March 12th, 2014
Women's Barracks, Shattered Steel HQ
Malta, The Mediterranean
Aurélie allowed herself the slightest moue of her lips before replacing it with a carefully crafted smile. For all her efforts, it did not quite survive to make it to her eyes.
It had already been a tiring day. First a long flight, then a mediocre meal - the Maltese cooks tried their best with what they had, of course, but alas there was no decent bread, cheese, or wine - and even before she could finish what they had, a couple of the staff had come after one of her squadron mates. Aurélie had left it to Freyja to handle the matter herself. She'd not have got this far if she couldn't. But what Aurélie could do, and did, was to make it abundantly clear to the two, after Freyja had left, that they were not - repeat not - to harass another member of Cobalt Squadron again.
She had not needed to resort to threats. In certain situations, the moral authority of a woman sure of her place is enough to shake even the resolve of an angry man. It is a skill normally acquired later in life, once the last fuck-to-give has been lost, as the Anglos might say. But if a child is born without, then she may well turn out like Aurélie....
So it was that she had got back to the barracks to hear the exchange between Mykhailo and Fuka.
And then another murmur from behind the door that she couldn't quite make out. But given the circumstances, she could well guess. She pitched her voice to carry past the door, so Fuka, and presumably Freyja, would hear what she was doing.
"Ciel!" she said. "It is our little Casanova, Mykhailo, here to woo the ladies, no? It is your lucky day then, I have been looking for someone to scratch my itch in the simulators. Come with me now, or do you make it a habit to keep a lady waiting?"
She was going to need a large cognac by the end of the evening. They would all owe her for this, perhaps Mykhailo most of all. The boy was truly - how you say? - "cruising for a bruising".
Women's Barracks, Shattered Steel HQ
Malta, The Mediterranean
Aurélie allowed herself the slightest moue of her lips before replacing it with a carefully crafted smile. For all her efforts, it did not quite survive to make it to her eyes.
It had already been a tiring day. First a long flight, then a mediocre meal - the Maltese cooks tried their best with what they had, of course, but alas there was no decent bread, cheese, or wine - and even before she could finish what they had, a couple of the staff had come after one of her squadron mates. Aurélie had left it to Freyja to handle the matter herself. She'd not have got this far if she couldn't. But what Aurélie could do, and did, was to make it abundantly clear to the two, after Freyja had left, that they were not - repeat not - to harass another member of Cobalt Squadron again.
She had not needed to resort to threats. In certain situations, the moral authority of a woman sure of her place is enough to shake even the resolve of an angry man. It is a skill normally acquired later in life, once the last fuck-to-give has been lost, as the Anglos might say. But if a child is born without, then she may well turn out like Aurélie....
So it was that she had got back to the barracks to hear the exchange between Mykhailo and Fuka.
"Mykhailo, thanks for bringing food. Maybe don't announce people's business at the threshold like you're our town crier?"
And then another murmur from behind the door that she couldn't quite make out. But given the circumstances, she could well guess. She pitched her voice to carry past the door, so Fuka, and presumably Freyja, would hear what she was doing.
"Ciel!" she said. "It is our little Casanova, Mykhailo, here to woo the ladies, no? It is your lucky day then, I have been looking for someone to scratch my itch in the simulators. Come with me now, or do you make it a habit to keep a lady waiting?"
She was going to need a large cognac by the end of the evening. They would all owe her for this, perhaps Mykhailo most of all. The boy was truly - how you say? - "cruising for a bruising".