//------------------------------// // 04: Sergeant Grimfeather // Story: Bear, Scribe and Paladin // by Speven Dillberg //------------------------------// The Citadel, mid-2278 “Dom, wake up! You gotta wake up!” “Huh? Whuh?” Dominica was roused from her slumber to see a face she hadn’t seen in close to a year looking down at her. “Oh great, this dream again,” she muttered. “This isn’t a dream, soldier,” another familiar voice said. Now wearing a puzzled expression, she sat up and saw Sarah Lyons, in full armour, standing next to her first friend. “Amata?” she asked, completely confused. “What the fuck are you doing here?” “I need your help, Dom.” Now looking closer, she could see that the Vault 101 jumpsuit Amata was wearing was tattered, torn and stained. Her black hair, while usually not perfectly kept, looked as though she’d been caught in an explosion. The worst thing, though, were her eyes. They held a haunted look, the sort one had after witnessing an atrocity. “Amata, what’s wrong?” Dom asked, not sure whether or not to hug her friend. As if to answer her concerns, Amata suddenly leapt forwards and hugged her. She began to speak, but in her desperation to get the words out they became a jumbled, unintelligible mess. “Amata, breathe.” “T-they killed my father!” she yelled out, tears streaming down her face. “Who did?” “I-I don’t know. They had power armour, but it was painted red - ” “Outcasts,” Dom growled. “Should’ve known they’d go for a Vault.” “Those bastards have been attacking water caravans, too,” Sarah muttered. “I guess the purifier at Fort Independence gave out.” “Fuck fuck fuck.” Dom ran a hand through her hand. Normally, she’d be slow and sluggish in the morning, but this news was like a dozen shots of adrenaline. “Okay, we need to do something. Amata, when did they attack?” “T-two days ago.” Vault 101’s Overseer wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sniffed. “I ran the whole way here.” “Two days? Fuck. We need to move.” Dom turned to Sarah desperately. “Can you prep a Vertibird, ASAP?” The Sentinel very briefly considered reminding the Knight that she was the one who gave the orders, but the look in her eyes made her stop. “Right.” “Thanks.” Dominica’s voice dripped with relief. “Oh god, I can’t believe this is happening.” She jumped from her bed and grabbed her armour. “Amata, I need to know... what happened?” “I... I’m not sure. All I know is that the guards we assigned to the Vault door w-w-were...” Amata broke down again. “Daddy,” she whimpered. “Thomas, can you ask your mate to stop staring at the soldiers like that?” Shining asked uneasily. “It’s a little worrying.” “My what?” he asked, thinking he had misheard. “You’re mate. Veronica, was it?” Thomas blinked before laughing. “What!? Oh, god no! You think me and her- Ahahahahah!” “What’s so funny?” Shining asked, thinking he had made a big mistake. “Hey, Veronica!” Thomas called out, still laughing. “He think’s we’re sleeping together!” “What!?” Her response was the complete opposite of his. Her expression went from glee at being around such amazing things to complete horror and disgust at even the thought of what was being suggested. “Eww! No! Just... No!” she exclaimed loudly. “Y’see?” Thomas said as he jabbed a thumb at the Scribe. “Probably the only single woman in Vegas I haven’t slept with.” “Only single - what?” Shining shook his head in disgust. “I don’t want to know.” Thomas, having succeeded in making the unicorn uncomfortable, chuckled and stuck his hands into his duster. “I want to ask you something.” “Hm?” “How are you a commander? I don’t know a thing about military ranks, but I can’t see how you jumped from captain to commander in two months.” Thomas looked around to see the numerous armoured ponies and Griffons looking at him, some curiously, some hostilely. “Only a month and a half,” Shining corrected. “The Knights are new. Four months, if that. That... incursion into the Changeling Hive was our first actual mission. The armour is still having all the kinks worked out. There are only a dozen of us, and the princesses wanted the stallion who came up with the idea to be in charge.” “So, what, she just forgave you?” Thomas asked, refusing to believe that. “No,” Shining said unhappily. “She ordered me into therapy. Once a week. I can’t see the point.” “Hey, you got treatment for that bullet I had to put in your leg, right?” The stallion nodded. “That’s all therapy is, treating an injury.” “Are you saying I have brain damage?” Shining asked, shooting a glare at Thomas. “We’re soldiers, Shiny. We have blood on our hands. Anyone who has to fight and kill for a living doesn’t come out the same they came in.” That shut him right up. “Some nights, I... I remember things. Things I’d rather forget.” “I know what you mean,” he said quietly. “Thank you, again.” “Okay, I’m getting sick of the looks I’m getting from those bigots.” They both turned to see Dom stomp towards them angrily. “It’s like they don’t care about how I feel.” Shining looked at the ghoul. Her skin, including her entire nose, seemed to have fallen off her face, leaving raw exposed flesh that had hardened and scarred. What was left of her hair, a vibrant red, hung limply like it was dead. Her eyes were sunken into her face, and seemed to make her less alive. “I can’t say I blame them,” he said carefully. “Yeah, I don’t either, but it still hurts.” Dom sighed. “Two years. Two years and my squadmates still have trouble looking at me. I don’t need it from a bunch of talking horses and freaky bird-things.” Shining Armor began to look around frantically. “Keep your mouth shut, they might - !” “What was that!?” a loud, commanding voice said from above them. “Oh, buck me sideways,” Shining muttered in Equestrian. “Sergeant,” he said louder. “Commander,” the griffon said, alighting softly next to him. Sergeant Grimfeather was wearing a style of armour that had been decommissioned decades ago, simple unadorned plating on his forelegs and haunches. Along his wings was more metal, wing-blades that could slice through another griffon with ease if the wearer had enough momentum. He also had a green vest and a large sword strapped to his back. Half of his beak on the right side was badly scratched and chipped. He gave the unicorn a look. “What was that I was hearing before?” “Nothing to concern yourself with,” the unicorn said nervously. “Oh? It certainly didn’t seem like that.” The griffon’s ruffled his wings and looked at Dom. “Well, I say!” he exclaimed, leaning back in shock. “Aren’t you something?” he said amicably, looking the ghoul up and down. “If you’re gonna insult me, get it over with,” Dom said tiredly. “Insult you?” he asked in Zebrican/English. “Good heavens, no! I would never insult a fellow soldier, if your armour is anything to go by. Tells me you’ve seen a bit of action! Though you do seem like you’ve been put through a grinder, I see physical appearance as no reason to judge someone.” “Thanks?” Dom replied. This was practically the first time someone had accepted her appearance without making a great fuss over it. “Uh, sorry about what I said.” “So you did say something? Thought so.” Grimfeather’s good mood faded a little, but not completely. “Suppose I should introduce myself. Sergeant Reginald Grimfeather,” he said as he stuck out a claw. “Paladin Dominica Esposito,” she replied, grasping his claw. Her eyebrows (or rather, where they had been) rose slightly when the griffon began to put a surprisingly large amount of strength into the handshake. She responded in kind, trying to crush the griffon’s claw with a vice-like grip. This exchange of attempted maiming continued for close to a minute, their expressions contorting into pained grimaces the longer the exchange went on. Grimfeather was the first to give up. “You’ve got quite a grip on you,” he said happily as he shook his claw. “So do you,” the ghoul replied, shaking her hand about to get the feeling back. “I guess you’re not that bad.” “I can say the same for you, m’dear. I’ll give the troops a good ear-bashing, get them to stop treating you so badly. Sound good?” “Wow.” Dom really didn’t have anything to say. “Um... Thanks. Really.” “Oh, it’s nothing, really.” “Nicely done,” Shining Armor said as he watched the sergeant loudly and viciously berate the soldiers under his command. “Not everyday someone impresses a griffon that easily,” he added, sounding quite impressed himself. “I get the feeling he was going easy on me,” Dom said with a shrug. “Still, nice change of pace.” “How strong are you, anyway?” Thomas asked, speaking up for the first time in minutes. “Strong enough to swing around twenty pounds of fuck you like it’s nothing,” she said proudly. “Hell, I once ripped a man’s arm off and beat his buddy to death with it.” Shining Armor looked like he was about to be sick, while Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Well, I certainly hope you don’t go doing that to any of my soldiers, then,” Grimfeather said unhappily, rejoining the conversation. “Why would I do that?” the ghoul asked, worried that he even thought she would do that to potential allies. “Some of them refuse to believe that you are as dangerous as you seem.” The griffon sighed. “Honestly, anything that was able to take down Blacktalon as quickly as you did is not something I want to face in single combat.” “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to fight me either,” she chuckled. “Which is why they want to fight you three against one,” the griffon said unhappily. “I do hope you don’t kill them.” “This seems familiar,” Thomas said, rolling his eyes. Author’s Notes: I blame the fact that Sergeant Grimfeather appears to be British on Borderlands 2 and Sir Hammerlock. Next chapter, FIGHT SCENE! Any and all idiot 'First'ers will be deleted. Immediately.