It feels like you’ve been turning the training grounds upside-down for eternity looking for *******, but it’s probably only more like twenty minutes—tell that to the hammering in your chest, though. You’ve searched every supply closet and shed and probably ruffled some feathers at the quartermaster’s, besides, and nothing.
All right, this is a disaster, but—fuck, you have to think. What do you even know about *******? Where would they go to ground?
In the end, your instinct turns out to be right—there’s a trail of bent grass at the edge of the uncut field behind the mess hall, near where the scraps get dumped for the dogs, and the missing bell’s been dropped beside the edge of the path. You follow the trail, and see a dark-haired head poking through the yellow stalks.
You’re a little startled to see tracks of tears running down their face.
They look up at you, rub their eyes, and fix their face into a scowl. “Oh, so you’re going to drag me in front of the commander yourself? I’m sure that’ll be a feather in your cap.”
“…no,” you say, after a long pause. “I… don’t actually know what I’m going to do.” Another pause, and then she goes to sit down beside them, back to the building. “Maybe you should help me figure that out.”
“Fuck off,” they bite out, and turn their head away, crossing their arms over their knees. “I’m a fifth child. No one cares, not my family, not you. You’re a first daughter, so this is just one little obstacle in your way to an illustrious career. If you keep me here to punish me, I’ll just make things worse, so you might as well pack me off so you can get back to using us as a stepping stone to your dream command.”
You’ve never heard them speak so many words at once to your face—just whispers to the other soldiers, a snicker in the back of the group. Sure, it had been tense, but… you hadn’t registered anyone else’s misery but your own.
You breathe out a sigh. “You know,” you say, slowly, “I, er… I thought about running away with someone I—with a friend. Who knew I didn’t really want to go into the army.”
Their eyes are on you—you can feel it, even though you’re looking studiously at your feet. “I don’t really have many other options, either, but… I, um. I don’t know if I have ambitious apart from doing the best for whoever’s my responsibility. Is everyone this unhappy?”
There’s a brief hesitation—trying to figure out of you’re genuine—and then they nod. “We’re all younger children, unsuitable for marriage, too weird or troublesome or not smart enough for the Immaculate Order or a government official’s posting. ***** is on her last chance before getting disowned. Too irresponsible with her affections for her family.”
You lean your head back with a thunk against the wall. “Sorry I never asked.”
They snort, but it’s not with scorn. “That wouldn’t be very officer-like of you, if you did.”
“Well, I never really wanted to be an officer, anyway.” You’re going to have to think on this—maybe some of what you might want to do will be against regulation or otherwise just not done, but—you stand. “Thank you, though.”
A frown crosses their face. “What are you going to do?”
“Well, ah… that was going to be my question to you. Do you want to get sent home?”
Their nose wrinkles, and that’s about all the answer you need. You shrug. “So, let’s go back, and… start this day over. And I, uh… I guess I’ll do better.”
“You know,” they hazard, slowly, “you’re not at all what I thought you were like.”
You give a half-smile, and give them a hand up. “Just no more tacks, please.”
memory 019
All right, this is a disaster, but—fuck, you have to think. What do you even know about *******? Where would they go to ground?
In the end, your instinct turns out to be right—there’s a trail of bent grass at the edge of the uncut field behind the mess hall, near where the scraps get dumped for the dogs, and the missing bell’s been dropped beside the edge of the path. You follow the trail, and see a dark-haired head poking through the yellow stalks.
You’re a little startled to see tracks of tears running down their face.
They look up at you, rub their eyes, and fix their face into a scowl. “Oh, so you’re going to drag me in front of the commander yourself? I’m sure that’ll be a feather in your cap.”
“…no,” you say, after a long pause. “I… don’t actually know what I’m going to do.” Another pause, and then she goes to sit down beside them, back to the building. “Maybe you should help me figure that out.”
“Fuck off,” they bite out, and turn their head away, crossing their arms over their knees. “I’m a fifth child. No one cares, not my family, not you. You’re a first daughter, so this is just one little obstacle in your way to an illustrious career. If you keep me here to punish me, I’ll just make things worse, so you might as well pack me off so you can get back to using us as a stepping stone to your dream command.”
You’ve never heard them speak so many words at once to your face—just whispers to the other soldiers, a snicker in the back of the group. Sure, it had been tense, but… you hadn’t registered anyone else’s misery but your own.
You breathe out a sigh. “You know,” you say, slowly, “I, er… I thought about running away with someone I—with a friend. Who knew I didn’t really want to go into the army.”
Their eyes are on you—you can feel it, even though you’re looking studiously at your feet. “I don’t really have many other options, either, but… I, um. I don’t know if I have ambitious apart from doing the best for whoever’s my responsibility. Is everyone this unhappy?”
There’s a brief hesitation—trying to figure out of you’re genuine—and then they nod. “We’re all younger children, unsuitable for marriage, too weird or troublesome or not smart enough for the Immaculate Order or a government official’s posting. ***** is on her last chance before getting disowned. Too irresponsible with her affections for her family.”
You lean your head back with a thunk against the wall. “Sorry I never asked.”
They snort, but it’s not with scorn. “That wouldn’t be very officer-like of you, if you did.”
“Well, I never really wanted to be an officer, anyway.” You’re going to have to think on this—maybe some of what you might want to do will be against regulation or otherwise just not done, but—you stand. “Thank you, though.”
A frown crosses their face. “What are you going to do?”
“Well, ah… that was going to be my question to you. Do you want to get sent home?”
Their nose wrinkles, and that’s about all the answer you need. You shrug. “So, let’s go back, and… start this day over. And I, uh… I guess I’ll do better.”
“You know,” they hazard, slowly, “you’re not at all what I thought you were like.”
You give a half-smile, and give them a hand up. “Just no more tacks, please.”
“Hah. All right.”
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