The day before the briefing for your first mission, after group training on radio protocol and information on one another's planes, the squadron was given a pass into Paris with only the vague orders that they should stick together and make sure everyone made it back to base the next morning. Many of the pilots, yourself included, had a romantic image of Paris but had never been: Cait had flown there before the war in a civilian aircraft with her family and My had studied there, but everyone else was seeing the city for the first time.
It... was less than the image you had in your head, and you weren't sure if that was merely the disappointment that came with mundane reality, or the fact that just about every street had a building scooped out of it by a bomb.
The group decided to split into two groups, who Shao Tu affectionately termed the Nerds and the Cool Kids. You were, of course, a cool kid, and you joined your half of the squadron to head for a theater which apparently did horror, a genre you didn't know could be
done on a stage. The nerds were off to some stuffy art museum or something, Cait was really excited about it. Apparently there was less to see than usual because all the paintings and stuff were in a reinforced basement now, but you could navigate the sandbags and still look at some famous art if you were patient.
You were not patient, so off you went to the theater. In the two hour run, there would apparently be six plays, alternating comedy and horror. Started with a pretty mundane comedy about an affair, then there was a delightfully fucked up short about a serial killer with
gallons of fake blood on stage, then a weird comedy about... some domestic French shit you didn't understand despite the translator's best attempts, then a horror about a person being dissected alive in a morgue, then what you thought was another comedy about a watch salesman that actually turned into a horrifying murder investigation halfway through and was
incredibly graphic and disturbing. The sheer whiplash of it was incredible.
The only person in the group who didn't seem affected was My, who'd come on the grounds that she'd seen the art museum pre-war. She stared dispassionately at the stage like she was reading the production target section of the newspaper or something. At first you told yourself you were just glancing over a lot because that was weird and she was weird, but after a moment you realized you were glancing because she was really pretty. You hadn't noticed before, but she
really was!
And for the first time ever, you felt a little weird about that. It wasn't just
ooh pretty girl, it brought back up the messy feelings you had about Jessie and how that ended. You frowned and did your best to put it out of your mind and enjoy the rest of the show.
The show ended, the group stumbled out, readjusting to the light of a late summer afternoon, and you checked your watch.
"Time for the meet-up?" You asked.
"I think we still have about an hour. We aren't that far away." My said. Glancing around, you started noticing the shops around you, as did everyone else, and pretty soon the group had broken apart for shopping. You naturally wandered to the nearest store selling dresses, and even though they were clearly simplified wartime designs made to save fabric you found yourself staring, unsure if it was longing or judgement.
Capitalist fashion was ostentatious and dull. They lacked the colour and charm of the dresses you were used to, and the jewelry was often expensive for no purpose. Why buy a diamond when a glass gem looks just as good? Why silver when pewter shines nearly as bright? It was wasteful and conspicuous, and the idea they had of
refined taste was pure classist nonsense.
But dang if that dress wasn't pretty. It was sleeveless, off-white, with little stitched butterfly patterns running down it, and it paired with a set of jewelry in the window, an elaborate necklace, a pair of bracelets, and delicate heels that might as well be made of glass. You looked at the price that had likely kept it behind the window (or rather, the mesh which was replacing a window long-broken) and as you did the conversion it looked like it was inside your reach.
You could look like a princess in that, and the transgressive thrill of the idea raced through your mind.
"It doesn't suit you."
You glanced over and there was My, looking at the same dress, her lips pursed. She pointed a finger at her own hair and waved it around, then shrugged. "Your hair is bright and saturated, it won't work in contrast with the dress. You need a darker colour that will tie things together. Maybe that one?"
She indicated to a dress inside the window, a sort of muted teal colour with subtle gold lines. It came with a shawl and was, when you stepped around to take a closer look, the back was scooped out almost entirely. It was much more your speed, now that you weren't entranced by the opulence of the other one. You could wear this one back home and look daring, but not counter-revolutionary, and the brassy accessories matched your hair.
You indicated to the shop owner, and through the careful one-sided dance of language, got it billed to you back at base. Your measurements were taken so adjustments could be made, and you were assured it would be shipped to you. You... maybe took the chance to buy some accompanying undergarments of appropriate fanciness for the new dress as well.
When you stepped out of the booth, My was at the counter, and it looked like she was buying the beige dress.
"Did you tell me not to get that one because you wanted it?" You asked, staring at her a little disbelievingly. She shrugged.
"My advice was sound. So what if I had an ulterior motive?" She thanked the shopkeep in natural-sounding French and you followed her outside, in a bit of a daze.
"You seem to know your way around this stuff." You asked, feeling a little stupid even as the words left your mouth.
"I was here for two and a half years before the war. I was at the University of Paris, studying law." She said, shrugging.
"Part of decolonization, I presume." You asked uncertainly. She nodded.
"While there are still continuity of institutions, somebody will need to be able to understand them." She explained. "It's important for stability."
"Aren't you worried that all the same awful things will carry over, though?" You asked. There was nothing left of the Czar's old government after the various revolutions were over, and that was a good thing according to every teacher you'd ever had.
"Yes. That's
why I studied here." She said. "But when the war came..."
"You couldn't just sit and watch, huh." You guessed.
"Well, that, and the cynical calculus that being a war veteran would likely aid my chances in a future political career." She said smoothly.
You laughed.
"Wow, that's... I don't even know what to call that." You said.
"Realistic." My said flatly.
---
You met back up with the rest of the pilots at a restaurant which was somehow still in operation despite the top floors of the building it was located in being missing, like something had come through and shaved them off with a huge saw. The team was rapidly becoming fast friends, and the conversation and good cheer was infectious around the table. The wine helped, and given your mission would be an evening one the next day, bottles were disappearing at a feverish rate. Cait, as she usually did when things got loud, kept mostly to herself, and you tried your best to keep an eye on her while participating, though you did manage to get a chance to catch up.
"How was the play?" She asked, and you explained about the different plays and their murderous twists. Just describing it made her shiver.
"... and oh my god,
so much fake blood. I don't know how the actors kept their footing, to be honest."
"I'm glad I didn't go." Cait said, looking a little green. Cait had shot down twenty-two planes at last count, but fake blood on a stage was a bridge too far, apparently.
"How was the art gallery?" You asked.
"It was amazing! Obviously the lighting wasn't great but I saw so many amazing things... The sculpture is
incredible, and the paintings! Oh my god, they're wonderful!"
"Yeah? What'd you see?" You asked, fully aware you knew nothing at all about art history and wouldn't recognize a single one.
"There's all these old religious pieces which are just incredibly beautiful, and we got to see some landscapes they were putting away... ooh! And they had a big display for like, patriotic pieces to inspire people? Hehe, you would like
Liberty Leading the People."
"Yeah, it sounds pretty in-line with my politics." You said, and Cait laughed, more than you'd ever seen her. My, who'd wandered nearby with a wine glass in hand, cracked the first smile you'd seen from her.
"Yes, that's exactly why. Oh, and, and, they let us into one of the big rooms they were storing stuff, because, you know... special squadron and all, and they had
the Mona Lisa. I saw it!"
"What's the Mona Lisa?" You asked.
"...
what?" My interjected, powerful disbelief in her voice.
"I don't know how you don't know what it is." Cait said, in between the giggles still infecting her.
"Sorry, I didn't really study art?" You said.
"Everyone knows what the Mona Lisa is!" My nearly yelled, then she turned to address the crew. "Sandro, do you know what the Mona Lisa is?"
"You mean the painting by Da Vinci?" He responded.
"We talking about the portrait of a woman with a mysterious smile that has captivated centuries of onlookers?" Kalu asked, looking slightly confused.
"Didn't that get stolen a few times?" Tu added.
"Yeah, it's actually really small, so it's not that surprising." Victor said.
"See, everyone knows!" My finished, looking at you with something between frustration and disbelief. Cait, meanwhile, was still laughing, having doubled over in her chair.
"I... sorry?"
---
You woke up the next morning
considerably hungover, though blessedly you had a constitution such that it didn't much slow you down. You blinked the light from your eyes and stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling, unsure where you were or how you got there.
"Oh. You're awake."
You glanced over to see My at the door, staring at you with a bit of a frown. Memories from last night came flooding back.
"Hey. What time is it?"
"We're due back at base in an hour." She replied curtly, throwing your uniform onto the bed. You started getting dressed, feeling a little awkward.
"Are we gonna talk about this?" You asked.
"No
." My replied, tone still neutral. "I'd appreciate you keeping this to yourself. I'm not out to anyone and I want to keep it that way."
"Cool." You replied. Not your first time with such an arrangement. "How the hell did this happen?"
"You spent the whole day yesterday staring at me, it was super obvious, and I've been back home for nearly a year where I have to be a lot more cautious." She replied. "You're not my type pretty much at all, but Vietnam still has holdover laws from the French occupation about this sort of thing."
"
France doesn't have those laws anymore, do they?" You asked nervously.
"No, but they put them in effect in Vietnam just long enough that now they're entrenched. It'll probably be a few decades before we manage to do something about it." She replied.
"That's why you're studying law, huh?" You asked.
"No, I'm mostly looking into land redistribution, legal equality for the highlander minorities, and the enfranchisement of rural people. That's on the backburner." She said flatly.
"Oh... that's..." You failed to get the words together right away.
"
Realistic." My replied. "Turns out not everything can get fixed overnight."
"Yeah. For example, I still don't know what the Mona Lisa is." You said.
She smiled.
"... Alright, you're funny, I'll give you that. Go get a cab, I don't want us arriving back at base together." She shrugged. "Sorry."
---
LET'S GENERATE A MISSION!
- Close Air Support
- Bomber Interception
- Air Superiority
- Forward Base Raid
- Fleet Defense
- Portal Bomber Escort
- Portal Scouting
- Portal Airbase Raid
- Portal Air Superiority
- Portal Espionage
Re this update: While for the most part I'll be sticking hard to the down-the-stairs methodology, I thought it might be appropriate to acknowledge... hey guess what? The scars of colonialism linger. It isn't quite that easy, even if it gets to be far better here than it ever was.
