I Collect Red Stars

Happy Birthday

(January, year 3)
Hedge was delighted to find her friend Shepherd Pink in attendance at this meet. She hung around at the brothel with him, and they had a good talk. She told him about her travels since last seeing him. He told of his own adventures, his recent baptism, his newfound faith. He said that the wraiths were using her. That she deserves better. That she should take care of herself. She wasn't quite sure if all of this was accurate but she appreciated his thoughts.
***
Later on she went on a scrounge trip. The wraiths needed scrap, and this was the best way to find it. But she was attacked. And no one came to help. And.. funny enough... the Gravemind said a lot of what Shepherd Pink had. The wraiths were doing her more harm than good. She needed to care for herself. Because no one else would. She shouldn't have let her guard down in the first place. So she decided she would. She broke through the ground, finding herself in the snow. It was painful. She was cold. She cried out. Shivering, she saw lights shine at her and attempted to move, but could not. Everything hurt. A horned mask crossed her vision and something struck her head. Darkness.
***
She woke in the main hall, on a couch. Her hearing was muffled. She felt stifled. There were far too many blankets constricting her movement. She threw them aside and took the fuzzy thing off her ears.
"Shepherd Pink." Maggie commented, watching the natural one carefully. The only response she got was a dismissive huff, as the natural one tossed the whatever it was off to the side and stood up, stretching. She touched her forehead. Maggie watched. She went to her snack log. Maggie watched. She took out a tin of tea and prepared herself a cup to warm up. Maggie watched. So this is how it was going to be. She glanced around casually, taking note of her weapon's location. It was behind the couch. Maggie is terrible at keeping prisoners, if that is what Hedge was considered once again. No matter. She'd manipulated the remnant before, she could do it again. She sipped her tea without a word, returning to the couch and sitting with her hot drink. Maggie watched. After she finished her tea she walked to the trash and threw away the used tea leaves, surveying the room. She needed to find salt. Salt would have brews. With brews she could prevent another trip to the gravemind.
"Hey you!" Came a shout from across the room. "I saved you! Tell me I'm awesome!" Hedge looked over at the source of the voice. It was the horned figure, less blurry now. Arn Christine of the Christine Crew. And he was pointing his firearm at her. She growled.
"Point that thing somewhere else."
"Tell me I'm awesome!" He insisted. She involuntarily crushed her cup, splintering the carved wood. This would not stand. She stormed over, reaching behind the couch and retrieving her weapon.
"Please don't..." Maggie asked, knowing already that the natty one had made up her mind.
"I suppose you didn't hear me. Point that thing somewhere else. Now."
A few people protested. Something about attacking a family head being a very bad idea. She didn't hear them. Arn looked at her, directing his firearm at her face.
"Tell me I'm awesome" he repeated.
"Fuck you." She struck him with a flurry. It was a good amount of force, but her weapon glanced off his armour. He looked at her thoughtfully, brushing at the scuffs. After a moment he dropped his shooting arm and raised a spiked club, striking back hard. A few hits and she dropped. That was fine. People would fix her. They felt bad about her death. She was patched up, but Arn did seem determined to keep her barely standing. Fuck this. She went to bed.
***
There was someone else in the cabin. She noted that it was a doctor.
"Could you patch me up? Some jerk in the great hall shot me. Several times."
"Alright. I wanna talk first." Xer replied. Ugh, this is why she liked yakov. No questions, he'd fix her up, she'd be on her way. Jameson liked to ask questions. 'Where were you?' 'how did you get hurt?' 'why did you run into a swarm of frenzied zed alone?' Always with the talk. She shook her head.
"Fine. Could you do it, ~while~ you patch me up?" The doctor shook his head. Of course not. She humoured him. These questions were a lot more personal than Jameson's usual ones. After a bit the doctor tilted his head.
"Feeling better?" She knew it. They were trying to fix her. Accuse her of having something wrong with her. Fuck this. She rolled over.
"I'm not talking to you anymore."
The doctor sighed and came to fix her up. He didn't do a proper job. Of course not. Seems like the only decent doctors around here were Jameson, Yakov, and Moose. They always fixed her up properly.
"It'll do." She grumbled, pulling her blankets back up. This town was worse than second crossing.
***