Well hello there chan. Long time no see. I'm just going to set this down here for a while, maybe add to it. Might get dirty, might not. Most likely will, so just to be safe we're going to keep it right. Here. ----- “The Report, Miss Pauling.†“Abysmal. At best. That is in fact a compli-†“Yes thank you.†Two woman – one sitting, one standing – contemplated in silence. The one at the desk was smoking, and it wasn’t her first of the day – or even her first pack. In fact, judging by the butts in the trash and in the ash tray, she might’ve been into carton two. It was three in the afternoon. “I suppose if we find some people to help, ask them to-†“Miss Pauling they need help. They’re boys, after all, lord knows they can’t help themselves.†“Yes. As I as suggesting if we find willing-†“We will kidnap a host of women to do what needs to be done.†“…Kid- well I think we could find plenty of willing-†“Miss Pauling the plan is already made and practically signed and ordered. Get your boots on and meet me downstairs in ten minutes.†She stood. “We’re going maid hunting.†---- One woman didn’t know that it was that particular discussion that ruined her life. She didn’t know that twenty men were flying to Ireland on private jets, with no intention to stay - or let her stay. All she knew was that it was five in the morning and she needed to make bread. And she didn’t have yeast, which meant- “Damn damn damn damn damn,†she mumbled as she tugged her coat on. It was foggy outside - the type of thick fog that left everything, people and all, extraordinarily damp and miserable. Into this soup she trudged in little more than rubber wellies and her coat, her pajamas only a long tee shirt from an old, forgotten boyfriend. She knew where to get yeast at five in the morning - Callaghan’s Stand was open early for people like her. Her people were, of course, the unmarried women in their early twenties who wanted to make a life for themselves, forging a path of womanhood into a new era of equality. But at the same time couldn’t resist the call of their “natural womanly urges,†like, apparently, baking at five in the morning. “Missy.†“Shove it, Callaghan, I need to bake the damn bread for the church and it needs to be on the table by noon and it’s a five hour bread so not a word.†“Oooh never me, no missy never a word from me, no.†“Go back to your damn whiskey, Brian.†She passed him the money, he passed her the container of yeast, and she went her way. Normally following this altercation the woman would leave a loaf and a message on the man’s doorstep. The message was much kinder than her spoken words- a poem here, a description of a flower there, all very neatly and elegantly written, signed with love every time. Brian, being older than dirt, knew it wasn’t a romantic offering but rather a simple connection between two otherwise outwardly bitter human beings. Softness where it counted. She described it best just two weeks ago in one of her shorter notes. This bread is you and I, though mostly I. Fresh (that is the I) and crusted, hard and tough to chew. Break it (us) and revel in a delight worth the effort. With Love M. It had taken a hammer, but James opened the bread and found the softest, most delicious of any of her loaves. A masterpiece of baking. He never had another piece of her bread again. ---- “Hello, Missy.†The woman woke to the sound of a raspy voice spoken over a speaker. She dimly recalled a bag being placed over her head, a moment of panic, the smell of chemically induced sleep on a cloth rag. “I am aware that it is not your real name. Neither is what I’m about to call you, but what I’m about to call you is far more likely to become permanent.†The girl looked around the room. It was pitch black except for one blinking light near the ceiling, far away. A smoke detector? She couldn’t make out the door or the dimensions of the room, but judging by the coolness beneath her and behind her, it was solid concrete. And, in that darkness, a movie was projected against the wall in front of her. She arced her neck around to see a slit just large enough for a projector lens. It was some twenty feet up – the room was quite tall. “You’re awake. Good. I will make this quick and to the point. You are now my property and you will do as you are told. Your first order is to forget everything you know. You are about to serve a purpose greater than yourself, helping men in a noble cause, a war to end wars, a fight to uphold the dignity and grace of a great and noble people. I can not divulge the details of your position in a recording, it is much too risky. But shortly you will receive a piece of paper detailing your position and a uniform. Don the uniform, read your instructions, and prepare to embrace a new and wondrous life.†The projection cut out and the woman squeezed her eyes shut as a series of bright, fluorescent lights lit the room. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and watched as a man entered the room and handed her the promised paper and uniform. “Ma’am. Your orders. We will return at oh-five-hundred hours for your mission departure.†The man left and the door – heavy steel –was locked behind him. The woman started reading and rather quickly found her blood boiling. Your new designation is Zero-zero-zero-seven. Your instructions are as follows: One: Take your appointed train to your appointed team. Two: Greet your appointed team respectfully and find your living space. Three: Report to the team leader for initial instructions. Four: Do the following on a regular basis: A: Make and serve meals. B:Clean, fold, and distribute laundry C: Maintain the cleanliness of common areas D: Maintain the cleanliness of uncommon areas The list went on. “I WAS KIDNAPPED TO BE A FUCKING MAID?†She screamed as she finished it, tearing the paper up. She threw the uniform down and stormed to the door, pounding on it. “GET OVER HERE YOU SONS OF BITCHES I DEMAND-†This went on for hours. Eight, to be exact. When the man returned she was exhausted and hoarse, the only sound the scraping of her fists against the bolts on the door and the rasp of her overused voice. No more than air passing her lips. “Seven. Get dressed and follow me.†Fuck you she mouthed, but didn’t put up a fight as he did it himself, taking no joy in stripping the woman and re-dressing her. He didn’t shove, didn’t push, but the gun in his hand made it clear that if she didn’t go where directed he would make her life much harder. “Well is she here yet or not?†“Does it look like it?†“Well no the train ain’t here but I gotta’ pile of laundry taller’n me and my lucky shirt’s in there somewhere and I’ll be pissed if I don’t get it before tomorrow’s match cuz’ you know, we’ve been losin’ ever since I got it dirty and stopped-“ “Oi. Shut yer gob nobody gives a damn about-“ “You should. I’m the reason we ever won, me’n that shirt an’ it’s dirty. So fuck you.†“Oh bugger off the both’a ya.†“Hey shut up Cyclops you just wanna’ screw her.†“Aye.†“We’re talkin’ about my lucky shirt. Who gives a shit if she’s a babe or not?†“Yor a wee babe yerself, lad.†“Yeh mate, you wouldn’t understand. Now if she were maybe a little boy yor age, maybe a little youngah, got them rosy cheeks still, you’d be standin’ at full attention.†“Oooh aye aye, the whole lot of you’d be at full attention. Those base balls won’t be the only things yer pitchin’ were a boy comin’ on tha’ train-†The young man launched himself at the Scott, the Aussie cackling beside him as a full on brawl started. It was fun to watch – uncoordinated drunk versus overhyped sixteen year old. “Zat is enough.†The violence stopped as though time itself had, and both men stood up straight, putting some distance between themselves as a tall German strode in. “She is here,†he said simply. Five other people hovering around the room filtered in and the back door was opened. The group watched the train approach and waited.
The Admin's such a bitch. Why hire people when you can kidnap them? Power trip hehe.
YES! A million times yes! You're back! There are no words for how ecstatic I am to see you back! Water was part of the reason that I started writing stuff for the Chan, and now you've returned! And not only have you returned, but you also come bearing new material! I am very interested to see where this goes. All my worries were washed away when I saw your name.
Initially, I was unsure of what to make of this, yet I CRAVE more. If there is ANYTHING you need to help this story along, I find myself willing and able to help.
Thanks for the comments everyone. And here's a smaller update to sort of peek into what life is about to be like for Seven. I'll try to update every night, but if they prove to be shorter - like this one or shorter - I'll just do it as I have the material. --- II Seven walked into the fort with her two bags and a look to kill. She was dressed in her uniform – a black simple dress, a blue apron, and blue tennis shoes. Whoever these men were, they didn’t deserve her. They were going to regret the day they looked out upon their surroundings and asked for someone to clean up after them. They were going to- “Fraulein.†She looked up at the Medic. He was an older man, embittered by the loss of wars and dreams alike. Here was an old Army Medic, trained on a battlefield, likely with aspirations of becoming a world-renowned surgeon after the war was won. Here was a man on the losing side, fighting still - only the battles were endless, pointless, and without true, tangible reward. Her skin crawled as his eyes met hers. That bitterness had poisoned him – the four seconds she’d been in the room with the man were all she needed to know that. “Vhat is your name?†“According to your boss, seven,†she said raspily, voice still broken. “But I’ll have you know that if any one of you calls me anything but M-†The man slapped her across the mouth. “Zat is enough of zat. Seven.†He grabbed her by the collar and lifted her. “Let me make myself very clear. I am your commanding officer. You vill do as I say, vhen I say. If any of zese men order you to do somezing, you do it. But my command is law. Am I understood?†“Let me tell YOU something you great bloody-†She woke in respawn. How she’d been keyed in already, she didn’t know – HQ likely sent over a blood sample before she’d arrived. She gripped her throbbing head and looked down at a piece of paper on her lap. Make dinner. Fix the hole in the wall in the kitchen. “Fuck you,†she whispered as she stood, head still pounding. She looked around the respawn as she walked out, trying to figure out what room it was, how she’d gotten there, and what purpose it could possibly serve. There was indeed a hole in the kitchen wall – and a big one at that. Someone had shot a gun, apparently. Was it there when she’d first arrived? “Ooooh you’ve got th’ big man in a tizzy now haven’t yeh?†The Demo asked, grinning and inebriated at the table. “Might wanna’ ask Engie for help wiv the hole in th’wall. Prolly still has yer brains in it.†He cackled and fell out of his chair with a thud. Absolutely baffled, Seven simply took one of the pictures off of another wall and hung it over the hole, using the heel of her shoe to pound the nail in place. That done she started dinner. I shouldn’t bother, she thought to herself. I should make dinner for myself and walk out. She started chopping the wrinkly tomatoes in the fridge – when was the last time anyone went grocery shopping? No. She took a good look around. The dust on the window sills and in the corners of the room, the dirty floors. She’d passed a rec room on the way to the kitchen and it was filthy and disorganized. As she opened the fridge and found what may have once been a lime, maybe just an old grape, she realized that yes, these men needed her. I will help them. Kill them with kindness. They will warm up. They’re just boys anyhow, they wouldn’t hurt a girl. Okay the old one would hurt a girl but he’s just grumpy. Avoid him. Kill them with kindness. Kill them with kindness. Don’t have any other choice anyhow. The thought was rather depressing.
Oh, color me intrigued. Honestly I didn't think I'd like this when I began reading it, but by the end you had me hooked. Seven is interesting and your characterization of Medic entertains me to no end, though I'm honestly not sure why. Maybe it's just because I like old grumps. Yeah. Whelp, good job, can't wait for more! Captcha says "treach'rous." Indeed captcha, indeed.