action. It was not even a case of the Good Idea Fairy striking with the wrath of Zeus.
It was rain.
To be fair, all the outdoor activities in rain were about twice as hard as they were normally. Ground was slippery, there were puddles, keeping your feet dy was an utter bitch, all sorts of things that could slow down a mission. Except, to hear the engineers put it, these were conditions that were trying to actively kill them. Considering they were hiking about nine miles a day and eating MREs the whole time, Pellas could only blame them a little. Still, it wasn't as bad as the Pack Mule Squad, who got to carry the engineer's tent. The thing where the nerds poured over their findings and roughly plotted the map weighed a ton. Subsequently, that job got shifted around a lot, so nobody had to spend too much time with the eggheads looking at dirt and moving marker stakes around. The squad machine gunners were especially pissed, as they were usually lance corporals who could tell the engineers not to dick around and actually get shit done.
Still, Pellas was almost optimistic. Things were going pretty good, nobody had gotten hurt yet, and Lieutenant Tim had yet to fall in a well.
This stopped around the fifth day, when Lieutenant Tim, in lieu of any wells to fall into, decided to walk face first into a genuine swamp and needed to be hauled out by a half-section before an engineer called this "suboptimal territory for a roadbed". He was promptly then nearly strangled. It wasn't that bad, though. Nobody had any serious medical issues, the guys were all still grumbling in the good ways, and-
"Platoon Sergeant! One of the engineers just curled up and fainted!"
-there were no medical emergencies. Oh, hell.
Moving to the area, Pellas looked over the engineer, pants around his ankles and passed out like a rock. Taking a sniff, the Staff Sergeant groaned before looking at his assistant.
"Rockwell, go get the LT out here and the big radio. Think we've got a medevac here."
"With what?!" one of the engineers yelled, looking at his friend. "We've been making sure we're all drinking clean water!"
Pellas raised an eyebrow. "You really want to know?"
"Yeah!"
"Really, really want to know?"
"Yeah!"
"Alright, but if I tell you, you gotta tell me when the last time you all took a shit was." Pellas said. "Because this looks like a packed colon."
The lead engineer scrunched up his face. "A packed colon?"
"He forgot to actually go take a shit occasionally, it backed up, and the system can only get so full."
"Eeeeeeew." Was the chorus of twenty-something Marines, looking down at the semi-comatose young man in front of them.
That night, there was a lot of hoarded toilet paper spent in the name of making good life choices and not getting dragged back to base on a stretcher.
---
About three days later, the official turnaround point was hit, and the platoon started making their way back down the trail they'd blazed coming up. It wasn't much of a trail, mind, but it was there all right. Couldn't very well have near fifty guys coming into and leaving a camp without leaving a little bit of a trail, and the Marines were smart enough not to take too many different paths. They'd been making about nine miles a day when they were coming up the route, and now that they both knew the path and had a definite path they were making about fifteen miles a day. What took nine days to hike in ended up eight on the way out, the food lasting longer than expected from it.
Not that anyone cared, per say, seeing as they were eating MREs. Still, they'd been out for about two and a half weeks, made a hundred and eight miles, and delivered the road path data with a minimal amount of trouble and complications. While the construction units got ready to roll forward and get started, Pallas went into town to relax and search for some 'company' and drinks.
After all, in three more days they were getting a ride out to the end of the road to do it all over again.
Didn't change the fact that there was no local road network to improve, but it was the sincerity of the thought that counted. Considering the fact that they were now building a road network from scratch, though, everything mattered. And not in the nice way. Oh, drone mapping and the likes of techno-wizardry would take place, but that didn't change too much. They'd still need to survey the route, poke every prospective square inch, and check for the lay of the land. There was more to it than elevation and slope, a thousand little factors going together to decide where the roadbed went.
One of the Lance Corporals farted, bringing Pellas back to reality. He wasn't an engineer, no. He was the platoon sergeant of a mess of infantry, which was going to be put in charge of taking care of a little five-vic of engineers turned surveyors while they Did Their Thing, whatever that entailed. More accurately, they were the security element, scouts, map-checkers, camp-setters, pioneers, and interpreters for the engineers. After Pellas got a look at the engineers, Pellas agreed wholeheartedly with the decision as the techies bumbled around their new quarters.
"They don't make 'em like they used to, eh?" Pellas' second said, grinning.
"What, salt-encrusted and moaning about their beds not rocking them to sleep every night?"
"I was gonna say 'needing to shave' but that works."
As one of the engineers tripped over an old dent in the road from when they were still digging out this segment of the firebase, Pellas' hand made its way to his face.
"Go make sure our lieutenant hasn't fallen into a well, please." Pellas asked, groaning slightly. "I gotta go make sure my ruck is ready to play demo for when we teach the boots how to do a foot march."
"Alright, Staff Sergeant."
--
It was three days later that the group started out, and four days before shit hit the fan. All in all, Pellas was actually rather amazed things hadn't gone in the crapper by the end of the first day. The cause of all this fuss was simple. It was not enemy action. It was not friendly action. It was not even a case of the Good Idea Fairy striking with the wrath of Zeus.
It was rain.
To be fair, all the outdoor activities in rain were about twice as hard as they were normally. Ground was slippery, there were puddles, keeping your feet dy was an utter bitch, all sorts of things that could slow down a mission. Except, to hear the engineers put it, these were conditions that were trying to actively kill them. Considering they were hiking about nine miles a day and eating MREs the whole time, Pellas could only blame them a little. Still, it wasn't as bad as the Pack Mule Squad, who got to carry the engineer's tent. The thing where the nerds poured over their findings and roughly plotted the map weighed a ton. Subsequently, that job got shifted around a lot, so nobody had to spend too much time with the eggheads looking at dirt and moving marker stakes around. The squad machine gunners were especially pissed, as they were usually lance corporals who could tell the engineers not to dick around and actually get shit done.
Still, Pellas was almost optimistic. Things were going pretty good, nobody had gotten hurt yet, and Lieutenant Tim had yet to fall in a well.
This stopped around the fifth day, when Lieutenant Tim, in lieu of any wells to fall into, decided to walk face first into a genuine swamp and needed to be hauled out by a half-section before an engineer called this "suboptimal territory for a roadbed". He was promptly then nearly strangled. It wasn't that bad, though. Nobody had any serious medical issues, the guys were all still grumbling in the good ways, and-
"Platoon Sergeant! One of the engineers just curled up and fainted!"
-there were no medical emergencies. Oh, hell.
Moving to the area, Pellas looked over the engineer, pants around his ankles and passed out like a rock. Taking a sniff, the Staff Sergeant groaned before looking at his assistant.
"Rockwell, go get the LT out here and the big radio. Think we've got a medevac here."
"With what?!" one of the engineers yelled, looking at his friend. "We've been making sure we're all drinking clean water!"
Pellas raised an eyebrow. "You really want to know?"
"Yeah!"
"Really, really want to know?"
"Yeah!"
"Alright, but if I tell you, you gotta tell me when the last time you all took a shit was." Pellas said. "Because this looks like a packed colon."
The lead engineer scrunched up his face. "A packed colon?"
"He forgot to actually go take a shit occasionally, it backed up, and the system can only get so full."
"Eeeeeeew." Was the chorus of twenty-something Marines, looking down at the semi-comatose young man in front of them.
That night, there was a lot of hoarded toilet paper spent in the name of making good life choices and not getting dragged back to base on a stretcher.
---
About three days later, the official turnaround point was hit, and the platoon started making their way back down the trail they'd blazed coming up. It wasn't much of a trail, mind, but it was there all right. Couldn't very well have near fifty guys coming into and leaving a camp without leaving a little bit of a trail, and the Marines were smart enough not to take too many different paths. They'd been making about nine miles a day when they were coming up the route, and now that they both knew the path and had a definite path they were making about fifteen miles a day. What took nine days to hike in ended up eight on the way out, the food lasting longer than expected from it.
Not that anyone cared, per say, seeing as they were eating MREs. Still, they'd been out for about two and a half weeks, made a hundred and eight miles, and delivered the road path data with a minimal amount of trouble and complications. While the construction units got ready to roll forward and get started, Pallas went into town to relax and search for some 'company' and drinks.
After all, in three more days they were getting a ride out to the end of the road to do it all over again.
Fury Road (Weeks 2 & 4)
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Fury Road, part 1
Week 2
Today, we shall be taking a look into the lives of the crew of a Marine M1A2 Abrams. Armored Fury.
Our intrepid crew are found doing the things any tanker does when not fighting, fucking, eating, sleeping, or having a rare moment of fun.
Fixing the tank and bitching.
"We…" Eugine, the driver, grunted as he hauled more of the track off the back, "Are in a world where war's got a hard cap."
"What's he on about now?" Simon, the loader, moaned as he dropped his head back in the engine.
"'Gene, spit it out. You're not talking to your fellow prep-school grads, you're talking to Marines." Commander Marston lazily responded as he fiddled with a drone. "You gotta dumb it down for these other guys."
"Fuck you too, Top." The gunner's, Mack, voice echoed tinnily from within the turret. Engine and Marston ignored him.
"Every army, from the Sumerians, the Pharaohs, Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, Alexios the First, the Crusades, all the way up to Napoleon, all had to do local provisioning!"
"... what." Eugine fought back a wince at the unanimous statement.
"Armies have to forage, take food from the land around them as they move. They might go out with a few days of food from their home base, but it's either eaten or gone rotten within a week or so. Even with salted food and other early ways of preserving food, soldiers always had to go ask, pay, or take food from the locals."
"Hm. Ok, that kinda makes sense." Simon said thoughtfully. "No planes, no trains, no cars, no fridges, no ice, no chemical preservatives… hell, do these folks even have smoke houses?"
"So what does your big realization have to do with our deployment?" Marston was giving Eugine his full attention. The future Yale student was a bit of a whiner and overthinker, but when he had an idea, he was usually on to something. Frankly, it was only his recent posting to a driver that he hadn't been moved up to a higher rank.
"There's a system, or at least a sort of an art to it. The Roman Legions had the logistics of feeding men and animals down to a science, and it stuck around until well after the Napoleonic era. I have copies of some of it on my hard drive. If we can take that, and figure out the amount of crops and regular harvests in each area, we can know about how large an army in these parts can get."
"Show me it later 'Gene. I'll see if command will find it useful."
"Very amazing Genius, we all bow to your white, upper-class nerd knowledge," Simon mocked, standing at the front of the tank with a large wrench. "Now stop gabbing and get that track over here!"
Week 4, Day 3
"F platoon, we got our orders."
Major Marston called his platoon to order. Three of the four tank commanders with him were Lieutenants, and men he knew or knew of, from Iraq and Afghanistan. They'd been pulled from their original units with the expectation that they'd likely to take command of the rest of expeditionary force's vehicle assets after the first wave of mass-casualties. That was the expectation everyone had going through the portal: That they'd be going out in a blaze of glory to protect their soil from invasion. The latest iteration of the 1st Provisional Marine Brigade wasn't expected to last a month.
'And yet, here we are.' Marston thought. 'About to be construction workers.'
"The engineer and drone geeks just finished mapping out our road network early this morning. The rumors are true. We're going to be filling in where the engineers and Seabees don't have the numbers to go. We've got the dozer blades, and we're getting both an M88 and a couple squads of assaultmen to go with our escort. The boss is expecting us to do with SMAWs and eight-thirties what some of you back home did with chainsaws and concrete mixers. It's bullshit, but it's what we're doing.
OK, briefing over, any questions?"
"Sir, permission to speak freely?" Marston wasn't surprised Lieutenant Johnston spoke up first. Nor was he surprised by the barely-contained anger in the man's face.
'I told him he needed to get his shit together.' He thought. 'Hell, he'll probably be the one to break first. But he'll say what's on a lot of others' minds.'
"Johnston, you know you can say just about anything to me and I wouldn't give much of a shit."
"We're glorified road crew?"
'You said it, not me' Marston sighed inwardly. "If we were construction crew, we'd have the proper tools for the job. But we're Marines. When the hell did we ever get what we needed?"
The chuckling from everyone, even the bitter laugh from Johnston, show you'd lightened the mood a bit.
"It ain't all bad Johnny." Robb, ever the 'carefree' individual, ruined the moment. "We get to drive around, blow stuff up, and no IEDs! That ain't work, that's a paid vacation!"
"And we get to meet more locals!" Jay piped up excitedly. 'More like he wants more monstergirl pussy'. Marston grumbled inwardly. The guy'd been one of the frequent 'customers' to the local brothels. He made Genius look downright polite.
"This isn't the fucking Playboy Mansion!" Johnston's temper was at its limit it seemed.
"Just because you don't get to kill shit no more doesn't mean you get to take it out on the kid." Robb snidely added.
"ENOUGH! Q&A session over!" Marston barked. Everyone went quiet. "Review the rosters, get your shit in gear, and make sure you've got your APDS traded in for HEAT in two hours. We're on a schedule, and I'll be damned if we're behind on it. Dismissed!"
*****
Week 4, Day 4
"F Platoon, Fury Actual, stop, stop, stop, over."
With four choruses of 'Roger', four Abrams, an armored recovery vehicle, and their same number of accompanying Humvees ground to a halt. Five hundred yards in front of them, the tall brush of the plains grew into a massive, thick forest of trees. 'How many hundreds of years of pristine nature are we about to blow up?' Marston momentarily wondered.
"OK, we've got the first forest line we have to blast through. Hold up while the infantry give it a shot first, out."
The Humvees rolled forward closer to the treeline. Marston watched as the detached Assault Section disembarked and took up a firing position with their rocket launchers. A few seconds later, the line of men was briefly obscured by smoke and fire. After observing no trees falling, he keyed the short-range.
"Fury Actual to Rocketeers, confirm no effect on target, over."
"That is correct Fury Actual. It'd take all of us to knock one of these down. We'll pack up, they're all yours, over."
"Roger that, out."
Marston keyed his mic for his own platoon again. "We're up, fellas. Set first two shots' detonation for the first row of trees, then send them out every twenty-five yards, over."
Marston heard four confirmations, then gave the order. "FIRE AT WILL!"
Old growth yielded and splintered under the barrage of fused explosives. Roughly every ten seconds, a new round roared out, and a group of ancient trees splintered and fell. Eventually, Marston felt the route had been sufficiently softened.
"All Units, Cease Fire!"
The rolling thunder of the four tanks' guns fell silent.
"F platoon, let's roll, out."
As the line of armor advanced, bulldozing the shattered remains and stumps under their weight, a lithe, stern figure with a spear and a quiver of arrows watched intently. At his side, a small girl clutched his leg in fear. She looked up to him.
"Croo jaku bakar sor dun Gron Sa, Aka? Srar peli."
What are those metal things destroying your sacred grove Brother? I'm scared.
The man stroked her hair, but his gaze never left the sight before him.
"Tierar caun srar sor, Bka. Lao ko meli ne umina. Sulalum ko meli ho, rag noka."
Let your fear temper your caution, sister. We shall learn more about the new people. And when we do, there shall be a reckoning
So yeah. We're covering the leadup to week 12 now. Gonna be a bit of jumping around time-wise, we'll probably get chronological order in the threadmarks in the future. In the meantime, meet my end of the cast.
Week 2
Today, we shall be taking a look into the lives of the crew of a Marine M1A2 Abrams. Armored Fury.
Our intrepid crew are found doing the things any tanker does when not fighting, fucking, eating, sleeping, or having a rare moment of fun.
Fixing the tank and bitching.
"We…" Eugine, the driver, grunted as he hauled more of the track off the back, "Are in a world where war's got a hard cap."
"What's he on about now?" Simon, the loader, moaned as he dropped his head back in the engine.
"'Gene, spit it out. You're not talking to your fellow prep-school grads, you're talking to Marines." Commander Marston lazily responded as he fiddled with a drone. "You gotta dumb it down for these other guys."
"Fuck you too, Top." The gunner's, Mack, voice echoed tinnily from within the turret. Engine and Marston ignored him.
"Every army, from the Sumerians, the Pharaohs, Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, Alexios the First, the Crusades, all the way up to Napoleon, all had to do local provisioning!"
"... what." Eugine fought back a wince at the unanimous statement.
"Armies have to forage, take food from the land around them as they move. They might go out with a few days of food from their home base, but it's either eaten or gone rotten within a week or so. Even with salted food and other early ways of preserving food, soldiers always had to go ask, pay, or take food from the locals."
"Hm. Ok, that kinda makes sense." Simon said thoughtfully. "No planes, no trains, no cars, no fridges, no ice, no chemical preservatives… hell, do these folks even have smoke houses?"
"So what does your big realization have to do with our deployment?" Marston was giving Eugine his full attention. The future Yale student was a bit of a whiner and overthinker, but when he had an idea, he was usually on to something. Frankly, it was only his recent posting to a driver that he hadn't been moved up to a higher rank.
"There's a system, or at least a sort of an art to it. The Roman Legions had the logistics of feeding men and animals down to a science, and it stuck around until well after the Napoleonic era. I have copies of some of it on my hard drive. If we can take that, and figure out the amount of crops and regular harvests in each area, we can know about how large an army in these parts can get."
"Show me it later 'Gene. I'll see if command will find it useful."
"Very amazing Genius, we all bow to your white, upper-class nerd knowledge," Simon mocked, standing at the front of the tank with a large wrench. "Now stop gabbing and get that track over here!"
Week 4, Day 3
"F platoon, we got our orders."
Major Marston called his platoon to order. Three of the four tank commanders with him were Lieutenants, and men he knew or knew of, from Iraq and Afghanistan. They'd been pulled from their original units with the expectation that they'd likely to take command of the rest of expeditionary force's vehicle assets after the first wave of mass-casualties. That was the expectation everyone had going through the portal: That they'd be going out in a blaze of glory to protect their soil from invasion. The latest iteration of the 1st Provisional Marine Brigade wasn't expected to last a month.
'And yet, here we are.' Marston thought. 'About to be construction workers.'
"The engineer and drone geeks just finished mapping out our road network early this morning. The rumors are true. We're going to be filling in where the engineers and Seabees don't have the numbers to go. We've got the dozer blades, and we're getting both an M88 and a couple squads of assaultmen to go with our escort. The boss is expecting us to do with SMAWs and eight-thirties what some of you back home did with chainsaws and concrete mixers. It's bullshit, but it's what we're doing.
OK, briefing over, any questions?"
"Sir, permission to speak freely?" Marston wasn't surprised Lieutenant Johnston spoke up first. Nor was he surprised by the barely-contained anger in the man's face.
'I told him he needed to get his shit together.' He thought. 'Hell, he'll probably be the one to break first. But he'll say what's on a lot of others' minds.'
"Johnston, you know you can say just about anything to me and I wouldn't give much of a shit."
"We're glorified road crew?"
'You said it, not me' Marston sighed inwardly. "If we were construction crew, we'd have the proper tools for the job. But we're Marines. When the hell did we ever get what we needed?"
The chuckling from everyone, even the bitter laugh from Johnston, show you'd lightened the mood a bit.
"It ain't all bad Johnny." Robb, ever the 'carefree' individual, ruined the moment. "We get to drive around, blow stuff up, and no IEDs! That ain't work, that's a paid vacation!"
"And we get to meet more locals!" Jay piped up excitedly. 'More like he wants more monstergirl pussy'. Marston grumbled inwardly. The guy'd been one of the frequent 'customers' to the local brothels. He made Genius look downright polite.
"This isn't the fucking Playboy Mansion!" Johnston's temper was at its limit it seemed.
"Just because you don't get to kill shit no more doesn't mean you get to take it out on the kid." Robb snidely added.
"ENOUGH! Q&A session over!" Marston barked. Everyone went quiet. "Review the rosters, get your shit in gear, and make sure you've got your APDS traded in for HEAT in two hours. We're on a schedule, and I'll be damned if we're behind on it. Dismissed!"
*****
Week 4, Day 4
"F Platoon, Fury Actual, stop, stop, stop, over."
With four choruses of 'Roger', four Abrams, an armored recovery vehicle, and their same number of accompanying Humvees ground to a halt. Five hundred yards in front of them, the tall brush of the plains grew into a massive, thick forest of trees. 'How many hundreds of years of pristine nature are we about to blow up?' Marston momentarily wondered.
"OK, we've got the first forest line we have to blast through. Hold up while the infantry give it a shot first, out."
The Humvees rolled forward closer to the treeline. Marston watched as the detached Assault Section disembarked and took up a firing position with their rocket launchers. A few seconds later, the line of men was briefly obscured by smoke and fire. After observing no trees falling, he keyed the short-range.
"Fury Actual to Rocketeers, confirm no effect on target, over."
"That is correct Fury Actual. It'd take all of us to knock one of these down. We'll pack up, they're all yours, over."
"Roger that, out."
Marston keyed his mic for his own platoon again. "We're up, fellas. Set first two shots' detonation for the first row of trees, then send them out every twenty-five yards, over."
Marston heard four confirmations, then gave the order. "FIRE AT WILL!"
Old growth yielded and splintered under the barrage of fused explosives. Roughly every ten seconds, a new round roared out, and a group of ancient trees splintered and fell. Eventually, Marston felt the route had been sufficiently softened.
"All Units, Cease Fire!"
The rolling thunder of the four tanks' guns fell silent.
"F platoon, let's roll, out."
As the line of armor advanced, bulldozing the shattered remains and stumps under their weight, a lithe, stern figure with a spear and a quiver of arrows watched intently. At his side, a small girl clutched his leg in fear. She looked up to him.
"Croo jaku bakar sor dun Gron Sa, Aka? Srar peli."
What are those metal things destroying your sacred grove Brother? I'm scared.
The man stroked her hair, but his gaze never left the sight before him.
"Tierar caun srar sor, Bka. Lao ko meli ne umina. Sulalum ko meli ho, rag noka."
Let your fear temper your caution, sister. We shall learn more about the new people. And when we do, there shall be a reckoning
So yeah. We're covering the leadup to week 12 now. Gonna be a bit of jumping around time-wise, we'll probably get chronological order in the threadmarks in the future. In the meantime, meet my end of the cast.
Wyta Goes Shopping (Week 13)
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
So, another thing.
When Wyta Went Shopping
(Week 13)
"Lance Corporal, I need you to help my wife go shopping online." I said as I stared at my assistant from across my desk in the office we shared.
"Sir, isn't that inappropriate?" She replied. "Shouldn't you be doing that instead of me?"
"Wyta is still illiterate in English, and she won't tell me what she's looking for, because it's 'women's stuff.'" I replied. "Jessica, I know this is weird but you are literally the only woman I know on base who I can trust this to. I'll make it up to you."
"What about Arwi? She's a terp."
"Arwi is completely illiterate and thinks facetime will steal her soul if she isn't careful."
"How do you know this."
"She told me multiple times."
"Oh."
"Anyway, you can do that and have the rest of the day off otherwise and I can spend the rest of the day setting up the server rack, or you could do it while I go bother the weenies from the USDA." I replied.
"I think I'll go help your wife." Jessica said as she started packing her briefcase.
"Thank you." I said as I leaned back in my chair.
After Jessica had left, I got down to work assembling the server rack, including the rack itself. Which was fun considering I'd never done this before, and the instructions were tiny and barely legible. I'd managed to get the rack actually standing and put everything in, but not wired up, before I got a call.
"Hey Captain." I said.
"So, what's this about you getting married?" My former CO, and the closest thing I had to family, said. "I had to find out from Harold. You couldn't just call me?"
"Diane, I thought you were at sea. And this did just come out of the blue." I replied.
"Well, am I invited?"
"I'd have to ask the General and the Colonel if I could get you and Harold a pass." I said.
"What the hell kinda secret squirrel shit do they have you doing that I'd need a pass to go to your wedding?" The Captain replied.
"Research." I replied. "I'm the station chief out here and it's restricted access. But it's going to be big when we can publish in a couple months."
"Anyway, when are you tying the knot?"
"Next tuesday."
All I got from that was a choking sound.
"Yes, I know it's sudden. If you can get leave, and I can get you a pass, I'll pay to fly you out." I replied. "Just bring my guns with you when you do. I've spoken to the General and the Provost Marshal, and I've gotten the okay if I teach them how to properly dress a Moose. I've been told this is my permanent billet now, since outside of OAR, everyone and their dog seems to want to do work here, so I'm being forced to set down roots for once."
"Even the Mannlichers?"
"Especially my Mannlicher. You can keep the stock ones," I said. "There's great hunting here, and the Smithsonian wants samples."
"Shouldn't you be trying to take them alive?"
"That's too dangerous to consider for some of the things they want."
"Like what? We've taken polar bears and seals alive before to pump their stomachs."
"Gryphons are a bit meaner than that. We're just aiming for 'not shredded' at the moment."
"But you think you can get one with your Mannlicher?"
"With the ammo in the orange six point five can, so if you could bring that along as well."
"What'll your wife say about all that?"
"She thinks I'm a coward for not just going after one with some bait, a couple dogs and bear spears." I said with a sigh, "Because that's what she and her brother do."
"Hardcore and crazy?" Diane replied. "I like her. You two should get along fine. I remember your Justy."
Thankfully, before I could get shit about the car I used to drive back when I had one, I got another call.
"Hey Captain, I'll have to call you back." I said. "My assistant is calling, so something's probably going down. I'll call you back in a bit. Tell Harold I said Hi."
"I will."
And with that I switched calls, and immediately got an earful from Lance Corporal Johnson. "I need you to get over here and bail me out before I have to call the provost on your wife."
"What's she doing?"
"Just get over to the BX." She said. "Now."
Of course, when I did arrive at the BX some minutes later, I was greeted by the site of a boar and the lance corporal hiding behind a sign, my wife holding a curtain rod for one of the containers like a spear, and one of the MPs was trying to calm her down.
"Wyta, what's wrong?" I said as I started slowly walking towards my wife with my hands open and in full view of her.
"I've been having a day. First Arwi comes by to invite the three of us over to dinner tomorrow, and prattles on about how her husband is so great and maybe I should lean on you into buying me a whole new wardrobe like he has, and how she has a whole kitchen that he bought for her." Wyta says imitating Arwi's bubbly tone, before dropping to her normal register, "And then, when I come here because I wanted to get something, they did not have one that fit, and the shopkeeper made insinuations about my size."
"What he'd call you?" I asked, half-filling out the paperwork in your head.
"The pig called me skinny! Like I'm some underfed forest brat!"
"So you turned him into a boar?" I said, "Isn't that slightly over reacting?"
Wyta just gave me a look and tightened her grip on the curtain rod in response.
"Can you at least turn him back?"
Wyta nodded.
"Honey, can you do that and put the curtain rod down? We'll just buy what you want online, forget that this ever happened, and then go to dinner tomorrow. I want to go see Johnson suffer through her cooking." I then turned to the other LCpl Johnson. "You going as well?"
Johnson shrugged. "I wanna see Schmuckatelli suffer as much as you do, but I'm on duty tomorrow night." She said, "I want to know all about it though."
"How long would it take it to get here?" Was the only thought Wyta seemed capable of expressing. "Jessica said it'd take like a month to get the clothes I wanted, and I was hoping to get stuff before the wedding."
"It took a month to get the servers I ordered because they had to be built." I replied, as I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Shipping only took a week. We're not in Afghanistan or Antarctica. So just calm down, and we'll go back to my office and order everything there, besides I need to get something for the King."
"Fine." Wyta replied. "But do I have to turn him back?"
"Yes." I replied. "Yes you do."
When Wyta Went Shopping
(Week 13)
"Lance Corporal, I need you to help my wife go shopping online." I said as I stared at my assistant from across my desk in the office we shared.
"Sir, isn't that inappropriate?" She replied. "Shouldn't you be doing that instead of me?"
"Wyta is still illiterate in English, and she won't tell me what she's looking for, because it's 'women's stuff.'" I replied. "Jessica, I know this is weird but you are literally the only woman I know on base who I can trust this to. I'll make it up to you."
"What about Arwi? She's a terp."
"Arwi is completely illiterate and thinks facetime will steal her soul if she isn't careful."
"How do you know this."
"She told me multiple times."
"Oh."
"Anyway, you can do that and have the rest of the day off otherwise and I can spend the rest of the day setting up the server rack, or you could do it while I go bother the weenies from the USDA." I replied.
"I think I'll go help your wife." Jessica said as she started packing her briefcase.
"Thank you." I said as I leaned back in my chair.
After Jessica had left, I got down to work assembling the server rack, including the rack itself. Which was fun considering I'd never done this before, and the instructions were tiny and barely legible. I'd managed to get the rack actually standing and put everything in, but not wired up, before I got a call.
"Hey Captain." I said.
"So, what's this about you getting married?" My former CO, and the closest thing I had to family, said. "I had to find out from Harold. You couldn't just call me?"
"Diane, I thought you were at sea. And this did just come out of the blue." I replied.
"Well, am I invited?"
"I'd have to ask the General and the Colonel if I could get you and Harold a pass." I said.
"What the hell kinda secret squirrel shit do they have you doing that I'd need a pass to go to your wedding?" The Captain replied.
"Research." I replied. "I'm the station chief out here and it's restricted access. But it's going to be big when we can publish in a couple months."
"Anyway, when are you tying the knot?"
"Next tuesday."
All I got from that was a choking sound.
"Yes, I know it's sudden. If you can get leave, and I can get you a pass, I'll pay to fly you out." I replied. "Just bring my guns with you when you do. I've spoken to the General and the Provost Marshal, and I've gotten the okay if I teach them how to properly dress a Moose. I've been told this is my permanent billet now, since outside of OAR, everyone and their dog seems to want to do work here, so I'm being forced to set down roots for once."
"Even the Mannlichers?"
"Especially my Mannlicher. You can keep the stock ones," I said. "There's great hunting here, and the Smithsonian wants samples."
"Shouldn't you be trying to take them alive?"
"That's too dangerous to consider for some of the things they want."
"Like what? We've taken polar bears and seals alive before to pump their stomachs."
"Gryphons are a bit meaner than that. We're just aiming for 'not shredded' at the moment."
"But you think you can get one with your Mannlicher?"
"With the ammo in the orange six point five can, so if you could bring that along as well."
"What'll your wife say about all that?"
"She thinks I'm a coward for not just going after one with some bait, a couple dogs and bear spears." I said with a sigh, "Because that's what she and her brother do."
"Hardcore and crazy?" Diane replied. "I like her. You two should get along fine. I remember your Justy."
Thankfully, before I could get shit about the car I used to drive back when I had one, I got another call.
"Hey Captain, I'll have to call you back." I said. "My assistant is calling, so something's probably going down. I'll call you back in a bit. Tell Harold I said Hi."
"I will."
And with that I switched calls, and immediately got an earful from Lance Corporal Johnson. "I need you to get over here and bail me out before I have to call the provost on your wife."
"What's she doing?"
"Just get over to the BX." She said. "Now."
Of course, when I did arrive at the BX some minutes later, I was greeted by the site of a boar and the lance corporal hiding behind a sign, my wife holding a curtain rod for one of the containers like a spear, and one of the MPs was trying to calm her down.
"Wyta, what's wrong?" I said as I started slowly walking towards my wife with my hands open and in full view of her.
"I've been having a day. First Arwi comes by to invite the three of us over to dinner tomorrow, and prattles on about how her husband is so great and maybe I should lean on you into buying me a whole new wardrobe like he has, and how she has a whole kitchen that he bought for her." Wyta says imitating Arwi's bubbly tone, before dropping to her normal register, "And then, when I come here because I wanted to get something, they did not have one that fit, and the shopkeeper made insinuations about my size."
"What he'd call you?" I asked, half-filling out the paperwork in your head.
"The pig called me skinny! Like I'm some underfed forest brat!"
"So you turned him into a boar?" I said, "Isn't that slightly over reacting?"
Wyta just gave me a look and tightened her grip on the curtain rod in response.
"Can you at least turn him back?"
Wyta nodded.
"Honey, can you do that and put the curtain rod down? We'll just buy what you want online, forget that this ever happened, and then go to dinner tomorrow. I want to go see Johnson suffer through her cooking." I then turned to the other LCpl Johnson. "You going as well?"
Johnson shrugged. "I wanna see Schmuckatelli suffer as much as you do, but I'm on duty tomorrow night." She said, "I want to know all about it though."
"How long would it take it to get here?" Was the only thought Wyta seemed capable of expressing. "Jessica said it'd take like a month to get the clothes I wanted, and I was hoping to get stuff before the wedding."
"It took a month to get the servers I ordered because they had to be built." I replied, as I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Shipping only took a week. We're not in Afghanistan or Antarctica. So just calm down, and we'll go back to my office and order everything there, besides I need to get something for the King."
"Fine." Wyta replied. "But do I have to turn him back?"
"Yes." I replied. "Yes you do."
Arwi Makes Dinner (Week 13)
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
When Arwi Made Dinner
(Week 13)
I don't know why Arwi had decided to invite myself and my wife over to dinner with her husband, but we hadn't been able to refuse. Seeing someone as whitebread as Johnson have to eat his Arwi's cooking would be something neither of us could pass up. Especially since for Wyta, this meant a meal where she didn't have to ask if anything had tomatoes or egg whites in it.
Unfortunately, this also meant that the four of us were sitting on boxes around a fire as we watched mutton finish up on the grill, and listened to the racket that was popcorn being made in a dutch oven.
"Where'd you guys get the dutch oven and stuff?" I asked.
"Townsend's." Johnson replied. "It'll do till we actually get permanent family housing here, but that'll only be a year probably."
"That's optimistic." I said. "We'll probably see a BX that isn't just some containers, and maybe a coffee shop before they even start on us. As it is, I'm waiting on a hangar, a pilot and a Twin Otter that will probably arrive sometime next year if congress approves an expansion and a budget increase."
"They're planning to start on a new BX for the main camp after the road is done." Johnson said. "So that's like two weeks."
"Right, the fucking road."
"So you're not looking forward to visits from my father?" Wyta said as Johnson started giggling like a schoolgirl.
"Have you even told your family you got married yet?" I shot back. Johnson immediately stopped giggling.
"We're meeting my parents for three nights at the Biltmore in a couple weeks after Arwi goes and gets some tests done." Johnson said. "They're flying down from Maine."
"It'll be fun." Arwi chirped. "I've been wanting to see the other side for a while, and it'd be nice to meet the family."
"How are you going to hide her teeth?" Wyta asked. "As far as I've seen, Americans don't have the same sort of variation hill people do."
"Sunglasses." Johnson replies. "People will just think the teeth are caps or something. It'd be easier to pass it off if she had a few piercings, but it's as good a cover as any. At least she's human enough that she can pass back home, and we don't have to do everything in the middle of the night like we would for most of the people getting checked out."
"It could be worse. I could have a tail or be, um how would you say it, xruli siskliani." Arwi said as she smiled wide enough to flash her fangs. "We had a few of them in my village when I was a kid. The men of the village would take them prisoner in raids to liberate the men captured when they'd raid us."
"Sounds like the hill people alright, and cat people are okay. My dad has some." Wyta said. "And speaking of my father, when are you going to do the whole feat of hunting prowess. I mean you did back out of going Gryphon hunting with Crytus and I, so you do have to do something."
"I'm going to go hunting. I just don't want to go chase after a Gryphon all day for no reward." I replied as I accepted a bowl of pickled vegetables from Arwi. It had some horseradish mustard mixed in it, and It was quite potent. I had trouble tasting past it, the stuff was so pungent. But I got to watch the lance corporal tear up while our wives just ate it like it was just some normal brussels sprouts or whatever those little buds were.
"Did I add too much?" Arwi asked as she looked at her husband. "The mix was a bit stronger than I'd make, but I didn't think it'd be a problem."
"No." Johnson lied, "It's fine as it is."
"Peser, fuja." Wyta said before Arwi cracked up laughing. "Escrabe fosa Amerikani polat femri Costa spozze."
"Sabe?" Arwi replied in between fits of laughter, "Encabre posdt cambrie Tabasco agen flue mossier."
"It's not that. I just don't do well with spicy stuff sober." Johnson said.
After we finished that, we had all downed a cup of beer. It was actually something the locals made out of malted corn, and spiced to their very different tastes but it did the job, and only slightly tasted like the goat-skin bag it came out of. We then started on the now finished mutton and popcorn. Arwi had done a good job with both, and although rub and basting she had used on the mutton tasted strange to me, I enjoyed it. Certainly it was tender, and although gamey as mutton always is, the rub and the horseradish mustard I put on worked with it. Johnson ended up producing a bottle of some basic bitch barbecue sauce, and putting that on instead. Arwi made a point of not noticing it.
"It's missing honey, so the mustard and cyrica is stronger than I'm used to." Wyta said to Arwi, oddly enough in English. "Is that just like a regional thing, or can you not taste sweet things?"
Arwi just frowned. "Yes. I couldn't ever taste sweet stuff, and it's too expensive to play with to get it right, but they don't really use much here anyway."
"You know they have packets in the commissary right?" Wyta replied. "You could just grab a few and try them out."
"Yes. I know." Arwi replied. "I've been there, and I've had the shits to prove it."
"I actually enjoyed it." I said, trying to defuse the situation.
"It is good, it's just different." Wyta said. "And this is a long way away from home for me."
"You know in a couple weeks, it won't even be four hours by truck, and maybe two days walk." I replied. "It's not going to be far at all anymore."
"I'm aware." Wyta said as she shot me a glare. "And it's not even thirty minutes by air."
"Yes, but then you have to worry about gryphons." Johnson said as he coaxed a salamander back into the fire with a piece of rebar. "At least on the ground you really only have tigers and bears to worry about, aside from Laser Stoats."
"And Doom Birbs" I said.
"Why must you people give animals weird names?" Wyta said.
"Because we can mess with people." Johnson replied. "Also, Laser Stoat is a perfectly descriptive name. Flash Weasel just sounds wrong."
Arwi just laughed awkwardly while handing out stuffed grape leaves to change the track of the conversation. They were stuffed with a local cheese a bit like a nuttier feta mixed in with diced dried fruit and spices.
"I've missed this." Wyta said in between bites. "American food just doesn't taste as good. It's all too sweet."
"Says the woman who stole my roll last night, and has a bagel every morning." I replied.
"Bread doesn't count." Arwi said while Wyta nodded. "Bread is fluffy and amazing, Wonderbread doubly so."
"And yet you don't like chocolate." Johnson said.
"I can't taste sweets darling." Arwi replied.
"The fuck is chocolate anyway?" Wyta said.
"M&Ms and the stuff around the center of a Reese's cup." I supplied.
"Oh," Wyta said. "cake is better."
"Chicken is best." Arwi replied.
"You only say that because one of your ancestors got fucked by a lion." Wyta shot back.
"Better than being the child of a warlord's whore." Arwi replied.
"I never thought you'd stoop so low as to compare my mother to yourself."
"I'm not a warlord." Johnson said before dodging a punch from his wife.
"Maybe we should go." I said as I surveyed the situation.
Johnson only nodded as I stood up and grabbed my wife.
"It was fun though, maybe we should do this again sometime?" Wyta said as I dragged her off before she could do any more harm.
"Maybe you should host next time." Arwi replied
"Maybe we will." Wyta shot back before turning to me. "You're cooking though, since I can't cook shit." Of course she couldn't. She was a sorceress and a noblewoman. She had people for that. Apparently me. Fuck my life.
(Week 13)
I don't know why Arwi had decided to invite myself and my wife over to dinner with her husband, but we hadn't been able to refuse. Seeing someone as whitebread as Johnson have to eat his Arwi's cooking would be something neither of us could pass up. Especially since for Wyta, this meant a meal where she didn't have to ask if anything had tomatoes or egg whites in it.
Unfortunately, this also meant that the four of us were sitting on boxes around a fire as we watched mutton finish up on the grill, and listened to the racket that was popcorn being made in a dutch oven.
"Where'd you guys get the dutch oven and stuff?" I asked.
"Townsend's." Johnson replied. "It'll do till we actually get permanent family housing here, but that'll only be a year probably."
"That's optimistic." I said. "We'll probably see a BX that isn't just some containers, and maybe a coffee shop before they even start on us. As it is, I'm waiting on a hangar, a pilot and a Twin Otter that will probably arrive sometime next year if congress approves an expansion and a budget increase."
"They're planning to start on a new BX for the main camp after the road is done." Johnson said. "So that's like two weeks."
"Right, the fucking road."
"So you're not looking forward to visits from my father?" Wyta said as Johnson started giggling like a schoolgirl.
"Have you even told your family you got married yet?" I shot back. Johnson immediately stopped giggling.
"We're meeting my parents for three nights at the Biltmore in a couple weeks after Arwi goes and gets some tests done." Johnson said. "They're flying down from Maine."
"It'll be fun." Arwi chirped. "I've been wanting to see the other side for a while, and it'd be nice to meet the family."
"How are you going to hide her teeth?" Wyta asked. "As far as I've seen, Americans don't have the same sort of variation hill people do."
"Sunglasses." Johnson replies. "People will just think the teeth are caps or something. It'd be easier to pass it off if she had a few piercings, but it's as good a cover as any. At least she's human enough that she can pass back home, and we don't have to do everything in the middle of the night like we would for most of the people getting checked out."
"It could be worse. I could have a tail or be, um how would you say it, xruli siskliani." Arwi said as she smiled wide enough to flash her fangs. "We had a few of them in my village when I was a kid. The men of the village would take them prisoner in raids to liberate the men captured when they'd raid us."
"Sounds like the hill people alright, and cat people are okay. My dad has some." Wyta said. "And speaking of my father, when are you going to do the whole feat of hunting prowess. I mean you did back out of going Gryphon hunting with Crytus and I, so you do have to do something."
"I'm going to go hunting. I just don't want to go chase after a Gryphon all day for no reward." I replied as I accepted a bowl of pickled vegetables from Arwi. It had some horseradish mustard mixed in it, and It was quite potent. I had trouble tasting past it, the stuff was so pungent. But I got to watch the lance corporal tear up while our wives just ate it like it was just some normal brussels sprouts or whatever those little buds were.
"Did I add too much?" Arwi asked as she looked at her husband. "The mix was a bit stronger than I'd make, but I didn't think it'd be a problem."
"No." Johnson lied, "It's fine as it is."
"Peser, fuja." Wyta said before Arwi cracked up laughing. "Escrabe fosa Amerikani polat femri Costa spozze."
"Sabe?" Arwi replied in between fits of laughter, "Encabre posdt cambrie Tabasco agen flue mossier."
"It's not that. I just don't do well with spicy stuff sober." Johnson said.
After we finished that, we had all downed a cup of beer. It was actually something the locals made out of malted corn, and spiced to their very different tastes but it did the job, and only slightly tasted like the goat-skin bag it came out of. We then started on the now finished mutton and popcorn. Arwi had done a good job with both, and although rub and basting she had used on the mutton tasted strange to me, I enjoyed it. Certainly it was tender, and although gamey as mutton always is, the rub and the horseradish mustard I put on worked with it. Johnson ended up producing a bottle of some basic bitch barbecue sauce, and putting that on instead. Arwi made a point of not noticing it.
"It's missing honey, so the mustard and cyrica is stronger than I'm used to." Wyta said to Arwi, oddly enough in English. "Is that just like a regional thing, or can you not taste sweet things?"
Arwi just frowned. "Yes. I couldn't ever taste sweet stuff, and it's too expensive to play with to get it right, but they don't really use much here anyway."
"You know they have packets in the commissary right?" Wyta replied. "You could just grab a few and try them out."
"Yes. I know." Arwi replied. "I've been there, and I've had the shits to prove it."
"I actually enjoyed it." I said, trying to defuse the situation.
"It is good, it's just different." Wyta said. "And this is a long way away from home for me."
"You know in a couple weeks, it won't even be four hours by truck, and maybe two days walk." I replied. "It's not going to be far at all anymore."
"I'm aware." Wyta said as she shot me a glare. "And it's not even thirty minutes by air."
"Yes, but then you have to worry about gryphons." Johnson said as he coaxed a salamander back into the fire with a piece of rebar. "At least on the ground you really only have tigers and bears to worry about, aside from Laser Stoats."
"And Doom Birbs" I said.
"Why must you people give animals weird names?" Wyta said.
"Because we can mess with people." Johnson replied. "Also, Laser Stoat is a perfectly descriptive name. Flash Weasel just sounds wrong."
Arwi just laughed awkwardly while handing out stuffed grape leaves to change the track of the conversation. They were stuffed with a local cheese a bit like a nuttier feta mixed in with diced dried fruit and spices.
"I've missed this." Wyta said in between bites. "American food just doesn't taste as good. It's all too sweet."
"Says the woman who stole my roll last night, and has a bagel every morning." I replied.
"Bread doesn't count." Arwi said while Wyta nodded. "Bread is fluffy and amazing, Wonderbread doubly so."
"And yet you don't like chocolate." Johnson said.
"I can't taste sweets darling." Arwi replied.
"The fuck is chocolate anyway?" Wyta said.
"M&Ms and the stuff around the center of a Reese's cup." I supplied.
"Oh," Wyta said. "cake is better."
"Chicken is best." Arwi replied.
"You only say that because one of your ancestors got fucked by a lion." Wyta shot back.
"Better than being the child of a warlord's whore." Arwi replied.
"I never thought you'd stoop so low as to compare my mother to yourself."
"I'm not a warlord." Johnson said before dodging a punch from his wife.
"Maybe we should go." I said as I surveyed the situation.
Johnson only nodded as I stood up and grabbed my wife.
"It was fun though, maybe we should do this again sometime?" Wyta said as I dragged her off before she could do any more harm.
"Maybe you should host next time." Arwi replied
"Maybe we will." Wyta shot back before turning to me. "You're cooking though, since I can't cook shit." Of course she couldn't. She was a sorceress and a noblewoman. She had people for that. Apparently me. Fuck my life.
Where the fuck Beads and Brass came from 1
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
I thought about doing a deep cut into Arwi's character today, since I couldn't really muster the will to work on anything else, and then I got the idea to do something even more meta, and discuss how Beads and Brass came to be.
I initially got the idea for what would become Beads and Brass after plowing through GATE, and figuring I could do better than that. Not just the writing, but the setting and everything else. So, instead of writing fanfiction (which was off the table because I hated the bad ideas and cliches that made up GATE's setting aside from the warrior bunnies,) I went and I made my own project with blackjack and hookers. Also partly because I had wandered away from working on A Jovian Night's Dream for various reasons and wanted to do my own stuff, using some leftover ideas from that. Later ditching the blackjack, I shopped the idea around to a skype group I was part of, and eventually settled on the characters who would become Wyta and Bear tooling around Heroic Age Greece on a glorified patrol boat. Most of the basic geography actually got pretty settled around this time, and in particular Wyta became nailed down as a Medea-analogue and Bear was established as a NOAA Corps Junior officer. Arwi and Lance Corporal Johnson also made their first appearance here as a joke, and I was somehow less charitable to Johnson than I am now. I wrote a bit titled 'Dinghy' I'd later show around and which would ultimately revive interest in the project.
To get a good idea of the original tone, here's a pitch from the skype logs where I first brought it up:
After that, I legitimately lost interest for a year or more working mostly on other works posted in other places under different names and not blowing myself up. I then watched the adaptation of Sakaki Ichirō's Outbreak Company (which like any Sakaki Ichirō work is very well thought out and entertaining beyond any right is has to be so, and I can't recommend it enough,) in June, and that got the creative juices going. I then showed Dinghy to @7734, @Always Late and others, and because they really liked the idea, it turned into a group project as more things got nailed down and the idea got workshopped into something I'd call properly presentable. The Cat people had something more than a hat, the cosmology wasn't pants on head retarded and there were enough monstergirl races sprinkled in for the perverts among us. Less than two weeks later we had the thread up, most of the basic ideas down and everything ready to go.
At present, we're about nine thousand words in, possibly twice that in background notes, and I've actually come to really enjoy the project, as well as working with @7734 on other random projects (like ZeppelinQuest.) It's actually interesting how it's become much less cynical and arguably more grounded as it's developed from his influence and that of others, albeit not by all that much. Maybe if this goes on, I'll be able to write a longer, more developed history of this and see how it's developed. Also, to have a multi-year long writing project that I'm actually proud of and doesn't drive me to drinking every year around my birthday.
I initially got the idea for what would become Beads and Brass after plowing through GATE, and figuring I could do better than that. Not just the writing, but the setting and everything else. So, instead of writing fanfiction (which was off the table because I hated the bad ideas and cliches that made up GATE's setting aside from the warrior bunnies,) I went and I made my own project with blackjack and hookers. Also partly because I had wandered away from working on A Jovian Night's Dream for various reasons and wanted to do my own stuff, using some leftover ideas from that. Later ditching the blackjack, I shopped the idea around to a skype group I was part of, and eventually settled on the characters who would become Wyta and Bear tooling around Heroic Age Greece on a glorified patrol boat. Most of the basic geography actually got pretty settled around this time, and in particular Wyta became nailed down as a Medea-analogue and Bear was established as a NOAA Corps Junior officer. Arwi and Lance Corporal Johnson also made their first appearance here as a joke, and I was somehow less charitable to Johnson than I am now. I wrote a bit titled 'Dinghy' I'd later show around and which would ultimately revive interest in the project.
To get a good idea of the original tone, here's a pitch from the skype logs where I first brought it up:
After that, I legitimately lost interest for a year or more working mostly on other works posted in other places under different names and not blowing myself up. I then watched the adaptation of Sakaki Ichirō's Outbreak Company (which like any Sakaki Ichirō work is very well thought out and entertaining beyond any right is has to be so, and I can't recommend it enough,) in June, and that got the creative juices going. I then showed Dinghy to @7734, @Always Late and others, and because they really liked the idea, it turned into a group project as more things got nailed down and the idea got workshopped into something I'd call properly presentable. The Cat people had something more than a hat, the cosmology wasn't pants on head retarded and there were enough monstergirl races sprinkled in for the perverts among us. Less than two weeks later we had the thread up, most of the basic ideas down and everything ready to go.
At present, we're about nine thousand words in, possibly twice that in background notes, and I've actually come to really enjoy the project, as well as working with @7734 on other random projects (like ZeppelinQuest.) It's actually interesting how it's become much less cynical and arguably more grounded as it's developed from his influence and that of others, albeit not by all that much. Maybe if this goes on, I'll be able to write a longer, more developed history of this and see how it's developed. Also, to have a multi-year long writing project that I'm actually proud of and doesn't drive me to drinking every year around my birthday.