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THE GRASS WAS GREENER

You wake up early on a warm spring day, sunlight peeking through the curtains as you greet the dawn.

You hop off the bed and stretch, giving a cute little yawn as you reach your hands to the heavens.

The scent of something delicious cooking in the kitchen draws you out, and you rub the sleep from your eyes blearily.

A strikingly beautiful bunny stands on a step stool before the stove, and is cheerfully frying some pig bacon from the cellar as she hums a familiar tune from kaerich.

She's wearing a plain cream button up and a matching ankle length skirt, hand-embroidered with floral patterns and the dancing kitty-cats who play in your back yard sometimes.

Her fur is black with patches of white scattered across her head and ears, and though taller than you at the moment, she barely reaches the bosoms of most ladies.

"Good morning, Dearest!~" She calls happily, turning the stove off and preparing a new batch of bacon.

"I was about to start the eggs, but..." she begins, putting a curious finger on her chin, "I just can't seem to remember how you like yours..."

You take your special spot at the dinner table and do your best to sit still with your hands folded across your lap.

Madder wants you to be a proper lady when you grow up, and to lead the choir at kaerich. You don't think you're all that good a singer, but Madder always says you are, and it makes her happy when you act like a polite little lady.

"Sunnyside up, please!" You say over the crackle of fresh bacon.

Madder giggles.

"What was that, Dearest? Could you speak up, I can barely hear you!~" She asks teasingly.

She's gonna make you say the thing, but you're not gonna do it! You're not a little kid anymore!

"Sunnyside up!" You repeat, louder.

"Oh?~ You want yours scrambled?~"

No! You HATE scrambled eggs!

"I WANT BIG GIRL EGGS!" You shout, and immediately regret it when Madder begins to laugh behind her hand.

"Big girl eggs, of course!~ Well why didn't you say so, silly?~"

You feel your cheeks pink up, and cover your face with your hands in embarrassment.

You used to call them that when you were little because that's how Madder likes hers, and you wanted to be like her in every way.

All the girls at school laughed when they heard you call them that, so you don't say it anymore.

Madder loves it, and thinks it's cute.

You don't wanna be cute though! You wanna be an adult already so you don't have to be afraid of anything.

A plate of piping hot food touches the kitchen table, and you feel a gentle kiss on your cheek.

"I'm sorry Lotte, please don't cry..." She apologizes, producing a handkerchief from her dress to dry your eyes with.

"I'm not crying!" You lie through puffy red eyes.

Though Madder's hands are calloused from decades of hard work on the farm, they always feel so soft and comforting when the weight of the world bears down onto your shoulders.

Like you, Madder is a special rabbit-person, with one long ear that always stands up and another shorter ear that always droops down.

"You're getting so big, Lotte...you're growing up right in front of my eyes, and I just want to hold on a little longer until you're too big for me. I'm sorry, Dearest."

'I'm not gonna be like that,' you protest internally, but say nothing.

You don't want to feel soft and weak anymore. Bad people hurt you when they think you're small inside.

Warm arms wrap around your shoulders, and Madder begins to hum again.

She is everything you want to be.

"Do you love me, Lotte?"

You sniffle. The impulse to be vulnerable in front of her is too great to ignore, and you give into the urge to hug her back.

"I'll never get too big to love you, Madder." You promise.

She ruffles your hair, and kisses you again on the cheek. "Good girl."

Something changes in the dreamscape, and the world seems to shimmer when you finally get a good look at her face.

The impossible has just happened in a strange, contradictory way that only makes sense in dreams.

Captain Lotte Obmeyer looks back at you, both alongside and in place of your mother's face.

Though she has the same comforting smile as always, Madder's fur has turned a stark milk-white, her long hair has receded to her shoulders, and in place of two big black eyes, two bright red orbs gaze back at you.

You cringe away fearfully, and repress the urge to cry again. You hate looking in the mirror, and you hate your eyes.

Everyone at kaerich says you have The Devil's eyes.

You hate being an animal.

You HATE being different!

Madder always says that there's nothing wrong with you, and that everyone was made in Gott's image, but you don't know if you believe that anymore.

If you're like Gott, then why are you so strange and ugly? Why are you furry, and why do you have weird feet? Why wouldn't he have made you a normal human?

A fresh, perfectly vertical scar suddenly appears over Madder's left eye, as puffy and angry-red as the day it was given to you.

'How is she smiling through such pain?' you wonder wearily.

Madder, meanwhile, carries on as if nothing has just happened, putting her hand on her tummy as she carefully sits takes her spot at the dinner table.

You are, she is, 6 months pregnant.

Which means 6 months ago Vadder-

A primeval shriek of agony from the depths of your mind smashes into your thoughts and completely disrupts the dreamscape.

You're nearly thrown from your seat by the violence of the disturbance, and take your head in your hands as you desperately try to force the bad thoughts down.

'Put them away, Lotte. You can do it.'

'Take your bad memories, put them in a box, and hide them away someplace dark inside.'

'Throw them behind the wall as hard as you can.'

It takes a while, but the world gradually stabilizes and color returns to the kitchen.

Madder may be humming happily as she eats breakfast, but nothing looks right anymore.

Nothing is ever going to be right in this house ever again.

When the larger rabbit finally speaks again, even her voice is somehow both hers and your own.

"Aren'tcha hungry, Lotte-dear?"

Not anymore no, but you force yourself to eat anyways.

It makes her sad to see you upset, so you always try to put on your best face for her when your heart is hurting.

You sit together eating in silence for a while until someone new enters the scene.

Madder glances at the hallway you came from, and your smile on her head broadens as wide as ever.

She plants a hand sassily on her hip, and quirks an eyebrow, and calls out to the new arrival in the silly, uncool manner natural to all young parents.

"Well well well, if it isn't sleepyhead #2! Enjoying your day off, Dearest?~"

You perk up excitedly and turn to greet your beloved little sister, but something is wrong.

Terribly, terribly wrong.

Instead of a small, brown bunny with eyes like Madder's and ears like yours, a drowsy little human boy in the heathens' pajamas, a winking-tiger t-shirt, and a baby blue blanket trailing behind him wanders out of your bedroom.

"Mama?" He murmurs groggily through a yawn, "Why's there no school today?"

Pavel...Abagail seems to speak unnervingly with two voices at once.

Fear and horror enter your heart, and your stomach sinks beneath the weight of the Earth.

Not him, anyone but her!

Madder props her head up in her hand, and raises a finger to her lips cheekily. "Oh, it's still happening Dearest, we're just being bad and playing hooky today. Don't tell anyone!~"

You leap out of your seat and race to grab your sister/husband's hand.

"Since it's just us three this week, I thought it'd be nice for us to have some girl time today."

You need to get out of here, right now!

You remember what happens next, and you won't let him witness it! NOT AGAIN!

A loud, frustrated voice makes itself known to you from behind the heavy oak of your front door.

Madder tenses up immediately, and all the good spirit drains completely from her face.

"He's not supposed to be home today..." she whispers.

The Beast was supposed to be gone for a kaerich gathering for the rest of the week, but the elders caught the Devil's water on his breath and it was cast out in disgrace.

You grab Pavel's hand and drag Abagail out of the room as fast as you can.

No matter how fast you move your legs, however, your bedroom door only seems to get further and further away.

Madder stands in the middle of the kitchen, swallows nervously, and bravely tightens the strings of her apron.

"Get behind me girls..." she orders. "Don't say a word. Let me handle this."

Nothing she could say is going to help. You've seen this play out a million times, and none save Gott in Himmel himself can stop what happens next.

Your only hope now is to run, but that isn't working.

The Beast's key reaches the front door, but fails to open the lock.

It broke the lock the last time he came home like this, and you have to pay attention to what you're doing when you try to open it.

It can't get it right because it's been drinking again, and is infuriated all the more since no one has come to open it for him.

The Beast drowned its humiliation and anger with the heathens in their saloon that day, so many years ago.

That last act of faithlessness caused your family to be cast out of the community of believers forever.

Everyone you cared for outside the home was commanded to never speak to you again, a tumor of ostracism and regret you've carried with you all your life.

Madder releases a clenched fist, and her hand comes to rest protectively on your head as you and sister slide into your appointed places.

It is time for the grim pageant to begin again.

Good memories never last in Pennsilfaani.

Abagail closes her eyes and hides her face in your dress as she loses control and wets herself.

You have to keep him safe. You have to keep them both safe.

It's your duty as wife and an older sister in equal measure.

They're here in your arms. Nothing can harm them so long as you still draw the Heilich Geischt into your lungs.

Whatever happens, whatever The Beast does when it finally forces the door and towers over everyone, you won't let Abagail see.

Today's the day Madder lost the baby.

The door splinters finally splinters, and shatters completely.

Why does love have to mean blood and pain?!

'Steel yourself, Lotte Obmeyer. You will do your duty, as you always have and always will.'

A 6 foot 2 monster of a man towers over your mother, and raises his hand in anger.

---

The scent of crackling wood and plain scented soap stirs you from your nightmare.

Wavy brown hair tickles the underside of your nose, and the soft, rhythmic breathing of something special lying across your chest brings your mind back into focus.

You are Captain Lotte Obmeyer, and your dearest is asleep on you in the back of a modified military truck.

'You are Madder now', you think as you lay a hand on his soft pink cheek. 'He is Dearest now.'

Two heavy blankets from your kits wrap around you.

'What strange creatures humans are,' you think as you brush a stray strand of hair out of his eye.

'Why can't they recognize how small they are?' You wonder. 'Why did he insist so strongly you take the floor, and he the bench?'

The feel of his face and cheek in your hand is soothing in a way that's curious to you.

It's as if, on some instinctual level, they don't understand how The State has righted the role of genders.

If humans had any sense, they'd have all given themselves to strong arms and wise anthro guidance decades ago.

Pavel's back is injured, and in no way should he have been sleeping upright.

Yet still, he resisted when you pulled him down on top of you and held him by the collar until he consented.

You might, perhaps, have been furious with the boy for deliberately wounding himself, were the gesture not so...

So...hmm.

The exact words for why this pleases you are elusive.

Pavel is...

Passionate thoughts of longing and need leak out of your mental filing cabinet, which threaten to poison your mental faculties in the same manner they did following The Incident.

You take each, piece by piece, and file them away where they belong in the folders and boxes of your mind.

Now is not the time to turn him onto his back and mate.

Thoughts of babies will wait in their appointed place, as they have for decades.

Pavel is...diligent.

Your human is dedicated.

Not once has he failed to wake up on time, or present breakfast at the appointed hour.

Nor has he ever failed to meet you at the door in the evening, or iron your uniform with the practiced obedience of an anthro-raised male.

Your husband, as if on cue, yawns and stretches out like a happy cat in the sunshine.

'He is... wondrous,' your heart thinks, 'and should be woken with soft words and kisses every day.'

Volition catches up with you before undignified thoughts become inadvisable actions.

'Your sister officers are here. Doubtless at least one is watching. You will maintain the dignity of your uniform with the patience and self control expected of you by Your State.'

'There will be other times to indulge in these feelings.'

A snapshot of Pavel appears in your mind's eye. You pick it up and drop it into a folder labeled 'Dearest.'

Done. The matter is settled.

You are in total control of yourself again.

In the back of your mind, there is dim awareness of a certain tenderness across much of your body.

'Breakfast would be nice,' you think. 'Especially if Pavel made it.'

Elsewhere in the convoy, you hear the sound of engines whirring back to life and the murmur of relieved night crew workers.

Mother and daughter Honore are asleep together on the far side of the truck, tucked against each other with the ease and comfort only shared with family members.

Though the colonel could have ordered a billet procured for herself and her daughter, your commanding officer has always taken pride in such gestures of together-in-the-trenches camaraderie.

Major Charles, in contrast to her commanding officer, has contorted herself uncomfortably across one of the benches while an unknown cadet, a snow white hare with icy blue eyes, has propped herself up against the wall.

Whatever mechanical failure that stopped the lead vehicle has finally been fixed, and the convoy begins to move again.

The first wisps of orange glow crest the far horizon.

Pavel stirs again to pull the blankets around you more tightly.

His hand, for the brief moment, brushes against a nipple through your shirt, made erect by the frigid conditions.

The sensation is shockingly powerful, and you flinch back hard enough to jostle your Dearest into wakefulness.

Dozens of unwanted thoughts spill from their containers to begin making demands of you, and it takes a good 10 minutes of cognitive reorganization to regain control of yourself.

What under the stars was that?

---

Dawn rises on 5th day of the Siege of Wind River.

Pavel is fully awake now, and been given a helmet by Honore The Younger.

She apologized for whistling at him yesterday, and he forgave her graciously.

Perhaps you have misjudged the girl. It was an honorable thing to do.

The image Pavel strikes in his helmet immediately makes you think of SSGT Beckett in her own oversized shell of steel.

'They only come in one size,' you complain internally. 'Completely unacceptable. Every soldier lost to preventable equipment malfunction is a grievious loss to Your State in manpower, training, and 18 years worth of education.'

You mark that thought as 'important,' and remind yourself how things will be different when you come into power.

In the present however, the time has come to put the last of your personal affairs away and produce a folder called 'WAR.'

A terrible thing it is, yet exhilarating beyond all imagination.

You slew your first man at 13, and have been serving Your State since 17.

Death is something you are more than familiar with as a spice that makes the taste of glory all the more succulent.

'Give me combat!' your heart declares, and you work to quiet it.

Soon enough, oh self. Soon enough.

Honore's convoy pulls through a small town situated on the banks of the eponymous Wind River, but doesn't linger.

Most of the locals cower indoors as you pass, and command is happy to leave things that way provided they don't start causing trouble or thinking of flight.

Farmland resumes some distance on from this little place called Riverton, until at last you break off the main road and towards a large parking lot and a wide, single story brick building.

Central Wyoming Regional Airport, long defunct and your new base of operations.

Your Before-World transport vehicle comes to a halt, and you leap onto muddy road with a wet plop.

The rest of the passengers soon follow, and a rush of fellow sisters in arms gather to greet Colonel Honore as she passes.

Though you've obviously never used an airport for its intended purposes, you can't help but find its new use somewhat poetic.

The former runway has been turned into a grand motor pool for now irrelevant technicals and captured equipment, and tents have been pitched across a nearby lawn by an ever growing number of enlisted.

A collection of officers and senior NCOs stand at attention to greet their commanding officer as she descends like a goddess, here to civilize backwards lands and take the ferals where they belong.

Off in the distance, you can vaguely make out the target of your State's great and terrible ire:

A concrete and rebar abomination called Mt. Ashina.

Tch!

You've stood at the foot of the Great Cliff, where the dust lands of the former Midwest turn into the jagged peaks of the Rockies.

As a child you were suckled in the foothills beneath the Madmens' Peaks, where only unspeakable insanity and the sound of strings over the mist ever escape her spires.

You are thoroughly unimpressed.

Major Anatolia Charles whistles.

"They weren't kidding, Obmeyer..." says the maned wolf as she hobbles to your side on a set of wooden crutches. "Look at the size of that rock. We'd be insane to try and storm it."

The comment causes you some consternation. "I know mountains, Major, and that is no mountain. That is a pile of dirt, masquerading as ein schrecklicher berg. It will be relatively easy to complete the encirclement."

Major Charles adjusts her crutches and points to your target. "The fortress, Lotte. It's bigger than anything in the photographs we've seen, and those walls are thick. We don't have what we need to punch through."

"You'd be right Major," scratches a familiar voice from behind, dripping with gravitas and the weight of command. "We underestimated their organizational capacity, and how much old-world machinery survived The Fall."

You turn to salute Colonel Honore, behind whom stands her daughter and SSGT Beckett.

You receive an eager smile from the other bunny that vanishes as quickly as it appears.

'It is good to see you too, Beckett.'

You lower your arm, and give a respectful nod.

"With me you two, if you'd please. While I'm sure you've both read the mission briefs already, we're holding a review in 30 minutes for the sake of all the new faces."

Honore slaps a cordial hand on your shoulder. "It'll do them some good to see the old guard in attendance. Show the young'uns how they ought to be."

'We are more vulnerable than command is willing to admit,' you assess quietly. 'Otherwise they would not have activated the Sioux Falls cadets.'

"First though," the Colonel says, glancing over your shoulder and donning a half-smile, "go and help the poor boy Obmeyer, before we all drop our kits and do it for you."

Hmm?

You turn around to try and understand what she's referring to, but-

Ah.

Of course.

Your husband is at the front.

Doreen will die for this someday.

You file away that bubble of rage and move to assist Pavel. He's trying his best to get your heavy, anthro-sized kit down from the back of the truck, but isn't having much success.

It's a simple matter to usher the boy aside and grab the thing yourself.

"Thank you, CPT Obmeyer." He says, stiffening up.

You agreed in advance to keep a professional distance between each other in public.

"Of course, corpsman." You respond in kind, gazing down at him.

They put him in a PT uniform to give him an aire of legitimacy. The Inspectorate would have lost its mind had they tried to put him in a field uniform.

So would have you, come to think of it.

You notice something interesting in the little ways that Pavel is acting.

It appears from his posture and tone that he is imitating the way you comport yourself.

Pavel holds his hands attentively behind his back, his posture has straightened, and he's even practicing the way you fix your eyes when speaking to someone.

'He wants to be like me... _'_ you think. '_ You are the quintessential role model in his eyes.'_

The display brings a subdued smile to your face, despite efforts to keep it down.

"Ahh, CPT?" He asks nervously. Charles and Honore must still be watching.

Your hands reach out to fix him assertively, affectionately in place.

"They're both married, and sentimental besides Pavel. They will wait for me," you say, and set about fixing his uniform with the eye of a drill sergeant and the energy of a nervous mother preparing to send her son to school for the first time.

His heavy coat has been dirtied by the long ride, and you pat some of the dust and wood shavings off. Satisfied with his collar, you move on to the other collar hanging around his neck.

Centering the latch pleasantly, you note with some satisfaction that the boy has taken good care of it.

The leather is as supple and uncracked as ever, and a thin layer of black polish rubs off on your gloves.

A small bell jingles as you trace your hand by his identification tags, and you scowl.

'What were you thinking, putting this on your husband like some sort of animal?'

You yank the thing off with a snap and drop it into the mud to be trod on.

'He needs his leash,' you think. 'He needs his leash protecting him, but they'd never dream of letting me do it with so many cameras around.'

Something stirs deep inside, and you raise his chin with a finger despite your better judgement.

This impulse is completely out of place. No stricture of professionalism permits you such a public display of affection.

He's trying so hard though... He cherishes every piece of positive reinforcement you give, and is practically begging for it.

This is...

This is just one...more...

You kiss him. Gloved hands reach up to cradle his face, and an involuntary sigh escapes your lips.

He lets go of his hesitation after a moment of confusion, and when you finally pull back he complies only with silent reluctance.

You need to go now, but...

One thing. Just one more thing before you pack away this instinct for the duration of the Second Wyoming Expedition.

"When saluting," you begin, and show him your flat hand, "you do so for the rank, not the individual. Never forget this."

"You salute when approaching or passing a commissioned officer of a higher rank, which for you is everyone, typically at a distance of 6-12 paces. Always use your right hand. Bring the tip of your middle finger to the lower part of your forehead, palm facing downwards, while maintaining eye contact and turning your head slightly towards the person being saluted; hold the salute until the senior officer returns it or passes by. Though not strictly necessary, it is customary to salute passing inspectors as well. You will demonstrate this to me now."

Pavel quietly nods his head, takes a deep breath, and gives you his best regulation salute.

You return it in kind, and together share a moment of something special between one another.

Respect.

You and Pavel have truly come to respect each other.

"At ease," you order. "To your post, corpsman. Make me proud."

"I will, Captain."

You part without another word.

Colonel Honore makes some comments you can't quite hear and Major Charles a joke about teaching your husband to salute in the bedroom.

You're not sure what either has said. You can't hear a thing over the pounding in your ears and the pain in your heart.

Pavel is in the best hands imaginable.

Dearest will be working with a competent and professional team of healers, many of whom are already married, under the watchful and exclusive authority of Major Roe.

When off duty, he will bunk in the same area as SSGT Beckett.

Doreen Goll is a coward, and hiding behind her desk miles away from any real women.

Pavel is as safe than he's ever been.

So why does it feel like you've abandoned your family for the second time in your life?