A battered pickup truck, painted a dull green, shuddered along the patchy stretch of highway around the ass-end of Rassvet. Sparse civilization gave way to rougher terrain, tweedy tan grass and tall trees that bowed lazily in the breeze, punctuated by the occasional outcropping of chalky stone. Here, there was no sign of the war, just as there was no sign of civilization- other than the occasional road stop with its typical fixings. Just some kids piled into an old truck with a roaring diesel engine, hanging on by straps tied to the rollbars and sitting on their field packs and cases of beer as they headed out for one last howl at the moon together- A road trip around Rassvet, to visit all the places they hadn’t had the chance to before.

Then, after that, they shipped off to the dangerous and very adult business of war. After a decade together, it was going to be strange to part, since they knew they were going to be broken up from Barghest Squad into replacements for depleted WARDEN outfits on the front. Not a promising future.

And so Gideon had broken out a bottle he’d been saving for something like this. It seemed like as good a time as any, with the uncertainty of the future looming.

And maybe that’s why he sat on his pack, with the ease of someone used to that posture, waiting for the bottle to come back to him as the truck chugged along past huge boulders and flats, and the occasional tree along a long stretch of beat up highway. It was early spring, and the winter chill still lingered stubbornly in the air up here, which was why he was wearing a fleece under the camouflage smock he brought, an issue item that was given to every conscript in the Rassvet Defense Forces. Sturdy, multi-pocketed, sized large to fit over other layers, it had a small green patch with a sword upon the sleeve, circled with runes, the flag of the Kingdom of Rassvet. That was normal, people wore those with jeans and hiking boots all the time. His was worn-in from years of field use, totally comfortable. In a nod to the air, he wore a wool cap over his head, blonde hair tucked into it. Since graduation, he’d stopped bothering to shave, released from the rigorous garrison demands of the Citadel.

His had the coveted WARDEN tab slapped onto the velcro. They all had one. During the hours-long drive, when they took stops to relieve and refresh in a village or two along the way, this drew glances from the average folk. Gideon melted into the background during these interactions, saying little.

Setzer, of course, had the music up and loud, but it was better than listening to the news of the war. He’d expected a hasty early graduation and orders to the front, but a truce had broken out and there were apparently talks in the offing. He’d managed to sneak out of Orestia without seeing family, lest he be stage-hooked by the Royal Family’s handlers into some sort of banal, awful ceremony-slash-press function in Class A’s, instead of sitting in a pickup truck bound for the last place anyone would find anyone. It was a choice between tension, dull ceremony and a constant buzz of people around, insisting on this, that, or the other. As a twenty one year-old lad bound for a battlefield, he decided to take advantage of the last freedom he’d have for the foreseeable future and ran for the hills.

There was a text from Fenris congratulating him on his escape. He slipped the old man, which was to say the fifty-something crown prince of Rassvet and the commanding general of the entire Rassvet Defense Forces, a wink by way of response. The man was in the middle of the worst strain of his life, literally tasked beyond human capacity, but he checked in on a nephew. Maybe they were keeping each other sane. Occasionally, Gideon sent him goofy pictures of the group from their various stops around the country.

He’d set “DND” on most of the rest of the texts, largely from the innumerable bastard staff from Orestia demanding his whereabouts and trying to merely schedule him for the rest of his possibly quite-short life so he couldn’t have fun even when he was off-duty, which happened very rarely, and might not ever happen again. He imagined that there was quite a bit of hammering against that function, but no one important enough to just send an emergency buzzer through, which was to say, he apparently was safe for the moment.

The bottle came to him, he sipped, and he passed it on. It was schnapps of some sort, the good quality, monk-made stuff. He almost jammed the bottle’s mouth against his teeth at a hard bump and called out, “Yo, Setzer, you think you can hit every bump on the road or something?”

“Shove it your royal highness!” A voice called back over the cacophony of noise that erupted from the cabin, through the open window that separated the truck cabin with the bed.

Gideon, warm and relaxed from the bottle, slurred slightly, “Off with his head,” to the others in the truck bed.

“You are welcome to try!” Setzer challenged with a roll of his eyes and a snort. Sat in the front seat, Setzer was a colossal fabrication of a man seemingly designed in mimicry of a well-built stone wall of some sort. Dressed in a simple pair of bright red sweatpants and a black tank top, revealing the fresh black ink of a snarling Barghest that was etched onto his left bicep soon after graduation- most of them had the same tattoo somewhere on their body, a sort of symbol of pride for them. There in the driver seat of the truck - the only place he seemingly ever was - his green eyes flickering between the open stretch of country road ahead of them and down at the truck’s gas gauge that teetered dangerously towards empty.

“I hope your directions are right man, because if we don’t get to that motel soon we are gonna be stuck out here.” Setzer spoke aloud to his companion up in the front.

“Of course my directions are right, there’s only one road” Galahad said as he rolled his eyes, pointing down the stretch of road they’d been driving down for the past hour. “Now if you paid more attention to how you’re driving, maybe we wouldn’t hit every damn pothole on the High Road.”

Galahad was sitting back in his seat, his feet kicked up on the dashboard, showing off a pair of nice leather shoes and immaculately fitted jeans, his blonde hair whipping around his face as he casually glanced out the window. Balanced on top of his plain shirt and longcoat was a tablet that was seemingly suspended in midair by its corners, containing a road map of Rassvet.

Taking a sip from his own flask- a small silver deal with a rich honeyed whiskey, he pointed down the road at a small dot forming at the crest of a hill. “There’s the rest stop- that means beds and air-conditioning tonight.”

“Aww the pretty boy doesn’t like it when the bugs get in his hair?” Setzer commented with mock concern, as Galahad rolled his eyes again, responding by pulling a comb out of the Mist, making a show of meticulously fixing his hair before putting the comb away and letting the wind send it flying everywhere again.

"Put your dicks back in your pants ladies and gentlemen. We'll be there in twenty!" Setzer called back towards their passengers in the truck bed, effortlessly shouting over a rising guitar solo as he grinned ear to ear.

O N E L A S T T R I P

---

At first, she had hated the name. There were groups of her peers running around with names like Phoenix Squad, Wyvern Squad, but they'd been named after a wolf with resting bitch face. She'd gradually come around, thanks in no small part to a bit of light reading she'd done on the subject. Barghests weren't just wolves. They were demon-wolves, with supernatural abilities including (but not limited to) shapeshifting, stealing souls, turning invisible, and making clinking chain noises while they walked. Not a bad gig, all things considered.

She shivered, and pulled her coat a little tighter, fighting back against a sudden, surprising gust. Yes, she had insisted on sitting in the truck bed, and yes, she liked the feeling of the wind, but that had been before she realized that the wind would make everything feel even colder. They'd even scored a 4-door truck, and she'd opted to sit outside in the bed. Not one of her smarter moments: early spring in this part of Rassvet wasn't particularly warm. "Should've called shotgun," she muttered, pulling a flask from the coat pocket. Gideon had brought his fancy-pantsy-royalty drink, and she'd brought the moonshine. Cheap shit, good enough to get tipsy with.

Against her normal urges, she too passed it around to anyone who might want it. She'd brought plenty. Poor Zimmy Morander and her magical liver. One of her many marginally boring stories, of which there were many.

Bump. Zimmy actually bounced on that pothole. The shaking sent her messy-ass hair tumbling free of its hairband. Setzer, that motherfucker, she thought as she forced her unruly mane back into place. Unfortunately, she couldn't stop the wry smile that formed on her face, even though she huffed in mock indignation. The closest thing to family she had now. Aside from her parents, naturally.

"Yo," she said, raising her voice to an uncharacteristically high level. "If we gotta share beds when we get there, I will bunk with literally anyone but Setzer!” She sat up, making sure everyone heard her. "The bidding starts at three shots of anything and a pair of Donovyn's coupons. Morander needs her high-class, all-you-can-eat sundaes."

Lori sat in the back of the truck, behind Galahad in the drivers cab, her back against the window. It was the most protection she could get from the wind, and provided the most places to grab whenever Setzer hit a pothole. Which was just about every damn second. She grimaced as the truck shook violently again, forcing her to grip the hand railing. "Whose idea was it to let Setzer drive everywhere again?" She wrapped her scarf around her face tighter, huddling into her jacket. It helped take the bite from the wind, but not much. Her bugs were all hidden inside her, safe from the whipping winds.

They learned early on in the trip to hide inside of her, lest they get left behind in a gusting wind of a truck going faster than they can fly. She chuckled at the slurred banter of Gideon and Setzer. Looked like everyone else was fighting the chill of the wind with liquid warmth. She laid a hand on her right forearm, touching the tattoo through her jacket. Barghest Squad. The craziest motherfuckers in the Citadel. Her family. Soon to be split up and sent across the front lines to fight in a war that thousands perished in every day.

Alright, enough of that. She chastised herself, giving herself a shake to clear those thoughts away. That was a long ways off, and right now she needed to focus on the moments she had with them now.

She shook her head as a bottle was offered to her, passing on the offer to drink. Someone needed to be sober with Setzer while driving along the road. Besides, there'd be plenty of time to get completely fucked up when they stopped finally driving for the night. She shook again as they hit another bump, grabbing the side of the truck. Perhaps, she thought being too fucked up to feel every single hit of this would better.

"Yeah if we don't fall apart after hitting every single pothole along the way!" She yelled back to their illustrious driver, grinning. She hoped their stop was only twenty minutes out. Any more particularly big hits, and they'd have to catch Zimmy before she flew out of the back. "Try to miss at least one, eh Setz?" She raised an eyebrow at Zimmy. The girl had been touching that new bracelet every so often, as if to make sure it was still there, since she had gotten it.

She wouldn't answer any questions about it either, after Lori finally wondered what was so important about a new fashion accessory. She grinned at her friend. "I can offer three shots of some really crappy whiskey, the donovyn coupons, the soothing sounds of nighttime insects and pretty light shows if you so desire. And! I can safely claim to be the best cuddler in this truck."

Battle calloused hands wearing fingerless gloves welcomed the bottle of fine liquor with much enthusiasm. “Come to mama,” Kitty grinned, talking to the bottle. Her cheeks were flushed, but she would not admit to being tipsy.

The black-haired WARDEN chose to sit on the truck’s bed with Gideon and Zimmy. There was no bet, no contest, no nothing that had compelled her to take the position outside the relative shelter of the cabin. It was a choice she made based on a hunch that Gideon was about to finally break the sacred seal that had imprisoned the spirit of alcohol inside that royally expensive bottle. Fortunately, she was correct. Otherwise her battered bottom and chilled skin would have been for nothing. And so, to celebrate, Katarina touched the bottle to her lips then closed her eyes feeling the intimacy of the moment. She then took a swig and savored the smooth warmth that traced a line from her mouth down her stomach where it settled happily. When they got back from their road trip, she would have to ask her daddy to get her some of those, because who knows it might be the last request she would have the chance to ask.

“I’ll sleep with you anytime, anywhere, Morander.” She winked, passing the bottle as Lori made an offer that was too good Kitty regretted not opening the bidding herself.

Kitty sat on a cooler of imported beer she brought for the trip. Although she was getting drunk on someone else's drink, she did not go empty-handed, but she conceded that Gideon brought the finest they could ever have. Her back rested against the cabin and a gloved hand grasped the corners of the window to keep her from falling over. She could feel the bass drumming against her leather jacket as the guitar solo reached the end of a crescendo and the vocalist howled the notes into life. She could have sworn that the truck was dancing to the beat of the blaring music that Setzer so loved listening to and maybe, just maybe, he was doing it on purpose.

“So here’s what’s going to happen.” Blushing and all, her face was completely serious and there was no hint of slurring when she spoke, regarding both Gideon and Zimmy like their drill sergeant used to before laying down the objective for the day and the corresponding consequence should they fail. The WARDEN let go of the window and leaned forward with her elbows on her leggings-covered thighs, balancing herself so that she didn’t fall off the truck. “We have twenty more minutes before this is over. So, I propose we drink to celebrate Setzer’s driving skills and not falling off this bed.” Her hand rummaged through her pack and produced plastic cups while she raised her voice. “Anybody inside wants to join a drinking game? One shot every time Setzer drives over a pothole.” She shoved the cups to Gideon’s direction. It was his liquor anyway. “No retreat. No surrender. Quitters are losers.”

"Oh, even I've got a shot here?" Lee asked Zimmy, a smirk plastered on his face with his cheeks tinted pink, "Why didn't you tell me you'd set the bar so low? All these years spent bickering, wasted." He took a deep swig from his own bottle, one that seemed to contain an expensive-looking vodka (that he no-doubt had swiped from a party instead of buying on his own), and then wiped the remenants from his lips with his jacket sleeve. "An absolute tragedy, Zimmy. Nice to know I'm ranked higher than brickhouse Setzer, at least-"

Yet another pothole was hit, courtesy of said brickhouse, which sent Lee bouncing upwards and causing him to crash his head against the roof of the truck.

"Setzer you fuck- damn it!" He swore loudly, partially due to the pain in his scalp, and partially because the last bump caused him to spill some of the contents of his drink. He grumbled as he gingerly rubbed at the top of his head with his free hand and he offered his drink to Lori beside him with the other. She refused, so he simply shrugged and set the bottle down for now. The two were good friends, a little argumentative, but it was nothing like him and Gideon, which was a special case in itself. Either way, he was more than fine with sitting with her in the back seat of the truck, he'd rather avoid the biting winds from sitting in the bed, and with Zimmy back there it would surely be a recipe for disaster. Though friendship or not, Lee was absolutely heartbroken when Lori managed to make an offer to Zimmy that he couldn't top even if his life depended on it.

"No fair! Insect entertainment is totally an unfair advantage!" He exclaimed dramatically before lowering his head in defeat, "I can't beat that...and I don't even have coupons either. This blows."

He nonetheless chuckled lightly under his breath as he leaned back against his seat. He loved this ragtag group of young drunks, also infamously known as Barghest Squad. They were one hell of a group; even though their personalities didn't all 100% click with each other, they'd all shown they could work scarily well together and had some pretty insane synergy. Lee honestly never felt more alive than when he had to work with these guys, they pushed him to his limits for better or worse and despite his laziness, he absolutely loved the challenge. He couldn't imagine his life without them at this point, so it was no wonder he'd agreed to go on one final trip with them all.

He heard the mention of a drinking game, and an excited grin worked its way onto his face. Twisting his body around to face the bed of the truck, he peered through the back windows and listened as the groundwork for the game was laid down.

"Oh, you're on Kit-Kat," Lee enthusiastically agreed as he reached for a cup to be handed to him, "I'm already a tad fucked up but I'm always ready to drink to shitty drivers." He turned back for a moment to call out to Setzer, "Just kiddin' Setz! You're doing great!" He turned back the threesome in the back and slowly shook his head. "I am fully prepared to die to alcohol poisoning under your rules here. Let's do this shit."

"Going once, goingtwicesold! To the high-roller with the smoldering gaze and the golden whis-key to my heart." Zimmy glanced at Lee with an amused, admonishing look. "You didn't even try, hotshot! The great charmer Lee Datchery, brought low by magic fireflies. There's one for the books."

She chuckled and glanced down, noticing a smooth rock that had somehow made it into the truck bed. She scooped it up and tossed it to Lori. "Don't lose that," she said. "That's your ticket to the one-night-only snoozefest of the year. After what you offered, it'd be a shame to make you sleep on the floor." She winked back at Kitty. "You'll get your chance: I'm sure at one point we're all going to end up crammed into a single room." That was the downside of being broke-ass WARDEN grads.

Then Zimmy took a swig from her flask, her face scrunching up as she did. That shit was strong as fuck. Had to be, for her: The Morander Magic Liver was strong in her, passed down by her father, from his father, all the way back until Lord Figorn Koski-Morander. Zimmy still had no idea who that was, except that he had, at one point, allegedly defeated a dragon in a game of dice, and asked for an immortal liver in return. This incredible gift had slowly been diluted as it was passed down the generations, and the end result was that Zimmy Morander often consumed enough alcohol to kill a raging bear. Metaphorically.

She exhaled sharply as she set the flask down. "You kids really want to have a drink-to-the-death contest? I think I'll have to excuse myself on that, on account of not wanting to be responsible for murder." She pulled out her cell-phone. "Though I would be more than happy to document this no doubt legendary display of fortitude."

“Don't believe any of Lori’s cuddling propaganda! She’ll steal your blanket and kick you in your sleep.” Setzer called back towards the bed with a shit-eating grin.

The large quantities of faux-vitriol being slung at him seemingly having little effect on his demeanor. In fact, the comments on his driving seemed only to spur him on further. The wheels of the truck finding purchase in every pothole across the worn and neglected stretch of highway, sometimes going as far as swerving into the opposite lane just to hit his mark. The old pickup bore its undeserved punishment with little more than a whine; the sounds of bouncing bottles and the disgruntled passengers filling the air. Setzer following the road as it sloped upward towards the hill and the rest stop that Galahad had pointed out previously, an old paint-chipped sign welcoming them to sunny Sappl Springs.

“Yeah, you wind up on the edge of a bed with a corner of the blanket. It’s like trying to sleep with a cat on the bed,” Gideon added from his experience; the raw emotional wounds from his foray into serious romance, of course, were there but these folks all knew the details. As terrible an idea as letters were, he sent one from the Citadel to her with his graduation WARDEN tab, but it was a salutary gesture to say that he could live with the regrets. He hoped it helped rather than hurt.

Anticipating arrival; as the sun moved up, Gideon decided it was going to be a short-sleeves sort of day as solar power burned off the last of the overnight chill. He busied himself with packing away his smock and the fleece, and went with white shirt-sleeves underneath the pack that he hefted onto his shoulders. The hat stayed on, as it was thin merino wool, as did a pair of sunglasses that came out when the heat lamp up above them all really came on.

It was actually good tradecraft, as Gideon wasn’t easy to identify to someone that might know him by sight without really knowing him, though there was a tattoo that gave him away, for people that did know him; a Barghest on his forearm, something they almost literally got on the second or third tattoo shop away from the Citadel, mostly because the first place managed to misspell “Regrets” as “Ragrets” on one of the ‘prior work’ pictures in their catalog. It was Zimmy that insisted, with uncharacteristic sobriety, a much better shop that was less used to WARDEN traffic. Tattoo/piercing parlor next to a bike shop, so the clientele was rough.

Which was where Gideon acquired his awesome new wolf-head belt buckle in blued steel. He didn’t usually go for jewelry, but he liked that place. It put the idea of eventually getting a motorbike; they had salaries as Wardens now, as even Wardens didn’t work for free. This countryside would be badass on a bike. Once things were settled, he sat back once more and took a long glance around the countryside and the town they were pulling into. The constant weighing and measuring was a part of him, even if this was a vacation.

By the loosest definition of the term, one could barely consider Sappl Springs a town anymore. It once was a prospector’s town, but nobody tried to make it more than that, so when the Levistone ran dry its was only a matter of time till folks went looking for greener pastures. In their place abandoned machines, houses, and other refuse remained, a distitue collection splayed atop a small crest in the topography that juts outward from the otherwise flat countryside like a sore. Along the old main street clings the last few stubborn remnants of life: a cramped looking Marshall's office, the rare and peculiar type of dive-bar that could only be found in the middle of nowhere, a combination convenience store and gas station, and rustic two storied motel called the Cloudgazer, if the sputtering neon sign mounted to the roof was to be believed. A small but persistent ecology thriving upon the slow yet ever constant trickle of vehicles down the High Road.

The pickup broke the solemn air as it crested the hill roaring with life: music still blaring, wheels scraping against gravel, inebriated voices unfit to communicate in hushed tones, and the grumble and groan of an engine running on fumes. Puttering to a stop underneath the too-bright glow of the LED lined canopy of the gas station. The engine give a sputtered sigh of relief as Setzer turned the key. The fatigue of driving since the break of dawn just now beginning to tug at the hypothalamus.

It would appear that the WARDENs were the only traffic that had come through the town that day, though no one bothered stepping out of their respective buildings to welcome the travelers.

“Well I'll be” he muttered aloud, stifling a yawn “we actually made it.”

“Yeah, and it's your turn to pay for gas.” Galahad replied pointedly as he opened the passenger side door and hopped out. His stomach took on a warm feeling as he took another swig of the whiskey in his flask. The whiskey was a personal supply from a cask of the Quaid family brewery- his father fancied himself a whiskey snob, and bought a orchard and brewery midway through his military career. If he ended up getting maimed in the war, he could always retire and be a brewer, Galahad figured.

He tossed the flask of honeyed whiskey towards Setzer: among their merry little band, Setzer was one of the few who appreciated the taste rather than just guzzling everything down. Granted, Setzer also enjoyed guzzling everything down.

“I’ll go grab the motel rooms.”

“Holy shit, we survived,” Gideon called to Setzer. It was all in good fun, he’d actually gotten a kick out of the ride, the sunshine and the smell of pretty pure air. This place hadn’t had industry around in a while, and it had its charms for a guy like Gideon that actually liked being away from civilization’s dubious charms.

“Y’all can keep on throw your hurtful words around” Setzer replied with a smirk on his face as he exited the truck, making his way over to the other side to fuel it up. He stopped to pick a discarded beer can from the truck bed tossing it into a nearby trash can. “doesn’t change the fact that I can pummel you all so hard that by the time you wake up the war would be over. Actually... that’s a plan leaves more fun for me to deal with!”

Gideon climbed over the side of the truck, gave a long stretch to unkink his muscles, and then hauled his pack along over, an automatic motion of cinching straps in and settling it into place from long experience of just how to adjust a pack so it could sit all day. They all had shoulders from humping rucks, and this was just a much smaller forty-liter job. Miniscule, weight-wise, but loaded down with the necessaries.

“Nice view,” he told Lee, and that was actually Gideon looking past the buildings and onto the countryside. There were hills in the distance, and that looked like a good prospect for camping and hiking, if they brought enough water along for it. But the consensus was a night on mattresses that weren’t rolled up, “and I bet the air is perfect at night. I’m gonna just roll out my stuff here in the truck and enjoy those stars tonight. No sense in screwing with some smelly motel when it’s this glorious.” That took him out of the room equation, evening up the sleeping arrangements. That was Gideon all over again, he relished the outdoors. He wasn’t the most outwardly spiritual person in Barghest Squad, in the sense of meditating and praying, but he seemed to always charge his batteries when he was out roughing it.

“If we catch any snakes, you know how to cook ‘em, right Country?” Running gag. Gideon was just as good with cooking a snake as Lee might have been. Ten years of, improbably, rooming together meant that there were no new jokes.”

“Might as well take the roof,” Galahad called out to Gideon- pointing at the flat roof of the motel, “I bet the view is better than the truck’s.” He was walking back to the truck, left hand shoved firmly in his pocket, right hand holding a ring of keys.

“Not a bad idea,” Gideon agreed.

---

The Cloudgazer, witnessing its first bit of business in weeks probably, opened up most of the floor for them- a trio of two bed flats, all next door to each other, though the Barghest squad had set up most of their kit in the empty parking lot, with a small portable fire pit, and a collection of collapsible stools, beer cases of varying fullness, and the nearby steps for seating areas.

Galahad was sat on top of the truck bed, his legs dangling by the side of the truck, a radio sitting in his lap, adjusting the old dials.

"....And welcome back listeners to RBC and our continued coverage of the Vangar Conflict. There was hard fighting around the border town of Calty today between Vangar and Rassvet forces in the current push to secure Fort Kelgrav and after several hours of fighting our brave soldiers had to make a tactical retreat. On the coastal front a supply carrier was sunk today in the Ragnar Bay by a Vangar Submarine. And in more hopeful news Imperial Princess Colette Van Skymning, the youngest daughter of Emperor Mazurek Van Skymning ruler of Vangar arrives in Orestia tomorrow as part of the peace delegation. More on those talks within the hou-"

“That’s quite enough of that.” Galahad said aloud, more to himself, as the dial changed, switching from the Royal Broadcast Corporation to a more upbeat station playing rock music.Galahad’s sentiments weren’t new or uncommon- many, especially within the WARDENs, were rather skeptical about the idea of these peace talks having any particular effect, especially when up against a nation such as Vangar. As Setzer had so eloquently put it: Peace was a hard thing to work out when one country wanted complete and utter dominion over the other.

Lori caught the rock with a triumphant grin, pocketing it in her coat. With her victory in bunking with Zimmy secured, she turned to the very important business of gloating about her victory. "What can I say boys and girls? Its not my fault you weren't born with the natural advantages of having adorable bugs living inside of you." She winked at Lee. "I'm sure you'll get a chance next time, hotshot. Maybe if I happen to be out of ear shot." She looked at Kitty with both eyebrows raised. The idea to drink every time Setz hit a pothole was crazy, even by her standards. "Ah, I see you all want to die of alcohol poisoning! I'll brush off that spell to quickly sober people up then, just in case." She doubted even Zimmy's magic liver could withstand that kind of punishment, though she did want to see how far they would all get. "I wish you champions the best of luck."

Upon hearing Setzer and Gideon's slanderous accusations, Lori held a hand to her chest in mock offense. "How dare the both of you! I'll have you know I only kick if you try to unlawfully steal the blankets I have carefully divided between us, or hog the entire bed because you're built like brickhouse. And, and! I give plenty of blankets. You're both just greedy and try to get more!"

It was right around that time Setzer began to purposefully hit potholes. "Setz you spiteful fuck! You're gonna break the truck!" Lori yelled at him, hands clinging to the side of the truck as it shook and whined. If the truck broke because he wanted to be an ass she was going to punch him and then make him fix it then and there, without magic help. Maybe that'd teach him to be a better driver. Fortunately for all involved, they made it to the gas station. If only barely. As the truck rolled to a stop, Lori sprang to her feet and stretched, snorting at Setzer's threats. "Yeah, like you could hit me. Besides, you think I'm going to let you have all the fun to yourself? Hell no." She front flipped from the truck to the ground, landing on her feet with the grace and poise years of training got her. It was mostly to burn off some energy that sitting in a truck for hours on end had built up. That, and who didn't like to do flips?

She took off her jacket, revealing the tank top underneath, cooing as her insects left her body and began flying around her. "Why hello darlings! Are you happy to be outside now? I bet you are! It must have been sooo boring in there! Don't worry, we're done driving for the day now!" Their energetic flying and rapid colors indicated they were just as happy as she was, though that might have been them reacting to her emotions.

A few hours later

"Yeah. Enough of that garbage." Lori agreed with Galahad, scowling. She was sitting on a collapsible stool, near the fire, an almost empty bottle of beer in her hand. She didn't trust the delegation at all, even advocated for using the princess as a hostage. It's probably just another 'oh surrender and we'll allow you to be part of our empire without too much damage or death. You wouldn't want to end up like Astran or the desert would you? Hmm? Hmm?' because they're fucking bastards and they lie and kill and destroy and burn and I hate them I hate them I hate them- Lori paused in her mental rant, realizing her insects were beginning to buzz in anger and flash red. She was losing her temper again. She took a deep breath, clenching her fists, and breathed out. She focused on relaxing and letting her anger go like she had practiced with Zimmy, years ago in their dorm.

Her insects died down as she finished off the rest of her beer, putting it to the side. "When all this is all over, I say we pool our funds and start a business. Like, 'Barghest's Clothes' or 'Barghest Arms Dealers' or something. We were already pretty successful at keeping a gambling ring going, how much different could it be?"

“Cowards,” Kitty snorted as she passed a half-filled plastic cup to Lee.

Wisps of black hair escaped the short ponytail tied at the base of her skull, whipping around her face as she turned at an angle from Zimmy’s mobile phone and smiled. Was she taking a photo or a video? It didn’t matter, because the truck jerked as it ran over another pothole. “Cheers!” she cried merrily raising her cup to Lee but said cup didn’t get the chance to touch her lips before the truck jolted again and Setzer was swerving like a mad driver afraid to miss a pothole. He didn’t. The wheels screeched and traced a tight S on the high way before diving into a rather significantly deep rut that sent the passengers swearing and the bottles of beer clinking.

“We can’t do this,” she conceded, turning to Lee after only the first drink. “We can’t refill the cup faster than Setzer can find the next target.” Kitty had to give it to the man. When it came to finding dents or fissures or depressions on the road, he was an exceptional marksman. Possibly better than Gideon. Drinking from cups with equal amount of alcohol to avoid cheating just won’t work.

On her knees on the truck bed, with one hand on the window for support, she pulled the cooler’s lid open and grabbed a beer. When her hand came out of the container, so did a can with a white and red label. Printed on it was an outline of a big cat, possibly a tiger, and characters largely different from the alphabet used in Rassvet. The assortment of beers came with the latest shipment of goods from somewhere else in Yerin to be sold in several of her father’s establishments. If she was going to take over his business in the future, considering that she did not die in the front lines, Kitty would have to know about geography better and where in Yerin did her father import the alcohol from.

Pushing the thought aside, she assumed her place behind the cabin. Struggling for balance and with the wind on her hair, she opened the can and tipped it to both her room mates, then to Gideon, then her drinking buddy that afternoon, Lee. “To our driver and to the motherfucker who authorized his driver’s freaking license,” she grinned then passed the time consuming more and more of the intoxicating liquid with every bump and pothole, laughing and swearing, and losing track of time.

Until the truck finally pulled over under bright LED lights. The smell of gasoline lingered in the air even though there were no trace of recent use. Gasoline was made of the same stuff as that of what they were drinking, she thought. It should be, especially Lee’s vodka, because it tasted the same.

Barghest Squad seemed to share the same sentiment when the engine sputtered and died. Kitty stretched her legs and downed the last few gulps of the can she was holding, which was the can number whatever. “We did it,” she grinned brightly at Lee, feeling a silly. They didn’t necessarily follow the rules she set, but they did consume alcohol at a faster than average rate. Her eyelids felt heavy, but there was nothing a cold shower couldn’t fix.

---

A cold shower, an hour of sleep, and a whole lot of water was what it took to fix her. Thankfully it hadn’t yet come to the point where her drunken condition would require magical attention, and if it did, she trust that either Lori or Lee would do something. Almost a decade training together as a squad and they learned to entrust their lives to one another. She loved this crazy bunch, the family that she chose, and she didn’t even need to verbalize it. None of them did. Besides, it would be mighty awkward if she walked up to Galahad and told him she loved him. Kitty choked her laughter, which she hid with a fake cough, at the thought. The memory of Lee flirting with the amber-eyed WARDEN came to mind, but as far as she recalled, Galahad didn’t even blink.

That night, Katarina sat on a collapsible stool beside Lori. Both women were holding a bottle, though Kitty resorted to a bottle of water instead of beer. Her hair was still a bit wet from her recent trip to the shower meant to both help sober her up and wash away the dirt and grime from the day-long trip. She had left her jacket in the room and instead went to their makeshift fire pit wearing a plain crop top shirt, shorts, and an old pair of standard issue combat boots.

The chill of the edges of winter could still be felt through the occasional whispers of the breeze. But more chilling for her was the voice of the reporter announcing the news around Rassvet. Soon it would be them on the news, unnamed soldiers dubbed as “brave” fighting an enemy stronger in number and more experienced than themselves. Granted that they had the advantage of the mist, but looking around, she saw the children she grew up with – the best of their batch, but the least in the front lines in terms of experience. Genuine war experience mattered. How many of them would make it back after a year, two years, three years? She took a swig from her bottle, anticipating the accompanying bitterness and warmth, but then realized with disappointment that it was water and not beer.

It was Lori’s sudden pronouncement that snapped Kitty off her thoughts. If there was one thing that angered the otherwise gentle Astran, it was anything Vangar. They all knew her history. Kitty reached out and pat the other woman’s back as if to remind her that she was no longer alone in her quest to kill all Vangar soldiers on sight.

“Barghest Bagels, or Barghest Bags, or Barghest Bar and Grill,” Kitty added to Lori’s ideas of business names. “Oh! We already have a bouncer.” Grinning, she tipped her head to Setzer’s general direction. “I can pummel you all so hard that by the time you wake up the war would be over.” She puffed her chest and imitated his voice, intonation, and expression as best as she could, trying not to laugh as she did so.

The gambling ring was different though. It was fun, but more than the fun and the easy money that financed the squad’s over the top parties, it brought a semblance of normalcy in her life, kept her sane throughout the decade of training at the Citadel. It was supposed to be the squad's legacy, but too bad that it was over.

A M O N G F R I E N D S

---

If anyone was going to point out the obvious elephant in the room, it wasn't going to be her. But the radio had set her mental station to melancholy: what was the real chances that they'd all come back from this? Vangar was huge. It was the premiere world superpower. Rassvet painted it as an oppressive empire, but if you looked even for just a few minutes online, you would find that to be pretty exaggerated. She touched the bracelet on her wrist again.

Her government had chosen to fight. And they had been raised to front-line that fight. That was their purpose.

Cannon-fodder.

Get over yourself, part of her said, and Zimmy twitched slightly. There was no point in worrying about that future now. They'd come on this trip to get away from it all, not bring it with them. She was among friends, and that was the important part. She banished the whispers to the corners of her mind. Maybe they'd grow cobwebs and get stuck in place. Anyway...

"Barghest Bar, Bakery and Bathing? Alliteration, my dudes." Zimmy leaned down, fishing around in the case for one of the rapidly dwindling Zephyr Heights Lite she'd brought. Her favorite tasting beer, but not really the strongest. Shooting the shit didn't require her plastered on the floor. She grimaced, remembering the few times she'd gotten that drunk, and her hand itched absentmindedly at the back of her shoulder.

Apparently, when Zimmy achieved blackout-status, friction slowly started to lose its hold on her, like an air-hockey puck. Galahad, of all people, had taken an uncharacteristic joy of recounting to her the story; how one particularly raucous night, Katarina (also drunk) had used Zimmy as a sled, sliding across their barrack floor with Zimmy face-down and out for the count. It hadn't hurt her at all--there was no friction to burn her, and they hadn't been moving that fast--but she was still a bit miffed every time someone brought up the video taken that night. It had taken her a while to recover her rep after that.

The buzz behind her eyes surged suddenly, and Zimmy winced. It been a while since she'd used the Mist, and occasionally it built up like a stress-headache. She had to use it every so often, or she got snippy and irritated. She closed her eyes, tugging lightly on the magic around her. Her interactions with the Mist were like that: a sea of stars that blanketed every thing with a dimly-lit warmth. And when she tugged on certain parts of the glowing fabric...

Zimmy tossed the can into the air. It flew thirty feet up, like gravity had been switched off. Zimmy's lips twitched, and she smoothed out some of the cosmic folds she'd made around the can. The can switched directions, floating like a feather down into her hand. "C'mon, guys: picture this: a jungle gym for kids like me, a ball-pit for kids like Lee, a pool...a poolside bar..."

She tugged on the world again, this time snapping open the can before sending it back into the air. It tipped as it rose, and the amber liquid lazily leaked out of the hole down to her waiting lips. She chugged it like the pro she was. This was taking 'look ma, no hands' to the next level. Eventually, the can came down, now empty, and Zimmy tossed it onto the growing pile garbage beside the truck. "The bakery could be at the bar too, although I don't think pastries and pool water would go great together. Maybe gambling could rear its head in one of the buildings, too."

Thankfully, the buzzing had disappeared. It was more annoying than problematic. "I'd hate to play games of chance against any of you though, at this point." She grinned mischievously. "You're all a bunch of damn cheaters."

"What can I say, I know when to fold," Lee replied to Zimmy with an exaggerated shrug and a buzzed smile, "But now I know the price of admission. I'll be sure to stock up on those coupons for a rainy day, mark my words." He side eyed Lori as she gloated at him, adding, "Something tells me you're gonna be staying well within ear shot for awhile. 'S fine, you know I love a challenge." If there was one thing he could count on with Lori, it was that she would always be within ear shot enough to hear an opinion of his she could argue tooth and nail against for hours on end. Not that he minded, quite the contrary really. He could argue with others any time over their specific issues and qualms, but there was nothing quite like the element of surprise that Lori offered. From arguing the difference between a barghest and a hellhound, to declaring that onions were just sweaty apples, there were very few topics that weren't on the menu when it came to their debates.

A cup was offered to Lee as he reminisced about a particularly rowdy argument of their's, which he accepted with enthusiasm as he could tell it was some of Gideon's fancy royal drink. The vodka was nice and all but he was sure it had stripped layer of flesh off his throat, being the paint thinner it basically was. But this? This drink looked like one hell of a delight.

"Cheers- Fuck!" Lee exclaimed as he raised his cup to Kitty and attempted to down it in one go, only to splash nearly half of it on himself as Setzer hit yet another pot hole. He managed to drink some of it at least, but he stared in disappointment at the stains on his jacket. What a waste of good alcohol. "He's gotta be doing this on purpose," Lee whined lowly to the crew in the bed, "I know jocks like to aim for all the holes but this is ridiculous." Nonetheless, they still had a drinking game to complete. Kitty whipped out a tall can of booze and tipped it for a second cheers, leaving Lee to have to revert back to his previous bottle, which he tipped back at her in return with a cheeky grin of his own. Well, he was definitely going to feel this later.

Which was definitely true by the time they'd finally made it to Sappl Springs.

"We...We did it...woooo..." Lee slurred as he stumbled out of the truck, managing to keep his footing but just barely. He flashed Kitty a thumbs up, meaning to say something along the lines of "Mission accomplished." but felt woozy enough the moment he opened his mouth to speak that he was sure he was going to vomit. So maybe he'd drank a little too much a little too fast...whoops. Wouldn't be the first time, wouldn't be the last. He couldn't help but notice that Zimmy had elected to record the entire drinking game, and had he been more of a hypocrite than he usually allowed himself to be he would've objected to it. But, the tale of the living air-hockey puck known as Blackout Zim had become a legend at the Citadel for a reason; it was a story Lee loved to hear and a video he loved to see whenever the opportunity arose, and that opportunity came around plenty.

Regardless, he was a bit too drunk to function without embarassment for the moment, so he stepped off to the side under the pretense of wanting to appreciate the view of the couuntryside whilst he prepared a spell for his condition. Shockingly enough, he did read articles and journals on medicine even outside of required reading for his studies, but most often it was to find inspiration for spells to deal with daily dilemnas of his. One such journal described a drug that could cure the effects of drunkness with little to no side effects, only problem was that this meant the subjects would just continue drinking and eventually die of alcohol poisoning. The alcohol wasn't being removed after all, so without limits of course the average human would drink themselves to death. Obviously, the drug never reached the market, but that didn't mean its effects couldn't be recreated through magic. And thus, after plenty of research and trial and error, the spell Booz-B-Gon was made. One might think Lee would be irresponsible with such a powerful spell and abuse it. Which he absolutely was and did. Initially selling his talent for profit, it took a major scare with one of his peers to make him take his magic more seriously. Much like his adrenaline spell, he would eventually consider it largely unethical to use and would only cast it sparingly from then on, even on himself.

"Right, better cut the drinking so I don't die in anyone's arms tonight," he muttered to himself once the preparations were complete. With the spell complete, he cast it and let it slowly wash over him as he looked on at the scenery before him.

“Nice view.”

"You're tellin' me," Lee snorted lightly in response to Gideon, "It's pretty damn beautiful out here, way better than the Citadel. Reminds me a bit of home." He hadn't meant to say that. Teasing from others aside, it was well known that Lee didn't talk much about where he came from, though he'd been told on one occasion he'd been black out drunk and opened up about nearly everything he could remember about his hometown. Not that he could remember the conversation. He wasn't sure he even wanted to. Thankfully the familiar joke about snakes reared its head and helped to put him at ease.

"You know it." Lee answered as he put on an exaggerated accent, "Cook 'em, skin 'em, make a fancy overpriced shoe out of 'em for you royal folk to wear. Anything for you, Princey."

At any rate, he had to agree that it really would be glorious to sleep out beneath the stars tonight. He felt that tonight would be one to remember, for sure.

---

Lee sat with the others, at his feet sat a water bottle while a light beer was held in one of his hands. Following through on his promise to himself to stay responsible, he'd only been nursing the beer and politely rejected any offers for anything harder, with the reasonable excuse that he'd already drunk plenty enough but would be up to it in a couple more hours maybe. His eyes lowered slightly as he felt the mood begin to fall when the radio brought up the war, and instinctually pulled his jacket closer to himself both for comfort and for protection from the occasional chilled breeze that made its way through the group. Having cleaned it with a magic touch once he sobered up enough not to screw it up, his favorite jacket was now spotless, and seeing as he wore it pretty much all the time it was probably for the best he often kept it clean.

Thankfully the others began to lighten the mood, and Lee couldn't help but laugh at Kitty's impersonation of Setzer. He would've added to the joke with something along the lines of "That was perfect, all you're missing is a few dozen pot holes to drive through later," but to be honest they'd all already ragged on the poor tank enough that day, and his contributions to the joke might accidentally end up bordering on obnoxious. Plus, with Gideon sleeping outside tonight and Zimmy and Lori already set to share a room, there was a very real possibility that Lee could end up sharing a room with Setzer for the night, and though he wasn't particularly afraid of the guy he didn't want to antagonize him any further if that ended up becoming reality.

"Come on Zimmy, I'm an adult now," Lee faux whined when she called him a kid, "I mean, I won't turn down a free ball pit. But I'm totally not a kid anymore, teenage me obviously would've passed out by now after guzzling all this gasoline down." He simply smirked and raised his hands in innocence when he was accused of cheating at games though. He'd never been caught and wasn't about to admit to it now.

The town got chillier by night, but that was sort of expected of an arid sort of place, without humidity in the air to trap the heat. Luckily, they had Vorslav winter coats on. They had enough alcohol to not really worry about the chill in the air. While there were neon lights nearby, it didn't interfere that badly with the stars. Gideon had a plan to do what Galahad suggested and climb up somewhere and camp that way. However, clouds moved in, the high up kind one found in more arid climates, but that didn't dampen Gideon's enthusiasm to sleep out.

"Barghest Cafe; start your morning with a howl," Gideon deadpanned, in response to the others. The news radio blared on about peace talks this, arrival that. He lent an ear to it without really paying close attention, but it sounded like a slow grind out there. So far, careful use of fire support, avoiding lots of damage. The Vangars wanted their prize intact and were paying a price for the gains they made. The Rassvet Defense Forces were giving, considering a gross imbalance of firepower, a lot, but were always being pushed back. They were giving a couple thousand meters instead of a lot of ground, but they were being pushed back all the same.

WARDEN was expected to make up a lot of the difference here, plugging gaps, covering retreats, mounting forlorn hope assaults at the spearhead.

It still wasn't enough. And it was depressing. The fuckers can't even do a truce while they talk peace, he thought to himself, instead of burdening his companions with his bleak outlook on the course of this war. He believed in his country, but his gut told him something else. He could tell from other expressions that the radio was quickly killing buzzes. This was supposed to be their only chance at a normal existence, and it would be over soon. Gideon knew his orders and they were for Cockatrice Squad, attached to the 12th Royal Infantry Regiment. He'd be an individual replacement, working in someone else's platoon. A new face, not trusted and resented for taking someone else's place.

And so he engaged into the conversation with more gusto, tuning out the radio until someone mercifully tuned it out.

"We can sling espresso after the war, as a front for arms smuggling," he told them as he took another bottle of beer and popped it open with a multi-tool. They had enough practice in illicit activity at the Citadel, "That is to say, Kat will can run the real operation with minimal technical assistance. The rest of us will be baristas. Our training will make us fully capable of handling any caffeine deprived yuppie, including heavily armed ones that are about to snap."

He was mid-sip when he heard the crunch of boots on the ground. He tamped down the initial reaction down to glancing over, which was pretty muted for a guy that just got out of ten years of military training.

"Good evenin' there, wanted to check up on you young travelers, make sure all was well!" called out a voice from about twenty meters away. Silhouette in the darkness was a fellow in a wide-brimmed hat, but otherwise uniformed like a Rassvet army regular, though the uniform was flat khaki rather than camouflage. There was the sword and the rune, but on a shield. Marshalls.

"Good evening, Marshall," Gideon called out, "What brings you out here by night?"

"Well, there's a war on out here, and orders have it that it's my job to check up on anything unusual. So a bunch of young folks like you looking like you just left the Citadel..." he shrugged, "Well, you know." The fellow was substantial, even beefy, but there was a glint under the hat. The guy was being cautious, out here on his own. Gideon couldn't see any obvious backup, which didn't quite make sense. This one sounded older than that, which is probably why he wasn't stripped off his regional posting...yet.

Gideon nodded, "You need to check papers then?"

"Yeah, sure do. Just one of you will do, I don't see the point of running all y'all if it checks out."

"Not a problem," Gideon told him, as he got up, motioning the others down. As he stepped forward, deliberately and slowly, he caught the rifleman's position, and knew that this guy was brains and balls. He called one over to check them, but played it safe. The guy with the gun at the ready would have been able to lay down the fire if there was trouble. They wouldn’t be able to swarm the guy doing the talking.

He could respect the tactics.

Aware that the situation was not a heightened tension thing, but mindful of the weapon, he was slow to reach into a pocket, just so the man could see the motion. After all, it was wartime, and there was a heightened security tension. He walked over slowly and handed those over from arm's length, so the man could peruse them with a flashlight.

"Says here Third Class, correct? So what's a bunch of WARDEN types doing out here?" In Rassvet, a police state, they were expected to show ID, papers, and endure a check. This fellow, out in the boonies a bit, was at least a little more common sense and friendly in his approach. Around Orestia, these guys acted like they were on the front lines already, and that everyone was a spy.

"Graduation, peace talks and a short leave before we head out. We're set to head out from here and hike. One last tour of the auld sod."

The man grunted and read off the ID number on Gideon's papers, along with a photo ID and description, in some sort of spoken code, got some sort of response in the earpiece, and then handed papers back, "No problem, young man. You check out. Sorry about...things, but we're not a big detachment and we gotta be careful in these parts."

Gideon shrugged, "It's your ass to preserve and protect."

The man laughed out loud, "You're goddamn right about that. Well, look, y'all have a good night now, y'hea..."

And that's when the fire lit up the sky, a glow from above the clouds, flickering through them.

“I much prefer the sound of a bar or lounge myself,” Galahad chimed in, as the others discussed what they should do after the war went and finished. It was an entertaining thought, the idea of the war ending- and provided they won, neither of which sounded very plausible in the near future. Galahad wondered how many of them would actually return from the war. Gideon surely, the man was a survivor, and even if he didn’t want it, Rassvet would spend a large amount of resources to rescue him if he ever was captured or lost. Lee too would likely survive. A bit of a wallflower, the ones that fade into the background always make it back- that or die in an unmarked grave. But Setzer? The man was strong no doubt, but he had the tact of a wall. Galahad himself was a bit of a target, son of a general and all, and Zimmy was an infiltrator, and often ran the highest risk of them all. The list went on.

“I could see myself behind a bar,” Galahad continued, forcing the darker thoughts into a different part of his brain and compartmentalizing it, locking it away to deal with later. “Cocktail recipes can’t be any harder to memorize than spell formulae.” he added with a snap of his fingers, a small magical spark popping at the tip of his fingers- popping the cap off a bottle of beer in his hand to emphasize his point.

“And on the thought of gambling,” Galahad continued, nodding towards Zimmy, “I don’t see anything wrong with the idea of us winning- the house always wins after all.”

The conversation died down a bit as they saw the Marshalls. They’d all notice them appear, though Galahad chose not to give them a vague passing glance. Galahad and Gideon stood up at the same time, though Galahad relented and allowed Gideon to step up as he waved the rest of them down. Galahad contented himself to watch them with mild disinterest, sipping from his beer with feigned indifference. They weren’t doing anything illegal- well aside from Zimmy anyway, and he doubted the Marshalls cared enough to shut down their little party. Worse comes to worse, they’d just go into one of the rooms and tune out the sounds like they always did.

It was about when the Marshalls had finished their check up did Galahad notice the fireball peeking out of the clouds above. It wasn’t too hard to miss, there was a dull roar from the sound of the fire moving through the sky- and it was pretty fucking big.

It was also rather close too.

As the fireball fell out of the clouds above, the members of Barghast squad could clearly see that it was not a magical fireball or meteor, but rather an airship falling out of the sky. The airship was huge- bigger than any Rassvet warship. The colors of the ship were hard to make out- as everything was painted orange and grey by its trailing fire and smoke, but it certainly seemed like a civilian liner rather than a warship, if its smooth shapes and angles, and large, probably white balloon was any indication. That being said, it was rather hard to see the entire silhouette of the ship, as its sides appeared to have been peppered with holes- likely of the cannon variety- and belched fire and smoke.

Passing overhead, Galahad craned his neck as he watched the massive airship continue its fiery arc across the sky, pieces of wreckage, debris, and even a few parachutes broke away from it. Galahad winced internally as he saw a few of said parachutes collapse- as shrapnel and debris punched holes in them or crushed them. The airship was rapidly losing altitude and continued to shed large chunks of itself before it smashed into the badlands several miles from them.

They could still see the glow of the fire and smoke from behind the craggy rocks and hills- which glowed brighter for a moment before the ground rumbled and a explosion erupted from the location of the wreckage, sending more wreckage flying as the ship’s Mist Reactor went critical and failed.

“That doesn’t look like one of ours.” Galahad commented as he pulled out his phone, his brow furrowing as he noticed that there was no signal- not even emergency lines. The radiating mist from the explosion was probably fucking with their signal- that, or something particularly sinister was afoot.

Lori smiled faintly as the banter went on, leaning forward on her seat. There would be plenty of time to face the harsh realities that awaited them. For now, it was better to dream and to laugh. The grinding of a boot on gravel made her instinctively jump and tense, glancing over her shoulder. She only slightly relaxed at the sight of of the Marshall. This was a police state, after all. And WARDENS or no, if there was something only slightly wrong with their papers, things could get ugly.

Still, she trusted Gideon as he waved them down, idly reaching down and picking up her bottle as if it was still full. Her other hand remained open and facing the talking pair, ready to cast a ward should the gunman that Gid saw decide to shoot. He shouldn't, their papers were probably the most carefully organized in this entire area. But, as the Marshall said, 'you can never be too careful around these parts'. She watched them idly, waiting for something either good or bad to happen. Everything seemed to be going fine, Gideon's paper checking out, the Marshall getting ready to let them go. Lori relaxed back into her seat, ready to get another actual beer. Hopefully their night would continue uninterrupted after this.

She should have known better.

Lori stood up from her seat as the airship fell from the sky, a burning behemoth. "Shit." She breathed in a mix of horror and awe, reaching for her phone. The clean up for that would require more than just the seven of them and whatever the Marshalls had on hand. She looked down at her phone, ready to make the call, and then frowned. No signal. That's...inconvenient. She looked up as the ground shook and a distant explosion sounded. The ship must have made a final, explosive, landfall. She found the odds of anyone surviving that to be slim to none, especially after witnessing the parachutes getting shredded on the descent, but there was still a chance. They needed to investigate that chance at the very least.

"Bit too big for ours." Lori replied to Galahad, dropping her bottle and moving over to the truck. "Well, come on. We're the closest thing to a rescue team right now. If, somehow, it is one of ours we need to help any survivors. And if it's not one of ours, we need to then secure any survivors and figure out what the hell it was doing in Rassvet airspace at this time of night." She looked expectantly at her friends and the Marshall. This was, after all, his detachment.

“Café by day and bar by night. We capture a bigger market and sell coffee to those who are too drunk to drive.” Sounds like a sensible plan. But of course, it would not be Barghest Squad without a plot twist – arms smuggling, as suggested by his highness, was a heist that the squad would certainly enjoy pulling-off. It shouldn’t be that difficult given that they had the capacity to carry with them items without being identified by metal detectors or customs security. Limited as it was, Katarina had been contemplating about the potential uses of the mist pocket since the day it was introduced.

Speaking of the mist pockets, the mage placed the plastic bottle down as she recalled a certain volume that she kind of borrowed from the Citadel sitting idly in her personal invisible sack. With a flick of her wrist, the fourth and latest edition of A Complete Guide to the Beasts of Yerin materialized in thin air just as a voice called out their attention and the conversation about the future of the squad went hush. Instinctively, she snapped her attention to the source of the voice, but relaxed when Gideon motioned for them to stay put. There shouldn’t be any problem if all these men wanted to see was their papers.

Shrugging off the sudden intrusion, the mage went back to the more pressing business of checking out the book balanced on her thighs. Before they left the Citadel, Kitty had been toying with this idea of a really flashy spell befitting their squad name, but admittedly lacked time to pursue the study. Thus, she came to the library and borrowed the book. She had just made it to table of contents when a sound of a distant blast, distracted her. Straightening up on her seat, she noticed a faint glow above the clouds. Her first thought was fireworks. Mega fireworks, because what else could it be? Then slowly, as her eyes adjusted and the initial blast faded, the shape of an aircraft became more apparent. It sailed across the sky overhead, lighting the otherwise moonless night. Only its momentum kept it in flight, with its main engines probably damaged and gravity pulling it to the ground.

Lori’s initial shock might have taken her to her feet, but Kitty was watched wide-eyed in her seat as helpless passengers who thought that they would escape the claws of death by jumping off the ship were gunned down. Just when she thought they could all spend a quiet night getting wasted together as a squad, an unidentified aircraft literally crashed the party.

Kitty deposited the volume back to the mist pocket then followed Lori to the truck. The Astran was right, they might be the best chance the passengers of the aircraft had. The squad might be off duty, and had no business poking their heads into a potential legitimate military operation, but hey was that supposed to stop the newly graduated WARDENS from saving the world one crash site at a time?

“It shouldn't be that far. Let’s do this shit, boys and girls.” Smiling, she climbed to her feet and stretched her arms over her head, before walking to the truck as if it was just another mission simulation at the Citadel. “Standard recon protocol. Observe and report. Do not engage enemy units – if there are enemy units – unless you are about to get shot in the face. Once perimeter is clear, we’ll start looking for survivors. Lori, we’ll be counting on your tiny scouts.” Her eyes found the Astran, then Lee, who although not a healer, was the closest to one that the squad had. “Sounds good?”

Katarina resumed her position on the truck bed. It was cold outside especially when the truck started to move, but she didn’t want an obstructed view of the surroundings when they approached the site. The more she could see, the less surprises to be concerned of. “The faster we get this incident sorted out, the more time we have to settle our unfinished cases of beers. So, move out, squad.”

S Y S T E M S H O C K

---

Zimmy had been considering and performing increasingly acrobatic methods of beer consumption throughout the conversation with the Marshall. They were all legal, all over the Rassvet legal drinking age. The Marshall hadn't even so much as glanced at her throughout the whole conversation, which suited her just fine. More drink for her.

She'd been spinning a beer around its' center axis, catching the slow falling liquid as it oozed out, when the boom from the distance shocked her focus. The mist collapsed at her lapse, and despite her fastest efforts, a generous amount splashed down onto her shirt. "Oh, motherfucker," she hissed, before searching for the cause of the disturbance. It didn't take long. Damn. Vacation time had been cut short: she flipped the switch in her head to 'All Business'.

"I'm on it," she said, and leapt into the air. She was sober--mostly--so the mist came easy to her call, and she felt the usual thrill as gravity's hold on her streeeetched, then gave in. At fifteen meters in the air, she took a deep breath, and blinked toward the crash site. It wasn't very intensive, and she ended in the air above the wreck, falling at a snails pace. For good measure, she pushed the fabric of the world away from her, camouflaging with the sky. If a threat was nearby, they'd have to devote a lot of effort to finding her.

With a mental zip she turned on the standard Rassvet, encrypted comms spell. "Specter here. Not seeing any signs of life from up here. A few bodies. Sensing a shit ton of residual mist. Ground approach might make spellcasting dangerous. Advising caution." In a few more seconds, she'd have to blink back to a safe distance or face the risk of mistburn.

The Marshall loaned Gideon a rifle; they didn't know what they were going into. He had some magazines stuffed into the pockets of his smock, to feed the thing if necessary. It was the old RM-63 type, a heavier battle rifle that was a good design for a tough climate with an adjustable gas system. No frills, and Gideon didn't particularly worry about that; iron sights were just fine. It was heavy, and two generations older than the current issue, but it had solidity to it.

The Marshalls didn't want to go in; they left that to the well-trained WARDEN types. "That's y'all's specialty. It's dangerous, take this," he'd drawled.

He'd been riding on the truck bed into the Mist, keeping eyes on his sector. The Mist and the wreckage, presumably the deaths, would have strange consequences for the unwary.

The Mist was dangerous, but it was a two way thing, in Gideon's experience. They'd had training on operating in it and it was always dangerous, always tinged with a real danger. WARDEN training was no picnic, with a washout, burnout and training accident rate that was kept a state secret to the outside, but the Mist training was always the worst. It seemed like people went gibbering mad or were physically destroyed in the Mist more than anywhere. He drifted into the crater, easing himself down with the surefootedness of someone used to navigating rough terrain. He kept his head on a swivel, moving slowly, stopping to look, and then moving again. You didn't make assumptions in the Mist.

Things floated in the air due to the suspension of gravity, including bits of flotsam, jetsam and Vangar troops. It was a disturbing hellscape; he brushed one of these zones and felt himself being lifted up before he jinked out of it and into normal gravity again. He signaled by hand for the others to know to avoid that spot.

He kept himself calm mentally by counting steps, to make sure that they had an exact path right back to the truck as necessary, by knowing just where it was. You couldn't rely on navigational aids, even a compass, in these situations. He didn't particularly need to enhance his night vision with a spell, something he'd devised when the trainers, particularly Master Sergeant Rask, made sure to sabotage equipment they were using on training missions, because there was enough torchlight all around.

He glided forward, avoiding the more formed looking pockets of the stuff, and keeping an eye out for anything that looked like embers and fire, making his way around those spots. But he moved forward, his face set. He noted the debris to himself, this thing suffered a catastrophic failure or was deliberately destroyed by a weapon or sabotage. Too thoroughly blown up. Airships were designed to get down if something went wrong. They had emergency systems for the purpose. Rarely, since the very earliest days, did you have a zeppelin or something go down in some sort of pillar of fire. The next thing he noted was, this isn't some Vangar warship sneaking in the long way and trying to bombard a target on a surprise attack. Combat airships were notoriously spartan, all excess devoted to armor and weapons. This didn't feel right.

He took a knee alongside Setzer, with his rifle cradled against his chest, barrel down, and grunted for the purpose of the comms spell, "Vangar Class A's, Imperial Royal Guard flash on the shoulder there. This guy was dressed for a party and they guard the Skymnings." He grunted. These were clues, but he wasn't committed to an answer beyond what they had in front of them.

"Look there," he pointed, "Greifskreuz. Griffon's Cross," he amended for those who didn't speak Vangar, noting the red and gold ribbon around the neck, with a sapphire blue and white pendant. Setzer moved on while Gideon did what any good recon-trained fellow might do. He checked the man's pockets for ID, "Captain Gerhard Rekks. Imperial Royal Guard," he reported.

When Setzer started to move toward the pod, Gideon shifted to cover the approach. It wasn't that the rifle was up, it was just reassuring weight in his hands. He was disciplined. Instead, he picked a good spot and kept his eyes peeled. This was still a rescue mission, but it was getting spooky, fast. These were Vangar military, on Rassvet soil. There were a number of reasons why well dressed Vangars in a fancy airship might be in Rassvet. But even if these were the enemy, it didn't look like anyone was in any condition to present a danger. And the Mist didn't care what flag you wore on your lapel.

"Survivors of what, though?" Gideon asked quietly, to be heard by the other members of Barghest.

Falling. Slowly.

Zimmy wasn't sure if she was a safe distance from the crash site to be blinking around. In hindsight, it had been a stupid move to get so close from the air, but in her defense, there hadn't been a ton of time to consider their options. Especially if there were survivors, like Setzer had hinted.

Nothing to do but pray, really. She felt her speed slowly increasing as her world of Mist slowly contorted back to normal. Usually she would keep tugging on the glowing fabric of reality to keep herself light as a feather, but any touch of magical manipulation could be a risk in a Mist-heavy area like this. Better to do a short hop than to wait around to pick up speed.

She exhaled sharply, and pulled. The world warped around her, and she hit the ground harder than she would have liked. "Fuck," she hissed, as electricity raced through her body. Her leg buckled, only ironclad will keeping her upright. That had not been smart. Her entire left side burned with energy, and she had to limp to avoid weight to the already overstimulated leg.

Walk it off, Morander. She gritted her teeth, instructor Tarold's voice coming to her mind. The burning is the first sign of you getting too close to the edge. Don't even think about the Mist until that excess power's gone somewhere. Her jaw set, and Zimmy tried to continue on foot toward the pod. She limped awkwardly for a few moments until she cursed violently and scuffed her burning leg against the ground.

"This is callsign 'fucking idiot'," she sighed, resigning herself to the inevitable. "Can I get a shoulder to lean on for a minute or so? I'm a little high on Mist over here. Don't say anything, I know." She expected a full roasting from Lee later. Smarmy asshole.