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The illusion of peace
#5
If 'military' as a concept had a spokesperson, a mascot, it would be Stanko. The type of man to bend steel with a look, who hit every regulation to perfection. The room seemed almost artificial in its rigid perfection, yet she was not looking at the room. Her eyes were on the textbook example of professionalism sitting at the desk in front of her, vision tunnelling onto the Major General. His words made any hope she'd clung to melt like a summer snow. Victoria was not naive enough to think this was some sort of congratulation for the efforts on her campaign. Certainly if it was a promotion to Major General, it wouldn't be Stanko telling her that. No. The form. Her powers. For what was not of course the first time, but was extremely far from a regular thought, Victoria felt a twinge of regret for doing her duty. Selfish, of course.

As Stanko finished addressing her, Victoria stiffened, heels clicking together with a satisfying tap, and a clenched fist moved to cover her heart, arm bent. The silent salute finished, her hands dropped to the metallic double button row of her jacket, practiced fingers quickly undoing them. Victoria's father had drilled into her to never, ever sit down with a jacket buttoned up. It was rude, apparently, but would crease and ruin your jacket on top of that. Automatic by this point. It was a miracle her hands were shaking, fumbling the buttons and making a fool of herself. Steady mind, steady hands. Stay calm. She wasn't under fire.

Yet.

"Major General. Thank you." Victoria kept her voice low, respectful. She would anyway, of course. She rather liked Stanko, as much as one liked a superior officer. She detested being overtly friendly with her direct subordinates or superiors. Familiarity and friendship was too great a risk in a war zone. Moving forward, she took the seat in front of him, keeping her back straight, head proudly high. Her profile was like that of an eagle; sharp edges, a strong look, and defiance. If she was to be punished, then so be it. Victoria had done her duty. She could take solace in that.

"I believe so, Sir." That clipped voice again. The only acknowledgment of anxiety was when her long hands took the peaked cap off her head, fingers running along the brim as she brought it to rest in her lap. A bare flicker of uncertainty across her eyes. Who next? Where was this going to go? Finally, she braved it. "What is to be done with me." It wasn't a question. More resigned to her fate.
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Messages In This Thread
[No subject] - by Victoria Wolff - 08-10-2016, 11:24 AM
[No subject] - by Ascendancy - 08-13-2016, 10:00 PM
[No subject] - by Victoria Wolff - 08-14-2016, 09:04 AM
[No subject] - by Ascendancy - 08-14-2016, 10:29 AM
[No subject] - by Victoria Wolff - 10-01-2016, 02:45 PM
[No subject] - by Ascendancy - 10-01-2016, 09:57 PM
[No subject] - by Victoria Wolff - 10-02-2016, 12:28 PM
[No subject] - by Ascendancy - 10-02-2016, 01:30 PM
[No subject] - by Victoria Wolff - 10-02-2016, 03:10 PM
[No subject] - by Ascendancy - 10-02-2016, 09:30 PM
[No subject] - by Victoria Wolff - 10-02-2016, 10:55 PM

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