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"Smash and grab, now you're talking Colonel!" Ziska said, seeming to purr with satisfaction.

Catching herself, she smiled kindly, and then continued in a far more measured tone, "We should of course, most magnanimously, offer the transports the chance to surrender. However, if said transports fall into our hands and still elect to resist, well, we won't really have much choice. Violence is to be abhorred, naturally, but the survival of this fine company comes before concern for our enemies. These very same enemies will not offer us much generosity should we find ourselves out of supplies, ammunition, and most critically water. We are the villains now and a quick death is the only kindness that our new opposition will likely show us if we end up at their mercy instead."

Unmarred and seemingly unbothered by the discipline the Colonel had most cruelly leveled against her and Ingrid, Ziska seemed if anything to only be further energized by the growing tension. Her legendary conditioning had seen her through worse physicals trials and for all her many, many vices, MechWarrior Ziska took an almost masochistic pleasure in pushing her body to the very edges of physical failure. Even a pirate knew that if you wanted to fight, be it with fists, knives, or BattleMechs...you had to be fit enough to outlast your opponents. The blistering and utterly overwhelming warmth of a damaged BattleMech in combat leaking coolant by the second offered no respite for the weak or out of shape.

Basking in her newfound glory, Ziska made little effort to hide her obvious pleasure at how the day at developed. She'd almost gotten into a fight, despite having no intention to do so. It was a shame, Ingrid seemed far less amused about the matter than she was, but Ziska had begun to nourish a strange hope that she could somehow convince the Duchess to relax and abandon her hopeless chivalric notions. Even pirates followed codes of their own making, Ziska took no issue with such ideas. However, it was Ziska's firm conviction that a mercenary had to have a flexible code of honor, honor being a very loosely defined word when it came to professional sellswords piloting giant machines of war.

Equally intriguing and amusing was her new BattleMech. For it surely had not passed Ziska's notice that Reya had done something very sneaky and most wonderful to her RVN-3L. Ziska wasn't sure what exactly modifications the BattleMech engineer had completed to her BattleMech, but she knew enough about the recently popularized Guardian ECM to know that what the Colonel described was well above and beyond the abilities of the standard Guardian ECM stashed in a RVN-3L. She decided that she would interrogate the engineer at a later date. It was always poor form to remain ignorant regarding recent technological developments. Especially when said field modifications might require rapid repairs during battle given the uncertainties of combat.

"MechWarrior Daschke raises an excellent point however," Ziska continued, nodding towards Ingrid with not even a trace of annoyance or mischief, a rare sight indeed when it came to Ziska. "Isolated and under supplied as we are, we can't exactly discount any potential allies or at least less hostile parties that may aid us, even if only for a short time. We are the stunning debutante at the ball, we might as well size up our suitors before we accept any invitations to dance."
I think we need to bring in the heavy guns.

Let's call the UN.
"A tournament!" Ziska suggested, positively jumping with glee at the sudden chaos that had overtaken the hanger in mere moments. Hearing her shouting, General Kerensky raised her head lazily and eyed Ziska curiously, but warmly from Reya's lap. Having decided upon her course, Ziska bowed low, in a courtly fashion towards the yawning cat, before continuing. "A tournament for the most virtuous Duchess Daschke's hand. Once we have defeated our present foes that is. General Kerensky will surely permit such a noble competition to take place in her great hanger."

Her voice now free of any vulgarities and mercenary language, Ziska spoke in gentle, luscious courtly tones and with all the formality of a Great House court noble lady.

"It is not right that a highborn women possessing such noble blood, such grace and so many, many wonderful talents should be left unattended among the multitude of rogues, rascals, and villains that can presently be found in our distinguished mercenary company."

"My most honorable person excluded, of course," Ziska quipped, grinning at her newly claimed audience.

Dancing in between Ingrid and Tarak, Ziska gently guided Ingrid backwards and away from the taller MechWarrior. Offering the tip of an invisible hat, Ziska bowed formally at Tarak and channeled her best recollection of a proud knight that she remembered from some ancient tragedy performed in the Magistracy of Canopus, "Tread carefully, MechWarrior Tarak, for should you continue to take such liberties with our most esteemed lady and dare to utter such base accusations again...then I, the most chivalrous and crafty MechWarrior Ziska, great student of courtly love that I am, will have to resolve the matter with great violence."
Man at this rate we're all gonna have to get together to stop Latveria.


Yes, we must help them.

I mean, we must stop them.
Right Where I Belong...


"You've got an hour," Ziska barked to Davids, grinning like a fiend as she stole the cup of coffee he held in his hand. From his perch sitting atop an empty ammunition crate, Davids still reached to her chest.

"I heard," Davids coolly replied, snatching back his coffee cup before Ziska could finish all of it. Minhas sat next to him and smiled broadly at the sight of Ziska. Frequently amused by Ziska's antics, she burst into a fit of laughter witnessing Ziska's latest crime. Bowing low, as if she had completed a theatrical performance, Ziska flashed her a quick wink, deftly avoiding the kick from Davids that narrowly missed her leading foot.

"How's my girl?" Ziska cooed as she took a light step away from Davids. She nodded in the direction of her Raven, gazing with real affection at the sleek BattleMech. A game of poker, a dangerously large pot, and half a melted Jenner to soften the fresh pain of her humbled opponent later Ziska had somehow left the Capellan interior one state-of-the-art BattleMech richer.

"Good enough," Davids said. "Patched up the damage from your most recent adventure, ammo is still low, but not much we can do about that given the circumstances. You should be good, provided you don't do anything stupid again."

"Why, MechTech Davids, when was the last time that, I, the great and honorable MechWarrior Ziska did anything foolish."

The glare that Davids shot back her and his well-practiced frown, told Ziska all that she needed to know and she stifled a chuckle. She trusted Davids. He was an honest pirate, just like her. She knew he would get the job done or at least as good as it could be given the lack of time and spare parts. She trusted her Astechs. Kesi, Sunter, Kan, Licht, and Minhas. They'd do what Davids told them and then some. They were good and getting better, she only hoped they would make it. Civil wars of any scale were rarely clean affairs in her experience.

"This isn't a game, Ziska," Davids finally said, his voice a low rumble of gravel. "You need to to take this seriously. And for the love of whatever Canopian whore you worship, stop drinking the actuator oil. We're going to start running low soon enough."

"Minhas, don't let our dear friend Davids, deceive you. We have plenty of actuator oil remaining," Ziska began, shooting daggers at Davids, and then tutting loudly as she made eye contact with the young Astech. "And as for any whores, I will not be lectured on my intimate relationships by a man with no fewer than fourteen children scattered across the Inner Sphere. For shame, Davids."

"Ziska," Davids hissed, shifting angrily to his feet, "Enough of your jokes. Enough of your little jabs. You're drunk. You're drunk on the poison that you swallow. You're drunk on the fighting. You're drunk on all of this. Worse still, I would bet that you're enjoying every moment of this. You're a danger, you're risk, and you're out of control...again."

Minhas let out a gasp and seemed to be desperately searching for a way to escape as her two nominal supervisors bickered.

"Would you prefer it if I sat here weeping? Do you want me to apologize? Should I feel bad?" Ziska spat back, her voice full of anger. Ignoring David's towering height, she stepped closer, and jabbed a finger aggressively into the large MechTech's chest. "This is exactly the sort of game that we signed up for Davids. You just won't admit it. None of you will."

Davids didn't bother to reply, turning around, and sulking away with a furious shake of his head. Satisfied with her victory, Ziska cheerfully waved goodbye to the still flustered Minhas as she strode towards her RVN-3L. She loved it already. Just like she loved every BattleMech she piloted. The BattleMechs were just like her cherished lovers, past and present. Wonderfully exciting and remarkable in more ways that she could ever hope to remember. And always, always daring her to live more dangerously.

Her chat with Ingrid had been amusing. The Duchess intrigued her. Her ideals. Her code of honor. Her insistence on carrying a sword into battle. Her obsession with dueling enemy MechWarriors. Ziska enjoyed the strange company that she kept. Mercenary life suited her. She reveled in conflict. She constantly sought out trouble. She found fights even when they were on R&R and if she couldn't find them then she created them. Peace never suited her. It left her too much time to think. Thinking too much was dangerous. It lead to questions. Questions that Ziska had no intention of ever asking, much less answering.

Times were good again, Ziska thought, bristling with new found energy. She felt good. She felt alive. She was exactly where she was supposed to be. Fighting terrible odds. Painted a villain. Worrying only about the next moment. Trying only to survive.

She could see the weariness in the faces of her comrades. She could feel the growing tension. She could sense the desperation. She could hear the raised voices and it was impossible to miss the tear streaked faces. They didn't understand. They couldn't. Not completely. Not yet. They hadn't seen the things she had. They hadn't done the things that she had done. They wouldn't. They couldn't. Not yet.

Espian Guard. Crimson Fists. Great Houses. ComStar. Even the Star League, before they had gone tits up. They were all the same. They weren't heroes. They weren't any better than she was. They were worse. Far worse. Ziska didn't leave irradiated wastelands behind her. She didn't starve entire planets. She didn't send entire generations to die to move a line a couple of millimeters on a star chart. She killed only those she had to.

But they paid well. C-bills were enough to soften any remaining pangs from her conscience. She did her best not to listen to the whisper in the back of her head. She didn't let her thoughts wander. There was only one thing to worry about. Surviving. She'd fight. She'd hold the line. She'd kill whoever she had to. But she would survive. She would survive even if it meant killing half the planet. Better them, better them than her. The dead would understand and if they didn't, well, then she'd just run away faster.

Spotting the crowd arranged around her RVN-3L, Ziska shouted in mock offense, "Hey! Raven rides are 1,000 C-Bills, for a group it's 5,000 C-Bills. Don't think there's a discount just because we are friends!"
Slower than intended, but I should have a post wrapped up tomorrow.
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Woo, let's go!

Canopian ex-Pirate with a Raven-3L coming right up.
Clanners aren't real, they can't hurt you.
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