Part I - Puppeteer and Puppet
The rest of the day, following Ishido's brash, and ill thought out, prat fall at breakfast in the mess hall, had been spent doing the usual training. Hand to hand combat first thing, after breakfast, an hour of physical fitness training, followed by an hour of weapons training. They had a quick lunch of nutrient bars, water and more water. Then onto a five mile run, done in unison, to a cadence that was specifically written for their unit. The cadets rested after the run by going to their individual training classes where they began to learn their individual trades. That was followed by a quick team meeting. The last thing they did before supper was the obstacle course. They each had five minutes to maneuver themselves around, under and over 15 obstacles. Only three made the time limit. Then dinner was served and the cadets spent the rest of the night, until lights out, studying. Once lights out were called, soft, hushed whispers were commonly heard until they all fell into an exhausted sleep.
"Lao tian, Wren, I can't believe you actually did that!" The giggles in the female cadets' dorm were considerably louder than usual as the call started up for lights out. Too bad Wren wouldn't be enjoying the comfort of her bed for a few hours yet. Iron Balls had apparently guessed that her little trip this morning hadn't been an honest mistake, and had called her up for more of the arduous torture he called 'conditioning'. So as her companions changed and slid into bed, gossiping in hushed tones as the dorm was plunged into darkness, Cadet Wren Ishido, second year, straightened her uniform, and made her way out to stand to attention in the corridor, awaiting the gruff orders from Sergeant Campbell.
Rett had time to shower, shave, eat and do other duties before he felt the presence of the cadet outside of his door. The decision had been made. When he pushed her off of his lap earlier in the day, he could feel the presence within. She was the chosen one. At least, his chosen one. Every Reader had one, and Ishido was his. It wasn't of his choosing. In a million years, he'd never suspected that a cadet would be the one. In a pair of camouflaged pants, olive drab shirt, and black leather boots, he was dressed comfortably. When he was seated at his desk, leaving the cadet to wait in the hall for a good half hour, he finally called out, in his gruff voice. "Enter."
Not for nothing was Wren top of the class, despite her slightly wild tendencies. She'd expected to be kept waiting significantly longer; after all, it was part of the punishment, to stand outside the sergeant's quarters in full view of everyone who walked past ... and at this time of night, it was usually higher ranking officers who would remember her face and name. When he called for her to enter, she moved smart, crisp and sharp movements bringing her in through the door, closing it behind her, and snapping to attention. "Cadet Ishido, reporting as ordered, sir!"
"At ease." he didn't look up from the file upon his desk. Waving a dismissive hand, he gestured to a chair opposite of him at the desk. "Sit down, uncover your grape, cadet." he nearly growled the orders. A page turned, studied. Silence.
She wasn't expecting that, pausing just the slightest moment before obeying the order. She'd never sat in the presence of her commanding officer before, not without a mess hall full of chattering cadets with her. Still, an order was an order. Her cloth cap was whipped off and tucked in her belt, one hand rose to brush the already escaping strands of long dark hair out of her face, and she dropped onto the chair, hands on knees, watching him warily.
"Don't slouch." He continued to read the folder in silence. Page was turned, the only sound in the room was the paper crisply moving in his fingers. He had tossed the thought in her direction to see if she'd catch it. It was a test.
A moment's pause, and she sat straighter, not entirely sure why. He was ignoring her, his lips hadn't moved, but ... she had the strangest feeling he was watching her all the same. And he hated sloppiness. At least, that was her excuse for straightening her back.
Her reaction was noted and he continued his apparent ignoring of her presence. "Raise your right arm." A grunt as he shifted in his chair, to hide the smirk that played on his scarred lips. He was waiting for this one.
Again, his lips hadn't moved, but she had the oddest sensation of having been given an order. And of course, he hadn't told her she could speak, so silence was the safest bet here. Eyes fixed straight ahead, her eyes widened as she lifted her right arm, staring at it in horror before pinning the errant limb to her side. It was decidedly difficult.
As she raised her arm, he turned his head slowly and perked an eyebrow at her. "Question, cadet?" He held the straight face of a tenured poker player, though, deep inside, he was laughing his ass off. He loved this little game. Puppet and puppeteer.
Wide brown eyes stared at him. This was so not good; everyone knew how short Iron Balls temper was if you pushed him. And having no excuse for her arm waving around of it's own accord, she couldn't see him staying calm for much longer. "No, sir. no questions."
"Oh." he gave her a skeptical glance, then back down to the paperwork before him. If she looked close enough, her name and serial number were stamped on the tab of the manila folder. He made sure it was visible. "Stand up."
Sweet Buddha, he's going to throw me out, was Wren's first thought on seeing her own name, rank and serial number on the folder in front of him. Inwardly, she felt herself panic. If she lost her place here, her father would be called up as an ordinary infantry man, cannon fodder for the growing rumblings of war on the Rim. She stood up suddenly, stumbling a little on her feet. What the hell is going on? she wondered to herself. No one had said to stand up; she was disobeying an order. She couldn't convince her body to sit back down, though. Alarmed brown eyes fixed on the sergeant's face, anticipating the dressing-down.
As she stood, he put his hands flat on the desk and again, his head slowly turned so he could watch her full faced. "What in Gorram's name are you doing? I did not dismiss you, cadet. Sit." He growled, narrowing his eyes at her. What appeared to be an angry scowl was actually a thoughtful look. She was definitely the one.
It was unfair, being yelled at for this. Wren thumped down into the chair, resisting the urge to hold onto it just in case. She was shaking, she realised with a start, and with good reason. As far as she knew, you actually had to intend your body to do something before it did it. And hers was not waiting for orders from her brain, but going out of its way to get her in trouble. With Campbell, of all people! She switched her gaze straight ahead once more, knowing for a fact that he would never believe her if she told him the truth about this.
He blew out a breath and closed the folder slowly. Everything he did was slow and calculated. Picking up a pencil, he tapped the cadence of the Alliance's hymn. "You've had quite the day, cadet." He watched her carefully. "Your nose itches."
"Sir." It wasn't a yes or a no, just an acknowledgement that he was speaking to her. It started as the barest irritation, though, a faint itch she thought she could ignore. Then it got more and more insistant. Her eyes still faced front, trying hard not to react to the raging itch on her nose. Her fists clenched at her sides, and finally, her nose twitched, scrunching for a split second as she tried to relieve the tension. Pride was one thing, but really ... "Permission to scratch my nose, sir?"
He saw the slight watering of her eyes as the itch started. The crinkle of her nose nearly brought out an actual laugh. But he was good at what he did. Emotions easily hid away. "Permission denied." He looked back down at her folder. "Scratch your nose."
She couldn't believe it, the itch actually got worse when he denied her permission. So bad, in fact, that a small huff of frustration left her, caught in check just in time as her eyes widened at her own audacity. Insufferable hun dan, she thought furiously. But no matter how dire the consequences might be for disobeying, she had to scratch her nose. So she did, staring boldly at him as she did so.
"Do you enjoy latrine duty?" His voice, cool and calm. His demeanor, relaxed and comfortable. He simply watched her with mud colored eyes. Eyes that did not blink.
To her credit, she didn't even try to excuse herself, sitting bolt upright and staring at the wall to the left of his head. "More than I enjoy irritating you by fidgeting with an itchy nose, sir."
"A simple yes or no, cadet." He tented his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "What is the main objective of the Alliance?" He considered her carefully. "Sing your answer." Sergeant Campbell never had fun at his cadet's expense. So this was a rare treat for him to be able to have a little bit of fun.
She opened her mouth to answer, and was shocked to hear the less than tuneful strains of the Alliance hymn, her intended answer set to the that tune. Lao tian, this is it. I've gone completely mad. I'm going to be sent to the frontlines to feed the Independent cannons. He'll write something scathing on my file.
As she sang, his brows knitted and he closed one eye. His mouth opened and bowed down in agony. "Enough, your devotion is well noted." Shaking his head, he glanced back down. "Infirmary duty, for disobeying a direct order."
She couldn't help it. A small whimper left her lips at the thought of having to spend hours in that gorran Infirmary all over again, just for behaving like a complete and utter fei fei de pi yan. Her whole body sagged. She had no idea what was wrong with her. "Yes, sir," was muttered dejectedly to her hands.
"Don't slouch." He repeated the order and wrote his order on the front page of her file. "Now." He looked up and folded his hands on top of the desk, leaning forward. "There's something I must tell you."
Again, her shoulders straightened, her back once again ram-rod straight. Her eyes must have been a pathetic sight, worried and maybe even a little frightened of what was happening. And for once, that fear had nothing to do with him ... at least, that's what she thought. She watched him lean forward in resigned horror, expecting the worst. "Yes, sir?"
"Slap me." It was the last order he'd give, for the night. Watching her expectantly, he spoke quietly. "Do you know what a Reader is, cadet?"
Bless her soul, she tried. She really tried not to, but the sudden urge to plant her palm firmly on his cheek was just too strong to ignore. She didn't even hear his question. Her hand lashed out, her eyes closed, and she waited in abject misery to be thrown out. This was definitely not her day.
Her hand met his face and turned his head with the inertia of the slap. The sound ecchoed through the room and there was nothing but silence for a moment. Turning his head back so that he faced her once again, his soft laughter filled the void of silence.
(this and the following posts are a compilation and posted with the permission of both Wren and Rett's mun. Hope you enjoy!)
The rest of the day, following Ishido's brash, and ill thought out, prat fall at breakfast in the mess hall, had been spent doing the usual training. Hand to hand combat first thing, after breakfast, an hour of physical fitness training, followed by an hour of weapons training. They had a quick lunch of nutrient bars, water and more water. Then onto a five mile run, done in unison, to a cadence that was specifically written for their unit. The cadets rested after the run by going to their individual training classes where they began to learn their individual trades. That was followed by a quick team meeting. The last thing they did before supper was the obstacle course. They each had five minutes to maneuver themselves around, under and over 15 obstacles. Only three made the time limit. Then dinner was served and the cadets spent the rest of the night, until lights out, studying. Once lights out were called, soft, hushed whispers were commonly heard until they all fell into an exhausted sleep.
"Lao tian, Wren, I can't believe you actually did that!" The giggles in the female cadets' dorm were considerably louder than usual as the call started up for lights out. Too bad Wren wouldn't be enjoying the comfort of her bed for a few hours yet. Iron Balls had apparently guessed that her little trip this morning hadn't been an honest mistake, and had called her up for more of the arduous torture he called 'conditioning'. So as her companions changed and slid into bed, gossiping in hushed tones as the dorm was plunged into darkness, Cadet Wren Ishido, second year, straightened her uniform, and made her way out to stand to attention in the corridor, awaiting the gruff orders from Sergeant Campbell.
Rett had time to shower, shave, eat and do other duties before he felt the presence of the cadet outside of his door. The decision had been made. When he pushed her off of his lap earlier in the day, he could feel the presence within. She was the chosen one. At least, his chosen one. Every Reader had one, and Ishido was his. It wasn't of his choosing. In a million years, he'd never suspected that a cadet would be the one. In a pair of camouflaged pants, olive drab shirt, and black leather boots, he was dressed comfortably. When he was seated at his desk, leaving the cadet to wait in the hall for a good half hour, he finally called out, in his gruff voice. "Enter."
Not for nothing was Wren top of the class, despite her slightly wild tendencies. She'd expected to be kept waiting significantly longer; after all, it was part of the punishment, to stand outside the sergeant's quarters in full view of everyone who walked past ... and at this time of night, it was usually higher ranking officers who would remember her face and name. When he called for her to enter, she moved smart, crisp and sharp movements bringing her in through the door, closing it behind her, and snapping to attention. "Cadet Ishido, reporting as ordered, sir!"
"At ease." he didn't look up from the file upon his desk. Waving a dismissive hand, he gestured to a chair opposite of him at the desk. "Sit down, uncover your grape, cadet." he nearly growled the orders. A page turned, studied. Silence.
She wasn't expecting that, pausing just the slightest moment before obeying the order. She'd never sat in the presence of her commanding officer before, not without a mess hall full of chattering cadets with her. Still, an order was an order. Her cloth cap was whipped off and tucked in her belt, one hand rose to brush the already escaping strands of long dark hair out of her face, and she dropped onto the chair, hands on knees, watching him warily.
"Don't slouch." He continued to read the folder in silence. Page was turned, the only sound in the room was the paper crisply moving in his fingers. He had tossed the thought in her direction to see if she'd catch it. It was a test.
A moment's pause, and she sat straighter, not entirely sure why. He was ignoring her, his lips hadn't moved, but ... she had the strangest feeling he was watching her all the same. And he hated sloppiness. At least, that was her excuse for straightening her back.
Her reaction was noted and he continued his apparent ignoring of her presence. "Raise your right arm." A grunt as he shifted in his chair, to hide the smirk that played on his scarred lips. He was waiting for this one.
Again, his lips hadn't moved, but she had the oddest sensation of having been given an order. And of course, he hadn't told her she could speak, so silence was the safest bet here. Eyes fixed straight ahead, her eyes widened as she lifted her right arm, staring at it in horror before pinning the errant limb to her side. It was decidedly difficult.
As she raised her arm, he turned his head slowly and perked an eyebrow at her. "Question, cadet?" He held the straight face of a tenured poker player, though, deep inside, he was laughing his ass off. He loved this little game. Puppet and puppeteer.
Wide brown eyes stared at him. This was so not good; everyone knew how short Iron Balls temper was if you pushed him. And having no excuse for her arm waving around of it's own accord, she couldn't see him staying calm for much longer. "No, sir. no questions."
"Oh." he gave her a skeptical glance, then back down to the paperwork before him. If she looked close enough, her name and serial number were stamped on the tab of the manila folder. He made sure it was visible. "Stand up."
Sweet Buddha, he's going to throw me out, was Wren's first thought on seeing her own name, rank and serial number on the folder in front of him. Inwardly, she felt herself panic. If she lost her place here, her father would be called up as an ordinary infantry man, cannon fodder for the growing rumblings of war on the Rim. She stood up suddenly, stumbling a little on her feet. What the hell is going on? she wondered to herself. No one had said to stand up; she was disobeying an order. She couldn't convince her body to sit back down, though. Alarmed brown eyes fixed on the sergeant's face, anticipating the dressing-down.
As she stood, he put his hands flat on the desk and again, his head slowly turned so he could watch her full faced. "What in Gorram's name are you doing? I did not dismiss you, cadet. Sit." He growled, narrowing his eyes at her. What appeared to be an angry scowl was actually a thoughtful look. She was definitely the one.
It was unfair, being yelled at for this. Wren thumped down into the chair, resisting the urge to hold onto it just in case. She was shaking, she realised with a start, and with good reason. As far as she knew, you actually had to intend your body to do something before it did it. And hers was not waiting for orders from her brain, but going out of its way to get her in trouble. With Campbell, of all people! She switched her gaze straight ahead once more, knowing for a fact that he would never believe her if she told him the truth about this.
He blew out a breath and closed the folder slowly. Everything he did was slow and calculated. Picking up a pencil, he tapped the cadence of the Alliance's hymn. "You've had quite the day, cadet." He watched her carefully. "Your nose itches."
"Sir." It wasn't a yes or a no, just an acknowledgement that he was speaking to her. It started as the barest irritation, though, a faint itch she thought she could ignore. Then it got more and more insistant. Her eyes still faced front, trying hard not to react to the raging itch on her nose. Her fists clenched at her sides, and finally, her nose twitched, scrunching for a split second as she tried to relieve the tension. Pride was one thing, but really ... "Permission to scratch my nose, sir?"
He saw the slight watering of her eyes as the itch started. The crinkle of her nose nearly brought out an actual laugh. But he was good at what he did. Emotions easily hid away. "Permission denied." He looked back down at her folder. "Scratch your nose."
She couldn't believe it, the itch actually got worse when he denied her permission. So bad, in fact, that a small huff of frustration left her, caught in check just in time as her eyes widened at her own audacity. Insufferable hun dan, she thought furiously. But no matter how dire the consequences might be for disobeying, she had to scratch her nose. So she did, staring boldly at him as she did so.
"Do you enjoy latrine duty?" His voice, cool and calm. His demeanor, relaxed and comfortable. He simply watched her with mud colored eyes. Eyes that did not blink.
To her credit, she didn't even try to excuse herself, sitting bolt upright and staring at the wall to the left of his head. "More than I enjoy irritating you by fidgeting with an itchy nose, sir."
"A simple yes or no, cadet." He tented his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "What is the main objective of the Alliance?" He considered her carefully. "Sing your answer." Sergeant Campbell never had fun at his cadet's expense. So this was a rare treat for him to be able to have a little bit of fun.
She opened her mouth to answer, and was shocked to hear the less than tuneful strains of the Alliance hymn, her intended answer set to the that tune. Lao tian, this is it. I've gone completely mad. I'm going to be sent to the frontlines to feed the Independent cannons. He'll write something scathing on my file.
As she sang, his brows knitted and he closed one eye. His mouth opened and bowed down in agony. "Enough, your devotion is well noted." Shaking his head, he glanced back down. "Infirmary duty, for disobeying a direct order."
She couldn't help it. A small whimper left her lips at the thought of having to spend hours in that gorran Infirmary all over again, just for behaving like a complete and utter fei fei de pi yan. Her whole body sagged. She had no idea what was wrong with her. "Yes, sir," was muttered dejectedly to her hands.
"Don't slouch." He repeated the order and wrote his order on the front page of her file. "Now." He looked up and folded his hands on top of the desk, leaning forward. "There's something I must tell you."
Again, her shoulders straightened, her back once again ram-rod straight. Her eyes must have been a pathetic sight, worried and maybe even a little frightened of what was happening. And for once, that fear had nothing to do with him ... at least, that's what she thought. She watched him lean forward in resigned horror, expecting the worst. "Yes, sir?"
"Slap me." It was the last order he'd give, for the night. Watching her expectantly, he spoke quietly. "Do you know what a Reader is, cadet?"
Bless her soul, she tried. She really tried not to, but the sudden urge to plant her palm firmly on his cheek was just too strong to ignore. She didn't even hear his question. Her hand lashed out, her eyes closed, and she waited in abject misery to be thrown out. This was definitely not her day.
Her hand met his face and turned his head with the inertia of the slap. The sound ecchoed through the room and there was nothing but silence for a moment. Turning his head back so that he faced her once again, his soft laughter filled the void of silence.
(this and the following posts are a compilation and posted with the permission of both Wren and Rett's mun. Hope you enjoy!)