Name: Isaac Spallacio Rank: Midshipman Unit: Squad Reed (F/K/A Squad 3), 7th Outer Sect Brigade Cultivation Level: Circuit 2 (Emotional-Locomotive), Tier A Abilities: Foundational Technique: |Eightfold Fist| Right Palm Meridian: |Fists of Anji| Art Right Eye Meridian: |Knyzosis Perception| Art Current Status: Sobering Up
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The crowd of Atalantan refugees had stopped tossing Isaac up into the air a while ago. It was well past midnight, closer to dawn actually, and the weekend celebration had run its course. The bottles of Atalantan wine and ale bought from the stock purloined from Tommy’s tavern had been emptied; the one-time supply of meat from the Navy stockpile had been steamed, skewered, and eaten. The celebration was to mark the successful relocation of the Atalantans from Major Sloan’s factory district to their new home with the Navy; a week had passed since then, and after days of administrative tasks, the Atalantans would be getting to work tomorrow. Tonight, they would celebrate - with Isaac as their guest.
It was a Saturday night, so he was currently on leave from the Elizabeth Pond naval base. He ate his share of meat and drank his share of liquor and spent most of the night in a wooden chair around a barrel fire, just listening to the crowd. While Lysandros spoke with his friends Keti, Spiridon, and Pavlos, Isaac could only nod and give a short answer once in a while.
The destruction of the airship armada was only a little more than a month ago. For two weeks straight, he sat on his hardwood floor and cultivated all day and most of the night to reconstruct his exploded lung; once that had finally healed, he went to work on his legs, rebuilding the shredded bone and muscle in both, especially the leg that had been crippled. All the healing left odd patterns and shapes of gray doll-like skin on his body, but most of it would be covered by his clothes. And in the grand scheme of things, he felt pretty lucky to walk away (heh) from the armada battle with just those wounds. In addition to breaking both of her legs, half of Reed’s face had been burned off (twice) and though she had healed it by now, the gray doll skin now covered much of her body. Though it would gradually return to her normal color, perhaps that’s why she had been drinking so much.
But perhaps the physical wounds weren't the whole extent of his injuries. Every time Isaac glanced at his right fist, his head pounded and fragments of memories rushed forth, one in particular rising to the forefront - that of his fist covered in hot blood. Babs’ blood. He could still feel the bones snapping in her chest when he punched through it; he could still feel the soft texture of her heart exploding on impact. Even when facing the warmth of the barrel fire, he involuntarily shivered at the memory.
The celebration had winded down by now. Spiridon fell asleep in his chair; Pavlos had returned to his sleeping mat hours ago; Lysandros helped Keti to hers. Somebody still played a harmonica softly in the corner of the warehouse, but even that musician sounded like he was on his last legs as well. Lysandros returned and offered a hand; Isaac took it and was hoisted out of his chair.
“You alright, my friend?” Lysandros asked.
He must’ve noticed the look on my face, Isaac supposed. He decided to yawn to shrug off the question. “Just tired. We’ve been working overtime with everything going on.”
“No kidding.” The two men then looked around - the one potential hostile person in the warehouse currently had an arm around the harmonica player and singing an old Arcadian tune. With the coast clear, Lysandros shook Isaac’s hand; Isaac then stuffed that hand into his greatcoat pocket, dropping the paper he just received inside.
“Atalantan laborers found the location outside an Army farm up north,” Lysandros whispered. “Hidden in the hills, far off the beaten path, shouldn’t be any trouble with the soldiers there.”
Isaac thanked him, and after one more moment of soaking in the barrel fire with his Atalantan friend, he went off to collect his two comrades. Ever since the armada was destroyed, the Naval Police assigned an officer to shadow Isaac, making sure he wasn’t up to no good. Unfortunately, they picked perhaps the worst man for the job.
When Coleridge saw Isaac approach, he stepped away from the harmonica player, who looked rather grateful about that.
Isaac called out to him. “We need to get back to the base soon for morning roll call-”
“Isaac, we need to get back to base soon for morning roll call,” Coleridge interrupted. He was short and stout, and after finding his blue officer’s cap amid a pile of bottles, he clamped it down over his bushy head of black hair. He wiped kiss-shaped splotches of lipstick off his freckled face and collected himself. “And I’m still pissed about you escaping my watch last week to raid Tommy’s tavern.”
“You were in that tavern,” Isaac reminded him. “Enjoying the drinks and dancing.”
Coleridge groaned, but didn’t follow up. All Isaac had to give Coleridge a drink or a woman and the officer would be distracted for the night. And speaking of woman-
“Where’s Reed?” Isaac asked. He answered his own question a moment later when he bumped into a prone figure on the ground.
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“Fried rice?” Reed mumbled, her eyes glazed over and face all red. “You guys really shouldn’t have…beef and bell peppers too? I’m in Paradise…”
Isaac dumped his canteen on her face. Her eyes shot open; as her dream receded, she bolted upright and shook her head.
“I’m so goddamn hungry,” she muttered, clutching her stomach.
“Well, we can get food at the mess hall if we leave now.”
“I’m tired of moving,” Reed huffed out. She rolled over on her side. “I’m tired of getting half my face burned off, I’m tired of breaking both of my legs, I’m tired of killing people, I’m tired of seeing people killed, I’m tired of friends dying, I’m tired of friends betraying us-”
Isaac simply placed both her arms under her armpits and hoisted her to her feet. “And I’m tired of you,” he said.
Now on her feet, Reed’s mouth curled into a pout. But then she broke into a tired smile. “I’m tired of you, too.”
Name: Hibiscus "Reed" Reed Rank: Chief Midshipman Unit: Squad Reed (F/K/A Squad 3), 7th Outer Sect Brigade Cultivation Level: Circuit 2 (Emotional-Locomotive), Tier A Abilities: Foundational Technique: |Domino Sword| Rank 2 Right Ear Meridian: |Sound Deafener| Art Left Ear Meridian: |Human Wiretapping| Art Current Status: Plastered
She took a few steps forward, trying to move on her own power, but she started limping. Isaac’s offer to help her was greeted by a shake of her head, but she ultimately accepted Coleridge’s offer of her crutches.
“I still don’t know why you participated in the raid,” Isaac chided as the two departed the warehouse. It’s not like he wanted to see his best friend still hurt. “You should’ve rested.”
The three cultivators stepped out through a backdoor and into the chill of the pre-dawn air. The earliest shades of light appeared on the horizon, touching the rooftops of buildings in its grasp. The cold reached down to the bone; Reed pulled her greatcoat tighter around her. When they reached the small parking lot next to the warehouse, she slumped into the backseat of the open-top car, while Coleridge and Isaac got in front.
“Open-air,” Reed complained, curling into a ball.
“Makes it easier to get out if come under fire,” Coleridge told her as he started up the car. The headlights came on and the car rumbled through the maze of streets that made up the Bayside Rail Depot district. Curfew would last for another hour; the proud Naval Police ensign on the front of the car shielded them from punishment. The alliance between State Police and Naval Police was only becoming more apparent in the weeks since the airship attack on downtown Narragansett.
They ran into no trouble as they arrived back at Elizabeth Pond. Much of the base was still under construction; cranes with the slogan of the CARTWRIGHT sect-turned-merchant family rose into a sky dipped in the blue dawn. At the checkpoint outside the base, Naval Police cultivators stopped the car and spoke to Coleridge.
“Taking the cripple out for some air,” he explained, pointing his thumb at the backseat. Reed simply looked at him in disgust.
Isaac didn’t know the exact details, but Coleridge was related to somebody important within the Naval Police, so an explanation like that allowed him to make it through a military checkpoint with no trouble at all. Once inside, Coleridge passed by silent construction machinery and equipment until he arrived at the hospital.
“Hope your recovery goes well,” Isaac said in farewell as Reed slipped out the backseat.
She rested her arms on her crutches and muttered as she gazed up at the stone building. “Same shit, different day…”
With that, she crutch-walked up the ramp to the hospital doors. Coleridge reversed out of there and headed toward the main parking lot.
They made it just in time. The morning reveille to awaken the personnel within the base had already played; Isaac and Coleridge walked out of the lot as the flag-raising music drifted out of the base’s loudspeakers.
“You’re gonna be late,” Coleridge teased, then dashed off to his own side of the base to join his Naval Police comrades in the morning formation.
Isaac just shook his head and made his way over to his own organization’s columns. He slipped in right as the couple-hundred-strong crowd walked toward the cultivation fields and found the man he wanted to see but also not really. With the singular strand of black hair falling across his forehead, Bell stood taller and leaner compared to Isaac. He marched softly, almost like he was gliding, or perhaps metaphorically skating across the ice his cultivation ability could conjure. When Isaac fell in beside him, the newest member of Squad Reed greeted him with a laidback nod.
“You look like a wreck,” he simply observed in a light voice, and Isaac didn’t blame him. He didn’t sleep last night, likely had bags under his eyes, and stubble was growing on his chin.
“Long night,” Isaac answered. Bell didn’t press him further; he was aloof like that, always seeming like he was off in his little world. Perhaps that suited him; after all they’ve been through, Isaac felt incredibly close with Reed. He knew he shouldn’t, but any newcomer in Squad Reed would be held at arm’s length - especially when they were betrayed by its former member.
All the formations in Elizabeth Pond had assembled on the big fields and gazed up at the flagpole. As bugles played a solemn tune, the procession of flags were slowly raised. First came the Arcadian flag - a field of blue with a white column in the middle, the golden bolt of the Skyfather crashing down the middle. Upon completing his training, Isaac wouldn’t swear an oath to the flag - he would swear an oath to the government claiming to represent it.
Next came the naval ensign - just a field of blue with the golden bolt in the middle. Though all the personnel on that field served that flag, its meaning had grown rather empty these past couple of months. In terms of loyalty, the flags subtly raised afterwards on either side of the base represented far more to someone like Isaac.
On one side - the blue flag with the golden anchor and spiral galaxy of the Cultivator Marines.
On the other side - the blue flag with the golden scales of justice for the Naval Police.
And in the middle were all those men and women on the field. If the conflict continued to escalate - only half of them would be making it out of this winter alive.