NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
Beads and Brass: Tales from Metella
- Thread starter 7734
- Start date
- Original
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
The trick of it is simple. You treat everyone like people!
Seriously though, its all in scenarios. A lone hero saving a princess is a hell of a lot better story than SURPRISE TACTICAL BUTSECHS is, and while air strikes until problem solved works, it doesn't make interesting storytelling. Once you've got your archetypes and story set, the only problem is banging it all out.
Naturally, that's the hard part
Thanks.
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
Which is why we'll probably never do it.
As it is, cooking up actually interesting scenarios for conflicts is hard enough that it's just driven us to foreground daily life and big questions even more. This is also why we're never going into detail on the skirmish that happened back in like week two or three and led to the occupation of Metella. Because who really wants to read about an infantry platoon killing a dozen men before either side really knows what's happening? Nobody.
Like, this is probably one of the larger actions we're going to depict ever, and it shrank dramatically from when it was originally conceived.
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Well now, to be fair the writing staff for it shrank dramatically too. Originally it was supposed to be three writers doing nine bits, then Late came down with a bad case of ded, then it turned out you can't really do fight scenes that well and were pretty busy, and it suddenly became one writer, nine parts. After trimming most of the fluff (Refugee rescue, tanks fight ships, Wyta's bits) that got me comfertably down to four- Opening, insertions, main fight, end fight. These eventually turned into Raid and Ruin, Countercharge, A Different Jungle, and Last of the Enemy. I put Embassy Found in there because I wanted to make sure the threads of the ideas for the removed segments stayed in, because while this is a very humanist story, all the authors like to display that in different fashions. One of the ways I do it is running multiple threads of narrative around certain events, showing them off from a number of angles because a common event can be used as a fulcrum to lever a story or character arc around.
The other problem is fighting doesn't really introduce the sorts of conflict I'm trying to write, but that's a separate matter entirely.
- Location
- Meycauayan, Bulacan, Philippines
Spectrum
Tell me a secret~
- Location
- Behind you~
Yes, well, given the kinds of works in this genre that do things like pair teenagers with dudes in their 30s or make the other side's female knights into nothing more than fanservice engines wearing nightgowns, perhaps it is a low bar.
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
Always Late isn't dead. He just dropped out of the project for some reason.
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
No, nobody died, we just had a dispute with Late and he ghosted us.
Yeah, GATE has a lot of issues and going through all of them in fine detail is a massive pain. You want a good animated take on the same shit, Watch Outbreak Company, and marvel at how much less creepy it is. Even if the dwarves are all lolicons.
But yes, Itami is a fucking creep and blatant SI, and the only good characters in GATE are all Warrior Bunnies.
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
I don't know, Stargate took a pretty good shot at this sort of thing and did a hell of a lot better than most Isakei LNs. They then started pissing this away later, but SG-1 wasn't bad. That said, I'll use my "expert" powers of literary diagnostics to say most of those authors need to get laid on a regular basis so they stop having such shitty ideas. Some of them are valid (Casters not wearing two tons of plate armor) but it's still executed horribly.
GATE's biggest issues are the fact it's production values and cinematography are shiiiiiit. I could forgive Rory; she's drawn fairly well. I could forgive the magic blunette, she's interesting enough. The elf is just fucking weird in all the wrong ways, though, and anything vaguely resembling government is so wrong it's not even funny. I can't give the Warrior Bunnies that much credit, though, since they were all archetypes with a painfully thin coat of paint added.
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
I actually didn't mind the cinematography, since the splitscreening to provide context thing makes sense, but yeah otherwise everything is shit.
The like two warrior bunnies we actually meet are unusual for having actual like motivations and shit, while Tyuule is honestly the only decently written antagonist in the anime so she gets points, although the manga and LN are different enough, and shit goes better there.
Outside of that, there's reasons why we've not had some giant evil empire to fight, and having closer in stuff is more fun. Like, TBH I'm going to make Wyta and Crytus antagonists for a lot later on when shit starts happening that they don't like. Like missionaries.
Martel Meets the Nerds (Week 17)
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Walking out of the temple, Martel rubbed his face in his hands. This was the third week he'd been bringing bread over, and Jenevie had been there each time. The other users of the temple had been very haughty, always leaving when he came. Obstinately, they were at work doing important rituals elsewhere.
Practically, Martel thought they didn't like him.
Still, it was relaxing, going to the temple and sharing a drink with Jenevie. She was nice, and it was good to get away from the barracks and the tent cities most of the Marines lived in. It wasn't much, generally only an hour or two, but it was enough to make a friend.
"Psst! Hey, Mack!"
Looking around, Martel spotted a bush talking to him. Poking it revealed the very silly man inside, his ghillie suit absolutely useless when he was making noise.
"Who are you, and what the hell are you doing?" Martel asked, squinting carefully.
"Things. Listen, go down to the corner, and get in the humvee."
Martel looked down the road. No humvee.
"Are you high on something?" he asked, before the ghillie suit hit itself on the head.
"Hey, Dominos, get the damn humvee down here!" the ghillie suit muttered into a radio. Two clicks came back, before a humvee idled down to rest at the corner.
"You know, the Captain always mentioned I should take directions from outside my chain of command carefully." Martel said idly, walking away from the humvee. Moments later, he stopped as another one came out, the driver rolling down the window to grin.
"Hey, Mack." the driver said, grinning. "Sorry I'm late. Wanna get a ride?"
Martel squinted, until the ghillie suit came up behind him and opened a door to shove him in. Moments later, he was up and clawing for his knife.
"The fuck is this shit!" Martel yelled, glaring at the front. "You don't just-"
As the ghillie suit pulled off it's helmet to show a grinning face, Martel stopped dead.
"Captain Lawrence. Sir." he finished. "What is this?"
"SIGINT." Captain Lawrence chuckled, as the short ride back to the main firebase started. "Specifically, magical SIGINT."
"Okay…" Martel muttered.
"You remember the fracas that ensured earlier this month, correct? Capitol of the Medelli got attacked, some of our guys got sent in to handle it, big broohaha later this week." Lawrence said glibly as the humvee kept on rolling. "Well, after that NOAA guy's unexpected marriage, that whole mess, and some other… auxiliary factors… we've been tapped to develop a means of tracking and monitoring magical usage."
"And I come into this, how?"
"You see, for the most part here magic and religion are intermixed. Now, unless gods are both a thing and running around regularly doing god things, this means we need an in with the local clerics to acquire supplies for testing. That's where you come in, of course."
"I'm not nicking stuff from the shrine."
"No, no of course not! We're just working on a background detector is all; see if we can't catch any magic on someone that they don't know about. If something gets on you, then we'll know we've run into a good positive hit."
Rolling his eyes, Martel nodded. It took about five minutes for them to get to the intel tent, and another two to get to the "room" where The Device was set up. Martel's first reaction was a facepalm.
"This is your magic detector?" he asked, pointing to it carefully. "Really? You tied an arrow below a tripod with some holy symbols around it in a circle over some water?"
"Hey!" Dominos yelled, the unassuming driver and general helper moving ot protect his baby. "That's holy water below it!"
Martel squinted, and started working towards it. Unnervingly, the arrow rose up and pointed at him.
"YES! YES YES YES!" Dominos was yelling in the background, cheering as he watched the magic detector apparently detect magic. "SHE LIVES!"
As Martel started walking around, someone knocked on the door. Looking out the small plastic section of the flap, Captain Lawrence looked out.
"Shit, it's Wonderkid! Hide the thingy!" he yelled, before throwing open the tent flap. "Lieutenant Walker, come in, come in! Did you bring the item we mentioned?"
Looking out from over a sleepless face, Walker grumbled and passed over his knife bayonet. "Jus' give it back by Tuesday, please. Or Thursday. Defin'tly before I get hitched…"
"Yes, yes, of course!" Lawrence said, bodily shoving Lieutenant Walker out of the tent. "See you at the wedding!"
As the flap shut again, Dominos whipped off the cover, to show the arrow pointing right at Walker's knife. Rolling his eyes, Martel just started edging his way towards the door. Time to exit stage left, while the nerds were distracted. Just as Lawrence started approaching, the bowl of holy water started smoking and the whole tripod began to rattle. Not being dumb enough to stand around, Martel jumped behind a table before the whole "Magic Detector" exploded into a pile of shrapnel and a hideous keening note.
Peeking his head up, Martel grimaced. The tripod was in pieces, the bowl was upside-down and smoking, and that keening was Domino at realizing his precious device was ruined.
"Well, Captain Lawrence, it seems you have more important matters to get to. See you!" Martel called, before running for safety and sanity and anything not that den of lunatics.
Practically, Martel thought they didn't like him.
Still, it was relaxing, going to the temple and sharing a drink with Jenevie. She was nice, and it was good to get away from the barracks and the tent cities most of the Marines lived in. It wasn't much, generally only an hour or two, but it was enough to make a friend.
"Psst! Hey, Mack!"
Looking around, Martel spotted a bush talking to him. Poking it revealed the very silly man inside, his ghillie suit absolutely useless when he was making noise.
"Who are you, and what the hell are you doing?" Martel asked, squinting carefully.
"Things. Listen, go down to the corner, and get in the humvee."
Martel looked down the road. No humvee.
"Are you high on something?" he asked, before the ghillie suit hit itself on the head.
"Hey, Dominos, get the damn humvee down here!" the ghillie suit muttered into a radio. Two clicks came back, before a humvee idled down to rest at the corner.
"You know, the Captain always mentioned I should take directions from outside my chain of command carefully." Martel said idly, walking away from the humvee. Moments later, he stopped as another one came out, the driver rolling down the window to grin.
"Hey, Mack." the driver said, grinning. "Sorry I'm late. Wanna get a ride?"
Martel squinted, until the ghillie suit came up behind him and opened a door to shove him in. Moments later, he was up and clawing for his knife.
"The fuck is this shit!" Martel yelled, glaring at the front. "You don't just-"
As the ghillie suit pulled off it's helmet to show a grinning face, Martel stopped dead.
"Captain Lawrence. Sir." he finished. "What is this?"
"SIGINT." Captain Lawrence chuckled, as the short ride back to the main firebase started. "Specifically, magical SIGINT."
"Okay…" Martel muttered.
"You remember the fracas that ensured earlier this month, correct? Capitol of the Medelli got attacked, some of our guys got sent in to handle it, big broohaha later this week." Lawrence said glibly as the humvee kept on rolling. "Well, after that NOAA guy's unexpected marriage, that whole mess, and some other… auxiliary factors… we've been tapped to develop a means of tracking and monitoring magical usage."
"And I come into this, how?"
"You see, for the most part here magic and religion are intermixed. Now, unless gods are both a thing and running around regularly doing god things, this means we need an in with the local clerics to acquire supplies for testing. That's where you come in, of course."
"I'm not nicking stuff from the shrine."
"No, no of course not! We're just working on a background detector is all; see if we can't catch any magic on someone that they don't know about. If something gets on you, then we'll know we've run into a good positive hit."
Rolling his eyes, Martel nodded. It took about five minutes for them to get to the intel tent, and another two to get to the "room" where The Device was set up. Martel's first reaction was a facepalm.
"This is your magic detector?" he asked, pointing to it carefully. "Really? You tied an arrow below a tripod with some holy symbols around it in a circle over some water?"
"Hey!" Dominos yelled, the unassuming driver and general helper moving ot protect his baby. "That's holy water below it!"
Martel squinted, and started working towards it. Unnervingly, the arrow rose up and pointed at him.
"YES! YES YES YES!" Dominos was yelling in the background, cheering as he watched the magic detector apparently detect magic. "SHE LIVES!"
As Martel started walking around, someone knocked on the door. Looking out the small plastic section of the flap, Captain Lawrence looked out.
"Shit, it's Wonderkid! Hide the thingy!" he yelled, before throwing open the tent flap. "Lieutenant Walker, come in, come in! Did you bring the item we mentioned?"
Looking out from over a sleepless face, Walker grumbled and passed over his knife bayonet. "Jus' give it back by Tuesday, please. Or Thursday. Defin'tly before I get hitched…"
"Yes, yes, of course!" Lawrence said, bodily shoving Lieutenant Walker out of the tent. "See you at the wedding!"
As the flap shut again, Dominos whipped off the cover, to show the arrow pointing right at Walker's knife. Rolling his eyes, Martel just started edging his way towards the door. Time to exit stage left, while the nerds were distracted. Just as Lawrence started approaching, the bowl of holy water started smoking and the whole tripod began to rattle. Not being dumb enough to stand around, Martel jumped behind a table before the whole "Magic Detector" exploded into a pile of shrapnel and a hideous keening note.
Peeking his head up, Martel grimaced. The tripod was in pieces, the bowl was upside-down and smoking, and that keening was Domino at realizing his precious device was ruined.
"Well, Captain Lawrence, it seems you have more important matters to get to. See you!" Martel called, before running for safety and sanity and anything not that den of lunatics.
I like, and it makes sense that there would be some attempt to study magic and the gods.
I do have to ask though...who's holy water?
I do have to ask though...who's holy water?
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
Also, we've been nominated for a Sobel Prize. If you've seen other AH works you like (and this is just barely AH, which we'll try and remedy in the coming weeks) please nominate it, and keep an eye out for the voting.
Or not, and that's why it broke. But exploding spectacularly is still a positive sign, even if local experts will likely refuse to touch the damn thing.
Local holy water presumably.
Or not, and that's why it broke. But exploding spectacularly is still a positive sign, even if local experts will likely refuse to touch the damn thing.
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Catholic Holy Water. The Padre (who needs a segment on him eventually) is very unhappy it keeps vanishing.
Spectrum
Tell me a secret~
- Location
- Behind you~
...what does that mean for Communion Wafers?
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
Well, they're now effectively gluten free and kinda porky.
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Not much? I mean, half the time the holy water gets swiped is because someone needs water that's absolutely clean, such as for helping clean off newborns.
Love Interests (week idfk, replaced by Love and Cats)
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
Love Interests
(Week 17)
It was about ten at night when Sergeant Frank Valois and Lance Corporal Miguel Villalobos heard a familiar jingling over the sound of the space heater in their tent. They'd only had the tent for a couple of weeks since they had gotten married, but it had become homelike, even if interruptions like this had become depressingly common. The newlyweds waited a few minutes before Frank popped his head out of the tent to take a look around.
"What is it this time honey?" Miguel said as he looked over at the tent flap from his perch on a crate they had pilfered to be a couch.
"A pheasant." His husband, Frank, replied as he stared at the dead and unplucked bird hanging down from a convenient tent-pole.
"Is she ever going to get the message?" Miguel said as he ran his fingers through his black hair. "We've told her you're off the market twice. I'm about ready to call the MPs."
"I don't really think that's necessary." Frank said, before taking the pheasant in. "Sheti is a nice girl with a cute kid, and I don't want her getting in trouble over this."
"Because you want to tap that." Miguel said as he sighed. "I didn't know you were a breast man though. I might not have said yes if I'd known. Your lip rug is bad enough."
"I like all kinds. Besides, you're just mad that she can pull off that dress better than you can." Frank shot back, stroking his mustache.
"I could pull that off." Miguel replied, "I'd just need some new heels is all. Maybe a nice set of pumps. Oh, and a new wig."
"Sure…" Frank muttered, trying to find his boots. His bald head reflecting the lamplight.
"You're going to give it back to her aren't you?" Miguel said as he sat up. "I'm coming with."
Sheti, as well as her child lived in a farming hamlet about a mile out of Metella proper, and only a few hundred yards from the fence line of the main base. It was on a small rise that was just above the high-water mark for the spring flood. The hamlet itself wasn't much more than a couple of barns and corn cribs, with maybe a half dozen pithouses worked their way around the rim of the rise.
Sheti's late husband had been one of the farmers there after they'd had their first child, and his family hadn't yet thrown them out of the house on the edge of the hamlet yet, even if they were loathe to support a full-blood and her half-breed toddler.
Frank knocked on the door, and after a minute Sheti opened the door and popped her head out. The smile on her face quickly faded and her blue-grey ears drooped, almost hiding in her hair, when she noticed Miguel there as well. The maltese cat-woman then exited and shut the door behind her. In the light of the moon and a flashlight her eyes glowed even as they narrowed.
"I guess this is actually a no then." She said in pidgin as Frank and Miguel nodded.
Frank handed the pheasant over. "Yeah. I'm married. I love my husband, and I can't just leave him for someone else."
"Could I do your laundry or something? Could you set me up with someone?" Sheti replied nervously, with her ears back, eyes wide and voice low. "I need to go somewhere else, they won't let me plant, and I can't leave my daughter with anyone here to really hunt. She's too young to travel into the mountains, and they might try something if I'm gone…"
"We'll ask around, but there's not really much work at the base if you can't speak English, and you can't stay in our quarters." Miguel said.
"Maybe try with someone else?" Frank said.
"Some of the boots in my section or the sergeant could probably go for the whole single mom catgirl thing." Miguel continued. "Alternatively there's Captain Lee. Only problem is he's Captain Lee."
"I don't think that would work out." Sheti replied. "I'm about ready to give up on men anyway. You let women marry, right?"
"Isn't Johnson a dyke?" Frank said switching to English.
"You just described half the women in the brigade." Miguel replied.
"The redhead." Frank said. "Weather forecaster, sings Duran Duran songs on karaoke night."
"Right, her." Miguel said. "She might be worth a shot."
"So," Frank said, switching back to Meledli, "We might have a plan."
"What kind of plan?" Sheti said nervously.
~
"Sergeant, what are you planning?" Jessica Johnson said when she got the look on Frank's face.
"I just want you to go out on a date with someone." Frank said, pulling something up on his phone "Just as a favor."
"Who is it this time?" Johnson said, "It better not be one of your husband's boots. I told you I'm not interested in men, and I don't need a merkin. Why you think I'm one of those boatfuckers down trying to build a dock is a mystery to me."
"Well, it's not a guy, but a full-blooded girl. Cat, looks kinda like a Maltese, very cute." Frank continued as he handed his phone over to Jessica. "It doesn't even need to be much more than the two of you and her kid having a picnic or something."
"Cute or not, she has a kid." Johnson said, her green eyes narrowing even as she looked at the screen, before handing the phone back. "You probably should've led off with that Frank. Even if she is cute enough that I won't report you over this."
Frank waved his hand, pulling out a cigarette. "It's not like that. Her daughter is adorable, and is why I'm trying to find her someone. Her late husband's family hate her, and she can't really hunt or travel with a toddler." he said, lighting up and offering the pack to Johnson "and I said I'd help her find someone if she'd stop bothering us."
"Why is she a widow, anyway?"
"He was one of the guys who died in that first skirmish, along with the nomarch and a few others." Frank said. "She doesn't hold it against us, and she's been essential for the Clinic's research since her daughter is the only catgirl child in town, but his family are pretty anti-everything as a result. Most of that hamlet, really."
"Christ, what is it with you and charity cases? This is like that damn dog."
"I'm a bleeding heart. Sue me." Frank replied with a shrug. "Anyway she's hot, and she has a pretty good sense of humor, so do you want to go out with her or not? If you don't want to, I could try and set her up with Captain Lee."
"Fuck, if that's the alternative, I'll go out with her." Johnson said. "Christ, talk about going for the throat. I mean, you might as well let them kill her or something, put her out of her misery.
"Well, that's option three," Frank muttered, puffing away. "Except the minute she's dead, the kid's getting thrown in a sack and stoned to death or something. Probably just as much to spite us as to just kill the kid since the locals know we're doing very important research on her, which makes it my problem and you're the only decent asset we have for this, outside putting them in protective custody or playing favorites with a particularly hated widow."
Jessica gulped, and swiped the proffered cigarette from earlier. "That would probably have gotten me to agree sooner, you know. 'Oh hey, this kid's on the line and the circumstances involve a threat to our control of the town, do us a favor and show up a few times, maybe get her to scrawl on some paperwork.'" Jessica said as she lit up. "But no, you have to mention Captain Lee, didn't you?"
"There is no fate worse than Captain Lee, except maybe a posting in Asscrackistan, and even then the second one has danger pay." Frank said. "So I used what worked."
"You still could just take this up with the MPs or something, instead of trying to be sneaky." Johnson continued. "God knows this would be the perfect dry run to get a women's shelter or something going."
Frank scoffed, and waved his cigarette dramatically out towards the base wall. "You tell me, with a straight face, that you think we can get the people and the money to work out a woman's shelter when we can't even get a goddamn seven-day forecast that isn't 'mid sixties with a chance of rain, bring a poncho you fucking boot'? When my entire job is hunting down dumbfuck boots who might have run into spoopy shit and making sure we don't get smited for accidentallying another holy site? When the Nerd Department is trying to figure out the best way to drag these people out of sustenance farming without causing a famine along the way?"
"Fuck you, you'll get a good seven day forecast when we get a radar worth a damn." Jessica growled, puffing angrily for a moment as Frank's cold summation of the facts warred with her rosy recollections of the past few weeks. "but you have a point. It's still not right."
"Never said it was." Frank replied, as he tossed a butt into the sand bucket. "And this case can't wait, so we'll do what we can. I'll go with you to bring it up to the brass if you want, see if something isn't done, like what happened to that son of a bitch Schmuckatelli bought his wife from."
"Where is your husband, anyway?"
Frank sighed, looking up at the stars. "We flipped a coin. I won."
"Christ on a cracker." Jessica muttered, the remains of her cigarette falling from her lips. "You sent him to Captain Lee."
"Ayep."
---
The blinding headache was not a good motivator for Captain Lee to get up.
"Sir, it's fourteen hundred hours. Please get up."
Neither was the NCO outside his door.
"Sir, it's fourteen hundred hours, please get up."
The only response was a mumbled "Fuck off. I'm sleeping."
"Sir, it is fourteen hundred hours and if you do not get up I will tell Gunny Washington which place of ill repute you were drinking at last night so he can bring his boys over to raise some hell and get you out of your funk."
Throwing himself out of bed, Captain Lee swore up a storm as he realized he'd been sleeping in his cammies again. After throwing on his boots and cover, he threw open the door to greet the NCO serving as wakeup call.
The sunlight that greeted the Captain nearly threw him back into his room, his headache blowing up into a full-blown migraine in a flash. Stumbling out the door, he grabbed the NCO's canteen and started guzzling, stopping only to take a proffered aspirin and set of cheap sunglasses.
Sighing, Miguel wondered why he expected literally anything else. Captain Lee had been a fairly decent person and officer back when they were a reserve unit in Florida, and he had a day job managing a Walmart. Then they'd left, he'd gotten the note his wife had left after he deployed, and his daughter died in a car crash, for which he'd been stop-lossed from getting to go to the funeral.
That was two months uphill of today in a long and steep downward spiral. The captain had been put on night desk watches to try and keep him from doing anything rash, but the alcohol just caught up to him anyway. People grieve and all, and this wasn't exactly a combat situation for the weapons company, but the Captain had self-destructed spectacularly even for that. Psych was waiting to get their hands on him, but they weren't about to take him and leave an important and easy job wide open.
Miguel didn't even bother to salute as he started moving the Captain down to the mess. The plan was pretty simple, and the sort of thing everyone had already perfected. Get the Captain fed, and then start asking about whatever you need because you'll probably get it.
"What do you want, corporal?" The Captain said over a cup of coffee.
"I was actually hoping you'd be feeling up to talking to a friend of mine. She's been put in a tight spot, with her husband dying and all, and we all know you have a soft spot for kids."
"Mmmmm."
Taking this as a good sign, Miguel pressed on. "You don't have to do anything big, just have dinner with her so her village doesn't try anything-"
"No."
"Excuse me, sir?" Miguel asked, dumbfounded.
"No, I'm not doing some hokey picnic on a hill so some cat doesn't get shanked by angry villagers." Lee said, sipping his coffee. "I'm also not going to sleep with her, marry her, or anything else from this obvious attempt at a first date."
"They're going to drive her out soon." Miguel protested weakly. "And when they do, the kid gets the axe."
"Your husband's problem, not mine." Lee replied. "More importantly, I happen to like being a bachelor right now. It's relaxing."
"Funny, I didn't know they served relaxation in a goatskin bag down in the village."
"It's amazing what a little alcohol will do to your mood when you've been stuck living with a haridian and your daughter is dead."
Miguel growled. "You can lie in paper, you can lie to the next watch, but you can't lie to a Lance who's trying to get you laid."
"Well, I'll decline the offer, and you're not going to press the issue."
"Oh?"
"I mean, unless you want to get transferred to the company we're giving up to go back to the Fleet for a nice relaxing float in the South China Sea, or eat an NJP."
Miguel scowled. Nobody could deal with Lee when he was like this- it was a lost cause. It was best to leave now and hold his peace, so he did.
---
The area at the edge of the old town where Jessica met Sheti for their date was actually pretty nice. Being floodprone and too close to the walls to be cultivated, the current plan was to turn it into a park once some benches and equipment came in. In the meantime, it was a good place for a picnic, as long as you didn't sit in the swampy bits. With that in mind, Jessica had brought a tarp, and a tote full of food and drinks. In this case a couple cheesesteaks, a thermos of coffee, fruit cups, and a parfait.
Sheti had brought her daughter Nauta, a sack and a hunting bow and arrows.
The two sat on the tarp and conversed as well as they could in pidgin, even as Nauta ran around, tugged on her mother's hair and tail, and gorged herself on the parfait.
"I've needed this." Sheti said as she flicked her tail around, "Since my husband died, I haven't had a moment to relax. They've killed my dogs, threatened my daughter, and left me with no other way to feed us outside of picking off deer or pheasants stupid enough to go into the orchard."
"You live a hard life."
"If I could get away with it, I'd probably kill them all." Sheti said wistfully as she looked at her daughter playing with a doll. "It wouldn't be hard if I could get some poison, but shooting them or hacking them all to death would be too slow for it to be safe for her."
"Are you really capable of that?" Jessica asked as she looked at the grey woman who was pensively flicking her ears around, "I killed a man last week, and I don't think I could do it again unless it was him or me."
Sheti laughed. "I did it to put food on the table when it was just me, and those people didn't even deserve it." She continued confidently. "Not like they wouldn't do the same to me, if they ever left their huts for anything except the corn."
Jessica laughed nervously even as she unwrapped a philly and handed it to Sheti. "I can understand that."
"Are you all that squeamish about violence?" Sheti said as she looked at the philly, covered in cheese and peppers and mushrooms, even as her ears tracked her now sleeping daughter's movements. "Is your land really so peaceful even your soldiers can be like that?"
"I'm supposed to be a fobbit, and I didn't join the Marines to go out and kill people." Jessica said as she unwrapped her own sandwich. "I joined up because if I didn't I'd have been stuck in Logan County waiting tables for the rest of my life. Nothing to see, nowhere to go, nothing to do… the boredom and drugs would've gotten me faster there than my odds of getting an arrow here."
"How do you even eat this thing?" Sheti asked, her ears folded back in confusion as she looked at the sandwich
"You eat it like this," Jessica said, before holding her philly up in Sheti's line of sight and taking a bite out of it.
Sheti followed suit. "What is this?" She asked in between bites, with her ears perked up, "I've never had anything like it."
"Bread, beef, provolone, green peppers, onions and mushrooms." Jessica replied. "There's no tomatoes or egg whites in it."
"What are those?"
Jessica rolled her eyes. "We kinda found out the hard way there's a lot of food the locals like you can't eat. Tomatoes, egg whites, certain sugars: they all make you sick."
"Glad I'm not the one who found that out the hard way." Sheti joked, taking another bite. "Did Skior find out about it?"
"Skior?"
"Old… comrade? I think that word is right? Comrade of mine. He did sales down here. Actually met my husband through him after a business dispute."
Thinking for a minute, Jessica tried to decide how to broach this topic gently. "Was he about yea tall, bushy unbraided beard, spat a lot, kinda greasy?"
Sheti shrugged. "Yeah, sounds about right."
"Well, since he was pimping some girls he'd brought in on our base and that's not allowed for a number of reasons, some of the guys tried to run him off, and followed him back to his camp. Except then they found his stock and… welll…"
"He's dead, isn't he?"
"Yeah, he's pretty dead." Jessica shrugged. "Probably just got shot instead of having his heart torn out like that pimp."
"Eh, he was horrible in the sack anyway, and tried hoarding our share of the loot." Sheti groused, finishing her cheesesteak, and going for the other half. "These are pretty good!"
"Thank the commissary." Jessica grinned. "After Awri puked up all over their floor from sweet tea and some kid's mother freaked out over bloody stools they made a local-safe menu."
"You know, if it means food like this on a regular basis, I'd be more than happy to come to the base with you." Sheti said, batting her eyelashes and smiling. "This is delicious!"
"It's on a rotation, but everything is pretty meat heavy." Jessica replied as she poured herself a cup of coffee and Sheti's expression shifted to something that reminded Jessica of a housecat that just heard a can opener even as she scooted closer to Jessica. "I've been in for three years, and I'm still not used to how good and how much food there is."
"Is it unusual?" Sheti asked, looking concerned as she leaned over. "I thought you all came from paradise."
"No," Jessica said, in between sips of coffee. "I grew up really poor in the country."
"What about the medicine?" Sheti asked, as she moved to brace herself with an arm. "I've been taking Nauta to the doctors so she'll be safe from plague and worms, and because we need the food."
"I think that's cheap enough you don't have to worry about it." Jessica said in between sips as she tried to calm the older woman. "The doctors here are working very hard to make sure we don't accidentally make everyone sick, and that's why they're not charging for anything or outright paying people with peanut butter and spam to come in. Of course wives and children get priority over other civilians, but everyone does that."
"But isn't that why you give offerings to the gods and pray and keep food safe? Do your gods not protect you-" Sheti said, before being interrupted with a kiss.
"You're cute when you worry that much." Jessica said after pulling away. "We've got good doctors here and none of you are stupid enough to avoid vaccination."
"It's just, she's all I have left." Sheti said. "After my husband died, I don't have any family left, my former partners are all dead or gone, and Skior is dead. So it is the two of us, and I don't want to lose anyone else."
It was at this point that Jessica pulled a confused Sheti into a hug. "You're not doing this alone. I'm here, as are Frank and Miguel, and from what I've seen the enlisted wives here are pretty tight as well."
"Where are you going with this?" Sheti asked, unsure of how to respond to the gesture.
"I mean you were looking to get married right?" Jessica replied.
"Yes, I was." Sheti said.
"Then let's keep doing this." Jessica said before pulling back. "Grab your shit, I'll grab the kid, and we'll go to my quarters before we talk to Sergeant Valois."
Nauta didn't even stir once on the walk back, and Jessica laid her down on the small bed in her quarters to continue sleeping. Sheti watched over her and silently judged the shoddy construction of the B-Hut while Jessica, having decided against hauling the two of them all the way across camp for what amounted to a social call, called Sergeant Valois. By the time the Sergeant came around, it was late enough for the pair of locals to focus on sleeping, although Jessica was still up.
"So, how'd it go?" The Sergeant said as he sat down on the bench outside the B-hut.
"They're both asleep on my bed." Jessica replied. "Hopefully her neighbors don't do anything to her house while she's gone."
"I don't think they're stupid enough to give us an excuse to come down on them. If they think she's fucking an American, that's protection enough for now." Frank said as he lit up. "You think you might end up marrying her?"
"She's certainly cute enough."
"You better start doing the paperwork then." Frank said. "I'll have the numbers for the people you're supposed to talk to on your desk tomorrow morning."
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
It does fit a lot of the thematic elements we've covered TBH, and develops the local area more. It's a ton to work with, and is a decent enough kick-off to what else we have planned in the near future.
Also, this is set in the same year United States v. Windsor got handed down (not sure about the exact timing but this is probably July at the absolute earliest,) and I was going to write about lesbian cat person marriage eventually so why not develop the town a bit while we do so.
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
See, when you say "thematic elements" I hear "But I had fun and it doesn't break anything" which, while not bad, doesn't actually help the fact we have an ongoing continuity issue where nothing connects with anything else except the same vague setting. A story has, if not a distinct beginning, middle, and end; at least character arcs to show development and advancement of plots.
Hell, even Worm does it. And if Worm can do it, I'd hope we're as good or better.
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
Everyone we've introduced so far as a major character has an ongoing arc, and we're dealing with the continuity thing (which isn't even that much of a problem given how episodic this is by design.) Most of my stuff has fairly loose continuity for like the first year anyway before shit gets nailed down and I fill in the gaps until I'm satisfied.
But this was important to get out of the way before I start tackling earthside stuff, and will play into Arwi and Wyta's bits.
Wedding Leadup (Week 16)
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Sitting down in the conference tent, Timothy fidgetted nervously. The Lieutenant Colonel was coming in to talk to him before they had the Medelli royal family, what little was left of it. He'd really meant Crytus, Wyta, and Euenia, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Politics was about to happen, and he'd apparently need to be prepared for it.
As the tent flap moved, Timothy stood up and saluted reflexively.
"Good morning, Lieutenant Colonel Harper!"
Returning the salute, Harper sat down with a faint plunk, spreading out a series of papers from his briefcase. Digging through them, he settled into the folding chair with a sigh.
"So. Just so we're clear, this is a discussion on the events of four days ago, when Foxtrot Company was deployed to protect Antenela from what all analysis deems to be a raiding group from a collection of southern city-states."
Timothy just looked at Harper, confused. "That city has a name?"
"Yes, Lieutenant Timothy, it has a name."
A moment passed, in which a crow outside the tent cawed. Shaking his head, Harper continued.
"Either way, your actions in successfully subdividing your rifle platoon into maneuver elements pared with your borrowed assets from the weapons platoon to secure vital objectives has been very well received, as well as the records of civilians rescued and total lack of fatalities on your part. In addition, I've heard rumors that on discussion with certain highly-placed members of the Antenelan royal family, you were put in for award of a Bronze Star with device for valor."
Timothy waited for Harper to continue. Hearing nothing, he nodded. "Thank you, sir."
"Incidentally, between your time in grade, recent activities requiring far more personal responsibility than is normally expected of second lieutenants, and your other skills development, it has been decided to award you the position of first lieutenant."
"Yes, sir." Timothy said mechanically, trying to think. He was getting promoted? For what?
"If you'll give me a minute," Harper muttered, digging through his suitcase "I'll get you your new bars, and a stack of liberty passes for one of your squads so you've got some sorry sods who owe you favors tonight."
"Okay… sir…" Timothy muttered, still trying to get used to the fact he was now First Lieutenant Timothy Walker, instead of Second Lieutenant Timothy Walker.
"Oh, and off the record?" Harper said, grinning. "Good work there. That could have been a major fuckup, no matter how you slice it. Hostile terrain, closed environment combat, fucking magic… real basket of crazy you were in. Not the kind of thing that we expect good results out of."
"Thanks." Timothy muttered. "Still want to know how that damn knife got through my plates."
"What?" Harper asked, confused.
"Yeah, big cleric guy took a swipe at me, and it went straight through my plate like it wasn't there. Doc said it was probably gonna make an interesting swimming pool scar."
"Christ…" the Lieutenant Colonel muttered, diving into his papers again. "God damn magic bullshit. First I gotta explain a tank getting blown up with a stinking javelin of all things, then there's a knife that goes through SAPI ballistic plates, the bulletproof shields, just kill me now…"
Timothy chuckled. "If it makes you feel better, that last one's pretty easy to handle. Just mag dump into it until they hit a wall or fall down, and aim for the bits not under armor."
"We'll put that in the notes." Harper muttered. "So how are you feeling about the wedding negotiations?"
Timothy's eyes bugged out, and he stood up like a shot. "What?!" he screeched.
"The wedding negotiations. For you." Harper said, shooting Timothy a Look. "The wedding negotiations for which we're bringing in the king for, shortly before you get hitched."
"Is there a plan B?" Timothy asked, scanning for exits quickly.
"Well, that depends." Harper said cordially, before pulling out a flask and taking a sip as he ran out of professionalism. "Plan B option one is sending you to Thule AFB for the rest of your time in the Corps. I've heard Greenland is very nice this time of year. Plan B option two is I call the French Foreign Legion recruiter I have on speed-dial and you're singing La Marseillaise by ten o'clock tomorrow with a wine glass in one hand and a baguette in the other."
"I'll take that as a no, then." Timothy muttered, settling himself in a folding chair. "I mean… this is…"
"If you say something other than 'totally expected' I'm going to make you quarter with Captain Lee, so help me." Harper growled. "If you'd read one book that wasn't by Heinlein, you'd know this is all According to the Prophecy."
"The Prophecy?" Timothy said, confused.
"The stereotypical course of events, as seen by one outside the frame of reference you've placed around yourself. Lemme put it this way- would you expect Sleeping Beauty to get married at the end of the film?"
"Yes…"
"Well then, Prince Philip, you're gonna have to get ready for your dragon fight then."
"What?"
Grinning, Harper stood and collected his papers. "If the good Master Sergeant Jasper has the timing I think he has, you've got maybe a minute before the royal delegation gets here. You'll note the briefcase leaning on the table leg?"
Timothy nodded. Was this an elaborate joke? No, this was the Corps. Jokes came in decaf and disasters, and this wasn't quite the first or second, yet.
"Inside that briefcase is the emergency response button. Push that button, and this entire tent is gonna turn into a MP dogpile. Don't use it unless you need to. You've got about two minutes before I bring backup, so don't strike a deal until then."
Timothy nodded carefully. He wasn't touching that case unless Crytus drew a sword on him, and even then… well, Crytus probably wouldn't actually have a sword here. He'd probably have one of the machetes that guys were having mailed in as trade goods, since Timmy knew that after he'd been selected to play rescue unit they had been rotating Vegas' guys around for visitations and whatnot. The logic, in as far as it pertained to him, was that his platoon was now the default unit for interacting with locals in stress situations- in other words, he was the cavalry. That wasn't pertinent to what came next, though. What came next would be the stylized and formalized negotiations for him to get hitched to a woman he didn't know-
-the flash of the shield glowing, his bullet ricocheting off-
-that he knew very little of. Still, getting married would be an event, and not one he had a lot of practice with. A Christian ceremony, even a vague nondenominational one, was something the young lieutenant was familiar with. The pagan ritual that he'd seen with Bear and Wyta had been almost disturbing, the intricate chanting and slaughter driving home that this was not home.
If he was going to be perfectly honest, one of Timothy's few requests was a church wedding. That, and making sure he got someplace to build a house. His room with Vegas was inappropriate for any sort of cohabitation, and there wasn't really another option save a tent. Timothy, even as young as he was, knew you didn't get married and then move into a tent. Admittedly, half of it was from listening to Wyta bitch about living in a tent when he went to pick up Bear for trips to one of his half-dozen weather monitoring stations, but the remainder was common sense.
Still in the midst of psyching himself up, Timothy didn't notice the tent flap opening. Walking through, Wyta led the way, with Crytus and Eunia walking in behind. Shaking Crytus' hand, Timothy just pulled all the chairs away from the table and braced himself. As Euenia scooched up close to him, Crytus and Wyta made two independant positions, turning the arrangement almost into a triangle.
"So I made sure everyone can speak English today." Wyta led off with a huff, shooting mixed glares at Timothy and Crytus. "You're welcome, by the way."
"Thanks." Timothy replied, trying not to smirk at the testy witch. "I know my Antenellan is… poor."
"Literally what?" Wyta asked, sharply.
"This language." Timothy said, making a vague hand-wave gesture. "Normally a language is the name of the culture or city or something, and a suffix. So Antenella, and the -an suffix, and that's a name."
"That's stupid."
"That's English."
A sharp cough broke off the discussion, and Crytus spoke up. "As fun as it is for someone else to bicker with my sister, we do have business to get to. Timothy Walker, it was your sworn men who came to our aid those four days past?"
Timothy nodded, speaking up. "Yes. I lead the Marines in the first wave, and we ruined the ships."
"Hey, those ships were on me!" Wyta protested, striking her chest.
"Only if they were the beached ones." Timothy shot back. "The Abrams killed the rest."
Crytus stroked his chin carefully. A mostly trimmed beard hugged his jawline, and lengthened to what could be considered a goatee if not for the fact his mustache was a totally separate affair transfixed outward with what had to be a copious quantity of wax. "Do you think we could acquire one of these Abrams for defending the city?"
Coughing for a second, Timothy shook his hand. "They're… ah, temperamental. There's a lot of things they need, and we can't give them to you and you can't buy them from us."
"So that's a no." the young king said, shaking his head.
"Let's save asking for armored units after we know this isn't another spearhead for a drillhead."
"Quite." Crytus replied. "In any case, it is traditional for the bride's side to provide a gift to the couple and the groom's side to procure something for the bride's family. Personally, I think some of those weapons would be a good idea- they certainly allowed your side to fight well beyond their weight!"
"Now that, I think I can comment on. How many do you think you would need?" Timothy asked, rubbing his hands
"One for me, ten or so for my guard, a few spares.."
"I'll talk with my commanding officer about it. He'll be the one releasing goods to you, anyway."
Crytus' eyes perked up. "Ah, so he is like your father then?"
Looking over at Euenia quickly, Timothy noticed a slight frown. "Sorta?" he said, shaking his hand. "I answer to him for everything, but my father is still in Delaware."
"Where's that?" Euenia asked quietly, taking Timothy's hand. "Is it far?"
"Um… lemme think. Through the portal back home would put us somewhere in North Carolina, get on Highway Forty, take that to Highway Ninety-Five, take that to Virginia Fifty-Eight, take that to the Ocean Highway… er…"
Euenia blinked at the long description on how to get to Timmy's home. "So, how long of a trip?"
"About six, eight hours in a car depending on traffic."
"Is that like a truck?" Euenia asked, curious. "I didn't particularly like them- so noisy!"
"No, cars are normally better." Timothy soothed carefully.
Coughing quietly, Crytus dragged the conversation back on track. "So we have your tentative agreement for arms? Is there something you would desire, a condition?"
"Actually, yes." Timothy said calmly, breathing deeply. "If we could get married here, that would be best."
"Done!"
Timothy started, before Wyta laughed sharply before rubbing her head in pain. "What Kingy over there isn't mentioning is that if he tries to hold another feast the merchants will try and storm the castle, again."
"Wyta!"
"I spy with my little eye someone who shouldn't make his sister get hungover for negotiations so she shuts up…"
Looking over to Eunia, Timothy whispered in her ear carefully. "Is this normal?"
"It happens all the time." his wife-to-be answered back. "One of them starts boasting, and the other one starts playing tricks, and then before you know it they're-"
Eunia choked as Wyta sprang from her chair, litteral claws ripping from her hands as she tried to eviscerate her brother where he sat. Crytus, fully expecting this, jumped up and whipped his chair forward to bat her out of the way, putting his sister in a groaning mess over by the side of the tent. Wyta wasn't down for the count yet, though, and threw sand is she pushed herself back to her feet. Throwing himself and Eunia backwards, Timothy glared at both of the brawling siblings before he dug out the panic button in the briefcase before sighing. Better just let those two burn themselves out- the MPs probably didn't want to spend a few hours as polecats.
"I honestly expected this to start sooner." Euenia whispered as the pair sat on the table. "Crytus brought out the cooked beer last night."
"Cooked beer?"
"Yeah, when you put it in a pot with some butter, and cook it a little, then mix it back in to a normal skin, you get cooked beer. It's supposed to be really strong, but I think it's just terrible."
"Oh." Timothy muttered. "When we want to make alcohol stronger, what we do is we just boil or freeze water out of it."
Euenia nodded. "I'll need to try some." she said, smiling. "So, were they telling the truth when they said you had clear skin?"
"Yes?" Timothy replied, shrugging. "I don't have any tattoos or anything."
Euenia grinned, and licked her lips subconsciously. "Can I see?"
Timmy briefly weighed making his future wife happy versus his odds of catching debris from the furball on the floor where Crytus had his sister in a pretty good arm bar while Wyta was wheeling and trying to shake him off with a chair lying distant. Shrugging, he unbuttoned his blouse and took it off, folding it on the table. Euenia was on top of him in an instant, hemming and hawing as she traced intricate patterns over his pale white skin and chuckled happily.
Of course, that's when Lieutenant Colonel Harper walked in. After about eight seconds of dead silence and stillness, Harper nodded stiffly at Timothy. Timothy nodded back, before Harper gave him a sheaf of files. Scribbling the current negotiation stance on the back with an attached pen, Timothy handed it back like a loaded weapon. Harper nodded, shook his head at the poor bastard, and walked out to allow the disaster in motion to resume.
---
About an hour later, Harper was sitting in his office, smiling. Sixty rifles, two thousand rounds per rifle, wedding and feast held here, the Padre Malfestios would officiate, and nothing would go wrong at all. Especially not a catfight on the bride's side of the isle, which promised to be a fairly small delegation. Euenia would be having Wyta as her Matron of Honor and one of her horde of half-sisters with the flowers, Vegas would Best Man to Walker up on the stand while Pellas would be the ring-bearer, and most of Walker's platoon would make sure the event had guests. The rest of the base, those that were there, would be getting liberty to attend the festivities afterwords, along with any of the myriad locals who'd probably show up and expand the festival out into the town. As long as nobody did anything stupid, this would go off without a hitch.
If anyone did do something stupid thought, there'd still be security and a lot of semi-drunk and angry Marines. Harper almost pitied any troublemakers or bravos that Crytus brought along.
Key word, almost.
As the tent flap moved, Timothy stood up and saluted reflexively.
"Good morning, Lieutenant Colonel Harper!"
Returning the salute, Harper sat down with a faint plunk, spreading out a series of papers from his briefcase. Digging through them, he settled into the folding chair with a sigh.
"So. Just so we're clear, this is a discussion on the events of four days ago, when Foxtrot Company was deployed to protect Antenela from what all analysis deems to be a raiding group from a collection of southern city-states."
Timothy just looked at Harper, confused. "That city has a name?"
"Yes, Lieutenant Timothy, it has a name."
A moment passed, in which a crow outside the tent cawed. Shaking his head, Harper continued.
"Either way, your actions in successfully subdividing your rifle platoon into maneuver elements pared with your borrowed assets from the weapons platoon to secure vital objectives has been very well received, as well as the records of civilians rescued and total lack of fatalities on your part. In addition, I've heard rumors that on discussion with certain highly-placed members of the Antenelan royal family, you were put in for award of a Bronze Star with device for valor."
Timothy waited for Harper to continue. Hearing nothing, he nodded. "Thank you, sir."
"Incidentally, between your time in grade, recent activities requiring far more personal responsibility than is normally expected of second lieutenants, and your other skills development, it has been decided to award you the position of first lieutenant."
"Yes, sir." Timothy said mechanically, trying to think. He was getting promoted? For what?
"If you'll give me a minute," Harper muttered, digging through his suitcase "I'll get you your new bars, and a stack of liberty passes for one of your squads so you've got some sorry sods who owe you favors tonight."
"Okay… sir…" Timothy muttered, still trying to get used to the fact he was now First Lieutenant Timothy Walker, instead of Second Lieutenant Timothy Walker.
"Oh, and off the record?" Harper said, grinning. "Good work there. That could have been a major fuckup, no matter how you slice it. Hostile terrain, closed environment combat, fucking magic… real basket of crazy you were in. Not the kind of thing that we expect good results out of."
"Thanks." Timothy muttered. "Still want to know how that damn knife got through my plates."
"What?" Harper asked, confused.
"Yeah, big cleric guy took a swipe at me, and it went straight through my plate like it wasn't there. Doc said it was probably gonna make an interesting swimming pool scar."
"Christ…" the Lieutenant Colonel muttered, diving into his papers again. "God damn magic bullshit. First I gotta explain a tank getting blown up with a stinking javelin of all things, then there's a knife that goes through SAPI ballistic plates, the bulletproof shields, just kill me now…"
Timothy chuckled. "If it makes you feel better, that last one's pretty easy to handle. Just mag dump into it until they hit a wall or fall down, and aim for the bits not under armor."
"We'll put that in the notes." Harper muttered. "So how are you feeling about the wedding negotiations?"
Timothy's eyes bugged out, and he stood up like a shot. "What?!" he screeched.
"The wedding negotiations. For you." Harper said, shooting Timothy a Look. "The wedding negotiations for which we're bringing in the king for, shortly before you get hitched."
"Is there a plan B?" Timothy asked, scanning for exits quickly.
"Well, that depends." Harper said cordially, before pulling out a flask and taking a sip as he ran out of professionalism. "Plan B option one is sending you to Thule AFB for the rest of your time in the Corps. I've heard Greenland is very nice this time of year. Plan B option two is I call the French Foreign Legion recruiter I have on speed-dial and you're singing La Marseillaise by ten o'clock tomorrow with a wine glass in one hand and a baguette in the other."
"I'll take that as a no, then." Timothy muttered, settling himself in a folding chair. "I mean… this is…"
"If you say something other than 'totally expected' I'm going to make you quarter with Captain Lee, so help me." Harper growled. "If you'd read one book that wasn't by Heinlein, you'd know this is all According to the Prophecy."
"The Prophecy?" Timothy said, confused.
"The stereotypical course of events, as seen by one outside the frame of reference you've placed around yourself. Lemme put it this way- would you expect Sleeping Beauty to get married at the end of the film?"
"Yes…"
"Well then, Prince Philip, you're gonna have to get ready for your dragon fight then."
"What?"
Grinning, Harper stood and collected his papers. "If the good Master Sergeant Jasper has the timing I think he has, you've got maybe a minute before the royal delegation gets here. You'll note the briefcase leaning on the table leg?"
Timothy nodded. Was this an elaborate joke? No, this was the Corps. Jokes came in decaf and disasters, and this wasn't quite the first or second, yet.
"Inside that briefcase is the emergency response button. Push that button, and this entire tent is gonna turn into a MP dogpile. Don't use it unless you need to. You've got about two minutes before I bring backup, so don't strike a deal until then."
Timothy nodded carefully. He wasn't touching that case unless Crytus drew a sword on him, and even then… well, Crytus probably wouldn't actually have a sword here. He'd probably have one of the machetes that guys were having mailed in as trade goods, since Timmy knew that after he'd been selected to play rescue unit they had been rotating Vegas' guys around for visitations and whatnot. The logic, in as far as it pertained to him, was that his platoon was now the default unit for interacting with locals in stress situations- in other words, he was the cavalry. That wasn't pertinent to what came next, though. What came next would be the stylized and formalized negotiations for him to get hitched to a woman he didn't know-
-the flash of the shield glowing, his bullet ricocheting off-
-that he knew very little of. Still, getting married would be an event, and not one he had a lot of practice with. A Christian ceremony, even a vague nondenominational one, was something the young lieutenant was familiar with. The pagan ritual that he'd seen with Bear and Wyta had been almost disturbing, the intricate chanting and slaughter driving home that this was not home.
If he was going to be perfectly honest, one of Timothy's few requests was a church wedding. That, and making sure he got someplace to build a house. His room with Vegas was inappropriate for any sort of cohabitation, and there wasn't really another option save a tent. Timothy, even as young as he was, knew you didn't get married and then move into a tent. Admittedly, half of it was from listening to Wyta bitch about living in a tent when he went to pick up Bear for trips to one of his half-dozen weather monitoring stations, but the remainder was common sense.
Still in the midst of psyching himself up, Timothy didn't notice the tent flap opening. Walking through, Wyta led the way, with Crytus and Eunia walking in behind. Shaking Crytus' hand, Timothy just pulled all the chairs away from the table and braced himself. As Euenia scooched up close to him, Crytus and Wyta made two independant positions, turning the arrangement almost into a triangle.
"So I made sure everyone can speak English today." Wyta led off with a huff, shooting mixed glares at Timothy and Crytus. "You're welcome, by the way."
"Thanks." Timothy replied, trying not to smirk at the testy witch. "I know my Antenellan is… poor."
"Literally what?" Wyta asked, sharply.
"This language." Timothy said, making a vague hand-wave gesture. "Normally a language is the name of the culture or city or something, and a suffix. So Antenella, and the -an suffix, and that's a name."
"That's stupid."
"That's English."
A sharp cough broke off the discussion, and Crytus spoke up. "As fun as it is for someone else to bicker with my sister, we do have business to get to. Timothy Walker, it was your sworn men who came to our aid those four days past?"
Timothy nodded, speaking up. "Yes. I lead the Marines in the first wave, and we ruined the ships."
"Hey, those ships were on me!" Wyta protested, striking her chest.
"Only if they were the beached ones." Timothy shot back. "The Abrams killed the rest."
Crytus stroked his chin carefully. A mostly trimmed beard hugged his jawline, and lengthened to what could be considered a goatee if not for the fact his mustache was a totally separate affair transfixed outward with what had to be a copious quantity of wax. "Do you think we could acquire one of these Abrams for defending the city?"
Coughing for a second, Timothy shook his hand. "They're… ah, temperamental. There's a lot of things they need, and we can't give them to you and you can't buy them from us."
"So that's a no." the young king said, shaking his head.
"Let's save asking for armored units after we know this isn't another spearhead for a drillhead."
"Quite." Crytus replied. "In any case, it is traditional for the bride's side to provide a gift to the couple and the groom's side to procure something for the bride's family. Personally, I think some of those weapons would be a good idea- they certainly allowed your side to fight well beyond their weight!"
"Now that, I think I can comment on. How many do you think you would need?" Timothy asked, rubbing his hands
"One for me, ten or so for my guard, a few spares.."
"I'll talk with my commanding officer about it. He'll be the one releasing goods to you, anyway."
Crytus' eyes perked up. "Ah, so he is like your father then?"
Looking over at Euenia quickly, Timothy noticed a slight frown. "Sorta?" he said, shaking his hand. "I answer to him for everything, but my father is still in Delaware."
"Where's that?" Euenia asked quietly, taking Timothy's hand. "Is it far?"
"Um… lemme think. Through the portal back home would put us somewhere in North Carolina, get on Highway Forty, take that to Highway Ninety-Five, take that to Virginia Fifty-Eight, take that to the Ocean Highway… er…"
Euenia blinked at the long description on how to get to Timmy's home. "So, how long of a trip?"
"About six, eight hours in a car depending on traffic."
"Is that like a truck?" Euenia asked, curious. "I didn't particularly like them- so noisy!"
"No, cars are normally better." Timothy soothed carefully.
Coughing quietly, Crytus dragged the conversation back on track. "So we have your tentative agreement for arms? Is there something you would desire, a condition?"
"Actually, yes." Timothy said calmly, breathing deeply. "If we could get married here, that would be best."
"Done!"
Timothy started, before Wyta laughed sharply before rubbing her head in pain. "What Kingy over there isn't mentioning is that if he tries to hold another feast the merchants will try and storm the castle, again."
"Wyta!"
"I spy with my little eye someone who shouldn't make his sister get hungover for negotiations so she shuts up…"
Looking over to Eunia, Timothy whispered in her ear carefully. "Is this normal?"
"It happens all the time." his wife-to-be answered back. "One of them starts boasting, and the other one starts playing tricks, and then before you know it they're-"
Eunia choked as Wyta sprang from her chair, litteral claws ripping from her hands as she tried to eviscerate her brother where he sat. Crytus, fully expecting this, jumped up and whipped his chair forward to bat her out of the way, putting his sister in a groaning mess over by the side of the tent. Wyta wasn't down for the count yet, though, and threw sand is she pushed herself back to her feet. Throwing himself and Eunia backwards, Timothy glared at both of the brawling siblings before he dug out the panic button in the briefcase before sighing. Better just let those two burn themselves out- the MPs probably didn't want to spend a few hours as polecats.
"I honestly expected this to start sooner." Euenia whispered as the pair sat on the table. "Crytus brought out the cooked beer last night."
"Cooked beer?"
"Yeah, when you put it in a pot with some butter, and cook it a little, then mix it back in to a normal skin, you get cooked beer. It's supposed to be really strong, but I think it's just terrible."
"Oh." Timothy muttered. "When we want to make alcohol stronger, what we do is we just boil or freeze water out of it."
Euenia nodded. "I'll need to try some." she said, smiling. "So, were they telling the truth when they said you had clear skin?"
"Yes?" Timothy replied, shrugging. "I don't have any tattoos or anything."
Euenia grinned, and licked her lips subconsciously. "Can I see?"
Timmy briefly weighed making his future wife happy versus his odds of catching debris from the furball on the floor where Crytus had his sister in a pretty good arm bar while Wyta was wheeling and trying to shake him off with a chair lying distant. Shrugging, he unbuttoned his blouse and took it off, folding it on the table. Euenia was on top of him in an instant, hemming and hawing as she traced intricate patterns over his pale white skin and chuckled happily.
Of course, that's when Lieutenant Colonel Harper walked in. After about eight seconds of dead silence and stillness, Harper nodded stiffly at Timothy. Timothy nodded back, before Harper gave him a sheaf of files. Scribbling the current negotiation stance on the back with an attached pen, Timothy handed it back like a loaded weapon. Harper nodded, shook his head at the poor bastard, and walked out to allow the disaster in motion to resume.
---
About an hour later, Harper was sitting in his office, smiling. Sixty rifles, two thousand rounds per rifle, wedding and feast held here, the Padre Malfestios would officiate, and nothing would go wrong at all. Especially not a catfight on the bride's side of the isle, which promised to be a fairly small delegation. Euenia would be having Wyta as her Matron of Honor and one of her horde of half-sisters with the flowers, Vegas would Best Man to Walker up on the stand while Pellas would be the ring-bearer, and most of Walker's platoon would make sure the event had guests. The rest of the base, those that were there, would be getting liberty to attend the festivities afterwords, along with any of the myriad locals who'd probably show up and expand the festival out into the town. As long as nobody did anything stupid, this would go off without a hitch.
If anyone did do something stupid thought, there'd still be security and a lot of semi-drunk and angry Marines. Harper almost pitied any troublemakers or bravos that Crytus brought along.
Key word, almost.
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