“Hey you!” he yells, points at Lucinda. “Get over here.”
Lucinda doesn’t respond, keeps walking, waves one hand low at her hip to bring Twist and Nose-Woman and Dice Pouch along. Nose-Woman and Twist keep walking, maintain position close behind Lucinda, but Dice Pouch falters.
“Keep walking,” Lucinda growls, turns her head just far enough to bare her teeth at Dice Pouch. “He’s not in charge of you, you’re under my command.”
“Hey!” the man yells again, and people part in front of him. Turn to watch the impending confrontation. He has to be the same age as Pregnant Teen, or maybe Loose Hair. Young. Still a boy, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. “I was talking to you,” he says, steps into Lucinda's way.
“Is that how you talk to your superiors?” Lucinda growls, rolls her voice through the phlegm she can feel gathering in her chest.
“You’re--” he starts, then sees her scarf. Snaps his mouth shut.
“Get out of my way and don’t harass me again, scout,” Lucinda says, shoves him aside with her shoulder, jostles more than strictly necessary. “Or I'll report you for insubordination, and do you want your word against the Daughter of Mars’?”
“No, uh, sir,” he chokes out, steps out of the way to Twist and Nose-Woman and Dice Pouch.
“Good idea,” Lucinda calls, doesn’t turn to look at him as she steps up to the door of the weather station. The door is unlocked, and she swings it open, waves Twist and Nose-Woman and Dice Pouch inside.
“Nice place you got here,” Nose-Woman offers, looks around. The room stinks like shit, honestly, because the bucket hasn’t been emptied for two days and the bird isn’t particularly particular about where she poops either.
“It does its job,” Lucinda replies, makes a beeline for her bird. She scoops up the nest, and with a little twisting gets it settled into her hood again. She grabs her hat off the table, too, sets it on top her head. Hooks her machete over her belt, and slings her rifle over her shoulder.
“That your bird?” Nose-Woman asks, shifts from foot to foot. “You said you were tribal, right? You from east?”
“Yeah, to all of it,” Lucinda agrees. She checks through her pockets again, watches her own hands as she checks each one, keeps her ears open to keep track of all three women. Dice Pouch leans against the console by the door, Twist leans against the door itself, Nose-Woman walks around the room, touches the walls and the tabletop and the foot of the bed with her fignertips, glances at Lucinda and twist and Dice Pouch every few seconds.
“Is the bird a tribe thing?” Nose-Woman asks.
“Yeah,” Lucinda agrees. Narrows her eyes at Nose-Woman, but keeps her face otherwise blank. “She is.”
“Heard ‘bout your tribe,” Nose-Woman says, voice low and soft. She turns to face Lucinda, keeps her arms at her sides. “Heard what happened to them, long time ago. Ain’t jealous how you went. Hoped we weren't gonna go the same, but we did.”
“Most tribes are learning that standing against the Legion doesn’t get you anywhere.” Lucinda closes the flaps over her pockets, checks that her bowie knife is still secure in its sheath on her thigh. “We weren’t the first, we won’t be the last.”
Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (3d/?)
“Hey you!” he yells, points at Lucinda. “Get over here.”
Lucinda doesn’t respond, keeps walking, waves one hand low at her hip to bring Twist and Nose-Woman and Dice Pouch along. Nose-Woman and Twist keep walking, maintain position close behind Lucinda, but Dice Pouch falters.
“Keep walking,” Lucinda growls, turns her head just far enough to bare her teeth at Dice Pouch. “He’s not in charge of you, you’re under my command.”
“Hey!” the man yells again, and people part in front of him. Turn to watch the impending confrontation. He has to be the same age as Pregnant Teen, or maybe Loose Hair. Young. Still a boy, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. “I was talking to you,” he says, steps into Lucinda's way.
“Is that how you talk to your superiors?” Lucinda growls, rolls her voice through the phlegm she can feel gathering in her chest.
“You’re--” he starts, then sees her scarf. Snaps his mouth shut.
“Get out of my way and don’t harass me again, scout,” Lucinda says, shoves him aside with her shoulder, jostles more than strictly necessary. “Or I'll report you for insubordination, and do you want your word against the Daughter of Mars’?”
“No, uh, sir,” he chokes out, steps out of the way to Twist and Nose-Woman and Dice Pouch.
“Good idea,” Lucinda calls, doesn’t turn to look at him as she steps up to the door of the weather station. The door is unlocked, and she swings it open, waves Twist and Nose-Woman and Dice Pouch inside.
“Nice place you got here,” Nose-Woman offers, looks around. The room stinks like shit, honestly, because the bucket hasn’t been emptied for two days and the bird isn’t particularly particular about where she poops either.
“It does its job,” Lucinda replies, makes a beeline for her bird. She scoops up the nest, and with a little twisting gets it settled into her hood again. She grabs her hat off the table, too, sets it on top her head. Hooks her machete over her belt, and slings her rifle over her shoulder.
“That your bird?” Nose-Woman asks, shifts from foot to foot. “You said you were tribal, right? You from east?”
“Yeah, to all of it,” Lucinda agrees. She checks through her pockets again, watches her own hands as she checks each one, keeps her ears open to keep track of all three women. Dice Pouch leans against the console by the door, Twist leans against the door itself, Nose-Woman walks around the room, touches the walls and the tabletop and the foot of the bed with her fignertips, glances at Lucinda and twist and Dice Pouch every few seconds.
“Is the bird a tribe thing?” Nose-Woman asks.
“Yeah,” Lucinda agrees. Narrows her eyes at Nose-Woman, but keeps her face otherwise blank. “She is.”
“Heard ‘bout your tribe,” Nose-Woman says, voice low and soft. She turns to face Lucinda, keeps her arms at her sides. “Heard what happened to them, long time ago. Ain’t jealous how you went. Hoped we weren't gonna go the same, but we did.”
“Most tribes are learning that standing against the Legion doesn’t get you anywhere.” Lucinda closes the flaps over her pockets, checks that her bowie knife is still secure in its sheath on her thigh. “We weren’t the first, we won’t be the last.”