![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
camwynFlavius Aemilius Helva, of the Ninth Legion bound out of Two-Sun, Arizona, was really starting to wish he hadn't volunteered for this damned mission in the first place. Caesar had put out the call throughout the Legion for volunteers to scout eastward as far and as long as physically possible- not to lead men in combat, not just yet, but to learn what could be learned of the tribes and lands he had yet to control. Flavius had never been a particularly outstanding sample of Legion martial manhood in the first place, but it was generally acknowledged that what he lacked in battlefield ferocity he made up for in persistence and stubbornness, so when word of Caesar's curiosity about the East reached him he jumped at the chance to advance himself.
They'd given him supplies. They'd given him men. They'd given him a decanus' rank and the best maps they had of the eastern lands. They'd given him the gods' blessing and they'd waved goodbye and sent him and the others on his way. That had been half a year ago, and he'd been very proud of himself at the time. It'd been nothing but howling wilderness and filthy tribals and profligates and unceasing monsters ever since, and while he and his men had generally triumphed or at least come out alive, by Mars and all the forgotten tribal gods together, he was sick of it. If he hadn't sworn not to return to civilized lands until he and his men had washed their blades in the eastern ocean...
On the bright side, whatever profligates lived in this region at least appreciated the value of a good road. The old-world highways might be flanked by tumbledown ruins, but they showed signs of use and repair alike, here. More than that, they'd been traveling through this territory for the better part of the day so far and there hadn't been so much as a single arrow or bullet or vicious dog directed their way. Someone, at least, had the region under guard.
(Not that he'd seen these guards. Or that any of his men had seen them. There'd been a few figures at the top of a hill in the distance an hour back, but they'd vanished from sight before anyone could get close enough to hail them.)
One of the scouts several dozen passūs ahead suddenly lifted a fist: stop, now, be silent. The hush that followed was broken only by the sound of distant jangling, and of plodding-
"Hoofbeats?" someone wondered under his breath. Flavius shot him a glare.
But, yes, hoofbeats. As they watched, a Brahmin crested a rise in the road ahead. The scouts fell back to the rest of the group, weapons drawn; the Brahmin, and its rider, were both armored.
Well. This was about to get interesting.
The Brahmin and its rider stopped a few passūs off. Flavius had seen some of the tribals out West make saddle-beasts out of the occasional compliant cow, but the armor was a new one on him. As for the rider, they-
No. Not they. She. For all that the rider armored in dull, segmented black from throat to fingertips and toes (unlike how many profligates they'd encountered along the way? Seriously, who thought two scraps of metal and a hip-wrap with spikes on qualified as armor?), the face was a woman's. A little round, a little soft-featured, with dark brown slanted eyes and skin that'd been pale before the summer sun got to it. She could, Flavius thought, have been quite pretty if it weren't for the scars. She had as many as a veteran of Hoover Dam, and the one ear that poked out from under her steel-grey hair had notches in it like a fighting dog's. But she said nothing, and did nothing, only watched the Legionaries with an air of faint amusement and leaned forward in her saddle.
It rankled him, but Flavius Aemilius Helva was not about to let some random profligate get the better of them. The Legion had a reputation to uphold, even here at the far end of the world. He squared his shoulders and stepped forward, raising his right hand in salute. "Ave," he said.
The woman inclined her head. "Hail yourself," she said in English, her tone cheerful.
Huh.
"You... understood me," Flavius said carefully. It wasn't quite a question.
The woman nodded. "Oh, yes," she said. "Not that I know much of your language, but I have some."
That was all. She seemed to be expecting something, so after a brief glance sidelong to his vexillarius Flavius turned back to her and said, "I am Decanus Flavius Aemilius Helva, of the Ninth Legion in the service of Caesar, ruler of most of the West. Perhaps all, by now; we've been long from... his... territory-"
Damn it, why was she smiling? He clenched his jaw a moment before adding, "Who am I speaking to, and what land is this?"
"Me?" said the woman. She drew herself up straight in the saddle, not that it helped much. On foot she'd have stood perhaps five and a half pedes, at most. "Why, Decanus, they call me Paladin 101, of the Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel, in the service of High Elder Owyn Lyons. We've heard all about your Caesar and his Legion. And to borrow the words of the esteemed ancients-"
There were, Flavius and the other legionaries suddenly realized, armored figures slipping out of the ruins on either side of the road. Power armored figures, with guns that glowed a green like nothing Caesar ever let the Legion so much as look at, let alone use.
"'-you've come to the wrong neighborhood, ese,'" the woman said, and grinned.
They'd given him supplies. They'd given him men. They'd given him a decanus' rank and the best maps they had of the eastern lands. They'd given him the gods' blessing and they'd waved goodbye and sent him and the others on his way. That had been half a year ago, and he'd been very proud of himself at the time. It'd been nothing but howling wilderness and filthy tribals and profligates and unceasing monsters ever since, and while he and his men had generally triumphed or at least come out alive, by Mars and all the forgotten tribal gods together, he was sick of it. If he hadn't sworn not to return to civilized lands until he and his men had washed their blades in the eastern ocean...
On the bright side, whatever profligates lived in this region at least appreciated the value of a good road. The old-world highways might be flanked by tumbledown ruins, but they showed signs of use and repair alike, here. More than that, they'd been traveling through this territory for the better part of the day so far and there hadn't been so much as a single arrow or bullet or vicious dog directed their way. Someone, at least, had the region under guard.
(Not that he'd seen these guards. Or that any of his men had seen them. There'd been a few figures at the top of a hill in the distance an hour back, but they'd vanished from sight before anyone could get close enough to hail them.)
One of the scouts several dozen passūs ahead suddenly lifted a fist: stop, now, be silent. The hush that followed was broken only by the sound of distant jangling, and of plodding-
"Hoofbeats?" someone wondered under his breath. Flavius shot him a glare.
But, yes, hoofbeats. As they watched, a Brahmin crested a rise in the road ahead. The scouts fell back to the rest of the group, weapons drawn; the Brahmin, and its rider, were both armored.
Well. This was about to get interesting.
The Brahmin and its rider stopped a few passūs off. Flavius had seen some of the tribals out West make saddle-beasts out of the occasional compliant cow, but the armor was a new one on him. As for the rider, they-
No. Not they. She. For all that the rider armored in dull, segmented black from throat to fingertips and toes (unlike how many profligates they'd encountered along the way? Seriously, who thought two scraps of metal and a hip-wrap with spikes on qualified as armor?), the face was a woman's. A little round, a little soft-featured, with dark brown slanted eyes and skin that'd been pale before the summer sun got to it. She could, Flavius thought, have been quite pretty if it weren't for the scars. She had as many as a veteran of Hoover Dam, and the one ear that poked out from under her steel-grey hair had notches in it like a fighting dog's. But she said nothing, and did nothing, only watched the Legionaries with an air of faint amusement and leaned forward in her saddle.
It rankled him, but Flavius Aemilius Helva was not about to let some random profligate get the better of them. The Legion had a reputation to uphold, even here at the far end of the world. He squared his shoulders and stepped forward, raising his right hand in salute. "Ave," he said.
The woman inclined her head. "Hail yourself," she said in English, her tone cheerful.
Huh.
"You... understood me," Flavius said carefully. It wasn't quite a question.
The woman nodded. "Oh, yes," she said. "Not that I know much of your language, but I have some."
That was all. She seemed to be expecting something, so after a brief glance sidelong to his vexillarius Flavius turned back to her and said, "I am Decanus Flavius Aemilius Helva, of the Ninth Legion in the service of Caesar, ruler of most of the West. Perhaps all, by now; we've been long from... his... territory-"
Damn it, why was she smiling? He clenched his jaw a moment before adding, "Who am I speaking to, and what land is this?"
"Me?" said the woman. She drew herself up straight in the saddle, not that it helped much. On foot she'd have stood perhaps five and a half pedes, at most. "Why, Decanus, they call me Paladin 101, of the Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel, in the service of High Elder Owyn Lyons. We've heard all about your Caesar and his Legion. And to borrow the words of the esteemed ancients-"
There were, Flavius and the other legionaries suddenly realized, armored figures slipping out of the ruins on either side of the road. Power armored figures, with guns that glowed a green like nothing Caesar ever let the Legion so much as look at, let alone use.
"'-you've come to the wrong neighborhood, ese,'" the woman said, and grinned.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-26 01:35 am (UTC)This is badass. Stylistically, you're one heck of a writer. This whole piece was paced exquisitely from beginning to end, immediately catching my interest and holding it throughout, though much of it was narration. Ellen's entrance was perfection. I find I also really like Flavius. And you have a real gift for writing these sorts of characters, making them really pop, making me envision all the tiny details without going into every little thing. The setting is killer, and the tension throughout is great. I adore that last line so much.
Killer piece, I hope to see more. :D
no subject
Date: 2013-04-26 03:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-26 05:33 am (UTC)I admit, I get a silly kind of nerdy glee every time I picture her riding her Brahmin. It's such a beautiful sight.
no subject
Date: 2013-04-26 01:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-26 08:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-26 08:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-26 09:26 pm (UTC)