Mechanical
Initiate Action: Buzz
- Location
- Somewhere Strange
It's pretty clear that the communists here are the robots; it's our solemn duty to fend of Comrade Killbot as best we can.
Mystical Mechanistics Of Outrageous Fortune [Dieselpunk Mechagirl Yuri Quest] (Reboot)
OffBrandANON
eldritch horror, pink flamingo
- Location
- California, USA
- Pronouns
- She/Her/They/Them
we do not know enough about them to say so. for all we know, they might be a capitalist democracy!
[X] A grey beaded bracelet From Beatrice Parzival of the Capital, a reclusive but kindly beauty. You are confident she'll be no different than when you met her.
[X] Short You're cute and sometimes get your way because of it, but tend not to be taken seriously ever..
[X] Toned It's gotten you mistaken for a boy sometimes, but you've worked hard and it shows.
[X] "Intentionally" Messy Forgetting to comb this morning doesn't mean it looks bad...
[X] Reddish-Pink
[X] Red To match the fire in your soul!
[X] Your Reused School Uniform Getting a bit tight on you, but it's the thrifty option.
Maybe the Smol will upset?
[X] Short You're cute and sometimes get your way because of it, but tend not to be taken seriously ever..
[X] Toned It's gotten you mistaken for a boy sometimes, but you've worked hard and it shows.
[X] "Intentionally" Messy Forgetting to comb this morning doesn't mean it looks bad...
[X] Reddish-Pink
[X] Red To match the fire in your soul!
[X] Your Reused School Uniform Getting a bit tight on you, but it's the thrifty option.
Maybe the Smol will upset?
ColdGoldLazarus
Contrary Quester, Spreadsheet Queen, Pink Flamingo
- Location
- Challenger Deep
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I'm going to be locking votes in... Let's say about eight hours or so. If anyone wants to make any last-minute changes, now is the time to do it.
ColdGoldLazarus
Contrary Quester, Spreadsheet Queen, Pink Flamingo
- Location
- Challenger Deep
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Voting is closed!
So all in all, if I counted this correctly it looks like the winning options are:
-Beatrice
-Tall
-Toned
-Messy
-Ponytail
-Reddish-Pink
-Green
-Long Jacket
So all in all, if I counted this correctly it looks like the winning options are:
-Beatrice
-Tall
-Toned
-Messy
-Ponytail
-Reddish-Pink
-Green
-Long Jacket
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NaanContributor
Provider of delicious flatbread, and nothing else.
- Location
- Hawaii
Just ponytail, since it has one more vote than messy. ...Unless you want to make it a messy ponytail?
It would certainly have a less standard profile.
BTW, what happened to the Amber Eyes option?
ColdGoldLazarus
Contrary Quester, Spreadsheet Queen, Pink Flamingo
- Location
- Challenger Deep
- Pronouns
- She/Her
That's a good point. Since they wound up so close, I am kind of tempted to go that direction.
Ah, that's...
Basically, I didn't actually intend to include that one this time around, but forgot to delete it when I was revising the color options from the original option list. By the time I realized it was still on there and finally went back to delete it, it had already taken off in voting. I wasn't sure whether or not to include it still, but after the coveralls thing, decided to count it as a write-in as well.
Frankly, this vote has wound up being kind of a mess again because of my indecisiveness and that bit... I'm half-tempted to just call for a revote from the ground up. Might look kinda bad, but there'd be less ambiguity about exactly what people want and what I'm allowing.
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NaanContributor
Provider of delicious flatbread, and nothing else.
- Location
- Hawaii
It probably would've worked out fine if you had announced that along with the clothes write-in veto, so people could just change to their next favorite choice. As it is, since it was the leading vote in your last tally, you eliminated all the voters who didn't notice the deletion without being told, which was a majority.
ColdGoldLazarus
Contrary Quester, Spreadsheet Queen, Pink Flamingo
- Location
- Challenger Deep
- Pronouns
- She/Her
...Yeah. Plus I'm not even sure if I counted the current tally correctly, which doesn't help matters.
How upset would people be if I just asked for a revote? (This time with a proper task system)
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SpoopyGhost
Undead Demi Kuudere Tsundere
- Location
- Your Haunted Attic
- Pronouns
- She/Her
As long as you don't change anything else up mid-vote, this may be a good idea.
Spectrum
Tell me a secret~
- Location
- Behind you~
I am mildly annoyed since the whole point of Amber was the aggression and you didn't even say anything that you were changing the vote for that one at all but at this point a lot of time has been wasted.
Revoting does risk missing out on a bunch of voters from the first round unless you leave it open for a long period of time, which itself has its own drawbacks. (or just ping all your voters again)
Revoting does risk missing out on a bunch of voters from the first round unless you leave it open for a long period of time, which itself has its own drawbacks. (or just ping all your voters again)
OffBrandANON
eldritch horror, pink flamingo
- Location
- California, USA
- Pronouns
- She/Her/They/Them
i'd say let it happen this time, but make it clear this won't happen again.
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
I have nothing against it. Lets just try not make this a habit.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I think at the end of the day, as someone that didn't pop into this 'til post-vote, we write this off as a learning experience and move on. This'll inform character personality a bit but at the end of the day I don't think it'll be a mistake that looms over the quest or anything. ^_^;
UrsaTempest
Don't Panic!
I'd honestly prefer pre-selected appearance, maybe tied with different gift. Better than voting and deciding half-dozen appearance aspect.
So, I don't much care, at least appearance-wise. Anything's goes.
So, I don't much care, at least appearance-wise. Anything's goes.
ColdGoldLazarus
Contrary Quester, Spreadsheet Queen, Pink Flamingo
- Location
- Challenger Deep
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Alright, I think I've figured some stuff out. Presently really tired, so I'll wait until I'm fresh again tomorrow to explain, but just wanted to let you all know that it'll be straightened out soon.
UrsaTempest
Don't Panic!
- Pronouns
- She/Her
What?! No! We can't go straight! It'll means title change!
The quest only indicates that they'll be F/F content, it never explicitly states that the protagonist won't be straight.
- Location
- France
Well good luck with that when it's 'female everything' as well.The quest only indicates that they'll be F/F content, it never explicitly states that the protagonist won't be straight.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Just playing off Ursa's joke.
is my joke smilie since I don't really like
OffBrandANON
eldritch horror, pink flamingo
- Location
- California, USA
- Pronouns
- She/Her/They/Them
if she is, she won't be for long, this IS a quest.The quest only indicates that they'll be F/F content, it never explicitly states that the protagonist won't be straight.
[META] QM Still Has Much To Learn
ColdGoldLazarus
Contrary Quester, Spreadsheet Queen, Pink Flamingo
- Location
- Challenger Deep
- Pronouns
- She/Her
So, it would have been nice if things had gone smoothly from the start, but that didn't happen. I was overexcited to get this running again and acted hastily, posting without having double-checked that everything was right, and not having put full thought into how I would handle certain things, namely write-ins and a task system. Between that and my ensuing mix of acting like a control freak and hesitance to actually put my foot down and announce my intentions in full, meant that y'all were left unhappy, I was left unhappy, and the vote became deeply muddled.
But after calming down and giving the whole issue some thought, I think I've figured out a decent compromise to the actual vote results, so that'll be in the next update. As for the meta elements of how this came about, I'm choosing to take this whole snafu as a learning experience. So here's how things will work:
1: QM Quality Control - I will not post an update until I am absolutely sure I say what I mean and mean what I say.
1.5: No Take-Backs - If I still find I missed something until after posting, I will not retcon it out from under voters' noses.
2: Third Option Valid - Write-ins are still encouraged in general, but I will state clearly if that is not the case for a specific voting cycle.
2.5: Third Option Invalid - If I do find a write-in to conflict in some way with what I intended for the vote, I will first ask myself why that is and if it's really that big of a deal. If I don't have a satisfactory answer, I will leave it be; if I do have a valid reason, I will communicate as soon and clearly as possible why I am not permitting it. If it has more than three votes by that point, I will call for a re-vote.
3: Both Are Good - In the event of a tie, unless the votes contradict each other, I will integrate both into the ensuing update.
3.5: Only One Can Win - In the event of a tie where the votes do contradict, I will roll a die to decide which one wins.
4: No Room For Human Error - I have, since the original run of the quest, learned how to use the automatic tally function. I will use this instead of tallying things manually.
4.5: There's Too Many - In the event of another multi-track vote like this one, I will either set up a task system, or clarify that it will work by Plans.
So all in all, the show must go on. Not the greatest way to start things off, but hopefully it'll be one last bump in the road followed by smooth sailing.
Now one last bit of bad news is that I have work today and tomorrow, so I likely won't be able to write the update until Monday or Tuesday. Look forward to it then!
But after calming down and giving the whole issue some thought, I think I've figured out a decent compromise to the actual vote results, so that'll be in the next update. As for the meta elements of how this came about, I'm choosing to take this whole snafu as a learning experience. So here's how things will work:
1: QM Quality Control - I will not post an update until I am absolutely sure I say what I mean and mean what I say.
1.5: No Take-Backs - If I still find I missed something until after posting, I will not retcon it out from under voters' noses.
2: Third Option Valid - Write-ins are still encouraged in general, but I will state clearly if that is not the case for a specific voting cycle.
2.5: Third Option Invalid - If I do find a write-in to conflict in some way with what I intended for the vote, I will first ask myself why that is and if it's really that big of a deal. If I don't have a satisfactory answer, I will leave it be; if I do have a valid reason, I will communicate as soon and clearly as possible why I am not permitting it. If it has more than three votes by that point, I will call for a re-vote.
3: Both Are Good - In the event of a tie, unless the votes contradict each other, I will integrate both into the ensuing update.
3.5: Only One Can Win - In the event of a tie where the votes do contradict, I will roll a die to decide which one wins.
4: No Room For Human Error - I have, since the original run of the quest, learned how to use the automatic tally function. I will use this instead of tallying things manually.
4.5: There's Too Many - In the event of another multi-track vote like this one, I will either set up a task system, or clarify that it will work by Plans.
So all in all, the show must go on. Not the greatest way to start things off, but hopefully it'll be one last bump in the road followed by smooth sailing.
Now one last bit of bad news is that I have work today and tomorrow, so I likely won't be able to write the update until Monday or Tuesday. Look forward to it then!
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ColdGoldLazarus
Contrary Quester, Spreadsheet Queen, Pink Flamingo
- Location
- Challenger Deep
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Got the next update written up! Going to let it gestate a bit before posting, so it'll probably be sometime tomorrow, but I wanted to at least let y'all know. It's a bit of a longer one, too!
2 - Leaving The Nest
ColdGoldLazarus
Contrary Quester, Spreadsheet Queen, Pink Flamingo
- Location
- Challenger Deep
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Looking yourself over, you nod in satisfaction. You're tall and lean, your efforts over the past four years having resulted in a fit figure… even if it's occasionally gotten you mistaken for a boy. Your short hair is a vibrant reddish-pink shade that fades into a darker maroon at the fringes, contrasting nicely with your bright lime-colored eyes. Your perpetually-messy locks are pulled back into something approximating a ponytail, though it always takes a disproportionate amount of struggle to do so, so you've all but given up on attempting to do any styling past that.
You at least make up for it with your wardrobe, though; an array of fairly stylish outfits interspersed with some workout clothes and a few more casual pieces. For today, you've put on a particularly nice ensemble; a black button-up blouse with a lime green tie to bring out your eyes, and a dark grey skirt that ends halfway down your thighs; scandalously short in the eyes of most of your parents' generation, but not quite short enough in your opinion. Pulling it all together is a pair of modest wedge-bottomed heels, and a long open maroon jacket that goes down nearly to your ankles.
And of course, the final and most important item, not for looks (as it's hidden under the jacket's long sleeves anyway) but for you, personally - a simple, grey ribbon bracelet, with modest wooden beads loose around it, that clack satisfyingly against each other when you absentmindedly fiddle with it sometimes. It's a strangely humble item to come from the woman who saved you; Beatrice Parzival, a woman of unrivalled beauty, solid intellect, and rather wealthy upbringing. All that you discovered after the fact, of course; all you'd known at the time was that she was gorgeous, and more importantly, she was kind. Your heart races whenever you think of your meeting on that beach and you… you're not sure what to call the feeling you have, honestly. But what you know for sure is that you want to be like her.
And well, today is the day, isn't it? Your luggage is mostly packed, and you'll be taking the train north in only a couple of hours from now. All that's left to do now is grab some breakfast, and the wonderful aromas seeping under the door tell you that it's just about ready.
What stops you, though, is the discussion. Instead of opening the door, you lean against it, listening intently to the voices coming from the dining room down the hall.
"She's leaving today." The low, feminine voice with just a hint of an accent belongs to your mother.
"I know, yes. I'd rather you didn't remind me." And the deeper tone, usually kind and jovial but today flavored by irritation and worry, belongs to your father.
"I am reminding you to be happy for her. She's been working for this for four years now; is it not a big occasion?"
"I cannot be happy to be sending my only child off to war." Your father mutters tiredly. "I don't want her to suffer even a fraction of what I've seen. And neither should you."
There is a long silence before your mother speaks again. "Believe me, I am not. Even if it's been quiet the past few years, I remember just as well as you what it was like when they first came through. I don't like the idea of Lesya going out there any more than you do… but this is her choice, and I believe she can handle it well. This isn't like the Great War, you know."
"But war it still is." Your father simply says, and they both fall silent. You look down at the floor, understanding and frustration battling within you. But you're able to push down those feelings soon enough, put on a bright smile, and head out to eat.
Your mother is at the stove, preparing Sucuklu Yumurta for the three of you. The spiced sausage and eggs smell wonderful, and you have to resist the urge to steal some directly from the pan. Daryna Polinski herself is a tall, slender woman with dark skin, wavy hair in a gradient from grey to black, and cunning amber eyes. She's an accountant, but even at her relatively mundane position she has attained a certain level of infamy, with a way of getting what she wants even (or especially) when her superiors have tried their hardest to 'put her in her place.' She has been nothing but a kind mother to you, but her ruthlessness in the workplace is both inspiring and somewhat frightening. She grins as you enter, reaching over to ruffle your already-messy hair, and offers you the biggest serving of the Yumurta. "How are you feeling today?"
"Nervous, but excited," you answer honestly, taking a seat and waiting for her to join you.
"That is understandable," your father says, his tone as cheery as ever. Symon Polinski is a shorter man with pale skin, salmon-colored hair like yours, and twinkling eyes in a deep shade of green. He's hardly wide-set, but certainly a tad stockier, the muscles he'd developed as a sailor now put to use as a warehouse worker. Sometimes he complains about being restricted to land, but between his prosthetic leg and the barrier enclosing the country, there's not much that can be done to fix that; and though his stories from when he used to travel and trade in far-off locations intrigue you, mostly you're just glad to have him around full-time. It's strange, in a way, to consider that you'll be the one leaving them behind now.
"Understandable?" You ask, feigning confusion. You can't let them know you were eavesdropping, but maybe if you could open up the conversation again you could find some way to assuage their worries.
However, he's in full humor mode by now. "Of course! You are going to meet other women your age who are not Sophia. With your charms, I can only hope you'll restrain yourself, and come home with merely one or two… on each arm." You're honestly not sure what he means, just staring blankly.
"Symon!" Daryna swoops in to lightly swat him on the head with a rolled-up newspaper, but she's more amused than anything, rolling her eyes as she takes a seat. "Don't be telling jokes like that; you may give her ideas."
"Oh, I'm simply saying she may have inherited some of her father's old bad habits." He says with a laugh and a wink. "Daryna is my life and love, but before I met her, I took perhaps more than my fair share of fine ladies home."
Your mother simply sighs fondly, an aggressive look entering her expression. "Well perhaps later I should remind you why you stopped doing that, after you met me."
Blushing slightly, you loudly speak up again. "Aaanyway, on the subject of coming home, I'm going to find out when I can get time off and let you know as soon as I can. I'm serious about going out there, but I don't want to just leave you behind," you explain, hoping that will help ease their concerns a bit.
Symon nods quietly, looking down at his food. "Please do let us know how it goes." He grins again, looking back up at you. "I expect no less than one letter for each day you're out there, Lesya. I'm serious."
You simply smile and nod, and the matter seems settled. The rest of breakfast passes quietly and comfortably, and soon enough Daryna vanishes into the master bedroom to get dressed up for the day; seeing you off at the station and then heading to work immediately after. Checking the clock, there's still a decent amount of time before you have to go; you're considering rechecking your suitcase when Symon taps you on the shoulder. "Do you want to take your old, crotchety father for a short walk outside?" He says, lifting his prosthetic leg in a self-depreciating manner. "I need my exercise, you see."
As the two of you step out on the porch, you take in a deep breath, enjoying the clean and cool air in your lungs. The sun has yet to rise, and the early morning is lovely; with a thick coastal fog obscuring everything, the streetlights twinkling through the branches of the many trees, and the grass thick with dew. You set off down the street, just quietly enjoying the atmosphere, but at the intersection, your father points down a different road than the one you typically take during your morning runs.
Heading the direction he indicated, it isn't long before you cross a small bridge running over one of the several streams that run through town; there's a bench on one side overlooking the water. "I think here's a good stopping point," he says, making a show of sitting down as slowly and painfully as possible, (with some exaggerated groans for good measure) and you take a seat beside him.
For several long moments, he stares quietly out at the water, before speaking again, tone serious again. "Lesya, I… I do not want you to think I don't support you, or do not understand. Whatever it was that happened four years ago, it changed you, and not necessarily in a bad way. You have… direction, now. And if that direction leads you away from us, I may not like it, but I would be the worst kind of hypocrite to try to deny you that. I know what it's like to see a greater purpose waiting for you beyond the horizon, and feeling trapped when you can't go to it."
He shakes his head. "I just want you to be careful. Your mother said to me that this isn't like the Great War, and she's right. You have so much more in your favor now that I did when I fought, or even those who fought four years ago. That old conflict was caused by alliances and egos, while this is something else entirely, something we had no choice in. But war is still terrible, and not something we must ever grow fond of. And… in my experience, whenever it almost reaches a point of calm, someone will invent something new and horrible that plunges everything back into chaos again. Given the things your opponents are already capable of, I shudder to think what may be waiting in the wings. Do you understand?"
Quietly, you nod, reluctantly accepting that he has a good point. "Good. I understand that you want to do this to help and defend people, and I respect that you are an adult now who can make your own decisions. I just want you to be safe, and… happy." He turns to you, laying a hand on your shoulder.
"But enough about that!" He says, suddenly on his feet once again. "We should get home again; you don't want to be late!"
Soon enough, you're back in your room, passing a glance around and realizing this could be the last time you're in here for quite a while; despite your anticipation for what's coming, you feel a little homesick already, too. Double checking your luggage to distract yourself, you make sure you've got everything you need; clothes, a pajama dress, hygienic pads, and your various papers and a map of the valley.
Along with that are several items you don't strictly need but would feel incomplete without; Mr. Shell, your second-favorite turtle plushie, (Your favorite, Mrs. Shell, is much too big to fit into the bag, and so rests in the spot of honor atop your pillow to await your return.) an alarm clock, your father's old sailing compass, a newspaper clipping of Beatrice from early on in the war, a framed photograph of you and your parents at the docks, and a handful of books. Olivia, War Of The Worlds, a World Atlas also from your father, the more recent pulp publications Symphonic Gears (volumes I, II, and III; a fourth had been recently released, but you had yet to get ahold of it) and a slim pin-up catalogue that you'd hastily buried under everything else.
You're surprised to find that something else has been added while you weren't looking; a thick tome with the curious title of 'All Quiet On The Western Front' with a handwritten note from your mother on the inside cover - "Something to think about, love." You sigh at their protectiveness, but after a moment of consideration, set it back in the suitcase. Just to be safe.
Finally, lying in a slightly-squished roll atop everything else, is a quartet of recruitment posters you'd... appropriated… from a wall full of them a few years back. You don't unroll them now, given how much effort it had taken to get them all together in the first place, but it's tempting to open them up again and give a long hard look over the one depicting Beatrice in silhouette. You'll be meeting the real woman soon enough again, though, and the thought makes your heart race.
"Lesya, are you ready to go?" Daryna calls, and you close up the suitcase, turn off the lights, give Mrs. Shell a parting wave, and head out.
After a short walk to the next road over and hopping aboard the trolley as it trundles by, you look out at the passing scenery, wondering how long it will be before you can see it all again. Homes transition into storefronts and eateries, and before long you step out again just across from the train station. The mist is starting to lift, allowing you to take in the base of the somewhat imposing red cliff beyond it, the same cliffs that surround the whole town on three sides. Stepping into the station to get your tickets sorted out, it isn't long before you make it out onto the main platform, the overhanging roof and lingering chill creating something of a gloomy atmosphere, and the other travelers scattered about are dark silhouettes against the fog. "Sorry about the lights," a repairman crouched by the wall says as you pass; "the wires are shorting out. Again."
Fortunately, the moodiness of the scene is offset by another familiar face already waiting to see you off. Sophia Payliuk, a classmate and friend of yours, stands up from her bench and grins slightly as she approaches. She's significantly shorter than you, with mousy brown hair loose around her shoulders and heavy eyebrows that typically give her something of a grumpy look. (Though it may just be because she's typically very grumpy by default.) She's dressed in an excessively formal outfit as always, and the austere look is completed by the wide circular glasses over her dark indigo eyes. On a couple of occasions when she's taken them off, you found her rather more attractive… but not in a romantic way, of course! Just a friendly appreciation for another girl's good looks. Besides, there's an older boy she likes, not that that's any of your business.
"Symon, Daryna," She greets your parents, with a curt nod but a warm smile, before turning to you with a more critical gaze. "And what do you think you're doing, looking like that? Come over here, let me fix your damn hair."
"You can certainly try," you grin back, following as she leads you further down the platform and away from the crowd. You don't expect anything to come of this; she's typically had no more luck than you have in wrangling your hair into something resembling a socially acceptable shape.
You get down on one knee so she can reach, and she attacks your hair with a heavier-duty brush than usual. "What are you going to do without me?" She asks aloud. "You're a disaster as it is even with me around. I don't want to even consider how badly you're bound to embarrass yourself today."
"Wow, thank you so very much for the vote of confidence," you respond drily, half-amused at her ribbing, half-irritated at knowing she wasn't entirely joking. She doesn't respond for several moments, but her brushing becomes rougher; you wince as it feels like she's about to yank hair out of your scalp. "Is there something wrong?" You ask.
"Other than your hair refusing. To. Cooperate… not really." Her tone is still more tense than usual, and indeed, a moment later she adds "Though there is something I wanted to tell you. Probably should have mentioned it earlier, but… well. Now or never."
You stand up and turn to look her in the eyes and clasp her hands, noting the difference between her pasty complexion and the tan of your own mixed heritage. Still, you can't resist one last joke. "Could it be that you've had a secret crush on me this whole time?" You grin wide, but she just gives you a deadpan glare.
"You know that's not it." You feel strangely disappointed at that response, but brush it off easily enough. "Anyway, what I did want to say is that-" She's cut off by a shrill whistle and the roar of a locomotive as it pulls up; you're pretty sure you see her swear in response but can't hear anything. Once the noise settles, she just sighs and pats your shoulder. "Be safe, okay? I'll see you soon."
After that, you return to your parents and hug them tight, bid them both farewell, and promise again to write every day. Sophia gives you a sarcastic salute, and you grin in response as you board. Finding a window overlooking the platform, you lean out to exchange some final goodbyes, and then you're off.
The station was already on the edge of the city, so it doesn't take long for the buildings to fall away. The railroad climbs along the red cliffs, providing you with a final breathtaking vista of Skvarzava, the cliffs on either side, and the sparkling sea beyond as the sun begins to rise. And then the train enters a tunnel and your view is replaced with rough rock and the occasional wooden supporting beam.
Soon enough the train emerges again, having turned northward in the tunnel; now that you're topside, you're traveling through wide grassy plains stretching east and west, with mountains in the middle distance. You already gawked at the view plenty when you traveled to the capital a few months back, though, so instead you pull the window shade down and settle in. You didn't realize how tired you were, having been unable to sleep much last night from anticipation, so you let the rhythmic clacking of the wheels slowly lull you to sleep.
You're awoken by a sharp whistle, and open the window again to look out into busy city streets and tall buildings. You're in Barrasson, the capital. It's mid-morning now, the sun shining cheerfully down onto the scene. The train is slowing down, and your view is shortly replaced by a parallel line and platform as it pulls into the central station.
It doesn't take long to gather your belongings and step out into a somewhat smoggy atmosphere, the station's glass roof capturing the fumes from the locomotive and making you cough a bit. Checking the travel information, you find you have a two-and-a-half layover until the train scheduled to take you to New Cauterets (and by extension, the Front) is set to leave. You have some free time and a decent amount of spending money in one of your pockets; what do you want to do?
How do you spend your time?
> Go window-shopping! Barrasson is the place of high society, and accordingly, high fashion. Even if there's not much point in getting too fancy with it and the prices are likely way out of your range, you can still appreciate the view.
> Eat something! It'll be noon by the time you're set to leave; you have snacks along, but why not go find a quiet cafe and take a nicer, early lunch?
> Go sightseeing! Last time you didn't really get to just explore, and Barrasson is filled with all sorts of old buildings, government offices, and other interesting landmarks.
> Just stay here. It's going to be a long day as it is; you'd rather just find a corner fairly free of smoke and relax, save your energy for the upcoming leg of the trip and introduction to the base.
You at least make up for it with your wardrobe, though; an array of fairly stylish outfits interspersed with some workout clothes and a few more casual pieces. For today, you've put on a particularly nice ensemble; a black button-up blouse with a lime green tie to bring out your eyes, and a dark grey skirt that ends halfway down your thighs; scandalously short in the eyes of most of your parents' generation, but not quite short enough in your opinion. Pulling it all together is a pair of modest wedge-bottomed heels, and a long open maroon jacket that goes down nearly to your ankles.
And of course, the final and most important item, not for looks (as it's hidden under the jacket's long sleeves anyway) but for you, personally - a simple, grey ribbon bracelet, with modest wooden beads loose around it, that clack satisfyingly against each other when you absentmindedly fiddle with it sometimes. It's a strangely humble item to come from the woman who saved you; Beatrice Parzival, a woman of unrivalled beauty, solid intellect, and rather wealthy upbringing. All that you discovered after the fact, of course; all you'd known at the time was that she was gorgeous, and more importantly, she was kind. Your heart races whenever you think of your meeting on that beach and you… you're not sure what to call the feeling you have, honestly. But what you know for sure is that you want to be like her.
And well, today is the day, isn't it? Your luggage is mostly packed, and you'll be taking the train north in only a couple of hours from now. All that's left to do now is grab some breakfast, and the wonderful aromas seeping under the door tell you that it's just about ready.
What stops you, though, is the discussion. Instead of opening the door, you lean against it, listening intently to the voices coming from the dining room down the hall.
"She's leaving today." The low, feminine voice with just a hint of an accent belongs to your mother.
"I know, yes. I'd rather you didn't remind me." And the deeper tone, usually kind and jovial but today flavored by irritation and worry, belongs to your father.
"I am reminding you to be happy for her. She's been working for this for four years now; is it not a big occasion?"
"I cannot be happy to be sending my only child off to war." Your father mutters tiredly. "I don't want her to suffer even a fraction of what I've seen. And neither should you."
There is a long silence before your mother speaks again. "Believe me, I am not. Even if it's been quiet the past few years, I remember just as well as you what it was like when they first came through. I don't like the idea of Lesya going out there any more than you do… but this is her choice, and I believe she can handle it well. This isn't like the Great War, you know."
"But war it still is." Your father simply says, and they both fall silent. You look down at the floor, understanding and frustration battling within you. But you're able to push down those feelings soon enough, put on a bright smile, and head out to eat.
Your mother is at the stove, preparing Sucuklu Yumurta for the three of you. The spiced sausage and eggs smell wonderful, and you have to resist the urge to steal some directly from the pan. Daryna Polinski herself is a tall, slender woman with dark skin, wavy hair in a gradient from grey to black, and cunning amber eyes. She's an accountant, but even at her relatively mundane position she has attained a certain level of infamy, with a way of getting what she wants even (or especially) when her superiors have tried their hardest to 'put her in her place.' She has been nothing but a kind mother to you, but her ruthlessness in the workplace is both inspiring and somewhat frightening. She grins as you enter, reaching over to ruffle your already-messy hair, and offers you the biggest serving of the Yumurta. "How are you feeling today?"
"Nervous, but excited," you answer honestly, taking a seat and waiting for her to join you.
"That is understandable," your father says, his tone as cheery as ever. Symon Polinski is a shorter man with pale skin, salmon-colored hair like yours, and twinkling eyes in a deep shade of green. He's hardly wide-set, but certainly a tad stockier, the muscles he'd developed as a sailor now put to use as a warehouse worker. Sometimes he complains about being restricted to land, but between his prosthetic leg and the barrier enclosing the country, there's not much that can be done to fix that; and though his stories from when he used to travel and trade in far-off locations intrigue you, mostly you're just glad to have him around full-time. It's strange, in a way, to consider that you'll be the one leaving them behind now.
"Understandable?" You ask, feigning confusion. You can't let them know you were eavesdropping, but maybe if you could open up the conversation again you could find some way to assuage their worries.
However, he's in full humor mode by now. "Of course! You are going to meet other women your age who are not Sophia. With your charms, I can only hope you'll restrain yourself, and come home with merely one or two… on each arm." You're honestly not sure what he means, just staring blankly.
"Symon!" Daryna swoops in to lightly swat him on the head with a rolled-up newspaper, but she's more amused than anything, rolling her eyes as she takes a seat. "Don't be telling jokes like that; you may give her ideas."
"Oh, I'm simply saying she may have inherited some of her father's old bad habits." He says with a laugh and a wink. "Daryna is my life and love, but before I met her, I took perhaps more than my fair share of fine ladies home."
Your mother simply sighs fondly, an aggressive look entering her expression. "Well perhaps later I should remind you why you stopped doing that, after you met me."
Blushing slightly, you loudly speak up again. "Aaanyway, on the subject of coming home, I'm going to find out when I can get time off and let you know as soon as I can. I'm serious about going out there, but I don't want to just leave you behind," you explain, hoping that will help ease their concerns a bit.
Symon nods quietly, looking down at his food. "Please do let us know how it goes." He grins again, looking back up at you. "I expect no less than one letter for each day you're out there, Lesya. I'm serious."
You simply smile and nod, and the matter seems settled. The rest of breakfast passes quietly and comfortably, and soon enough Daryna vanishes into the master bedroom to get dressed up for the day; seeing you off at the station and then heading to work immediately after. Checking the clock, there's still a decent amount of time before you have to go; you're considering rechecking your suitcase when Symon taps you on the shoulder. "Do you want to take your old, crotchety father for a short walk outside?" He says, lifting his prosthetic leg in a self-depreciating manner. "I need my exercise, you see."
As the two of you step out on the porch, you take in a deep breath, enjoying the clean and cool air in your lungs. The sun has yet to rise, and the early morning is lovely; with a thick coastal fog obscuring everything, the streetlights twinkling through the branches of the many trees, and the grass thick with dew. You set off down the street, just quietly enjoying the atmosphere, but at the intersection, your father points down a different road than the one you typically take during your morning runs.
Heading the direction he indicated, it isn't long before you cross a small bridge running over one of the several streams that run through town; there's a bench on one side overlooking the water. "I think here's a good stopping point," he says, making a show of sitting down as slowly and painfully as possible, (with some exaggerated groans for good measure) and you take a seat beside him.
For several long moments, he stares quietly out at the water, before speaking again, tone serious again. "Lesya, I… I do not want you to think I don't support you, or do not understand. Whatever it was that happened four years ago, it changed you, and not necessarily in a bad way. You have… direction, now. And if that direction leads you away from us, I may not like it, but I would be the worst kind of hypocrite to try to deny you that. I know what it's like to see a greater purpose waiting for you beyond the horizon, and feeling trapped when you can't go to it."
He shakes his head. "I just want you to be careful. Your mother said to me that this isn't like the Great War, and she's right. You have so much more in your favor now that I did when I fought, or even those who fought four years ago. That old conflict was caused by alliances and egos, while this is something else entirely, something we had no choice in. But war is still terrible, and not something we must ever grow fond of. And… in my experience, whenever it almost reaches a point of calm, someone will invent something new and horrible that plunges everything back into chaos again. Given the things your opponents are already capable of, I shudder to think what may be waiting in the wings. Do you understand?"
Quietly, you nod, reluctantly accepting that he has a good point. "Good. I understand that you want to do this to help and defend people, and I respect that you are an adult now who can make your own decisions. I just want you to be safe, and… happy." He turns to you, laying a hand on your shoulder.
"But enough about that!" He says, suddenly on his feet once again. "We should get home again; you don't want to be late!"
Soon enough, you're back in your room, passing a glance around and realizing this could be the last time you're in here for quite a while; despite your anticipation for what's coming, you feel a little homesick already, too. Double checking your luggage to distract yourself, you make sure you've got everything you need; clothes, a pajama dress, hygienic pads, and your various papers and a map of the valley.
Along with that are several items you don't strictly need but would feel incomplete without; Mr. Shell, your second-favorite turtle plushie, (Your favorite, Mrs. Shell, is much too big to fit into the bag, and so rests in the spot of honor atop your pillow to await your return.) an alarm clock, your father's old sailing compass, a newspaper clipping of Beatrice from early on in the war, a framed photograph of you and your parents at the docks, and a handful of books. Olivia, War Of The Worlds, a World Atlas also from your father, the more recent pulp publications Symphonic Gears (volumes I, II, and III; a fourth had been recently released, but you had yet to get ahold of it) and a slim pin-up catalogue that you'd hastily buried under everything else.
You're surprised to find that something else has been added while you weren't looking; a thick tome with the curious title of 'All Quiet On The Western Front' with a handwritten note from your mother on the inside cover - "Something to think about, love." You sigh at their protectiveness, but after a moment of consideration, set it back in the suitcase. Just to be safe.
Finally, lying in a slightly-squished roll atop everything else, is a quartet of recruitment posters you'd... appropriated… from a wall full of them a few years back. You don't unroll them now, given how much effort it had taken to get them all together in the first place, but it's tempting to open them up again and give a long hard look over the one depicting Beatrice in silhouette. You'll be meeting the real woman soon enough again, though, and the thought makes your heart race.
"Lesya, are you ready to go?" Daryna calls, and you close up the suitcase, turn off the lights, give Mrs. Shell a parting wave, and head out.
After a short walk to the next road over and hopping aboard the trolley as it trundles by, you look out at the passing scenery, wondering how long it will be before you can see it all again. Homes transition into storefronts and eateries, and before long you step out again just across from the train station. The mist is starting to lift, allowing you to take in the base of the somewhat imposing red cliff beyond it, the same cliffs that surround the whole town on three sides. Stepping into the station to get your tickets sorted out, it isn't long before you make it out onto the main platform, the overhanging roof and lingering chill creating something of a gloomy atmosphere, and the other travelers scattered about are dark silhouettes against the fog. "Sorry about the lights," a repairman crouched by the wall says as you pass; "the wires are shorting out. Again."
Fortunately, the moodiness of the scene is offset by another familiar face already waiting to see you off. Sophia Payliuk, a classmate and friend of yours, stands up from her bench and grins slightly as she approaches. She's significantly shorter than you, with mousy brown hair loose around her shoulders and heavy eyebrows that typically give her something of a grumpy look. (Though it may just be because she's typically very grumpy by default.) She's dressed in an excessively formal outfit as always, and the austere look is completed by the wide circular glasses over her dark indigo eyes. On a couple of occasions when she's taken them off, you found her rather more attractive… but not in a romantic way, of course! Just a friendly appreciation for another girl's good looks. Besides, there's an older boy she likes, not that that's any of your business.
"Symon, Daryna," She greets your parents, with a curt nod but a warm smile, before turning to you with a more critical gaze. "And what do you think you're doing, looking like that? Come over here, let me fix your damn hair."
"You can certainly try," you grin back, following as she leads you further down the platform and away from the crowd. You don't expect anything to come of this; she's typically had no more luck than you have in wrangling your hair into something resembling a socially acceptable shape.
You get down on one knee so she can reach, and she attacks your hair with a heavier-duty brush than usual. "What are you going to do without me?" She asks aloud. "You're a disaster as it is even with me around. I don't want to even consider how badly you're bound to embarrass yourself today."
"Wow, thank you so very much for the vote of confidence," you respond drily, half-amused at her ribbing, half-irritated at knowing she wasn't entirely joking. She doesn't respond for several moments, but her brushing becomes rougher; you wince as it feels like she's about to yank hair out of your scalp. "Is there something wrong?" You ask.
"Other than your hair refusing. To. Cooperate… not really." Her tone is still more tense than usual, and indeed, a moment later she adds "Though there is something I wanted to tell you. Probably should have mentioned it earlier, but… well. Now or never."
You stand up and turn to look her in the eyes and clasp her hands, noting the difference between her pasty complexion and the tan of your own mixed heritage. Still, you can't resist one last joke. "Could it be that you've had a secret crush on me this whole time?" You grin wide, but she just gives you a deadpan glare.
"You know that's not it." You feel strangely disappointed at that response, but brush it off easily enough. "Anyway, what I did want to say is that-" She's cut off by a shrill whistle and the roar of a locomotive as it pulls up; you're pretty sure you see her swear in response but can't hear anything. Once the noise settles, she just sighs and pats your shoulder. "Be safe, okay? I'll see you soon."
After that, you return to your parents and hug them tight, bid them both farewell, and promise again to write every day. Sophia gives you a sarcastic salute, and you grin in response as you board. Finding a window overlooking the platform, you lean out to exchange some final goodbyes, and then you're off.
The station was already on the edge of the city, so it doesn't take long for the buildings to fall away. The railroad climbs along the red cliffs, providing you with a final breathtaking vista of Skvarzava, the cliffs on either side, and the sparkling sea beyond as the sun begins to rise. And then the train enters a tunnel and your view is replaced with rough rock and the occasional wooden supporting beam.
Soon enough the train emerges again, having turned northward in the tunnel; now that you're topside, you're traveling through wide grassy plains stretching east and west, with mountains in the middle distance. You already gawked at the view plenty when you traveled to the capital a few months back, though, so instead you pull the window shade down and settle in. You didn't realize how tired you were, having been unable to sleep much last night from anticipation, so you let the rhythmic clacking of the wheels slowly lull you to sleep.
You're awoken by a sharp whistle, and open the window again to look out into busy city streets and tall buildings. You're in Barrasson, the capital. It's mid-morning now, the sun shining cheerfully down onto the scene. The train is slowing down, and your view is shortly replaced by a parallel line and platform as it pulls into the central station.
It doesn't take long to gather your belongings and step out into a somewhat smoggy atmosphere, the station's glass roof capturing the fumes from the locomotive and making you cough a bit. Checking the travel information, you find you have a two-and-a-half layover until the train scheduled to take you to New Cauterets (and by extension, the Front) is set to leave. You have some free time and a decent amount of spending money in one of your pockets; what do you want to do?
How do you spend your time?
> Go window-shopping! Barrasson is the place of high society, and accordingly, high fashion. Even if there's not much point in getting too fancy with it and the prices are likely way out of your range, you can still appreciate the view.
> Eat something! It'll be noon by the time you're set to leave; you have snacks along, but why not go find a quiet cafe and take a nicer, early lunch?
> Go sightseeing! Last time you didn't really get to just explore, and Barrasson is filled with all sorts of old buildings, government offices, and other interesting landmarks.
> Just stay here. It's going to be a long day as it is; you'd rather just find a corner fairly free of smoke and relax, save your energy for the upcoming leg of the trip and introduction to the base.
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