Untouchable

2: The 116th, part 1

There is a backpack outside of her bedroom door the next morning. The necessities, she is informed during breakfast. Part of the trip will be a hike on foot, and she needs a bedroll. Warmer socks. Thicker gloves. The commissar continues to list items that have been included as he eats without looking at her, only gesturing at her with his fork once in a while. The concern is not unwelcome, but unfamiliar.

"Thank you," she says once he seems to have finished his list. A pair of extra grenades. Sensible.

"Yes, well," he sighs deeply, making it clear that he is not happy. He has finished his breakfast though, she notes, so his displeasure doesn't run as deep as he pretends. There have been a couple of mornings when he has abandoned his breakfast half-eaten in disgust over the content of the missives.

Still, she takes on a demure manner, with gentle smiles and soft tones when she speaks. Asks him casual questions, how he slept, if something worries him, if there are any security concerns. The kind of work she normally doesn't have to put in this early.

She finishes her breakfast and they abandon the table in unison. She finds herself wondering who will take her place while she is away. If she will be welcomed back upon her return or be permanently replaced. Perhaps sent back, away from the lousy weather. She isn't sure if she would be disappointed or not. Working for the commissar is unstimulating, but not disagreeable. The inquisitor would be displeased if she was sent away early though, maybe even angry.

Holly dons her thick coat over the armor, shoulders the backpack, notes that it is a bit heavier than she would have liked. Perhaps she is simply out of shape. The thought displeases her. She goes to the commissar's office, knocks on the door, waits.

"Yes?"

She pushes the door open, hears it creak, an unpleasant noise, louder than the chair. She is already too warm wearing her full winter gear indoors but is not inclined to let him know.

"Stay safe, sir," she says, offering up the sweetest smile she can. Waves at him, keeping the motion small, contained. Not meant to attract attention, just to say goodbye. Familiar, a bit childish. It is not the proper way to communicate with your superiors, but it seems to please him. He smiles in return, leans back in his squeaking seat, looks at her.

"You too, Holly," he says. "And I mean it. I don't care if you have to leave them bleeding out in a ditch – you come back, you hear?"

"Yes, sir," she nods, not liking the order but refraining from letting it show. She is not in the habit of disobeying, but she notes that there is room for a mulish interpretation this time. Technically she did hear the words.

"Go on then."

"Sir," she nods again and closes the door. Leaves him to his paperwork. He is always grumpier the days he has to deal with a lot of paperwork. She suspects he prefers yelling at people. As far as she has seen he is not a trigger-happy commissar, but certainly a shouty one.

The two guards by the door say nothing as she passes them, exits out into the cold. For once it's only raining. An improvement, it must be said. A woman in guardsman green is waiting for her, seems startled at her appearance despite evidently having expected her.

"Ah!" she stands up straight, her full height bringing her up to about Holly's eyebrows. "You're the, yes, of course. I'm Alexandra Roth. Sergeant Eade asked me to guide you, when you were ready."

She isn't a woman, Holly corrects herself. She is a girl still. Smooth faced and a bit plump of the cheeks, a hint of baby fat clinging on underneath the unmarred skin. The girl is a decade younger than her at least, perhaps nearly two. Her skin almost the same color as her dark brown eyes and with kinky hair as black as the space between the stars, tied into two buns at the back of her neck, poking out underneath the helmet. Too young. Far too young.