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From: (Anonymous)

CONTENT WARNING: mention of pregnancy by rape

There are nine women in the tent, from the easy two-by-two headcount. No old ladies, Vulpes passed that on well enough, and they look strong and competent. An assortment of women, too--tall dark-skinned woman with her hair in maybe-braids, arms across her chest and legs stretched out; twiggy woman with a wide round face and proud arched nose, pregnant belly looking out of place on her frame; chubby teenager from down south-ways, with her hair loose; pale scrawny teenager fat with a baby; three women with their shoulders pressed together, one with a blue scarf around her neck, the next with a dice pouch on a cord, the third with some pretty amulet carved out of a rock; girl with cornrows in the corner, eyes dark and wide and mouth a tight line; woman next to her with twitchy hands and eyes you could get lost in.

They narrow their eyes when she steps into the tent. Every single one, scowling, arms tight across their chests. A united front. She wonders if they planned that. The fact she sees some of their eyes darting makes her suspect it.

“My name is Lucinda,” she tells them. “Have any of you ever held a gun?”

Five of them raise their hands--Maybe-Braids, Pregnant Nose-Woman, Rock-Amulet, Cornrows, Twitchy Hands.

“Good. What have you been doing under the Legion?” She drops the tent flap behind her, reaches for the chair in the corner. “You,” she says, pointing to Pregnant Teenager, who looks eight, almost nine months along. There’s two pregnant ones, of course, because she didn’t ask for non-pregnant women and that’s an easy way to take them out of commission. “What did you do?”

“I cooked,” she replies, her voice small. She tucks into herself, under Lucinda's gaze, but keeps her eyes on Lucinda’s face. Sets her jaw, even as her voice and body shrink away.

“A good job,” Lucinda says. Waits a moment. “How long have you been pregnant?”

“Thirty-five weeks.”

“How old are you?” Lucinda narrows her eyes. She’s too young, has to be--

“Seventeen.”

Too young. Doesn’t let the answer hang before she asks more.

“Did you want it?”

The girl jerks upright again, stares at Lucinda. Lucinda takes off her sunglasses, folds them, tucks one arm into the collar of her shirt so they hang. Doesn’t really need them inside the tent anyway.

“No,” the girl finally says. Her voice wavers, but doesn’t break.

“Then I’m sorry.”

The girl looks away, glares, and the other women look between her, Lucinda, and each other.

“What about you?” Lucinda asks Pregnant Nose-Woman. “How long, did you want it?”

“Thirty-two weeks, and yeah, I wanted him. He’s from before the Legion. Had a husband before all this shit.”

“Good.” Lucinda nods. “What did you do for them?”

“Made armor. Not very good, but they didn't trust me with anything bigger or sharper than scissors.” Her mouth twists into a smirk. Lucinda smiles back.

“You good with a machete?”

“Goddamn best.” She raises her chin.

“Glad to hear it.” Lucinda raises her chin in response. “You’ve used a gun before.”

“I’ve hunted animals. Never used one on people.” Her mouth twists into a sneer now. “Assimilated quietly.”

“Same here,” Lucinda says, unloops her scarf. She twists it around her hands, lets the scar and the remnants of her tattoo speak for themselves. “Only got good at it while I was The Courier.”

From: (Anonymous)

CONTENT WARNING: None

“That’s you.” Loose Hair, in the back corner, as far from the door as she can manage, drops her arms off her chest. Can’t be more than fifteen. Her eyes go wide.

“That’s me,” Lucinda agrees, gives her a big grin, shows teeth.

Maybe-Braids snorts. Twitchy Hands looks between them, Pregnant Teen’s eyes go wide as she looks back, Blue Scarf and Rock Amulet reach for Dice Pouch’s hands, Dice Pouch weaves her fingers through theirs. Cornrows narrows her eyes, stretches her mouth into a grimace as she looks Lucinda up and down. Pregnant Nose-Woman leans forward, also grinning wide.

“No shit?” she asks, rests her hands on her knees, bends her elbows wide.

“No shit,” Lucinda agrees.

“Well, damn,” Pregnant Nose-Woman murmurs, sits back. Crosses her arms over her chest again, taps one foot. Her face is open, though, and she looks Lucinda up and down. “Then why the hell are you here instead of somewhere else better? How’d they keep you here at this sausagefest for three weeks?”

“For this,” Lucinda replies, sweeps one arm back at the tent flap, catches most of the tent’s occupants in the arc. “They want me in charge of this contubernium, so I’ll stay.”

Loose Hair makes a noise that might be admiration; Maybe-Braids snorts again.

“You’re surviving,” Maybe-Braids says, voice deep and soft. “Don’t pretend.”

Lucinda tips her chin up, looks at Maybe-Braids out of the corner of her eye.

“Never said that wasn’t what I was doing,” she replies.

“I’m not stupid.” Maybe-Braids leans forward, leaves her arms crossed on her chest, tucks her legs back like she might stand. “They aren’t either.” She slants her gaze at Pregnant Teen and Loose Hair and Cornrows and Pregnant Nose-Woman and Twitchy Hands, each in turn. “Don’t act like it.”

Lucinda follows Maybe-Braids’s eyes.

“Understood,” she replies, wrinkles one side of her nose before she squints. “I need to retrieve some things from my base of operations before the battle.” Lucinda stands, unfolds her sunglasses and replaces them on her nose, loops her scarf back over her shoulders. “You three, come with me.” She points at Pregnant Nose-Woman, jerks her thumb at the tent flap, does the same at Maybe-Braids and Dice Pouch.

Maybe-Braids stands, drops her arms to her sides. She looms in the tent, just a couple inches short of her head banging on the support lines. She turns and offers a hand to Nose-Woman, who accepts it and uses it to haul herself upright, Dice Pouch shakes Blue Scarf and Rock Amulet’s hands out of hers, rearranges her jacket and stands.

All three women walk to the tent flap, huddle together as Lucinda arranges herself a bit more, studies the women still sitting.

“You,” she says, points to Blue Scarf, who looks oldest of who’s still sitting. “You’re in charge until I get back. Stay in this tent and don’t piss anyone off.”

Blue Scarf nods.

“You got it, Boss,” she agrees. Drawls like she’s Lonestar-born, talks just loud enough her voice doesn’t fade into the camp-noise. She stands, lets her shoulders hang loose, lets Rock Amulet catch their fingers together. “You got any other orders?”

“Get comfortable with each other,” Lucinda replies. “You’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.”

“You got it, Boss,” Blue Scarf repeats.

Lucinda turns to leave, but stops before she takes a step. All the occupants of the tent watch as she turns back.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

“You can call me Drummer, Boss.” She folds her hands behind her back, tips her chin up. “Would like to forget the Legion name, if you don’t mind.”

From: (Anonymous)

CONTENT WARNING: None

Lucinda nods.

“Drummer.” Blue Scarf is Drummer, who knows how she got the name.

“That’s me, Boss,” Drummer agrees, drops her chin, makes like she’s going to duck her head, grins as she buried her chin in her scarf.

“I’ll remember,” Lucinda agrees, turns back to the tent flap. “You three, follow me.”

“Yezzum,” Dice Pouch agrees, steps out of the tent first, followed by Lucinda, then Nose-Woman, then Maybe-Braids.

She leads them up toward the Fort, and to weather station, Dice Pouch dropping back behind Nose-Woman and Maybe-Braids both, leaving Nose-Woman at Lucinda’s elbow as they wind across the dam and up the hill.

“So, shit, you really are the courier,” Nose-Woman keeps up a running commentary, her hands folded together and resting on top of her stomach. She’s still agile, for as heavily pregnant as she is. Keeps up easily. “You, uh, shit, you're not really what any of us thought you’d be, you know? You’re a lot shorter, first off. Was expecting someone who looked like Twist here.” Nose-Woman jerks her thumb at Maybe-Braids. That’s what the hairstyle is--twists. “Big fuckin’, brick house of a woman, right? Not--no offense, but--not some weedy tribal fuck y’know?”

“I’m not that weedy,” Lucinda replies. Digs her hands into her pockets, swings her feet wide as she walks. She’s shorter than all three of the other women--Twist must be over six feet, Nose-Woman has to be over five and a half, same with Dice Pouch-- but she’s not that short. She’s well-fed. She’s not weedy.

“Everyone’s weedy when you think you’re gonna get Twist, though,” Nose-Woman points out. “Shi,t man, I’m weedy when you stick me next to her and I ain’t no scrawny little starving tribe remnant. They kept feeding me, ain’t gonna starve out an occupied womb, right? Ain’t gonna kill off two bodies when you can still maybe turn one of ‘em into a soldier or a slave, right? Ain’t no reason to kill off two when you can still get a fresh one outta the other.”

Twist snorts, and so does Lucinda. Nose-Woman takes it as encouragement.

“I mean, shit I heard, uh, the older kid. The real pregnant one?” Lucinda nods when Nose-Woman pauses. “Heard she ain’t got a choice with the kid.”

Lucinda hums, doesn’t say anything about Pregnant Teen, bulls her shoulders wider as they approach the training ring. There are hundreds of new boys here, now, who don’t know who she is. Maybe they’ll respect the scarf, but more likely they won’t.

“Y’know, she’s a good kid.” Nose-Woman continues, gets her hands in on the act. “She cooks real nice, y'know, can do a whole lot with what shitty stuff they’ve been giving us this whole time.”

“Well, rations probably aren’t going to get better,” Lucinda offers. “They’re not doing this to keep us alive.”

Nose-Woman stays quiet for a minute, but Twist laughs, and Dice Pouch snorts.

“How dead they want you?” Twist asks.

“Pretty fucking dead,” Lucinda replies. She can see the man coming before he reaches them, braces for it.

From: (Anonymous)

CONTENT WARNING: None

“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.”

From: (Anonymous)

CONTENT WARNING: None

“Legion doesn’t notice the bird,” Twist says. It might be a question, btu the inflection is wrong. Lucinda looks her in the eye, tries to evaluate.

“People raise birds because they’re a bit odd, not because it’s a three-century tribal tradition.”

Twist’s face barely moves, but one corner of her mouth twitches up.

“You take that sort of view on everything?” Nose-Woman asks, putters over to toe at the trapdoor down into the bunker.

“Not everything,” Lucinda replies. “But a fair number of things.”

“And they really don’t know?” Nose-Woman asks.

“A tribe of just women isn’t a tribe,” Lucinda replies. “Legion only knows tribe inheritance for fathers and sons, never thought about grandmothers and mothers and aunts and daughters.”

Against the console, Dice Pouch nods, looks past Twist at the splintering fake-wood panelling.

“Women aren’t people enough to have traditions,” she says, voice quiet. “My mother taught me a few things, but not enough.”

“Born Legion?” Lucidna asks.

Dice Pouch nods.

“She was too, but my grandmother was tribe. Out of Pine Ridge.”

“Them’s my folks too,” Nose-Woman says, grin splitting her face. “Well, we were further west, up into the Sierra Madres. But we probably come from the same folks, somewhere. You heard the stories about--”

Lucinda stiffens at the name Sierra Madre, feels her shoulders hunch before she can stop them. Nose-Woman and Dice Pouch are watching each other, ignoring her, Nose-Woman with her eyes wide and face open, Dice Pouch with open ears and curious eyes. Twist is watching Lucinda though. Sees the twitch. Doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let her face move. Just watches.

Lucinda stares back, meets her gaze steady and silent.

They hold for a long moment, Nose-Woman’s words buzzing in their ears and filling up the silence.

Twist nods, looks away first, levers herself off the door and drops her arms from her chest to shove her hands in her pockets.

“Hey, Dredge,” she says, over Nose-Woman, who’s on to some story about three boys on top of a sugarloaf in Flatwater, whatever the fuck a sugarloaf is. “Talk later. Have things to do.”

“Right, shit, yeah,” Nose-Woman--Dredge Lucinda thinks, tries to settle that name to her face. “So, Boss, where we off to?” she asks, turns to grin at Lucinda.

“Dredge?” Lucinda asks, checks to make sure.

“Yes ma’am. Coupla the boys took to callin’ me that, ‘cause they weren’t sure where the tribe dredged me up outta, see. I ain’t like the rest of em. Laid down quiet, but won’t quiet down after that. No good at the womanly shit, either. Can patch a hole in a shirt, field dress a buffalo, ride a fuckin’ buffalo if I get the mind to, but I ain’t got the touch for all the real mind-y stuff. Had a husband for that. He got on real well before the Legion, doubt he gets along at all nowadays.” She goes somber for a moment, ducks her head before popping back up, grinning. “But they figure the tribe musta dredged me up outta some river or some shit, since I ain’t like the rest of ‘em, even though I was born and raised with ‘em.”

Lucinda nods.

From: (Anonymous)

CONTENT WARNING: None

“What about you?” she asks, turns to Dice Pouch. Dice Pouch shakes her head, crosses her arms over her chest.

“Legion name never sat right, never got a nickname really.”

“Have to call you something,” Lucinda replies. “Drummer, Twist, Dredge. Who are you?”

“Could call her ‘Burn,’ on account of what she did to our dinner last night,” Dredge offers, pats her stomach and sticks her tongue out when Dice Pouch gives her a look.

“Yeah, you can call me Burn,” Dice Pouch says, reaches back to tug her braid over her shoulder. “Good as any other name I’ve ever had.”

“There we go!” Dredge crows, pats Burn on the shoulder. “One of us for real, now.” She looks over to Lucinda. “And what do we call you?”

“‘Boss’ or ‘ma’am’ work pretty well,” Lucinda replies. Adjusts her scarf over her shoulders. Her bird starts squawking and she digs for a handful of gecko jerky. “If you need a name for me, Lucinda works, as does Lucia.”

“Heard that woman earlier call you Lucy,” Dredge says, leans her weight back on her heels even as she leans forward.

“Siri saved my life,” Lucinda replies, shoves a strip of jerky into her mouth and starts chewing. “She gets special privileges.”

“Ooh, what sort of privileges?” Dredge asks, dances around to Lucinda’s side, a half step behind her, just out of Lucinda’s peripheral vision. Lucinda doesn’t turn to follow her.

“Cut it out,” Lucinda replies, spits jerky into her hand and passes it back to her bird, who quiets down.

“Yes ma’am.” Dredge obeys, settles down, folds her hands behind herself again. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“Don’t have to ‘ma’am’ me when you apologize. We’re good. Don’t do it again.” She pauses. “We should get a move on, though. Losing daylight.”

All three women fall into line behind Lucinda as she breezes out the door. She shoves another strip of jerky into her mouth, starts chewing.

“Dredge, Twist you’ve both said you’re good with rifles, right?”

“Yes ma’am,” Dredge agrees. “Wasn’t the best hunter in the tribe, but I held my own.”

“And what about you, Twist?”

“Used a gun. Not much good. Shot coyotes on my farm if they got too close.”

“Where did you farm?” Lucinda asks. Out in the yard, the boys part as they walk through, drop their eyes in respect.

“NCR-Arizona border. Been Legion five years. Don’t like it much.”

Lucinda nods, doesn’t look back at Twist. Twist is ex-NCR, Dredge is a pregnant tribal, Burn is--who knows, she’s quiet and doesn’t like the Legion, she could be here for any reason. Pregnant Teen is young, Loose Hair is younger, the others are like Burn--nothing makes them obviously a pain in the ass. Yet.

She’ll have to keep an eye on them, see which will be a problem. Dredge doesn’t look like one, so far, and neither do Burn or Drummer, but Twist might still prove to be.

There’s a lot of time left together.

From: (Anonymous)

CONTENT WARNING: None

“So, Boss, where you from?” Dredge asks, as they approach the requisitions counter, near Siri’s bar. Siri is elbows deep in glasses and full plates, men laughing and cursing at the bar and the nearby tables. Lucinda flashes her a smile when their eyes meet, and Siri looks away, ginning.

“Tribe traveled,” she replies, steps up to the counter. “Doesn’t matter now,” she says, louder, as she looks the requisition officer in the eye. “I need three machetes and three hunting rifles, and thirty rounds for each rifle.”

“Under whose authority?” the officer asks, wrinkles his nose as he looks at Twist, looming behind Lucinda with her arms crossed over her chest, at Dredge, hovering at Twist’s elbow, picking at her nails and studying the crates behind him, at Burn just to Lucinda’s side, studying the bird in Lucinda's hood.

Lucinda sighs.

“I’m under Vulpes Inculta’s branch of the frumentarii, I’ve just been promoted. Do you need me to call him over here and confirm?”

“That’s not necessary,” the officer says, leans forward on his forearm. Lucinda can smell his breath all the way across the counter. “What's your name?” he asks, leers.

“Lucia, though you might know me better as the Daughter of Mars.” Lucinda leans in, meets his eyes. “Now I would appreciate it if you would follow my orders, officer.”

“Don’t get your panties all in a twist,” the officer replies, steps back. “I’ll do it, fine.” He turns to get the machetes and the rifles, and Dredge leans in to talk to Lucinda again.

“Where all’d you travel?”

“Old Matamoros, north to the edge of the Great Lakes,” Lucinda replies.

“Your tribe adopt you?” Dredge asks, steps around Twist so she’s next to Lucinda. Twist takes a half step back, gives them room.

“My mother. East Lonestar born.”

“Never met anyone born in your tribe,” Dredge replies. “Had a few girls leave for one of yours, but ain’t met anyone born to it.”

“Well, now you have.”

The requisition officer turns around, carries three machetes by loops in one hand three rifles by straps in the other.

“Here’s your equipment,” he says, drops it on the counter. “You need anything else.”

“Ammunition,” Lucinda reminds him, taps the magazine on one of the rifles.

He grabs three cardboard boxes from under the counter, drops them next to the rifles.

“Is that all?” he asks again.

“That is, yeah,” Lucinda agrees. She gathers up the rifles, passes one to each of the women behind her, then passes them a machete and a box each. “Well, unless you have .45-70 in stock.”

He grabs and drops another box.

“That’s all,” Lucinda says, nods. Turns her back on him to survey her team.

Dredge already has the rifle slung over her shoulder, the box wedged carefully into the waistband of her pants as she adjusts everything else, the machete slung from a belt loop. Twist has her gear arranged the same, though her ammunition is tucked into a pocket on her coat instead. Burn has her rifle strap diagonal across her chest, but her machete in easy reach. Good enough, they can work on that on the way to the ranch.

“Let’s go,” she says, waves them back toward the gate. “Hope you don’t mind the river.”

“Shit, I love rivers,” Dredge laughs. “Can we go swimming?”

“If you can convince Lucullus to let you jump off the side of the raft, sure.” Lucinda snorts, and Dredge laughs again, big and loud and real. “Watch for lakelurks.”