Content Warning: Dysphoria, Child Abuse. The Goths are Still Bad
You woke up late the next morning. For once in your life, the whispers weren't what was keeping you from a deep sleep. You kept thinking about the prisoners you'd freed, the story Wulf had told you, the horror of having to choose between the barrel of a gun and the camps. There was also the uncomfortableness of Wulf's body, the
wrongness, the things where they ought not be. The blurry colours and lack of depth, the way every little noise was magnified, and the
infuriating sense of smell. As you tried to sleep, you could smell the castor oil on Arren as he passed by the door on the way to the showers, the smell of meat cooking in the kitchen below, the petrol fumes of the planes outside, the blood. The kerosene in the lamps, the sweat on sleeping bodies, the sex four rooms down the hall. The wood dust from the mill up the road, the animals on the hills, the water streaming down the mountain. It was
too much.
It took you a few minutes to remember where and who you were. To remember whose arms were around you, to remember you were lying sideways and in the wrong skin and yesterday's clothes. You peeled yourself off the sheets and looked back down at your own body, sleeping peacefully, the faint glow of tattoos on the shadowed side, the bandages across your body with a rough mustard-coloured stain of blood, the makeup rubbed off to reveal the ugly bruise around your eye. The oil embedded under your fingernails, the tension on your face. All this in two weeks.
You'd simply thrown yourself in bed, too unnerved by yesterday's discoveries to change, but you had to shower today. Your own smell was driving you insane. You made your way to the communal bathroom with a towel and some of Wulf's spare clothes (it didn't look like she owned any shirts with top buttons) and hit the showers, stripping quickly and trying not to think about it too hard. Your usual cold spray made you flinch and shiver: you quickly shouted out to the attendant run the hot water to your stall as well, and as steam rose around you everything felt much better.
As the steam died down and the mirror cleared, curiosity overcame your reluctance and you spend some time looking over the body you were stuck in. You looked closely at the crisscross of yellow scars around her empty eye socket, even when it made your stomach crawl. You saw marks you hadn't before: old scars on her back and shoulders, another across her left wrist, where her glove would usually cover. A small line tattoo of a Gothen spade on her upper left arm.
You also noticed angularity in her jaw, the shape of her brow, the almost imperceptible lump under her chin that you couldn't unsee now. You weren't sure why, but it made your skin crawl.
Well, not your skin.
When you stepped back, a woman. When you looked close, you weren't sure. When you looked down... yeah. You know what she said, and she definitely registered to you in action, speech, and general...ness as a woman, but her body didn't seem to line up with that, and you weren't sure what that meant.
"...having a good time there?"
You seized up with embarrassment and, absurdly, covered yourself up before the mirror.
"Ha! Calm down, it's fine. I understand."
You relaxed a bit, but kept your towel right where it was. Controlling your own thoughts was hard: you tried to just think of nothing, but instead you thought of the things you were trying to think of nothing to avoid: the embarrassment of being caught, the fascination and revulsion, and the shame you felt that you made such judgement.
"Nah, don't worry about that. I'm just happy you didn't notice any of that stuff until you were literally wearing my skin."
Not really knowing what else to do, you turned your back to the mirror and hastily got dressed, though you almost forgot the eyepatch and Wulf had to remind you. You walked back to Wulf's room as fast as possible, where she was sitting (in your body, still weird) on the bed, lying absurdly posed.
"Hey little fish. What'd you think?"
"You know what I thought." You mumbled, eye down. "I'm sorry."
"Psh." She said dismissively, waving a hand. "I've thought way worse things about myself on way better mornings." She was trying to be dismissive, but you could tell (maybe just intuitively, maybe through the link) that she was more hurt than she let on.
"... yeah. Shit, I'm used to being able to hide stuff from people." She said, and smiled. "Stupid mind link."
You sat down on the bed next to her. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Hell no. But we probably should. Soooo... yeah, I used to be a boy?"
You nodded, completely beyond comprehension.
"Okay, that's not the best way to put it. Um. Okay, imagine you tried doing the magic radio with Arren instead of me, and ended up in his body. Would you, Isa, stop being a woman just because your body is Arren's?"
"I don't think so?" You said. That was... a bizarre question.
"Right, yeah. Phew. I realized midway through making that argument there was a small chance this could go really sideways like, if actually that would work for you? But never mind that. So yeah, your brain knows what gender you are and that stays the same no matter what you body is like..."
You peiced it together. "So your brain knew you were a girl, but you weren't?" You guessed.
"Yeah. Took me a while to figure it out, before that it was mostly just 'why do I feel so awful why do I hate my body blah blah' but yeah that's the idea? Eventually I knew that was what was going on, and I told Joachim, um, the guy who took me in, and he was super cool about it."
"Okay, but how did you get to be, um..." You thought the words 'mostly girl on the outside' and Wulf laughed as she heard it through your link. "Did you use magic?"
"A bit, but mostly medicine. I went to the Doc and he mixed me up this cool prewar medicine that... okay how much do you know about hormones?"
"What's a hormone?" You asked.
"Okay, basically, your body isn't just male or female? Your body makes a chemical that constantly reinforces that. This medicine replaces that chemical with the girl one, so I slowly started looking more like a girl. I'll admit I cheated a bit..." She gestured to her chest (which was your chest, which she didn't seem to notice). "They were coming in a bit too slow so I may have done a few rituals, and I also burnt out a lot of hair with magic because it was fucking gross. But mostly just medicine."
You sat down, trying to process all that. So she was a girl who was born with a boy's body, but bodies weren't boy bodies or girl bodies, there were chemicals that did it and you could change the chemicals, and she did, and now she was almost entirely a girl except for...
"Yeah, you need some more than just some medicine to make that switch." Wulf explained, once again evesdroppihg on your thoughts. "And if this is what it's like, honestly? Not gonna bother."
You could tell she was being... not dishonest, but at least a little dismissive of what she actually thought.
"Let's not dwell on that." She said.
Honestly, back when you thought it was something magic, all this made more sense.
"Okay, I'll keep that in mind. Next time I'll just tell somebody I was cursed!" Wulf said. You weren't sure if she was joking.
"I'm not either!"
While she headed for her shower you decided to set out on a shopping trip. You needed some ammunition for your new pistol, some food that wasn't from the tavern, and essentials you forgot to pack. New socks and underwear, for example. You'd never been on a long trip before you left, so you'd made some mistakes in prioritization.
The town had a little market of sorts next to the airfield, where both citizens and passing pilots could shop. You bought a handful of pistol clips from a vendor, fairly certain she'd bought them off Wulf's crew last night, then enjoyed a simple breakfast while watching the big cargo transport from yesterday set off, somehow just clearing the end of the runway in a roar of fumes and prop wash. Even with Wulf's colourblindness, it was a beautiful day, soft blue skies framed by the mountains, the valley unfolding before you in a mix of yellows you knew were green hills, forests, and fields of golden wheat. Sitting on a rock at the edge of the mountain and just looking out over nature, you decided to take the time to listen to your patrons, really listen for the first time in days, and you let yourself slip into a trance.
They were confused. Scared for you. Those who understood bodies wanted to know why yours had changed. They wanted to sooth your fears and confusion, offer advice and guidance to deal with your problems. To comfort Wulf, to get your body back, to deal with your prisoner, to make it up to Arren. Few of the plans made sense, but it was reassuring to know you were being thought of.
You drifted away on a cacophony of calming voices. You could hear Wulf's in there, somewhere, but it was just one of many. She was complaining about the noise, but you drowned her out. You needed this for a bit.
As you relaxed and thought of the sea, a vendor caught your eye. Wool was a big part of the economy here, so there were some lovely socks that could replace your ratty old ones. And flying like a flag was a shepard's poncho.
Wulf couldn't overhear your thoughts right now, so an idea occurred to you. You headed over to the vendor.
---
"What the actual fuck are you wearing."
"You like it?" You twirled around, showing off the patterned wool. "It's very warm."
"Isa, this is a defilement. You stop that right now!"
Wulf was sitting at the table, eating a relatively measured breakfast by her standards (and a huge one by yours) and drinking the foulest concoction you'd ever smelled, and she was very upset.
"Did you summon up those fucking voices so I wouldn't see you buy this atrocity?" She accused.
"Nah, that was a happy accident. But think! You can go flying and not freeze now! And it's a nice grey, I think it matches your ears. Much better than that ratty old shawl of yours."
"It's a wolf cloak and it's awesome. Stop that right now. I look like a farmer! Or like... somebody's grandmother!"
"I think it's cute." You said defiantly.
"You would." She rolled her eyes. "And I promise you it's going in the trash the moment I get my body back."
"About that, would you mind if we delayed a bit longer?" You said. "I want to go talk to our prisoner, but my bod is the one that tried to stab him yesterday, so..."
What Wulf said was "Oh, okay, if you're sure", sounding suitably reluctant. But what you got, be it from tone, body language, or whatever link you had, was that Wulf was strangely happy to stay in your body a little while longer.
She didn't comment on those thoughts. That's fine. After your talk this morning, you thought you understood.
---
You stopped by the doc's place soon after. He answered the door, looking, as usual, tired and haggard, but active.
"Hey, my favourite Wulf! How's life treating you."
"Good! Though, not actually Wulf. I'm actually Isabelle, the fisher girl? There was a magical mishap." You explained.
"Huh. Welp, if you're looking to get it undone, you come to the wrong place. I might be a miracle worker, but magic: not my specialty! My apologies."
"Oh, that's fine actually, we'll be fixing that ourselves later. I was actually here to check on the patients from yesterday." You explained.
"Oh, them? Well, medically, not much that falls under my responsibilities. There was some, you know, malnorishment, a bit of sick, some minor injuries, yadda yadda. Stuff I could fix with my eyes closed. But, mentally, emotionally? Yesh, a nice collection of messes you brought me. At least, I think that was you. Was that you yesterday?"
"No, that was Wulf. We did an accidentally body-swap thing. So what's going to happen?" You asked.
"I dunno! I'm gonna keep them for a few days observation, then? Talk to the burgermeisteren, see if we can't find out where they're from and if they got somewhere to go back to. Not a lot of room in a town like this for orphans, but, hey, maybe I need an assistant or two. You did a good thing bringing them to me."
"Thank you. Also, I was wondering about the, um, prisoner." You said.
"Him? I'll admit, wasn't big on you bringing him in, and he wasn't too big on getting treated by me either. You're lucky my sense of charity outweighs my objections, young lady. And that I might have taken an oath to treat all comers and so forth. Look, the point is, he's not going to die, I pulled the metal out of his back, and the faster you can get him out of my sight the better it'll be for all of us, okay?"
You nodded, and he lead to you the small, locked room where the soldier was being kept. He was shirtless and covered in bandages, his face tear-streaked, and looked a little out of it. Probably swimming in some of the doc's good drugs. Now that he had the blood and filth cleaned off him, you realized how young he looked. After confirming he was good to walk ("Nothing wrong with his legs. Back, yes. Brain, definitely. But legs are fine!") you guided him out of the doc's house and out into the bright field.
You couldn't help but noticed the spade tattoo on his upper arm, same place as it was on Wulf's. You took off Wolf's poncho and put it on him, in part to keep him warm, but mostly to cover it up, then you escorted him back to the tavern and got him a room as well. Not knowing who he was, the bartender was sympathetic and offered a warm room near the heaters for the showers.
As he sat down on the bed, he finally spoke.
"Who are you?" He said, his voice small and shaky.
You sat on the bed next to him. "I'm... it's complicated, okay. I'm somebody you can trust right now."
You didn't speak for a while. You could tell he was thinking, hard. You decided to break the silence yourself.
"What's your name?" You asked.
"Obersoldat Wexler." He said, automatically.
"What's your first name?"
"I'm not a conscript! I don't have a civilian name." He said, with a touch of pride. "I don't need one."
"Well, you're probably going to. You can't go about introducing yourself to people with your rank."
"I don't need to introduce myself. I won't when I get back." He said, a rising defiance in his voice. "You're not going to make me weak."
You let that sit a while. This was a conversion. The High Priest taught you everything you needed to know for one of these. Don't argue. Let him burn out, then probe again.
The defiance ran out, he looked away, and you spoke again.
"They aren't going to come back for you. Your base is gone. The prisoners are free, your comrades are dead or running in the woods. If anyone has spared a thought for you, they probably think you're dead too." You explained.
"That's not true!" He practically shrieked. "There's a thousand more bases like it, and each has a thousand killers! We're coming for you! There's nowhere you can run, half-breed!"
Silence again. Let the defiance subside. Anger needs fuel to burn.
"Are you listening?" He said, half angry, half desperate to be heard.
"Yes." You replied.
He slumped back against the headboard eventually, and you spoke again.
"You're just another dead kid to them, you know? You're no different from the ones laying in the hanger right now." You said. A bit of a falsehood: the town had decided to occupy the base, which is why the cargo transport flew out again this morning. The bodies were probably being buried right now. "If they do find you, what will they think? That you're a deserter, a coward? Too weak to fight to the death?"
"I'm not weak." He insisted. His right hand was gripping the spot on his arm where his tattoo was.
"You're my prisoner." You replied.
He was silent. He knew you were right about that.
"You're not going back." You said again, to drive it home.
"I'm not going back." He repeated. That was a start.
More silence. Longer this time. The longest yet.
"What do I do now?" He asked.
---
You spoke Wexler for hours, warding off Wulf whenever she tried to get a thought in. It was... not easy. You found yourself having to steer the conversation away from his life frequently: it was equal parts too gruesome, too terrifying, and too sad. But you still learned a lot about him.
He was sixteen. Seventeen soon, he said.
He didn't know who his father or mother was. His family name belonged to a dead soldier from the war, picked at random from a newspaper casualty list which was revered like a holy item.
The first memory he could recall was watching somebody die. Some prisoner, he couldn't remember any details, getting their throat slit in front of a class of boys destined for service. He was six. It was a common introduction at that age. The boys that cried when they saw it got beaten. He insisted he hadn't cried, forcefully enough that you knew it wasn't true.
The first time he participated in a murder, he was twelve. Of a classmate who'd tried to run away.
The next was when he was on prison guard duty. Fourteen. His officer wanted him to practice his marksmanship.
He wanted to be a pilot, or a 'jumper', which you surmised was one of the men who was tasked with air-to-air boarding, but he'd scored too poorly. Not poorly enough to be, as he referred to it, discarded, but poorly enough to be shuffled into the logistics train. It was humiliating for him. You tried to work with that.
You steered away quickly from his resentment at the fact he didn't get access to the prisoners, a fact which was quite a relief to you.
He worked every day to try to do better, to be the best at his job so they'd let him fight. He was overjoyed when he was moved to a forward base, when they put him in charge of the aviation supplies and gave him a shiny new rank pin. He thought his life was turning around.
He was running out the door with an armful of supplies when the bomb slid through the hanger doors. And now he was here.
He was a terrible person, and he had terrible things done to him. You contrasted his life with your own. You gave him new words to describe his situation. Not discipline, abuse. Not respect, fear. Not strength, cruelty.
He repeated them without really knowing the meanings.
You spoke after that about what he would do now. He had skill as a mechanic, even if he found it shameful. He had also been taught to fly, but never flew in combat. You told him what you did. Explained what a Flying Circus was. You were part of a team of mercenary pilots who flew from town to town to take jobs, fighting bandits and monsters, securing isolated valleys, reestablishing contact. You emphasized over and over again that you helped people. Made them safer, so they could sleep without being woken by drills, live without fearing violence, go wherever they pleased.
Midway through you conversation, he said he was hungry. You asked him what he wanted to eat, and he looked at you dumbstruck. You ended up getting him some bacon and eggs. He'd never had bacon before, it was reserved for the officers.
"How did you get this?" He asked between mouthfuls.
"I paid for it." You replied. He didn't understand money. "I wanted it, and I had money, so I traded for it."
"You can just have bacon whenever you want?" He said, wide-eyed.
"If I can afford it, yeah. If I can't, I find work so I can." You explained.
He thought that over for a bit.
"What else can you buy with money?" He asked.
"Pretty much anything, as long as the other person wants to sell it. Clothes, planes, houses, land, guns, animals, food, booze..."
"I want to work." He declared. "I want money."
[ ] Offer him a job as a mechanic in your circus.
[ ] Offer him a job as a guard in your circus.
[ ] Offer him a job as a pilot in your circus.
[ ] Point him towards the mechanics working at the hanger.
Rehabilitating child soldiers in real life takes months and years, and is often an incomplete process. Wexler here isn't better, but he generally understands the basic idea that the Goths don't care about him, that he actually has the ability to make his life better now, and that bacon is delicious.
If you give Wexler a job as a pilot, his background will be Worker. The Worker is a class who specializes in powering through bad situations through willpower and resilience. The thing about the Worker is they always have somebody they are taking care of, so Wexler will get somebody like that fairly soon if you decide that. It will probably be good for him. He will cost you 1 thaler a routine to maintain as a pilot, and he'll need a plane.
As a mechanic, Wexler will offer you free repairs to engines and components, up to 3 components or 3 engine wear per Routine, for just half a thaler. But as you can't pay a half-thaler for anything, he'll cost 1.
Likewise, as a Guard, Wexler will put his soldiering skills to use. He'll be able to offer assistant advantage on ground missions and fight on his own. This will also cost 1 thaler.
In any case, you'll need a way to move him around.
If you decide to leave him here, we'll presume you find some understanding people to keep an eye on him.
