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Recommended reading: Nights of Firefall, through chapter four: https://pastebin.com/TauTPsKD

<Office of Brigadier General Roy Matthews, Fort Sumter, Northern Washington state, 10:28 a.m., post C platoon 'dinner party' incident>

>"I'm not even sure where to start with you.."

>Those words and the weary, dissatisfied tone they were delivered in did more than anything to build up the welling anxiety in your throat.

>The door closed behind you a minute ago, and it was now just you and the anger behind the eyes of the aged authority softly glaring at you from across the desk.

>Maybe now that the two of you were alone, you could diffuse things a bit. You tug nervously at your collar.

"...Maybe yo-"

>"I *wasn't* asking."

>The grim, level tone snaps at the back of your head, prompting you to shut up before you make things worse for yourself.

>A repressed anger holds in the air, carrying the very real threat of court martial if you aren't careful.

>As much as you hate to admit it, you're in trouble, all because that oversized, notch-eared WHORE couldn't keep her maw clamped.

>She just had to be the one to tattle on you over last night, jealous bitch.

>Just because she lacked your natural charm didn't give her the excuse to move in on your territory.

>"Ideally your battalion commander would be the one to deal with you, but I have no idea where they are."

>You were snapped away from your rightful anger by him speaking again. You really didn't keep tabs on Colonel Alkay either, seemed like too much trouble when they were all over the place. The colonel at least left you alone, probably because they recognized you don't ever need any help.

>"According to what sergeant Magaul tells me-"

"*Corporal*, Magaul."

>You correct the brigadier general on his elementary mistake. You were still waiting for a good excuse to bust her down to private where she belonged, but there was no way you were handing her a squad. She would probably mutiny on the field and try to kill you!

>Such was the power of jealousy and testosterone.

>"*SERGEANT*. Magaul tells me, you are the most maliciously incompetent officer in this outfit." he growls.

>Those tired old eyes beam you with a very real fury burning behind them, a caged thing just waiting to maul someone.

>Despite yourself, your ears lower. You have to find a way out of this unfortunate misunderstanding, she probably was just seeing things she wanted to.

"Um, I reall-"

>"Bullying, abuse, sexual harassment, sociopathy, egotism, manipulation, compulsive lying, putting personal concerns over the platoon, indecision, cowardice, immaturity, the list goes on."

>Your ears lower further, the lies that bitch is saying about you!

"And I suppose Magaul sa-"

>You're stopped cold by a hard lined stare, a thinly veiled dare to finish the sentence and put your neck in the bear trap.

>The General eyes you with a very real threat standing over his shoulder.

>You... may have been testing his patience... just a bit.

>"It astounds me how something like your little circus yesterday can still happen in this army, like we're all still in highschool."

>You wanted to speak, to clear things up, but he just eyed you with that nonverbal assertion 'you aren't allowed to speak anymore'.

>"You get the lucky break of those clowns from central pairing your platoon with the auger pilot that saved your ass, and you decide to make said pilot's life a living hell. Just watching the way he interacted with you told me more than enough."

"Sir, I-"

>He stares you down, that ever permanent scowl dressing his face never shifting.

>"Go ahead. Keep digging yourself into that hole, because I know exactly what you're about to say."

>...

>"You're going to assert that you only wanted to 'help a friend', when really you just wanted a plaything, and the idiot pencil necks at central so deftly delivered you one. You really only wanted to use somebody, not actually try to help them like the sergeant. There are many things that this outfit regretfully tolerates, but abusing your own men isn't one of them, so let me make this perfectly clear..."

>The General settles in his seat, and you wait for your sentence, as the grim prognosis has started plucking at your heart like starving corvids.

>"If another report of you abusing your troops *ever* lands on my desk again, your career will end so fast your head won't have time to spin off before you're handed your discharge..."

"But sir!"

>"I don't want to hear it!"

>You can hear the last of the man's patience evaporating off his voice, but you have to make him see your way, you have to!

>If you can't... she's going to get away with it. As much as you hate the thought you'll have to be bought down to... to... *pleading*.

-how disgusting!-

"Please! That jackal is a complete rouge, she's an insubordinate thief that does whatever the hell she wants! She only takes orders as a suggestion and she constantly badmouths me I just know! And she even scra-"

>"Enough!"

>The general slams his fist on the desk, producing an ominous booming knock.

>"I have heard more than enough from you and your trite excuses, you just love to blame everything but yourself, don't you?"

>Your ears sink at the rhetorical question, and the implication. That whore, she... she won...

>The general continues seemingly unaware of being played by the wiles of that notch eared villain.

>"You are quite possibly the most disgusting excuse for an officer I've had to deal with in person, you're damn lucky you ship out tomorrow or I'd have you on hard labor detail for at least a week."

>You can only croak out the smallest of objections.

"I-."

>"Don't try and play me with your duplicitous garbage. It was damned obvious how much you were lying."

>Despite your best efforts your breath jumps, and your heart tightens under your ribs.

>You aren't the demon she tries to paint you out as, you can prove it.

"Sir... In the academy, I.. I was a top..."

>"You mean the academy that was paved over for you with cash. I've looked at your file, and what I see isn't pretty. I don't give a damn for your family name, and your record is FAR from sparkling. So this is final, leave both Magaul and McWhicky alone or you will have hell to pay, I don't care how fully you understand because you WILL abide by this. Now get out, your duty roster is waiting for you on the front desk."

>Duty roster, are you an enlisted now?

"Sir?!"

>"GET. OUT."

>...

>The knob of the door almost seemed to burn your hand as you twisted it, that stinging sensation shot up your arm and curled around your chest. Occasionally it even licked at your eyes.

>Your head hung low as you exit the office, you notice the other two subjects of the earlier argument sitting quietly near the receptionist's desk.

>Tom was a handsome sort, with some strong features mixed with a decidedly non regulation hair length and a physique that seemed all the more precisely cut without any fur in the way, just that weird, sparse body hair.

>He pays no heed to you, which stings just that little bit more.

-he doesn't think you're worth it-

>The other... Teth'ra Magaul, a jumped up jackal that was so inexplicably massive you weren't sure if she was a mutant or just that fat. She bawled at you constantly that most of her weight was muscle but who cares, she would NEVER look like a proper woman.

>She was a clever cheat only concerned with herself, just like every filthy notch ear.

>The insubordinate wretch passes you a murderous glare before turning her nose up away from you. To think that she was even worse when her 'friends' were around.

>Now she was trying to steal away your savior for herself, and somehow she was succeeding.

>What lies was she telling him? How was she getting away with it?! It wasn't right, it isn't fair!

>You walk away, a salty tang starting to stain your eyes, you were prettier than her, more interesting, far from the evil her curses painted you as. It's not fair. It's not fair!

---

>You stare at the mirror, the red eyed reflection within taunting you.

>Why?...

>Why the hell wasn't anything you did working?

>Who could refuse YOU? Maybe something else was at work, he did lie about being 'unfamiliar' with anthros. Perhaps he just doesn't like anthros, but he hangs out with that lank-eared criminal all day, so that makes no sense.

>As always, she would be lying to him, and he somehow was believing it?

>There was always the possibility that he's just into... bigger girls.

>...

>Just about everything about her is bigger than you. No way to fix that.

>But that shouldn't matter, she's.. revolting!

>As if a creature like her would even be capable of love.

>That was obviously your job, why else would chance deliver him into your hands like that, it's providence!

>The way he came out of that wreck in the landslide, battered but determined, all to save you.

>And then that plus sized cheat mistakes that he was there for her.

>Pff, as if.

>You catch your reflection again, haggard, defeated,... lonely.

>Was it some sick joke? that she was getting away with stealing what was yours?

>This isn't how it's supposed to go.

>You would do great things, you were meant for great things, It was in your blood.

>And yet everything you've been involved with since graduating the academy seemed like a slap in the face.

>You were in charge of a unit of nobodies who had refused to follow your advice to make themselves great.

>The previous officer had a death wish or was some kind of retarded, leaving a bunch of squabbling criminals instead of a platoon.

>Why couldn't she have done the common decency of leaving you with at least basic proficiency before she kicked it?

>God forbid you ask for the sort of stuff heroes are made of.

>How were you ever going to make your rightful name for yourself like this?

>"Uh.. ma'am?"

>The radio on your lapel crackles in the middle of your musings.

>You respond, rightfully perturbed.

"*what*, Misha?"

>The corporal in question was your barracks adjutant for today. You didn't mind her as much as some others but the husky caracal was as dumb as bricks and was probably shuffled out of boot in such subpar condition to make room for recruits of actual value. At least she antagonized that giant slut often enough so she has her uses, listens to orders too.

>But you swear if she gets into your smoked meats again you're going to tie her to a post and lash her.

>"A runner dropped off a duty roster, quote: in case she 'forgets'."

>And now she went and betrayed you to this 'work' bullshit, some people are just worthless.

-as always-

"Ugh!, I told you I-"

>"But he just shoved his way in the do-"

"Don't interrupt me!"

>The other end goes quiet, thankfully.

>But you were hoping to skirt around this unjust punishment, making you do manual labor for the crimes of passion. The army has no dignity, you swear.

>Unfortunately they'd know if you didn't show yourself, so you might as well see what sort of slap on the wrist they think is appropriate.

>At the door of the barracks Misha looks shamefaced as she should, you offer an uplifting lecture to at least attempt to shape her hide into a proper asset.

"Soon enough you'll learn to be proper like me, that is if you learn your place and listen when I'm speaking and do what you're told."

>Her head levels flatly, eyes wandering as she thinks over your sage wisdom.

"Now give that here."

>You snatch the paper from her loose grip, parsing through the duldrum and getting ready to laugh at whatever little chore they thought they could intimidate you with like dusting the barracks.

>-Hereby ordered to perform-blablabla, regulation C-whatever, failure in compliance-yadda yadda, etc.

>Your eyes scan into the bulletpointed items on the list, reading over... and pausing.

>Must be some trick, that can't be right, you parse the line again.

>You stare at it, some malaise of disbelief settling over your brow as you try to make sense of this obvious mistake.

>Eyes boggling, you focus and read it one last time. Then shriek as the words convey their meaning.

"LATRINE DUTY?!?!"

---

>You grumble as you tramp across the base, how dare they, how actually dare they...

>No one there seemed to even acknowledge rank even.

>And you're sure that cute wolfhound, tall, dark, and handsome went to go retch in the bushes after he turned his nose up at you.

>Damn that notch-ear for landing you into this.... mess.

>You cautiously sniff at yourself, still not entirely sure that shower and change into a spare uniform erased the smell.

>She probably got off easy with those alligator tears, damn cheat.

>None of this is fair.

>You're still feeling peckish, though maintaining that appetite isn't easy... guess it's for the best that you find something to eat.

>Cautiously moving up to the mess hall, you pray that it isn't packed, in case that you haven't fully escaped that cursed offal.

>Poking your snout through the door it seems clear, no line near the counter, and a half asleep cook.

>Glancing around only a single figure sits at the rows and rows of tables, you refuse to dwell on details until after you've gotten a square meal.

>As the portions you've picked out are lazily slopped onto your tray, you muse for a moment on the eating habits of some of your charges and what the examples told you about them.

>Lyudmilla always picked out dainty servings of meat with light greens and a few sweets when she thought no one was looking. You found it silly how much she fusses over looking proper when she could easily follow your example and just *be* proper.

>Your usual adjutant ordered a slab of rare steak whenever it was available like clockwork, you have no idea what runs through the thoughts of that one, she's a bit closed off but you should be able to crack her open one of these days.

>Darla's habits were unremarkable, just like herself, until winter came around and she got the urge to stuff her face. You quietly passed an order to halve the bear's rations over the winter.

>Maxine had a taste for fruit, specifically she adored pomegranate and would get fighty at anyone that pointed it out. You found bribing her with a few slices for small favors worked wonders.

>Then there was Teth'ra, it was rare that you even saw the times she came through here, typical flighty response of a more devious species. When you did see her she piled the portions high, it was a wonder she wasn't even more fat than she already is.

>She also soon revealed a heavy sweet tooth. You tried to press these things to bribe her to finally get in line, before cutting her habits down to size of course, but she stubbornly refused you at every turn bawling about 'integrity'.

>Like a damn thieving mesopred, no matter how oversized, would know the virtues of that word.

>Your tray filled, you turned out to the tables, finally recognizing the figure timidly sitting at the end of a table.

>A timid, halfway slouched posture and two rodent ears.

-perfect-

>You've never been quite sure if the bashful puff of white fur was a mouse or rat, but you can work with this.

>Eva Cherbrie, one of your newer sergeants, and an absolute doormat. Mousy just about described her entire existence.

>All she needed was a few words and a gentle push in whatever direction you wanted her to go, because she never asked question... well, not difficult questions anyway.

>You gently clear your throat as you approach behind her, despite your effort her shoulders still jump a step. So easily startled, typical of her species.

>Leaning over gently and placing your tray down, you invite yourself to sit down at her side and appear like you actually want to council over whatever's eating her.

"Hey Eva.. Why so glum?"

>Her tiny voice squeaks meekly.

>"Oh!. Nothing, just thinking about things..."

-*so* informative-

>You barely avoid rolling your eyes. What does she even have to think on other than cheese and failing at approaching anyone remotely intimidating?

>Before the army her life was so quiet and uninteresting it was a wonder she wasn't bored to death, like you nearly are every time you listen to her prattling.

>You prod the mouse towards something resembling intelligent conversation.

"like what?"

>"Oh, it's just what happened with mister Tom has me thinking of home..."

>Her home life was an exhausted subject since day one, her concerns over the situation with Tom though... that was potentially interesting.

-and useful-

"I'm worried about him too."

>She raises her muzzle to meet you in conversation, the cherry red of her eyes shimmering in apparent concern.

>"With what happened he looked so scared, and even yesterday he didn't look too good... I know miss Teth'ra is looking out for him but do you think he's okay?"

>Teth'ra, looking out for someone, out of anything but self interest. Yeah right.

>Eva stares at you with that timid pull on her brow and gently pouting lips, with the shimmering of her eyes she looks on the verge of tears from where you're sitting but for Eva that's hardly unusual.

>You pull down your voice with a malt of despair to better convince her, and rest a paw on her shoulder.

"Oh, Eva... Of course he's not okay. She has a hormone imbalance, she can't even take care of herself!"

>The rodent produces a despairing squeak and pulls her hand up to her lips.

>"Oh! That's terrible!"

>You swear you see the outline of a tear fade into the ruff of hair on her cheek, she's so easy!

>Certain that the mouse is too oblivious to even think of questioning anything you tell her, you lay it on thick. Some days you question if she isn't half sheep.

"I know, it really is.. Leaving him alone with that monster..."

>You slump your head and pull your expression into a mirroring of Eva's.

>If only you could cry on command just to push her that little bit further.

"It's only a matter of time before she forgets her strength and... I don't even want to say it!"

>Thrusting all the air away from your lungs in a great gust of theatrical malaise, you forward the truth of the matter to your dear, spineless follower of a sergeant. Some would say you were twisting things from your perspective but they obviously don't understand.

"But I can't do anything. The higher-ups have ordered me to stay away, I'm not even allowed to separate them for their own good. He deserves somewhere safe, I could take care of him!... But according to those too high to really see it, such a relation between an officer and an enlisted is forbidden."

>Resisting the urge to throw an arm over your brow in dramatics, you peek up to gauge her reaction.

>Now she nibbles at her knuckles in a picture of nervous concern, ghostly tears dripping in rivulets from her eyes.

>"Ah-uh! Oh dear that's awful!"

-definitely part sheep-

>Hiding a smile with a paw cupped to your jaw, you press the claw of your thumb against your thigh to bring just a hint of waterworks to your own eyes.

>You could never excuse giving her a request or let alone an order, that would only make her chicken out, but heartfelt bewailing about the misfortunes befalling those that only want kindness and even the mouse could find something resembling a backbone.

>It was a pain always taking the reigns of her squad for her, but moments like this made it almost worth it.

>Better still was how that mesopred freak looked on in enraged astonishment when you selected the mouse for a double promotion rather than her.

>Remembering yourself, you manage to resume the frown and look back to her with all the sincerity you can muster.

"I only want to help him!... but they won't let me..."

>The only response you get is some choked whining noise before she lurches over and throws her arms around you.

>Your neck crawls at the touch of this blubbering rodent, like you'd actually want this spineless tool embracing you.

>For the sake of maintaining your image you suck up your apprehensions and return the hug, but you can't refrain from rolling your eyes.

>Sometimes the fact that she's swayed with so little effort makes the whole thing seem less worthy. You feel the familiar mellow high of satisfaction coupled with the throat clutching twist of revulsion.

>"All of this is *snff* just so terrible miss Vilka! I'm so sorry."

>She of course makes no direct promise that she would do anything on your behalf, that would require her having a constitution sturdier than a soggy grahamcracker and could still get you in trouble besides. Yet, you know that she might do something, it will likely take a long while and may end up with an end result of nothing, but it's at least another piece on your side of the board.

>Finally fed up with her skittering paws grabbing at your back, you pry her off.

"I'll be fine. I just need time to think."

>Despite her whimperings, you peel away to eat the rest of your meal in peace, feigning a slack-shouldered desire to be left to yourself for now.

>The meal you couldn't complain about, but there was nothing to complement either. You swear the cooks barely put in any work unless an inspection comes around.

>You're finding such behavior typical of the army, the ones that are supposed to be working find every excuse to slack off.

>Eva occasionally spares a glance your way, you turn your face downwards to avoid any notice of eyes not being as red as they should or the lack of your nose running.

>You doubt she'd notice anyway, she never was particularly observant. She entirely failed to parse the reason why that fat whore of a jackal stopped talking to her after you launched her over the troublemaker's head.

>The rat, mouse, whatever, also seemed unmoved by Teth'ra's attempts to tutor her on the finer points of actually taking some sort of action before the rodent's promotion.

>So much wasted time and effort, people don't change. Once a scoundrel always a scoundrel.

>The best you can do is suppress their more undesirable traits.

>A lesson that, however regrettably, didn't seem to stick to anyone you tried to teach.

>You arrive at the end of your standard issue serving, almost forgetting about the single peanut butter cookie.

>Finally something that resembles actual food. You eagerly bite into the fluffy crunch of dough.

>The taste of peanut butter brings back memories.

>Memories you have no time to reminisce on as something dry flies down your windpipe.

>The stinging sensation down your throat is overwhelming and you start hacking in an effort to bring the wayward crumb away from your lungs.

>You can feel the dry mote of sensation sitting behind your collar bone, refusing to move as you heave.

>Your lungs burn for want of air, the obstruction must go but it refuses to move.

>Fuck, shit, you're dying!

>You bring up a fist to pelt your collar, finally dislodging the obstinate particle as it flies back up your throat and out of your mouth. With a few shaky breathes you curse your luck for punishing you like this, but bless it for not making it happen where more than one mousy mess of a sergeant could see it.

>So damn crumbly... the hell did they make these things out of? sawdust?

>Looking down your day is further ruined, sitting atop your half finished cookie is the rancid blemish of a phlegm coated crumb.

>...dammit

>Damn notch-ear

>Damn 'punishments'

>Damn blind fool acting like he doesn't want you.

>The hell is there even to see in *her* anyway?

>Sighing with all the weighty irritation capable of being mustered, you slide the tray off into the trash.

>You produce that accursed, crumpled sheet of paper from your pocket and again feel the bile in your throat.

>Now they expect you at the ammo dump, probably to get grease stains and clinging powder mattes handling those filthy shells.

>And then the motorpool.... and the... Runoff sluices?

>You can barely bite at the growl building in your chest, they're just determined to ruin the natural allure of your coat.

>Trying to make you filthy just like her. If there's one thing you always hated about the UTR administration, it's their mistaken belief that *everyone* is equal.

>Making your way out, your eye catches on a flyer pinned to the doorframe... Looks like some kind of event and you should at least have the evening off.

>Parsing it over, your reserved excitement shrivels, a gravecall ceremony, how droll, how grim.

>The hell unit is the 512 anyways? You've never heard of them.

>Eh, pass, like anyone you respect would be there.

>You march out into the brisk air, pleased to at least have a small semblance of relief before you're inevitably soiled by the unwashed hands of common workmen.

>That is before you turn face first into a soft wall, bouncing away from it and knocking your breath away.

>Your attempt to slow your crash only results in a nasty knock to the elbows before you skip harshly off the ground, nothing cushions your fall and leaves your rear sore.

>"Oh! sh-dear. I'm sorry Ma'am!"

>A fat fingered paw wrapped in brown reaches down as you flick your eyes open and rub at your now aching bottom.

>Typical fat lummox, batting away the digits you make your complaints known.

"Watch where you're going!"

>The hand retreats towards the barely buttoned muffin top of your other selectee sergeant.

>You glare up at her, Darla was always inattentive, but at the bare least could lazily shove her squad into some sort of direction while coasting by on your no doubt superior orders.

>It was only just and natural that her squad looked up more to you than their lackadaisical NCO.

>"Sorry..."

>The bear timidly scratches at the back of her head as you pick yourself off the ground.

>This was far from the first time her blundering managed to upset your day, again you attempt to reinforce the lesson.

"Try opening your eyes next time, sergeant Miller. I understand that may be hard for you given your species' habit of slobbing it up all winter, but at least try!"

>"Sorry, jus' didn't see you there..."

"Eugh!"

>You brush past her wide ass, you have business to attend to far more important than her.

>Your ears twitch at her fat footfalls turning to follow you. Before any objection can be raised she speaks.

>"Erm, is the new guy alright? It's just with his little freakout I uh...."

>Of course she would bring that up, like she wasn't deeply involved.

>You turn on the pin of your heel and stare her down.

"Feel guilty?"

>The question is pure rhetoric, you delight in seeing the bulky creature in front of you shrivel.

>"I erm..."

>Her ignorance prompts your eyes to roll.

"Of course."

-typical-

"You ruined everything you know."

>Her expression grows befuddled.

>"E-excuse me?"

"Oh don't play dumb, I had everything sorted out before you fucked it up."

>You were cautiously optimistic things would work in your favor... until disaster struck.

"I had a plan, a good one! I could help him, he obviously needed it. Would have had him eating right out of my hand if *you* hadn't gone and pushed him straight into Magaul's claws!"

>You shake your head with vigor.

"And now thanks to her hooks, I don't think I can get close enough again to fix your fuckup!"

>"I didn't know he'd flip out like that!"

>You weren't expecting something of that magnitude either but no one needs to know that. There was at least an idea in the front of your mind that he was intimidated by your kind, was even cute to think about how his resolve would be pliable between your paws, but the way he launched into panic from simply being startled was baffling.

>What was even more baffling was that jackal with her monstrous frame was the one to recess him into something resembling rationality.

>Of course his state of mind wasn't completely rational since he still left with her.

"Yeah well maybe you should have thought about that before sneaking up on him."

>Her defiant streak melts away as she recognizes her failings. You would have preferred she do so sooner but hey, progress.

>And now despite your better judgement, you had nasty business to attend to. You were certain if you showed up late to your repugnant chores that slave driver would break out a whip.

"Now if you'll excuse me."

---

>The sun retreated over the course of the day, a waning moon shyly rising to assume its place for the night.

>What was more pressing was the biting cold, you weren't sure if you missed a forecast foretelling winter's haunting or if tonight just decided to make you that extra bit uncomfortable.

>Whatever the case, you imagine if you didn't have fur you'd be frozen solid.

>The door to the barracks creaks tepidly groans open, peering inside there's no activity. Of course the second you're busy everyone runs off to do... whatever.

>Even Misha seems to have taken the opportunity to dodge you, probably sitting at that 'ceremony', regretting not going anywhere less grim.

>Already you can hear the rifles barking off in ranks, the icy night clearly carrying the report. You shut the door behind you to insulate yourself from both the cold and that dry reminder of things you'd rather not spend your time addressing.

>While everyone was eager to forget they're place around here when you were busy, you'll allow it this time. Tomorrow your unit is being moved to the front, and likely thrown into action almost immediately after.

>Your orders mentioned some hodunk little crossroads town by the name of Cache Creek and a bunker on top of a hill.

>Probably going to feel like home for half of your troop, no high rises, no entertainment, no glamour.

>You shuffle into the division where you keep yourself and your NCO's bunked, expecting to find it devoid like the rest of the barracks.

>Except for a single, stubby figure sitting quietly on the side of her bunk.

>The badger looks over her shoulder.

>"Oh.Hey..ma'am.."

>Maxine was never much of a conversationalist if it didn't involve shouting at the underlings, for as long as you've known her she was actually rather quiet in her private moments.

>You pick up that telltale trace of spirits hanging in the air.

"Don't like ceremony either, huh?"

>Her response is a subdued grunt, you're glad she's so agreeable.

"Yeah.. Just depressing and a waste of time better spent if you ask me."

>Another uncertain grunt. Tonight you would expect her to be out keeping company, so questions are raised. You voice the most pressing, wondering where the other of your star pair of sergeants is.

"Where's Lyudmilla?"

>She pauses for a few hanging seconds, a half empty glass swirling in her paw is set down on the nightstand before she responds.

>"How should I know? Not my job to keep track of 'er..."

>"'Sides, ever since that fuck show with the new guy she's been a bit flighty.. Probably jus' thinking o'er things like I am."

"Well. Hope you're not thinking of disappearing on me."

>Again her response is a monosyllable. You regret that the socialite vixen isn't here to coax her into a more vocal state of mind.

>Those two were friends before your arrival, and sometimes you find yourself envious of their rapport.

>More pressingly you find yourself worrying over Lyudmilla. Ever since the incident she had been more distant, uncomfortably so at times.

>You hope she wasn't falling away from you towards the likes of rebels and thieves like that damn jackal.

"You sure she's not getting into trouble?"

>The stout mustelid snatches down the rest of the glass before forcefully tossing herself against the bed. She grunts as she hikes up the sheets around her.

>"Would ya quit fussin'? Lu's off doing her own thing, it's never been anything to worry about. Besides we got more than enough to worry about between tomorrow and keeping an eye on the new guy."

"You can call him Tom you know."

>You poke at her while settling yourself on your own bed.

>"Yah-huh."

>It is a little odd to you that the normally energetic sergeant is curling up at such an early time.

"Turning in already?"

>"It's almost nine, it ain't early. Everyone should be back in a few."

>Looking out the windows into the settling darkness and remembering the cold even as reminders of it leak in through the insulation makes the comforters below you seem more inviting.

>But the pull of concern swings off your throat, what is she up to? What is she plotting? The brass is obviously not in your corner and tomorrow they're handing her a squad, you'll have to watch your back.

>And now with Lyudmilla sneaking off so soon after that disaster...

"Still... Do you think she mi-."

>Your cut off by the huddled lump under the covers barking at you.

>"Ma'am!.. Go to bed. We got bugs to swat later.."

>You can sense the badger is getting more than a touch ornery about her sack time, so you decide to can your worryings to the mellow drawl of an internal debate and accept what rest you can get.

>At least the local barracks here seemed to spring for actual mattresses and cottony bedding, but no matter the airy comfort of the sheets pulled overtop of yourself the anxious squibbling thing writhing behind your throat refuses to let you coast off into sleep easily.

>It's assisted by the fading barks of the ceremony in all of its funerary dirge and that biting, lonely thought.

>It must be so cold without fur, but you're the one on their own tonight...

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