«[…Not too sure. Commissariat was adamant about securing this deal.]»
«[But these prices are inane! For grain?]»
«[Humbleberry is the only one offering to ship us her expected reserves. She is the least affected by the famine, and this deal will not sacrifice cash crop shipments. These prices are reasonable compared to the others, from what I was informed.]»
«[But you have heard the troubling rumors from Native Relations, surely? Humbleberry seems unreliable; that is my worry. They should have at least looked within the other native countries attached to this district before final settling.]»
«[There could have been others, certainly, but the Commissariat has ultimately settled on Humbleberry. There is nothing we can do besides sort out the funds and paperwork. And I would not worry excessively, my friend, I am very doubtful anything egregious will happen; New Wellington has explicitly warned Grandberry the consequences, now that the grain deal has been officialized.]»
«[Bah… Do you really think this company can afford another showful response? First the attack to shatter our finances and then the occupation to eat whatever was left, and now the lengths we are going to feed the degenerate natives of this city which are proving detrimentally pricy—we are not the Wandering Frogs…]»
«[Well, it is either this or we are forced to move headquarters again; we both know what will happen if this food crisis continues.]»
«[Point taken…]»
Antica was gazing out through a window, blankly and so very…bored. Her ears picked up the whispering conversation of those…two administrators or whoevers somewhere behind her. She had not exactly turned herself around for the last hour or so to glance, and she was not exactly paying the most attention either. However, there were enough similarities between whatever language they were speaking and the ones she herself knew to allow for some deductive comprehension, nevertheless.
She was within the same floor as her room, for it was usually the quietest; any of the floors below were usually riddled with the squeaky wheels of turning bureaucracy and the noises of running administration. The people on those floors did not seem to want her there anyway; she had only gone there once the previous day just to get a better sense of this facility, yet she was met with a sea of scathing eyes and…whispering mutters.
«[Hm. Who is that woman over there? Sitting at the window… Never seen her before…]»
Oh, they finally noticed her.
«[Oh, her? Pay no mind to her; she is just one of those masquerade harlots, one whom the commissaire brought in a few days ago.]»
«[Brought in?]»
«[Yes. Apparently, the reasons are some secretive ‘top matter’ which he refuses to detail, but management was furious.]»
«[Of course… And I imagine he has had several ‘secretive meetings’ with her in his office?]»
«[As a matter of fact, yes. She is basically his queen; he has given her all manners of special treatment. Including the ambassador’s suite, and Heaven forbid he has got his men around her always.]»
«[And they just allowed this?]»
«[He is the Chief Commissaire, and you know what his regiment is.]»
«[And here I thought him better… Alas, I suppose all military officers are the same ultimately. I understand what degenerate city we are in, but this facility has clear rules: you may go out there and play with the whores or make lovers, but do not bring them back here. We do not need some scrumptious woman distracting the other working men.]»
Indeed. Antica had only been here for barely even a few measly days and yet such was what she always seemed to hear. She did not need to thoroughly comprehend every word of their tongues to know what they were remarking; it oozed from the tones and pitches of their voices. And such was despite her still wearing the Company armband always…
«[I say that, though… Her armband. Those are this company’s stripes? Native volunteers are issued such, no?]»
«[I hate to speak like you, my friend, but… Anyone of the commissaire’s stature can find a random street harlot and issue her an armband as a ‘volunteer’ for certain ‘volunteering’. There is no reason for a woman volunteer to be here this far from the occupation… I would not be surprised if she has already been shared around his men, to ‘boost moral’.]»
«[Beuh. Shameful…]»
«[Okay. You two.]» Suddenly, a voice came popping out from somewhere else behind, stomping bootsteps descending way. «[That’s enough. Get back to your jobs.]»
«[See, I told you… Wherever his harlot is, these men are somewhere around…]» There was a scoff followed by a sharply stern turn. «[Where did you even come from, sir? Spying from the other side of the door or what? Disrespectful!]»
Yet the interrupting person, respectfully and gently, shoved them. «[I said leave. You have gossiped enough, enuchs.]»
«[Eunuchs?!]» The voice practically cramped in on itself; «[The audacity! How dare you call us that! We are not so, and I shan’t stand for this treatment! I shall have you know, I have worked for this company longer than before you were even conceived, boy.]»
His other looked at him as if somewhat surprised… «[I have never seen you so dramatically worked up… By the light of Heaven, calm…]»
«[No, I cannot be!]» he loudly declared; «[I am tolerant of much, but ever since the commissaire and his personal soldiers appeared, it has been a constant this and that!]»
Antica remained locked onto the window, having yet to turn. It was best that she completely stayed out of this and let them sort this out themselves.
«[Tell me now, why is depot-seven restricted? Our capacity is already at its limits, and yet your commissaire has reserved an entire depot for, for…]»—the speaking head so swung to his other—«[Again! He has not told a single thing! We know nothing of what he is hiding in there! Besides those…those…noises! Those…damn noises!]» —eyes sprung back to the soldier—«[What are you keeping in there!]»
The interrupting person, however, was at his limit. «[Administers, respectfully, you two are from separate departments and were communicating about a sensitive affair. As you should know, such inter-departmental communication is currently prohibited.]» he so firmly stated, as if warning. «[You should be glad that all I am saying is mind your business and leave, because I could report you under the suspicion of espionage.]»
«[Huhmph.]» There was an audible scoff.
«[Like you said, you know what regiment this is…]” His other thus tugged his sleeve; “[Let us depart elsewhere.]»
«[Yes… Sorry, I did lose my temper… This is just far too tiresome.]»
With those two finally departing away, “You…” attention came flinging her way, footsteps approaching; “What are you doing?” His language had changed, accent along with it, yet his tone and voice remained distinctly identical—a fluency quite natural, indeed.
Antica sighed… “Nothing…” she replied, finally turning away from that window, glancing.
A soldier; that specific soldier.
Although his infantry coat was that distinct blackish color, there were bands of blue, and his tricorn hat had both a pin and a small ‘hackle’—all indications of being part of that ‘13th grand regiment’. His sleeves had a number of many stripes on them, likewise, indicating he was an ‘enlisted’ soldier of high rank—a fact further emphasized by the simple and small shoulder epaulettes. And his was an established familiar sight, having been amongst the handful of Faulkner’s trusted men assigned to guard her room during the first night.
“That was unnecessary.” she plainly told him.
“No. I would say it was necessary. Their comments were disgraceful.” yet Faulkner’s soldier so stated.
“Hm.” Antica mumbled utterly indifferent, her mask-obscured eyes returning to the window, gazing out… “It does not matter to me.”
“Well, it matters to me; it isn’t only your reputation that is harmed.” he bluntly stated. “What are you even doing out here, anyway? Why aren’t you in your room?”
“Nothing, as I just said. There is nothing for me to do.” She was without any orders, therefore without any immediate purpose. “And I thought that I was allowed free movement now?” Indeed, the colonel had explicitly specified that she was ‘free to roam’ about… Yet wherever she was, Faulkner’s soldiers could always be found meandering somewhere nearby… He was keeping active monitoring of her; it was blatantly obvious.
“Provided that you are respectful of your standing and do not disrupt this headquarters.” He was firm. “And that was disrupting.”
« … » She once again looked at him… « Ģe solë hançe fenestram perspeçheva, soldate. Qua de víâ mea síet cùlpa? » She was just looking out the window; how was this her fault? “Your intervention was more disruptive. For what do you think that they will ‘gossip’ of now?”
“That they need to mind their business, not insult a woman while she is able to hear them, and especially not make suggestions of a higher officer’s virtue—basic decency.” He proceeded to pinch his forehead with a grunting sigh; “Just go back to your room and stay out of others’ ways. The less they see you, the less questions and words.”
“Hm…” Truly, what a welcoming environment this had been. Even though she was supposedly this Company’s soon-to-be ‘spearhead’ against those so-called ‘Fallen’, it felt as if the entire headquarters did not actually want her here despite apparently needing her to be here. Truly, it was rather odd.
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“I would prefer to not, to be honest.” she nevertheless replied. “The room does not have this…view.”
“View? What view?” Faulkner’s soldier was confused, for there was nothing notable to see. He stepped closer and stood next to her, his eyes too peeping through this same window… “…drilling?” He looked at her; “You are spectating…drilling?” he asked as if bemused by such.
Indeed, down below just outside was part of what seemed to be grounds allocated to the garrison of this headquarters. This compound was rather condensed, remarkably squeezing in so much within its provided space; from the depots for wagons, warehouses for storage, stations for commerce and processing, barracks for both the garrison and stationed troops—including grounds for air-balloon assembly and, of course, personnel training and regimenting.
“Yes, I suppose that I am.” Antica just replied, her voice flat as usual yet audibly bored. “It is…interesting to me.”
“Interesting…? This is…interesting to you?” the soldier asked…
“I suppose that it is…” Antica essentially repeated. “I tried to go there to watch, but they did not let me near that…section. And so, I am watching from here; this is the only view that I could find.”
“Uhuh…” Out of everything a woman could possibly fancy, this was amongst the last things he could imagine. Granted, he was vaguely aware that she was no ordinary lady, yet he remained naive to the extents of which. “Well, I can’t see the appeal… All they are doing is bayoneting a doll over and over; all rather dull and boring.”
“Well, they were…doing other things also. But it tells much of you and your others, these…soldiers—not warriors, for there is the difference apparently.” Antica remarked; “But I can see that they are goodly trained and…with discipline. Especially with how they…move—or march, that is to say… As if with this…unbreakable harmony?”
“Well, I would hope so.” Faulkner’s soldier thus stated; “It requires steel will and hardened discipline to march straight into death and fire; to retain cohesion and stay in formation while those around you fall or have their heads splattered by cannons.”
Antica glanced at him, head slightly tilted… “They…are preparing to march into…death and fire?” She did not know if this was just some exaggerative metaphor or not, since his voice was implying…something literal. “What do you mean?”
Faulkner’s soldier looked at her as if a little dumbfounded… “Madam, do you not know how…war works?”
“Ehm…” Antica was slow to reply, her gaze evading away somewhat… “No… Not your wars, at least.” she…admitted; “May you explain, then?”
“Uhm… Sure?” He thus began to explain—the basics, at least.
-|-
« … » Antica stared, empty and blank. “Thus… You are telling me that… These large clusters of…tightly formed soldiers slowly march into…the explosive fire of artillery and the repeating shots of your enemies? Or am I incorrect?” Such was her takeaway from all this, at least. While her exact feelings were difficult to parse, her voice certainly conveyed a sense of her…viewing everything she had just heard as rather stupid. “Because that is what it seems that you are telling me.”
“I just explained it. It’s not exactly that, but…” Faulkner’s soldier tried to clarify, yet…there was somewhat of a struggle.
“…but?” Antica tilted her head… “Because it seems to me that by the time this slowly marching blob of line people get their chance to fire, most of them will be dead. Scattered positions and faster moving would be better considering the type of weapons I have seen your people use.”
“Well…” The soldier rubbed his neck… “Light infantry doctrine does exist, which is what we were trained for. But… I suppose I should have said that… These linear formations originated during the times when cannons only fired giant balls of lead and…when all of our guns were smoothbore muzzleloaders; not the modern breech-rifles we have now, let alone repeaters.” he thus explained; “It was not even that long ago when that was the standard, and many militaries still retain such armament.”
“Oh, I see…” In that case, then this…made much more sense to her. Indeed, her frame of reference was only with what she had seen of contemporary Far Western militaries, not necessarily the preceding historic contexts. “So, for the clarity… These smoothbores, they lack the accuracy, correctly? Because they are not with rifling? And these…muzzleloaders, they can only be loaded through…the barrel, and so they are very slow to reload… And these were the only guns you had?”
“Rifles were a specialist’s weapon as repeaters are now. But, essentially, yes…” he replied.
“Ah. I see now… So, then… I take it that the purpose of these line blobs was to…maximize the firing power by sheer volume? To make each shot decisive… And because the shots are inaccurate, having these rows of guns tightly together may also ensure that at least some hit somethings?” Antica began to muse aloud… “I imagine, also, that one of the goals for these blobs was to make the continuous rate of fire despite the slow loading? Such as… I suppose, one row fires while the other reloads in this…repeating cycle? Or… Hm… This is interesting…” She was interested, indeed.
“Huh…” Faulkner’s soldier looked at her as if perplexed. He had not mentioned any of these details; she was just kind of…figuring all of this out on her own… “Yeah… Something around that…sorts. Although, of course, war is complex… And exchanges more often end with a bayonet charge.”
“Your wars are stupid.” Antica abruptly remarked, leaving her thoughts. “None of you have real reasons; they are nonsensical.” She bluntly turned to him; “Have you considered, perhaps, stopping? It is easy.” Her flat affect made it difficult to tell whether she was being serious or sarcastic.
“Were it actually so simple…” Yet Faulkner’s soldier huffed, humored nevertheless. His eyes then glanced back at the window, seeing… “Well, it looks like they are finishing…”
“So it seems…” Antica plainly remarked, eyeing in kind.
“Hm…” The soldier partially glanced at her, before peering again at the grounds below… “You said that… You had tried to enter but were turned away?” He turned to her.
“Yes. Basically.” Antica replied. “They said that I would be too much of a ‘distraction’…”
“Hm. Well, I’ll see about that then, now that they are on break…” He began to walk, his hand waving to beckon a follow. “I’ll give you a tour, madam. Just…be on your best behavior and don’t bother the infantrymen.”
“Huh? Oh…” Antica just stared… She did not really need to be there directly anymore, frankly; this more than an hour-long spectating was enough. Yet… What else was there to do? So, why not? “I give thanks.” She thus followed.
-||-
“As you can see, this ground is hardly meant for true training… It’s too tight for regiment formations or even target practice at proper ranges. Really, it’s just to pass time and waste surplus ammunition… The garrison’s job is terribly boring.” Faulkner’s soldier thus provided his commentary as he guided Antica to that same spot she had been so starting at recently.
Indeed, it was a rather narrow space for what was supposed to be a training ground, as if those three stabbed and shot at dummies were positioned within the leftover space of this barracks and garrison quarters; the dummies themselves seemed hasty in their construction, being made of thick straw with target circles painted on them. Though, nevertheless, to her it was at least a valid usage of what would have otherwise been wasted space.
As Antica followed Faulkner’s soldier as he led her to the dummy range, the few or so Company soldiers who had just finished their daily practice rested against the shade provided by the main headquarter building proper, directly facing those very dummies. And they instantly noticed her; their eyes, indeed, jolted with immediate curiosity.
«Oho, ara dessa… E ki xe queła dona?»
«Hah! Gemo fato tan cusì ben?»
«Vardała! Bel corpo, dolse pí dolse. Spero ke ła resta, fiscio, fiscio…»
«Voia penxé ke posso farła á dormir avec mi?»
«Ti? E ke de noia?! No semo autorizá de partir! E xe stá tròpo longtenpo!!»
«Voia do zí stupidi.»
Antica’s mask-obscured eyes glanced in the direction of these soldiers…who were not even whispering; most likely emboldened to be loud by their ignorance of her actual comprehension… For indeed, even if their tongue was yet another bastardized and highly mutated…inbred sibling of her own, it was nevertheless related enough that she could kind of…ish…understand…broadly…the context of their remarks; albeit their tongue was awfully weirder than the last one she had encountered.
«[Oh, Father in Heaven…]» Faulkner’s soldier so muttered, having noticed. “Whatever you do, don’t look at them; just ignore them.”
Yet Antica was already looking at them, having become curious of their words…or rather in decoding their words.
«Oh, ehi… Vardvarda! Eła noia sta vardando!»
«Ła sua braçaleta… Xeła una de quełe vołontari? Alora ła xe avec ła conpagnía?»
«Benłèo ła vol parlar avec noia…»
The soldiers continued to discourse amongst themselves, debating as if attempting to reach a decision, all the while she stood there with Faulkner’s soldier nudging her to just…keep walking. Until, finally, one of those soldiers stood up and straddled on over to her, the others following similarly and meandering behind.
“Hello… I greet thou! Madam… Missy.” His voice was friendly but awkward, his accent very pronounced. He then looked at the guiding other. «Huo es sche, meonsire? Es sche þyns? Mæy wi tealcien tu hiere? For æn lytel?» They wanted permission to talk to her.
Faulkner’s soldier pinched the bridge of his nose, ughing… He was hoping to avoid precisely this. However, considering that these men had likely not interacted with a woman in too long of time, as long as they did nothing stupid, he might as well let them have a small chat before moving on. «[Fine, Serenan. But she is a volunteer assigned to the Thirteenth. So, do not push it.]» Acquiescing, he stood aside and went off, though obviously stayed around, watching.
Antica herself had not necessarily provided her approval, minded… However, she did not protest; she cared little either way, for this at least wasted time. “Uhm… Hello, I suppose?” she turned and greeted these different soldiers, their coats a more darkish serene-blue color than exiled black.
«Ła tua voce…» The initiating soldier immediately noticed Antica’s own accent. «Parli una dełe lengue nostre forse?» he eagerly inquired.
« Non com la léngua vostra exactë parlo, soldate. Varíaționes troppos differentes sont. » Antica replied. “It is better to speak in this tongue.”
“Oh. Alright.” he said, before…proceeding to just awkwardly stand there. The other soldiers too awkwardly stood there, perhaps not exactly knowing what to do now. “What thou…do here? Why…thou here?”
“I am not allowed to tell.” Antica plainly answered.
“Oh. Alrightly…” The soldier awkwardly stood there, silent… “Thou have good mask. I like.”
“Gun!” One of the other soldiers abruptly said, approaching with his firearm. “Thou want to see shoot? I shoot goodestly.”
Hm… Antica had not exactly seen them do any firing yet. “Sure. Show me your…shooting, then?” She really needed to resurrect her faded charm.
This soldier practically pushed the initiating one out of the way as he stood in range, firearm readied. Antica herself promptly stood off more behind and to his side, out of his way. She knew well enough how loud such could be.
He took in a breath, trying to ensure the watching girly eyes, masked they may be, did not nervous him so. Focusing, he cocked the striking hammer and, in very rapid succession, took aim and immediately discharged a snapping shot and a cloud of smoke. The whistling bullet struck the dummy dead center, to none his surprise.
“See? I am the best!” He smirked, hoping that she was impressed.
“Hmm.” Yet Antica’s thoughts were enigmatic, her overt feelings ambiguous. “That was very fast. Interesting.” Indeed, he certainly knew how to shoot and quickly.
Yet the soldier’s smirk only grew; he looked back to his others who stared with…brotherly envy. «Eła mi ama totalmente…» Indeed, the ambiguity of her emotions allowed them to project whatever they wanted from her.
“Uhm, uhm… Thou want shoot?” Another soldier sprung forth, approaching with his own firearm in hand which he extended to her as if offering. “Shoot, thou shoot. I allow. Is fun.”
“Uhm…” This did not seem exactly permissible… Though… Oh, why not? “Alrightly… Since it is offered…” She thus accepted his firearm.
The other soldiers watched with interest as Antica stood in range. Copying the procedure she had observed of the other, she cocked the hammer and…took her aim, a little slow. Trigger flicked, the hammer struck the cap, and she fired. The bullet whistled and struck the dummy clean through. Yet, once the smoke cleared, she saw that she had hit…
“That is the aim…” A snickering soldier remarked, the others giggling amongst themselves, quite amused. “So distant!”
“Ah…” Indeed, Antica’s shot had struck the dummy’s neck… Force of habit, truly, but still not even close to dead center. “That was intentional.” she quickly told them. “I was…aiming for the neck.” She was also not used to the recoil.
“Certainly!” Yet the snickering soldiers were unconvinced. “Thou aimed!”
“Hmph.” Antica was not bothered. “Another shot.” she nevertheless demanded. “Let me shoot again.”
However, «[Okay. That’s far enough.]» Faulkner’s soldier interjected himself, stepping before them. «[You Serenans delighted enough. We must move on, and you must return to your duties.]»
«Rétornar á nostro avorrimento, pí come…» The soldier so grumbled, snatching his firearm out from Antica’s hands… Yet besides these grumbles, they all simply disbanded without much protest, returning to their condemned boredom.
Faulkner’s fun-ruiner then turned his eyes to her. “Do not do that again.” He simply said, before walking on. “Come on. I’ll show you around a little more, but then we must return.”
“Alrightly.” Sighing, Antica thus followed; however, she could not help but glance at the soldiers who themselves departed their ways… Truth be told, deep down within, she would not have minded remaining with those soldiers longer, considering theirs was, at least, vaguely familiar company.