Banned
&
The Siege of Amone, September 26th - Trading Luck
For a fleeting moment, Thomas felt something ease into his boots, quivering them around like some sort of ragdoll. The feeling was...short-lived, but...it hit hard. For a while, it had been one that stuck around in dire situations, but now was anything but that. Thomas scanned the group, seeing the strange mishaps of Jean with his Francian food, the chatting of others and the few smiles that would be shared amongst one another. And...it bothered him? Did it? Was that truly the reason? No. Clearly not. Thomas wasn’t bothered by their interactions, more scared of what could come. Time and time again, he’d seen this same scenario play out within his bombastic past:
The fields would be flourished, absolutely bloomed, with friends and familiar faces. He’d left his homeland in 1910EC to fight a war for a continent he’d never even seen before. Hundreds of like-minded, adventurous and brave souls wandered into the depths of Europa’s underbelly, boarding an armada of ships and vessels unlike anything seen before to the common Oceanic man. Courageous smiles and banterous chuckles kept them going, despite the reality that awaited them across the oceans. Thomas had friends, many friends, from his training days and saw to keep them by his side. They made promises to one another to see how many kills they could get, or if they could snag an Imperial souvenir from a corpse, as if something so grim were something to laugh about. And then, days after they first set out, the interception came.
Thomas felt afraid for the first time in a long while. The torpedoes and the cannonades, intercepting their convoy at full velocity, slammed into the side of his ship, causing it to topple over onto his side. Though the scrapes of metal screeching alongside the blaring emergency sirens tore his ears to shreds, Thomas survived and made it to the rescue craft they sent out, many of those faces he’d been chatting to never made it.
Across the war, those numbers dwindled. Some got split up to other regiments, other theatres and other battles sprawling all through Europa’s mountains, forests, hills, plains, marshes and sand-dunes, whilst many fell before his very own eyes. Battles like the Apelhout, Salztal, Dunstones and the Great Oudgem forest all tore those away from him. Until it were just Freya, Naomi and himself. Then came Operation: Breached Gates...and Naomi was added as the final nail in Freya’s coffin. Now? Now it was just them two. Thomas, in that short moment, feared that he might lose those around him, such as he had many times before. They were wonderful people, all in their own regards. To him, in the short time he’d known them, they felt like a family to him. It was an uncanny feeling, but he loved it. He loved them. They’d all felt so different from the regular soldiers and groups he’d fought alongside. They were charismatic, heart-broken, romanticised, downright strange in other cases, nervous and human. All of them: human. What did they deserve for such punishment to be put upon them? Perhaps he’d find out...perhaps...for then, Thomas stood, blankly looking at a small piece of meat he held in his hand, contemplating whether or not eating it was a good idea.
---
As Luke fell asleep in her arms Victoria had time to reflect on the letters she had sent out earlier. Maybe she shouldn’t have sent those letters, or at least not the one addressed to Elizabeth . That was some heavy stuff for her daughter to read, and she wouldn’t be doing that for another few years at least so there had been little point. The only thing that would come of it would be her grandmother slicing it open and skimming the words before promptly tossing it into the fireplace and tell her parents about it so that the wayward soldier would get an earful at the next mail call. “Goddamnit, I’m stupid.” Victoria cursed to herself hatefully, gently brushing a strand of hair from her adopted child’s face. Why couldn’t she think things through ever, get through a full week without fucking up something in someway or another.
Perhaps it was genetics, she mused, humming a quiet lullaby to an abrasive little bastard (the thought occurred to her that people might like him if they saw how sweet he looked when sleeping). After all it wasn’t exactly a well thought out decision for two parents who could barely feed themselves to have three kids. Maybe poor decisions were just part of her blood. But even if that was true she would still take the prize. She managed to end up with a kid, an alcohol addiction, multiple deaths and a nearly comical number of assaults attributed to her and a host of issues all by the time she was eighteen. It was almost impressive in a darkly comedic sort of way. She was the sort of person that a parent would construct as a straw man to frighten their kid away from consorting with the wrong types.
Victoria was fucked, her life wasted before she hit twenty. Assuming she made it out of this stupid fucking war all she could was return home and go back to the same shit she had been doing before she left Praire, knocking loose teeth and mugging strangers so she could get a little change to buy some stale bread. It was almost preferable that she catch a sniper’s bullet or get blown into a thousand unrecoverable chunks by an Imperial artillery shell. The only reason she didn’t want that to happen was because she had people to care for. She had to ensure that Luke and her daughter didn’t follow her path, and someone needed to look out for Diana and baby-proof everything for her. Once the war was ended and she was sure that they were fine, then she was allowed to give up and go back to her old ways. Luke’s offer for her to move to his hometown, while touching, wasn’t likely. Vicky wasn’t a farmer or housewife, she was a violent thug, a murderer and bandit. That’s all she would ever be.
But maybe it would work for Elizabeth. A new home could turn out to be the vaccine against a life of bloodshed, and it would give Luke another little girl to look after instead of getting in trouble. As he stirred back to life against her chest she looked down to ask him about it. Her mouth had hardly even opened when he dashed out of the tent like Hell itself was chasing him. Oh well. She had best be on her way herself. With a grunt Vicky stood up, putting on her hat and grabbing her rifle. The carbine and her flag were both carefully hidden within her bedroll before she went off to grab dinner, the packrat not wanting her trophies stolen.
She followed her nose to the mess area, loading a tin plate with food before retreating out of the way. She had already swallowed a chunk of meat and washed it down with a drink from her flask before she realized just who she was standing next to.
“Oh.” The Oceanic killer squeaked. “Hello.”
She was right next to Thomas Carter, Marathon himself, the Hero of Breached Gates, and the best she could manage was hello? Her usual mask of confident bravado, carefully crafted at the age of fourteen in hopes that acting like she wasn’t scared would translate into her truly not being, had cracked, leaving Victoria to scramble in recovery.
“Glad to see you walking. Was worried you got left behind at the Inn.”
Thomas turned his gaze away from the food, seeing the fellow Oceanic girl beside him. To hide such previous troubles, he shook his head and granted her a large smile, neatly fixating a gaze on her. Quietly, he raised his hand and swatted before his eyes, as if to get rid of a swarm of flies before them. Instead, he lightly chuckled, placing a hand by his side and gazing into the eyes of his accomplice.
“Walking? That’s the best I can muster. Left arm is still a bit fucked all over; don’t think this lucky bastard is going to be able to use a rifle for a short while.” He moved his hand towards his chest rig, where a holster was tucked away comfortably. Once again, his affinity for discarding uniform standards for practicality were apparent. Thomas laughed quietly to himself again, using his stronger and least damaged right arm to check it was still within his reach. “Jean gave me this back when we found that armoured fucker. Gon’ come in handy, I’d say, mate.”
In a small and almost surreal way, Victoria reminded him of those Oceanic comrades he’d lost. She was, obviously, from the same nation as him. They’d lived on the same dusty landmass and yet never met one another until fate had done so.
“I guess it’s more for personal protection, but tomorrow I’m heading out with the Francian Corporal himself. We’ve gotta get some intelligence on Imperial preparations for the 28th. Lil’ cunts got themselves either dug in right and tight or they are scrambling to pick up the pieces. Dunno who else is coming with us, but I can’t say it’d be a wild ride or a fun one.” He patted Victoria on the back playfully, his eyes suddenly shifting around.
In the near distance, he spied Freya, standing and chuckling with a soldier from a completely different regiment. She had distanced herself from the squad by only a few metres, but still gave it her best effort to act cheery around every living individual. Thomas knew she’d gotten somewhat closer to Inés, which in turn opened a conversation about her morality, broken mind and disputed arousement for appeasing her own loss. That saddened Thomas quite a bit, yet he simply let her do what she wanted. It was her journey, and Thomas could not babysit Freya forever. She was a woman, a grown soldier and a fighter. She had the power to change herself, but...she’d never let go, would she?
Eager to cheer himself up over troubled thoughts, which had only become more frequent over the last week, Thomas turned towards Victoria again and grew a meager smirk.
“So, heard you gotta kid, ay? Who’s the lucky angel then?”
Victoria couldn’t help but meet her hero’s (and object of foolish affection, if she was being honest with herself) wide, seemingly genuine grin with a small smile of her own. It took all her willpower to keep from averting her gaze from his, wincing in what she hoped looked like sympathy for his wounds. “Shit, bastards gave ya a right nasty fucking injury didn’t they? Bunch'a cunts. Least you got a pistol out of it, a nice trophy to crack some skulls with!”
That was what she needed to get back into the feel of the conversation, curses and violence. She could do as she did back home, bond over debauchery and bloodshed. It was like she had told Luke back at the Inn: the army was just a bigger gang. A horde of young men and women with no other prospects learning to fight so they could kill some other horde of teenagers because they wore different clothes. The rules that applied back home would apply here, right?
“With Jean? Shit, guess I ruck with you then. Someone has to show these mainlanders how shit’s done by real diggers ‘n’ not half-wits. Might as well be us Occies, right mate?” Victoria laughed harshly at her joke, the brusque sound getting cut off suddenly as he mentioned her daughter. “Who told you that?” She asked, clutching her pendant tightly. Why was she so defensive about it? She wasn’t ashamed of her girl, had shared Elizabeth’s existence to others before. Was it because she was worried that Thomas knowing would ruin any chance she had of settling down with him?
No that couldn't be it. Vicky knew herself well enough to recognize that her fantasies of settling down after the war and moving to a house somewhere where there was more than dust and dead farmland with Oceania’s hero were just that: fantasies. Nothing more than harmless dreams that she knew were dead ends. So then what was the issue?
A second more of reflection and she knew. She didn’t care about telling other people because she didn’t care if they knew she was a fuck-up. If they were in this hellish conflict with her they fucked up somewhere in their life as well. But with Marathon it was different. She didn’t want the man she respected so much to find out that she was a failure who couldn’t reliably keep a bottle out of her hand, food on her plate or her legs closed. And now he knew at least one of those facts.
“Her name is Elizabeth.” The young mother said quietly, taking another bite. “She’s two.”
“Two years a mother? Holy fuckin’ shit, girl, you’ve made gains in life!” Thomas jovially laughed to himself, patting her shoulder again with a funny grin once more. “Capable soldier and a promising capable mother? You’ve got a lot to live up to! Tell me about Elizabeth, ey?”
“Yeah, I got started young.” Victoria muttered with a hollow chuckle. “I was a stupid piece of shit and got myself knocked up by a fucking card shark.” She stared at her plate as she fumbled the clasp of her locket open, taking off the necklace to show him the photograph inside. “This is her. Sweetest little thing in the world, hardly ever cries. I’d do anything to keep her safe. That’s why I’m out here in this bullshit fucking war, only trade I know is fighting and I need to keep her fed somehow.”
“Fucking adorable little girl, she is. Looks as strong as her mother. Spitting image.” He took out his flask, glugging away at the contents and substances inside with a gasp of air to conclude it. Once he’d looked at the photo long enough, he turned back to Victoria with a playful grin, just like he’d given her back at the inn. “Maybe I can come see her someday.”
She smiled at the compliment, proud of her little girl despite the circumstances that brought her into existence. Victoria shut the locket and took out her own flask, knocking back the remainder of the rum from earlier with a friendly: “Cheers, mate.” She nearly jumped at the suggestion, nodding and giving him an ecstatic smile. “I’d love that. Our town is a dusty shithole, but it’s bearable at least for a couple days. Tell you what: if I make it out alive I’ll buy you a ticket to come see her.”
“Screw that, I’ll buy the ticket.” He cackled, playfully punching her arm in the roughened Oceanic way. “Plus, where else in Oceania isn’t a dusty shithole? Not sure we’ve come from the same country, love.”
Quickly, he began to guffaw once more at the banterous conjectures the two shared, slowly calming down and spending a minute or two simply standing, in silence, staring at Victoria. For a while, it felt like there was no one else around. Just for then, that was.
“Hey if you want to spend your money I’m glad to save mine!” she said with a smirk, reciprocating the punch. “Okay, you got me there. But Prairie is REALLY nothing else. It was a farm town years ago, a bunch of cunts scratching in the fucking dirt to make a living. Then there was a drought that lasted a few years ‘n’ people ran like hell from the place. Now the only ones there are too poor to escape.”
Her loathing for the place was evident in her sneering. She hated Prairie, hated how it was a complete dead-end. The end of the fucking earth, where crops whithered and dreams died. “I don’t have a lot to look forward back there. Probably would be a better outcome if I just shot myself the day this war finishes.” It was a joke, mostly.
As time drove by, Thomas didn’t do anything, instead he lifted his tilted brimmed hat off of his head and held it before him. In that moment, he smirked, before removing Victoria’s own Oceanic hat. With it’s tilt brim, Thomas planted his own onto her head and chuckled lightly.
“Take that home. My personal, infamous lucky hat. That gives you something to look forward to bringing home.” As he did so, he chuckled once more, adjusting the hat and tilting the brim again to make half of it stick up. With his feather tightly linked within its fabric, he chuckled again, licking his thumb to stick it back into place. “I’ll take yours. Then, we’ll have to see each other when the war’s over, no excuses.”
Victoria didn’t think much of it when Thomas removed his hat, focusing on scarfing down the rest of her meal. “Hey, that’s fucking good mess.” She said with pleased surprise, only to be interrupted by the theft of her own rabbit felt hat. “Hey, what’s the big idea?” she snarled instinctively. The aggression dropped from her tone immediately as Marathon completed the switch, thumbing the cocked brim and feather with wonder in her eyes. “You have a deal!” Vicky agreed. No way was she giving it back after the war though. She was going to frame the fucking thing on her wall.
“I’m glad to hear that, love. Keep smiling! It’ll help if you want to join us on the Scouting mission!”
In collaboration with @Smike
