A Night of Rest - LHoG

	A booming knock sounds at the door of the Wand and Circlet, then with a gruff bark of, “Hello comrades!!” Batka strides into the pub and looks around, as is her habit. Place is...oddly empty. One girl with ridiculous drills is sitting in silence with some man, but the one that catches Batka's eye is the lone girl at the bar.  Her long, black hair is matted, her shorts are bloodstained, her bulletproof vest is tattered, and...she seems oddly damp all around. Obviously, this is the person who needs a comrade tonight. Batka clears her throat as she approaches, sitting down next to the poor dear. “Vodka please, bartender.” An automatic request, then, “Something for her, too. She seems to have had quite the day.” At this, the black haired girl turns, brown eyes looking for the other girl's motive. “My name is Batka. It is a pleasure to meet you!” barks Batka in her thick, Russian accent.
	A long moment of silence passes, then the dark haired girl responds. “Lin. I'm...my name is Lin.” Her hands quiver slightly, then she recalls something important, and adds, “Of the Beacon.”
	“Ah, Lin of the Beacon then? Please, get yourself something to drink, Lin. Even if it is merely a soda.” She changes topics, and attempts to lighten her tone. “I have a friend who calls herself by the same. Do you know a Kaylee by chance?” asks the Russian in the best soothing tones she can manage in her second language.
	“Yes, she... She recruited me. Helped save my homeworld in doing so, I hope.” The other girl's eyes darken as she thinks about the home she had. “...Something fruity, please.”
	“Bartender! A screwdriver for Comrade Lin!” barks the Russian to the bartender who is cleaning glasses a mere two feet away. He gives her a look, the sort of look a man develops after hearing this a dozen nights in a row now. “Ehehe, er... sorry. Please!” He nods at that.
	Lin, for her part, finds this mildly amusing, as evidenced by the small smile resting on her face. Her hand finds its way to the stone she has chained 'round her neck.
	“Ah, that is a lovely necklace,” begins the Russian, hoping to lighten the mood a little bit. Unfortunately for her, this has the opposite effect. But, luckily for her, the drinks show up. A screwdriver for the girl on the left, a bottle of vodka without so much as a glass for the girl on the right. Batka raises her glass, but can't find words for a toast.
	“To comrades?” asks the Beacon girl with a weak smile.
	“Da, to comrades!” barks the excited Russian back.
	Bottle and glass go up, liquor goes down.
	With the stony facade of politesse successfully cracked, Batka begins once more. “Lin of the Beacon, I must admit, you look...rather bad. Are you alright?”
	“...It has been a rough day,” concedes Lin with that same weak smile as before.
	“Then may I attempt to make it a little better, comrade?”
	At this, the initial nervousness is immediately back. “W-what do you mean?” Her right hand twitches towards the gleaming, silver Beretta in its holster, but...she instead grasps her drink.
	“Easy there, comrade. Let me show you, okay?” With these words, Batka slides off the stool, setting down her pack on the ground with a loud clank, then bends over to dig inside it. Lin tries to peek in, but it seems a bit bigger on the inside, and she can't see around the Ruski's shoulders. “Aha!” She plucks from inside the pack...a pair of wool pants and an old looking coat, along with a belt. “They're probably a little big on you, I've got broad shoulders, but...” she falls silent, looking at the tattered outfit. “Go change, da?”
	Lin scampers off to the restroom of the Wand, coat and pants in hand, while Batka goes back to her bottle.
	“...Bartender? What happened?”
	The man shrugs, shaking his head.
	“I guess it doesn't matter. All that matters is taking care of comrades, da?” She doesn't look to the man for confirmation. This is a statement of fact to her, as basic a fact of life as waking up in the morning and sleeping at night. Footsteps approach, and... Indeed, the coat was too big, and the old army belt is doing double time to keep up the pants.
	All the same, the girl in the clothes looks significantly happier now that she's not soaked in spit and blood. “Thank you.”
	“Of course, comrade.”
	The pair sit in comfortable silence for awhile, until Lin finishes her drink. It was bound to happen eventually, hers is, after all, much smaller than Batka's.
	“Would you like another, Lin? It is on me, I got paid for a side job just today,” says the Russian, as though the ability to do side jobs and get paid was a wonderful novelty to her.
	“I'm...alright. Just need to work up the strength to go home.” Even as she says this, her eyelids seem to noticeably droop. “...Too much fighting today.”
	Without any hesitation whatsoever, Batka makes an offer: “Come stay at my apartment. Couch is comfy, I promise.”
	This time, Lin is openly skeptical: “W-why are you doing this for me, Batka? You don't even know me!”
	“I don't know you. But I feel like I can trust you in my home,” says the Russian with what might pass for a warm smile given generous standards. Even if it's rough around the edges, it seems to be genuine.
	The exhausted Beacon girl stands on wobbly legs. “If...it is not too much to ask.” Batka offers a shoulder, which Lin takes with a look of gratitude. The pair stumble to the door, get outside, then...in a flash of light, they reappear in Batka's home.
	Lin's eyes take in the state of the room. The front room is sparsely furnished, with the only notable furniture being a couch against one wall, a table in front of it, and a tattered red flag with a golden sickle and hammer hanging over a chair on the opposite wall. Everything has a thin layer of dust on it, as though this place is hardly lived in at all.
	Batka leads the other girl to the couch, letting her ease her way down to the cushions. “Would you like a glass of water, comrade?” she asks as she walks to the kitchen. Lin tries to peer around the corner, but as far as she can tell, the kitchen is barely furnished at all: Just some white painted cabinets, and a fridge humming across from a window overlooking the city.
	“I...no, thank you. You've done enough.” Her gaze wanders to the window at the end of the front room.
	“The view changes every day. It is the only reason I can stand being in this place.” In spite of the request to the contrary, Batka brings two glasses of water out, and sets them on the table. “Back in a moment.”
	Lin sips her water, watching the city change ever so slowly. Then, out comes Batka...with a hairbrush? “It will knot, comrade. Allow me.” Bit by bit, the grime is brushed out of Lin's hair, and it returns to...near normalcy. “Now, the bed is this way. Come with me.” Immediately, Lin tenses up again. Was there an ulterior motive? But still... “I'll be on the couch out there if you need me. Don't hesitate to wake me up.”
	“But...it's your home.”
	“And I should be a good host. Sleep well, Lin of the Beacon. Wake in the morning with the fire of determination relit.” Batka steps out of the room.
	Lin lays silent in the room. An ancient rifle hangs on the wall. Next to the door is a full length mirror. In its reflection, she notices a pair of picture frames on the bedstand next to her.
	In one, a small family is gathered in formal clothes. A proud looking man holds his son, as his wife holds what looks like a newborn of unknown gender. In the other, that same proud man stands, rifle over his back, amongst a group of roughly 30 other soldiers. Written on the corner is “Stalingrad Penal Battalion reunion, 1952.” Batallion...it looked like an awful small number of men to be a whole battalion.
	With that last thought, she lets her eyes flutter shut and she drifts slowly to sleep, curiosity about numbers dancing through her head.