05-19-2016, 11:08 AM
“Uhhhhhh...” the man pondered aloud, while his dark eyes crept to one side, “Sure thing. Pleasure to have you, Miss Adams.” His eyes again remained on the wolf, while the drawbridge-like gate rose again. “You’ll have to see Mr. Skender, he oversees this sort of thing. It’s the end of my shift anyway, I’ll take you to him.”
Silently, wordlessly, Christa was lead along the roads of the small township. The guard had passed off his duties to another, who slowly climbed the stairs, and wore a glum expression on his face, as though he had seen all that there was, and there was no life left within him. Fighting monsters day after day would probably do that to you, she supposed and let her feet carry on.
After a while, they were delivered right to his doorstep. The shorter guard knocked on the door, at first quietly, then more adequately when there was no answer.
There was quite a long delay, and Christa looked at the guard with an expression of ‘I assume he’s out?’ but he was not swayed, and remained standing right where he had been, staring at the door, and not dissuaded by the woman’s doubt.
A few softly trodden footsteps could be heard just on the other side of the door, and sure enough, it was cracked open and a single eye peered out to greet them. His dark eye crept from the guard to the girl from its narrow slit of opened door. Christa blinked, all the more curious about this ‘Skender’ as though enflamed by his queer behavior. He noted the weapons on her person, and then opened up the door to a reasonable dimension. “What is it, private?” Dobson asked to the guard, his tone weary, meanwhile, Christa got a better look at the man.
The hair on his face was slightly disheveled, the stubble was darker than the blond highlights atop his head, while his face looked slightly hollowed in, whether from malnutrition, or simply his bone structure, was nearly indecipherable. Clearly, the commander was off-duty, for he wore civilian clothes, and even appeared, by the sprawled bedsheets behind him, that he had just been resting his eyes. He’d probably had the night shift last night, and that’s how she had missed him.
“This is Christa Adams, she wants to enlist.” the short guard stated plainly, drawing the attention of the commander upon her. His gray eyes inspected her person, from toe to chin. She didn’t look like much, but had a tall, healthy stature that told of combat, a proud expression always hung on her face, whether she was in combat, or with comrades. On her hips she wore a war belt, and some form-fitting cargo pants, and since she’d lost (completely obliterated) her jacket, she only had a black tank top on, which mainly hid the smears of blood that she’d accumulated, but did not hide the puncture holes accentuated by her porcelain flesh. He eyed the fresh mud on her shoes, and the pack and sniper on her back.
“I’ve sent too many men to their deaths, who claim to be ready, worthy, and willing to die for the cause. What makes you think you can handle it?” Her eyes narrowed as he asked it, it wasn’t meant to be hostile, but she was sure, it was directed at her gender. She’d been used to this, having mainly served among platoons of men for years.
“I thought you might ask me that,” Christa said plainly, and hid a smirk on her lips as she dug out her prize from her pocket. To the commander, it appeared that she was pulling out a crumbled piece of paper, but it looked like, within it, she’d stowed something. It was set in his hand, heavy, and he was hesitant to unravel it.
As the edges and folds of the paper came from around it, the dim lighting would barely suffice for him to see just what he was holding. His eyes drew closer to the paper, which had a sketch on it of a stone figure, its eyes were covered by hands, and it appeared to be an angel, weeping. The dense object inside the paper, the guard and the commander realized at the same time, was a broken piece of its stone hand.
Dobsen remained calm, as he realized what this meant wordlessly, he took the threats to the town very seriously, and lifted the stone fingers into the air to inspect them further. Now, the short guard had a better view as to what was on the paper, and gasped.
“No doubt Mornel and the others told you about the infestation. That’s all that’s left now.” Christa stated clearly, her eyes remained on the commander, for some time, “I’m not going to let myself die over some ugly looking monsters, I’ll protect this town, and its way of life, one mission at a time. I’ll even do guard duty, as I’m sure you could use an extra set of hands.”
“Hm.” Skender paused, melodramatically, and then attempted a scare tactic, maybe hoping to appeal to her more sensitive side, “A couple of fingers from a stone monster mean nothing if you can’t handle watching your comrades die beside you, and you, Prime, are forced to live.”
“Survivors guilt is meant for the time when the war is over. As long as I’m fighting, and the Moors have more creatures to slay, and enemies to face, I doubt I’ll be sitting idle long enough to dwell on my allotted fortunes.” Their conversation was brief as ever, Commander Skender held her gaze for a while, as though staring into her soul, and probing out all the weaknesses the girl had.
Christa suddenly felt the squirm in her backpack, and hoped that the wolf’s nose wouldn’t come out at this time, that would be inconvenient, since she was pretty sure she’d impressed her leader.
“Alright, Adams, once you get your gear, you’ll take the pledge and then be sent to training. But don’t go running off when we need you most, as most primes don’t have the stomach to stay here too long, we allow breaks, for even I understand the call to adventure, but when you enlist, you’re here for good.” If that was meant to scare Christa, it didn’t do the trick. Instead, the girl’s mind went on her sister, how was she doing? She hadn’t called, maybe she was asleep, or maybe... Her suspicions were correct. The prime sighed, and looked up at Skender, who was waiting on her confirmation. Oh, the army days.
“Yes, sir. Commander.”
Silently, wordlessly, Christa was lead along the roads of the small township. The guard had passed off his duties to another, who slowly climbed the stairs, and wore a glum expression on his face, as though he had seen all that there was, and there was no life left within him. Fighting monsters day after day would probably do that to you, she supposed and let her feet carry on.
After a while, they were delivered right to his doorstep. The shorter guard knocked on the door, at first quietly, then more adequately when there was no answer.
There was quite a long delay, and Christa looked at the guard with an expression of ‘I assume he’s out?’ but he was not swayed, and remained standing right where he had been, staring at the door, and not dissuaded by the woman’s doubt.
A few softly trodden footsteps could be heard just on the other side of the door, and sure enough, it was cracked open and a single eye peered out to greet them. His dark eye crept from the guard to the girl from its narrow slit of opened door. Christa blinked, all the more curious about this ‘Skender’ as though enflamed by his queer behavior. He noted the weapons on her person, and then opened up the door to a reasonable dimension. “What is it, private?” Dobson asked to the guard, his tone weary, meanwhile, Christa got a better look at the man.
The hair on his face was slightly disheveled, the stubble was darker than the blond highlights atop his head, while his face looked slightly hollowed in, whether from malnutrition, or simply his bone structure, was nearly indecipherable. Clearly, the commander was off-duty, for he wore civilian clothes, and even appeared, by the sprawled bedsheets behind him, that he had just been resting his eyes. He’d probably had the night shift last night, and that’s how she had missed him.
“This is Christa Adams, she wants to enlist.” the short guard stated plainly, drawing the attention of the commander upon her. His gray eyes inspected her person, from toe to chin. She didn’t look like much, but had a tall, healthy stature that told of combat, a proud expression always hung on her face, whether she was in combat, or with comrades. On her hips she wore a war belt, and some form-fitting cargo pants, and since she’d lost (completely obliterated) her jacket, she only had a black tank top on, which mainly hid the smears of blood that she’d accumulated, but did not hide the puncture holes accentuated by her porcelain flesh. He eyed the fresh mud on her shoes, and the pack and sniper on her back.
“I’ve sent too many men to their deaths, who claim to be ready, worthy, and willing to die for the cause. What makes you think you can handle it?” Her eyes narrowed as he asked it, it wasn’t meant to be hostile, but she was sure, it was directed at her gender. She’d been used to this, having mainly served among platoons of men for years.
“I thought you might ask me that,” Christa said plainly, and hid a smirk on her lips as she dug out her prize from her pocket. To the commander, it appeared that she was pulling out a crumbled piece of paper, but it looked like, within it, she’d stowed something. It was set in his hand, heavy, and he was hesitant to unravel it.
As the edges and folds of the paper came from around it, the dim lighting would barely suffice for him to see just what he was holding. His eyes drew closer to the paper, which had a sketch on it of a stone figure, its eyes were covered by hands, and it appeared to be an angel, weeping. The dense object inside the paper, the guard and the commander realized at the same time, was a broken piece of its stone hand.
Dobsen remained calm, as he realized what this meant wordlessly, he took the threats to the town very seriously, and lifted the stone fingers into the air to inspect them further. Now, the short guard had a better view as to what was on the paper, and gasped.
“No doubt Mornel and the others told you about the infestation. That’s all that’s left now.” Christa stated clearly, her eyes remained on the commander, for some time, “I’m not going to let myself die over some ugly looking monsters, I’ll protect this town, and its way of life, one mission at a time. I’ll even do guard duty, as I’m sure you could use an extra set of hands.”
“Hm.” Skender paused, melodramatically, and then attempted a scare tactic, maybe hoping to appeal to her more sensitive side, “A couple of fingers from a stone monster mean nothing if you can’t handle watching your comrades die beside you, and you, Prime, are forced to live.”
“Survivors guilt is meant for the time when the war is over. As long as I’m fighting, and the Moors have more creatures to slay, and enemies to face, I doubt I’ll be sitting idle long enough to dwell on my allotted fortunes.” Their conversation was brief as ever, Commander Skender held her gaze for a while, as though staring into her soul, and probing out all the weaknesses the girl had.
Christa suddenly felt the squirm in her backpack, and hoped that the wolf’s nose wouldn’t come out at this time, that would be inconvenient, since she was pretty sure she’d impressed her leader.
“Alright, Adams, once you get your gear, you’ll take the pledge and then be sent to training. But don’t go running off when we need you most, as most primes don’t have the stomach to stay here too long, we allow breaks, for even I understand the call to adventure, but when you enlist, you’re here for good.” If that was meant to scare Christa, it didn’t do the trick. Instead, the girl’s mind went on her sister, how was she doing? She hadn’t called, maybe she was asleep, or maybe... Her suspicions were correct. The prime sighed, and looked up at Skender, who was waiting on her confirmation. Oh, the army days.
“Yes, sir. Commander.”
![[Image: -Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif]](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/35600000/-Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif)
"I have never met a strong person with an easy past." -Atticus