The Tyrant had taken control of the lands - no one's really sure how, other than he somehow had the most powerful weapons that could be found and just waltzed in and took over. It wasn't as if things had been peachy keen before this, since people struggled to keep up with the demanded advancements in steam power.
The Resistance had its hands on a meager weapon cache and what they could arrange for other supplies through underground trade. Tesla's experiments were being applied (nearly successfully) to weaponry, and would mean a breakthrough for the war effort. More weapons, more soldiers, more possibility that they might stand a chance. And that was the goal: freedom. At least it used to be. Now they mostly sent out patrols to protect against raids, and tried to send out scouts now and then. But they just lacked the numbers to make any formidable attack these days.
The People had come to doubt the efforts, though few outwardly opposed them outside of bar nights. That's where most ended up, drinking away their newfound complacency with the turn life had taken. Those that weren't killed in the beginning rotated between returning to battle and running trade, or training new recruits. There were plenty that lead what normalcy they could manage, took care of their families and friends, but it was hard to do without just joining up with The Tyrant. He had all of the connections that counted, from food and fuel and weapons to the finest wares and jewels.
The War had changed everything. People were thinner, but lean on account of the working until you're sick or dead lifestyle. They became grey, too. The Tyrant kept most of the coal, thus most of the power, and those who remained closer to the center of the city had better chance of maintaining power. If you dealt in and handled coal you usually looked like a miner even if you'd never been underground. Ash from burning so much coal at once somehow permeated the factories and coated the air itself grey, for a five-mile radius. Even the uniforms inside the city walls were grey, covering pale grey bellies that carried tired grey faces. They weren't any happier, but they were more profitable than most lives on the outside. Many simply left in the beginning, tired of waiting and hoping for other countries to confront this menace, and found livelihood elsewhere; their memories preserved in their existence. It wasn't long before tyranny stepped in and cut off the border to all but trade routes. Submit or die was his favorite mantra.
Zylphia had her opinions of things, and one of those was that she might as well smile. All the soot, dust, dirt in the world might powder her face and make her look a full ten years older, but she was determined to have the best kind of wrinkles this existence could offer. As such she spent a decent amount of time raising spirits and reminding others of the previous glory of their homeland. Relentlessly optimistic, and fairly carefree, she usually saw all of this restriction as a challenge. If we're truly left with nothing, she often thought and said, then all the world is ours.
The funny thing about the battlefield is, you lose your sense of self. You kind of have to, to shoot somebody, but it saps the meaning out of what you're hoping for and fighting for. Aside from those who enjoyed it of course. While Zylphia was an excitable person, she didn't crave the killing - no matter how badass she felt some days. Today, though...she was going to the front lines, the thickest of the fighting that had never really died out, just refilled and rotated. She had her revolvers, but for this position she was directed to a machine gun. THE machine gun, really, since the other one needed repairs and the others had broken one way or another some time ago. This too was part of her job, the mechanic repairs. But she knew guns better than the average citizen, and was mowing down what she could of The Tyrant's Company. She spotted someone reloading, the swiftly approaching lines, and covered her. Three down; nowhere near quota.
The Resistance had its hands on a meager weapon cache and what they could arrange for other supplies through underground trade. Tesla's experiments were being applied (nearly successfully) to weaponry, and would mean a breakthrough for the war effort. More weapons, more soldiers, more possibility that they might stand a chance. And that was the goal: freedom. At least it used to be. Now they mostly sent out patrols to protect against raids, and tried to send out scouts now and then. But they just lacked the numbers to make any formidable attack these days.
The People had come to doubt the efforts, though few outwardly opposed them outside of bar nights. That's where most ended up, drinking away their newfound complacency with the turn life had taken. Those that weren't killed in the beginning rotated between returning to battle and running trade, or training new recruits. There were plenty that lead what normalcy they could manage, took care of their families and friends, but it was hard to do without just joining up with The Tyrant. He had all of the connections that counted, from food and fuel and weapons to the finest wares and jewels.
The War had changed everything. People were thinner, but lean on account of the working until you're sick or dead lifestyle. They became grey, too. The Tyrant kept most of the coal, thus most of the power, and those who remained closer to the center of the city had better chance of maintaining power. If you dealt in and handled coal you usually looked like a miner even if you'd never been underground. Ash from burning so much coal at once somehow permeated the factories and coated the air itself grey, for a five-mile radius. Even the uniforms inside the city walls were grey, covering pale grey bellies that carried tired grey faces. They weren't any happier, but they were more profitable than most lives on the outside. Many simply left in the beginning, tired of waiting and hoping for other countries to confront this menace, and found livelihood elsewhere; their memories preserved in their existence. It wasn't long before tyranny stepped in and cut off the border to all but trade routes. Submit or die was his favorite mantra.
Zylphia had her opinions of things, and one of those was that she might as well smile. All the soot, dust, dirt in the world might powder her face and make her look a full ten years older, but she was determined to have the best kind of wrinkles this existence could offer. As such she spent a decent amount of time raising spirits and reminding others of the previous glory of their homeland. Relentlessly optimistic, and fairly carefree, she usually saw all of this restriction as a challenge. If we're truly left with nothing, she often thought and said, then all the world is ours.
The funny thing about the battlefield is, you lose your sense of self. You kind of have to, to shoot somebody, but it saps the meaning out of what you're hoping for and fighting for. Aside from those who enjoyed it of course. While Zylphia was an excitable person, she didn't crave the killing - no matter how badass she felt some days. Today, though...she was going to the front lines, the thickest of the fighting that had never really died out, just refilled and rotated. She had her revolvers, but for this position she was directed to a machine gun. THE machine gun, really, since the other one needed repairs and the others had broken one way or another some time ago. This too was part of her job, the mechanic repairs. But she knew guns better than the average citizen, and was mowing down what she could of The Tyrant's Company. She spotted someone reloading, the swiftly approaching lines, and covered her. Three down; nowhere near quota.
Bullets ripped over Andrea's head and mowed down several soldiers in front of her. Of course her cartridge would jam in the beginning of the battle. She changed the clip and raised a hand at the gunner. Is that the mechanic? Little time was left to ponder this for soon more soldiers were on top of them, brandishing their signature Imperial swords and helmets.
Someone lunged at Andrea and she deflected the blow with the barrel of her rifle. She spun the gun's butt into the man's jaw and sent him staggering backwards. The rifle completed its spin and Andrea pulled the trigger, sending the lead through the mans heart. As he fell back she analyzed the rushing men and thinned out a group with her remaining shots.
Then, drawing her own sword and letting the rifle hang on her back, she charged out of cover with her battle buddies around her. In this battle the Imperials had used no guns so far, it seemed all too easy.
Someone lunged at Andrea and she deflected the blow with the barrel of her rifle. She spun the gun's butt into the man's jaw and sent him staggering backwards. The rifle completed its spin and Andrea pulled the trigger, sending the lead through the mans heart. As he fell back she analyzed the rushing men and thinned out a group with her remaining shots.
Then, drawing her own sword and letting the rifle hang on her back, she charged out of cover with her battle buddies around her. In this battle the Imperials had used no guns so far, it seemed all too easy.
She took the time to wave a few fingers at the soldier, much more acquainted with this than herself. As she was taking out another half-dozen of the bladed bastards, she noticed the rear flank gathering and pushing something massive. After jumping down from the gun to take cover and pull out binoculars, she saw a cannon. "Oh holy sh-" her curse was cut off by jumping further into the fray, as a cannon ball took out her previous seat. The wind was knocked from her as she rolled away, then back onto her feet. She drew one of her six shooters and wielded a long knife in the other hand, making her way through the crowd. They were trying to retreat enough to avoid blasting their own men, and she was surprised they even cared. Still, it offered a chance at some confused targets, slashing through uniforms and emptied hearts. The mechanic suffered a cut to her gun arm - surface damage, but enough for her to fall back and take notice of the bigger formation.
Eventually they all grew breathless, some scattering to avoid more cannon fire. The more bloodthirsty and battle-ready managed to press them further, and deplete enough of their forces to inspire full retreat. None of which happened so quickly as it could be explained, and all left with scars one way or the other. When it was clear that they had pulled back, halfhearted cheers rose from the tired front lines. They rotated in fresh blood, and Zylphia found her way back through the throng, skipping the med tent to tend her own minor wounds.
Picking her meticulous trail, she caught sight of the woman soldier and made her way over to shake hands in thanks.
Eventually they all grew breathless, some scattering to avoid more cannon fire. The more bloodthirsty and battle-ready managed to press them further, and deplete enough of their forces to inspire full retreat. None of which happened so quickly as it could be explained, and all left with scars one way or the other. When it was clear that they had pulled back, halfhearted cheers rose from the tired front lines. They rotated in fresh blood, and Zylphia found her way back through the throng, skipping the med tent to tend her own minor wounds.
Picking her meticulous trail, she caught sight of the woman soldier and made her way over to shake hands in thanks.
This woman soldier that Zylphia was looking for was still in the battle field helping to round up the few soldiers that surrendered. Next to her stood a male that looked very similar to her in features and complection. Both of them had very youthful faces as well as figures as they rounded up the survivors, guns directing them which way to go.
Andrea wasn't knowing of Zylphia's aproach as she pulled one aside and sat him down, the male handing the rest over to some other armed resistance fighters before joining her. Anrea brought the rifle up to the man's head and started to question him.
"What was the purpose of this battle?"
The man trembled as he shook his head. "I don't know. They didn't tell me anything."
The two with the guns exchanged a look before Andrea moved the gun down and placed the tip of the barrel right between his legs. The male with her then raised his longer barreled gun, a sniper rifle, and aimed it at the man's chest. "Really," she said, "you don't know at all?"
The man gulped, "I swear they didn't tell us what we were fighting this battle over," he sputtered.
"Alrighty, then what do you know?"
"Nothing!" Wrong answer, they both cocked their weapons, and with the man's hands bound behind his back he could'nt do anything.
"Okay, okay! Please don't kill me!" The man was on the verge of tears as he pleaded to the two youths. "All of us are new recruits, thats why they didn't issue any rifles to any of us. You have to be experienced to be trained to use a rifle, you have to survive a battle first."
Andrea turned to the male. "I don't understand this, why would they do that? Wouldn't it be more useful to use a combination of experience and inexperience? They won't have alot of these new guys alive now."
The male shook his head. "H*** if I know. Maybe he is just lying to us." He shot a look at the man as cold as the ice lands. He had little expression on his face, seeming quite reserved as it is.
"You're not going to kill me?" Asked the man. Shaking his head, the male turned away as if he was going to walk back. Then he spun around and brought the but of his gun into the man's head, rendering him unconcious.
As he fell too the floor Andrea looked at him. "Don't you think that was a bit much?" He only shrugged as he dragged the man to rejoin the others, leaving Andrea to survey the battle field as she stood there alone.
Andrea wasn't knowing of Zylphia's aproach as she pulled one aside and sat him down, the male handing the rest over to some other armed resistance fighters before joining her. Anrea brought the rifle up to the man's head and started to question him.
"What was the purpose of this battle?"
The man trembled as he shook his head. "I don't know. They didn't tell me anything."
The two with the guns exchanged a look before Andrea moved the gun down and placed the tip of the barrel right between his legs. The male with her then raised his longer barreled gun, a sniper rifle, and aimed it at the man's chest. "Really," she said, "you don't know at all?"
The man gulped, "I swear they didn't tell us what we were fighting this battle over," he sputtered.
"Alrighty, then what do you know?"
"Nothing!" Wrong answer, they both cocked their weapons, and with the man's hands bound behind his back he could'nt do anything.
"Okay, okay! Please don't kill me!" The man was on the verge of tears as he pleaded to the two youths. "All of us are new recruits, thats why they didn't issue any rifles to any of us. You have to be experienced to be trained to use a rifle, you have to survive a battle first."
Andrea turned to the male. "I don't understand this, why would they do that? Wouldn't it be more useful to use a combination of experience and inexperience? They won't have alot of these new guys alive now."
The male shook his head. "H*** if I know. Maybe he is just lying to us." He shot a look at the man as cold as the ice lands. He had little expression on his face, seeming quite reserved as it is.
"You're not going to kill me?" Asked the man. Shaking his head, the male turned away as if he was going to walk back. Then he spun around and brought the but of his gun into the man's head, rendering him unconcious.
As he fell too the floor Andrea looked at him. "Don't you think that was a bit much?" He only shrugged as he dragged the man to rejoin the others, leaving Andrea to survey the battle field as she stood there alone.
All of the soot and smoke and dirt made people seem older, and the loss and the stress of present lifestyles only worsened aging effects. As she approached the young woman then, she assumed she was at least of age. It wasn't until she got a closer look that she noticed the slightly more delicate complexion of the young. Though considering how early some went to war, nobody was known to adhere to age restrictions on drink.
"Hey! I'm Zylphia. There's some big guns calling my name but I wanted to shake your hand and offer you a drink. It isn't every day I'm actually someone's backup, or manning guns. If you're up for it, we can meet at the tavern."
"Hey! I'm Zylphia. There's some big guns calling my name but I wanted to shake your hand and offer you a drink. It isn't every day I'm actually someone's backup, or manning guns. If you're up for it, we can meet at the tavern."
Andrea smiled and extended her hand to the lady. "Nice to meet you, my name's Andrea, the second youngest soldier in the resistance!" She paused to consider the offer, "sure! I'll head there once I'm done with these POWs, I owe you something for lighting up those guys for me."
"I do what I can. I'll see you there!" She gave a quick nod before she ran off to repair at least one of the machine guns; they would need them again before too long, and there were parts to be had. She never pocketed more than unhelpful scraps from the resistance lines, but Zylphia could turn those wads of metal into ammunition at the very least. When she could, she recreated or reinvented simple weaponry of her own; just occasionallly crafting small things of amusement.
As she made her repairs, the shapes of the pieces stood out as the possible forms of other creatures and creations, but became yet another gun. The one she had manned was worse for wear when she began, but was back to sturdy functionality by the end of it. With what was left of parts, she managed to repair another machine gun before finding her way to the main repair house, and once there reported the fix so they could fill the seats with someone who knew what they were doing.
"Maybe we won't have to repair 'em as often," she chided. It was a running joke, since nothing was ever in "tip-top" shape, no matter how often they replaced and re-aligned and re-calibrated everything that managed to hold together; adding gears and extra manual handlings to anything that might otherwise be irreparable. Zylphia enjoyed being able to feel productive, but her work was never done.
Later, she managed to make it to the tavern and was finishing her meal before she ordered a drink.
As she made her repairs, the shapes of the pieces stood out as the possible forms of other creatures and creations, but became yet another gun. The one she had manned was worse for wear when she began, but was back to sturdy functionality by the end of it. With what was left of parts, she managed to repair another machine gun before finding her way to the main repair house, and once there reported the fix so they could fill the seats with someone who knew what they were doing.
"Maybe we won't have to repair 'em as often," she chided. It was a running joke, since nothing was ever in "tip-top" shape, no matter how often they replaced and re-aligned and re-calibrated everything that managed to hold together; adding gears and extra manual handlings to anything that might otherwise be irreparable. Zylphia enjoyed being able to feel productive, but her work was never done.
Later, she managed to make it to the tavern and was finishing her meal before she ordered a drink.
Andrea herself had to finish tending to the prisoners of war before she could get to the tavern. This battle was an odd one, way too easy, but she would check into it tomorrow. Right now, she had a person to meet at the tavern. She finished her rations at the temporary base before heading off.
"Don't be out all night," called the other youth, the male.
"Yes mother!" was all that was needed to shut him up. She realised it was a sore spot and would apologize to him about it later.
In the town Andrea meandered towards the tavern, looking around at things. Eventually she reached the tavern and went in. Being so young, she usually turned a head or two. This was no exception, but, like usual, she ignored them and walked through the room. Her eyes glanced a round for the woman she had met earlier. Spotting her, Andrea made her way to where the girl was seated and sat next to her. She propably turned some heads when she came in here too, thought the girl.
"Hey-ya!" She said chipperly as she turned and faced the lady. "Zylphia right?"
"Don't be out all night," called the other youth, the male.
"Yes mother!" was all that was needed to shut him up. She realised it was a sore spot and would apologize to him about it later.
In the town Andrea meandered towards the tavern, looking around at things. Eventually she reached the tavern and went in. Being so young, she usually turned a head or two. This was no exception, but, like usual, she ignored them and walked through the room. Her eyes glanced a round for the woman she had met earlier. Spotting her, Andrea made her way to where the girl was seated and sat next to her. She propably turned some heads when she came in here too, thought the girl.
"Hey-ya!" She said chipperly as she turned and faced the lady. "Zylphia right?"
When people saw the girl walk in, Zylphia saw an assortment of faces; from envy to pity, and at least one or two pervy. Women stood their own on the battlefield, but so many were taking care of their children and each other that there weren't as many in the thick of it as she had once thought. Zylphia got looks for her dreadlocks (even less lady-like than the dirt and the grime) but youth was always a beacon of attention. From other conversations she had heard, she gathered that some pined over what today's youth should know and experience, regretting that it would be loss and warfare. Others were jealous of their able bodies, or craved to claim them. In the mechanic's mind, people were people, and they all shared this side of the world. Every single person had a hand outstretched in need and the other extended to his equally needy neighbor. There were, of course, seedier things and people and places - some of them in that very tavern - but nobody really got through the wartime lifestyle alone. Even so, some stood out amongst other gunners, and such was the case for this girl. Once Andrea found her, she smiled in greeting.
"Yeah, Zylphia," she waved at the bartender and nibbled at what was left of her meager food. "Couldn't help but notice how well you shoot, especially for a youngling! Who taught you to shoot?" She could know as much about guns as she could learn, but Zylphia had never been that great of a shot up close.
"Yeah, Zylphia," she waved at the bartender and nibbled at what was left of her meager food. "Couldn't help but notice how well you shoot, especially for a youngling! Who taught you to shoot?" She could know as much about guns as she could learn, but Zylphia had never been that great of a shot up close.
"Practice," said the girl as she pulled up a seat and sat next to the lady. Andrea smiled, "I've been training since I was thirteen, that's when I joined the resistance group." That wasn't everything, but it accounted for most of her shooting skills.
Andrea pulled a canteen from her side and unscrewed the cap before setting it on the table. "So what made you join the resistance?" The girl took a sip after she asked. Everyone had their story, and everyone had their reasons. Andrea just really just liked to hear the stories. If she were her brother, it would be to decide who to trust.
Andrea pulled a canteen from her side and unscrewed the cap before setting it on the table. "So what made you join the resistance?" The girl took a sip after she asked. Everyone had their story, and everyone had their reasons. Andrea just really just liked to hear the stories. If she were her brother, it would be to decide who to trust.
Tending bar this evening was a stout and busty woman with a dimpled smile, and she made her rounds with a mostly clean pitcher. She filled glass after glass before finally reaching their table, leaving two shots of something stronger as well. Zylphia gulped a bit of the frothy swill before answering the girl's question.
"Double-sided necessity. With no family left, I needed something to do. Always been a tinkerer anyhow, and the resistance is always short-handed. They needed a mechanic and I needed a cause. Simple as that, mostly." Another drink wet her tongue as she wondered how important opinions were anymore, if there was really a grand scheme to any of it or if it was more futile bloodshed on the hands of humanity.
"I guess you could say I'm optimistic. I like to think there's something left worth fighting for, whatever it is. I do know I'd sooner be shot down in the street than don that mindless uniform of theirs!" A coarse noise akin to a bitter snicker left her mouth, as she pictured those wannabe 'progressives' in her mind. More of the weak draft fizzled past her throat as she downed the rest, and raised up her shot glass in toast.
"To the bravest setta tits on the battlefield!" Mayhaps it was the drink, but distant rumors pinged in her mind as her glass knocked to the table, and she wondered if the young woman before her lived up to any of them.
"Double-sided necessity. With no family left, I needed something to do. Always been a tinkerer anyhow, and the resistance is always short-handed. They needed a mechanic and I needed a cause. Simple as that, mostly." Another drink wet her tongue as she wondered how important opinions were anymore, if there was really a grand scheme to any of it or if it was more futile bloodshed on the hands of humanity.
"I guess you could say I'm optimistic. I like to think there's something left worth fighting for, whatever it is. I do know I'd sooner be shot down in the street than don that mindless uniform of theirs!" A coarse noise akin to a bitter snicker left her mouth, as she pictured those wannabe 'progressives' in her mind. More of the weak draft fizzled past her throat as she downed the rest, and raised up her shot glass in toast.
"To the bravest setta tits on the battlefield!" Mayhaps it was the drink, but distant rumors pinged in her mind as her glass knocked to the table, and she wondered if the young woman before her lived up to any of them.
A touch of red came to Andrea's cheeks as she raised her canteen and said, "to the greatest mechanic around!" She drank from the canteen before putting it down. The girl hid her red face with a fake cough as they returned to normal. The girl didn't usually blush, but the mixture of the words used and the compliment set it off against her will. "Sooo... do you go to the Inns at the local towns often?" By the way the lady could take her drinks, Andrea thought she had her answer already.
Liquor tends to loosen lips, and as little as the mechanic sought pity, she found her life story spilling from her mouth with more ease than she usually dared.
"Times like these, the booze is almost cleaner than the water!" Her eyes glittered with the empty sparkle of an alcohol buzz, her cheeks a pinched pink. Her chuckle seemed to sadden when she continued, "but yes, I once had what you might call a 'problem' with drink. I was married when the tyrant took his power, and a completely different woman." Grabbing a thin stray dreadlock that escaped the pulled-back auburn mass, she explained, "this is - I am - now a product of necessity. Had a luscious mane, I did! Even a hairbrush, and a home. We had dreams of a family, but now...children...well, you know what it is to grow up in this. Plus, I don't really see myself remarrying."
It didn't need to be said that she was a widow, and any doubt of such was wiped away with her subtle tears. They were few and brief, and really only loosened by alcohol, but they were as clear as the pain that caused them. She tried to recollect herself and be chipper once more.
"Ah look at me, still a mess. I loved him though, and love him still. That boy that was out there with you - is he family?"
"Times like these, the booze is almost cleaner than the water!" Her eyes glittered with the empty sparkle of an alcohol buzz, her cheeks a pinched pink. Her chuckle seemed to sadden when she continued, "but yes, I once had what you might call a 'problem' with drink. I was married when the tyrant took his power, and a completely different woman." Grabbing a thin stray dreadlock that escaped the pulled-back auburn mass, she explained, "this is - I am - now a product of necessity. Had a luscious mane, I did! Even a hairbrush, and a home. We had dreams of a family, but now...children...well, you know what it is to grow up in this. Plus, I don't really see myself remarrying."
It didn't need to be said that she was a widow, and any doubt of such was wiped away with her subtle tears. They were few and brief, and really only loosened by alcohol, but they were as clear as the pain that caused them. She tried to recollect herself and be chipper once more.
"Ah look at me, still a mess. I loved him though, and love him still. That boy that was out there with you - is he family?"
Andrea nodded as the woman spoke, showing she at least somewhat understood. When Zylphia asked her the question, the acknowledgement nod became an answer. "He's the only family I have left." Being both a teenager as well as naturally talkative, she took her turn to tell her story. "My brother and I used to live with our Mother and Father quite happily. One day I went to visit my friend and Imperials stormed our house. Drew hid but our parents couldn't. He saw them executed right in our own house." Andrea shuddered as she remembered Drew, little and sobbing as he told her what happened.
She gave a week smile, "I guess we all have lost things."
She gave a week smile, "I guess we all have lost things."
"That we have..." her thoughts lulled a bit, but she finally pulled her head around. "What do you do off the field, then? Between that and surviving that is."
She wasn't the best at drunken small talk beyond her initial talkitive spurt, but knowing someone with such good aim could prove benefitial, and Zylphia didn't have anyone to go home to.
She wasn't the best at drunken small talk beyond her initial talkitive spurt, but knowing someone with such good aim could prove benefitial, and Zylphia didn't have anyone to go home to.
"I usually fight on the front lines with the rest of the men." Then she paused. She spoke with a smile after a second, "they need someone to show them how it's done." Her smile grew a little bit and then fadded back to normal. "Other times I will go out and be one of the people of specialised missions. A little of both really. What about you?"
At the mention of special missions, she raised an eyebrow but didn't ask questions.
"I tinker," she laughed, "as I always do. I help some of the people around with odd jobs and repairs. Sometimes I make trinkets from scrap and hand those off to kids or trade them for more materials." She pointed to a bracelet she wore, one which held a few extra pieces of ammo along a leather strap.
"These sort of things, though the ones I trade and hand out have bits of lace or look more like wearable jewelry. These bullets, they're for emergencies only." She considered her thoughts before continuing.
"So...these special missions...anything you can talk about?" She'd heard of various liason missions, but had never heard if they had been successful, or what they'd set out to achieve.
"I tinker," she laughed, "as I always do. I help some of the people around with odd jobs and repairs. Sometimes I make trinkets from scrap and hand those off to kids or trade them for more materials." She pointed to a bracelet she wore, one which held a few extra pieces of ammo along a leather strap.
"These sort of things, though the ones I trade and hand out have bits of lace or look more like wearable jewelry. These bullets, they're for emergencies only." She considered her thoughts before continuing.
"So...these special missions...anything you can talk about?" She'd heard of various liason missions, but had never heard if they had been successful, or what they'd set out to achieve.
Andrea nodded as the woman talked. "That sounds really fun. I could never be a tinkerer, I don't have the patients." The girl's leg started bouncing as if for added effect, she realized it and kept her leg still. Then she gave a half smile at the question on the table. "I can talk about some, but others," she stopped talking for a second but her smile grew, "I'd have to kill you." She drew her finger across her neck, illustrating the gruesome consequences. "It depends on who organized it and what we actually had to do."
"Hmm. How does one even find herself in that position? Is it a hired gun kind of job?" Zylphia worried at asking the wrong questions, but her curiosity pushed boundaries.
As she awaited reply, her eyes scanned the bar and her hand fiddled with her bracelet, sliding the ammo around between slots.
As she awaited reply, her eyes scanned the bar and her hand fiddled with her bracelet, sliding the ammo around between slots.
"Trust me,"Andrea said matter-of-factly, "you can't put a price on something like this." The girl tossed her hair and smiled jokingly. "Honestly, it was partly because of our training. We didn't just train for or walk into our jobs. I mean, we did train, but we lived training. We had no where else to go so everyday for two years it was training and training. No weekends, only time off was a supply run." Andrea shrugged, she had left out the part about them being able to pick up on their training very quickly.
"It is starting to get late, and we do have important issues to cover tomorrow, we should probably head back. Do you want me to get someone to pay for your drinks?" She gave a mischievous little grin as she twirled her hair.
"It is starting to get late, and we do have important issues to cover tomorrow, we should probably head back. Do you want me to get someone to pay for your drinks?" She gave a mischievous little grin as she twirled her hair.
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