Dora Side-Story

The first rays of dawn’s sunlight slip over the horizon and into the sleepy village of Fermaselo…making you turn over, burying your face in your crude pillow.

“Danya! You’d better be out of bed! You’ve got five minutes to get to the Khrenovs before I give you a thick ear!”

You groan.

Sleeping in these conditions was becoming insufferable. Since the imposed energy shortages, only the officials could use anything that required power. In the heavy heat of the Menagerian mid-summer nights, the wretched insects buzzed around the crude oil lamps that were now a staple of the village, making sleep uncomfortably difficult even after a hard day’s work.

With the functioning Atlesian dust plants being taken down as ‘symbols of human oppression’, this remote region of Eastern Menagerie had been plunged into a pseudo-dark age. It was miserable.

You manage to pull yourself upright, rubbing sleep from your sunken eyes. Your sleep pattern had suffered considerably since starting your training, but it was only getting worse. Glancing at the solitary mirror in the rustic household, you see your eyebags that now look like they may have become permanent features, along with your slacked, borderline emotionless expression. Your mother always said ‘if you can’t think of anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all!’, and had insisted on extending it to your emotional expressions. This was the result.
…are you greying, already? At your age? Wouldn’t be surprising, but then it’s almost impossible to tell given your natural hair-colour.

“Danya! I’m warning you! It’ll be thick ears either side, in a minute!”

You call downstairs:

“Which ones? I’ve got four to choose from.”

“Don’t you get smart with me, young lady!”

Whatever. You get yourself ready as quick as you can and make your way downstairs.

“I should hope so too! Now eat your breakfast quickly and get down to the Khrenovs! They’ll be expecting our game stock. You know old Vanya, he needs to eat to keep his strength up.”

You sit down at one of the few remaining available chairs. Your youngest sister Zara flicks her weed soup at you.

“Haha! Danya’s all green!”

“Stop wasting food. We’ve little enough as is.”, you snap, irritably.

“Danya’s right, Zara. We’ve got weeds to last us for weeks, but it’s the principle that matters.”, your mother scolds her.

Zara pouts, but goes back to her soup quietly, and you do the same. How they stay in such high spirits is beyond you. It wasn’t even that long ago when the household had the lion’s share of hunted game, as was expected. The Mauzkovs had long been the dedicated hunters for much of the region, and during the Revolution they’d even been called to arms against the human forces. But now, with the Revolution over, all that remained where some old medals. You can’t eat medals. They’d probably fetch for something over in the West…but your father was too proud for that.

“I’m taking the rations.” you say, having finishing your soup.

“I should hope so, too. And don’t dawdle chatting with old Vanya. I know he thinks of you as his granddaughter, but your father needs you for the morning patrol. You’ve been slacking, lately.”

Tilly Mauzkovna was not a bad mother. If anything, she was exemplary. Harsh, but fair. And the children were never for want of anything, really…even if she herself had to go without.

You catch a glimpse of your mother’s exposed forearms. Whilst rugged and strong with years of dedicated labour, the skin seemed worn, wrinkled, aged far beyond her years. Her once auburn field-mouse hair and fur was now a fair grey, matching the rest of the family. And her eyes, though still sparkling with determination…there was a lustre there that had been lost.

“…Mutti-“, you begin, gingerly.

“Oh don’t you ‘Mutti’ me, young lady! You’re a grown woman now! If it weren’t for you being your father’s heir, you’d have been married off to that scruffy young weasel four doors down years ago! Now get going!”

And your mother scurries you off, slamming the door behind you. Dammit. She’ll run herself into the ground sooner or later. You all will at this rate…

You make for the old storehouse and pick up the delivery portions. There’s enough here to last the family for weeks…but old man Vanya will probably use it all up in a matter of days.

It’s a short enough distance to the old Khrenov mill. And out front, old man Vanya is at his morning exercises. It’s amazing how those things seem to work, even at his age…

He hasn't quite spotted you yet...

[ ] Greet him amiably
[ ] Best not to disturb him. Drop the the delivery off and get back home
[ ] Surprise hug attack!
[ ] Other


The stallion faunus continues to stretch, his incredible size and musculature having never seemed to have diminished, despite his age. But even such a mountain of a man has weaknesses…

He’s wide open. It’d be foolish not to press the advantage.

You carefully place the package to one side and adopt the launch position.

You remember your father’s training-

“Perfect Survival Technique 32: Blind-siding Leap!”

You pounce, perfectly clearing the distance between you in one magnificent jump!

But!

“Naïve as ever, ‘Lil Dormouse!”

So fast! His arm reaches out to intercept you!

And he snatches you up in his arm, his other hand ruffling your hair.

“You shouldn’t be calling your special techniques out like that. You’ll give yourself away every time!”

You blush slightly, whilst quietly hugging him.

“…I told you not to call me that in public anymore. I’m not a child anymore…”

“Could’ve fooled me with that little trick o’yours. Come back when you’ve grown above my waistline and then we’ll see!”

You playfully punch him in the chest. It might as well be made of steel, but still warm all the same.

“I’ll be bigger than you some day!”

He laughs, heartily. The tremors from it alone shake through your body.

“Gahaha! Na’ that’d be a sight fer sore eyes!”

But then he gives you a slightly serious look.

“…Ain’t nothing wrong with being a kid to someone. Yer’ll all have ta grow up faster these days, but ya’ll always be ‘Lil Dormouse ta me!”

It’s faint. But there’s a look in his eye, through the smiles and laughs. It worries you…but you don’t want to push the issue.

“I brought the usual. Venison is fine, right?”

“It’s more than fine, Sweety. I know how hard it is for ya all now. Ol’ Vanya’ll work hard for everyone, don’t you worry. We’ll all be eatin’ well when them officials come for assessment, ya’ll see!”

You smile up at him, but don’t say a word.

The officials used the only rationed power in the entire village, as deemed necessary by the State. But with the old dust plants shut down, means of power generation were limited. Even moreso when the old pre-dust power sources were in such short supply in Menagerie. So now…

Vanya puts you down and straightens himself up. You pick up the package and hand it over to him.

“Thank you, Sweety. Give me best ta Tilly and the girls. And yer Dad, ‘o course. Now be off with ya. I know ya’ve got better things ta do than keep old men company! Gahaha!”

And with that, he strides off into the old mill. Within moments, it springs to life.
An adult horse faunus can generate considerable strength. Not just in a burst, but, if kept fit and healthy, they can keep doing incredible strenuous work for hours on end. In the pre-Revolution times, humans had infamously used them as labourers, worth less than slaves…

Vanya had lived in those times. He’d been tied up to that old mill and powered it almost every day of his life since he was old enough. When the Revolution came and the humans fled the village, the official speakers for the State claimed he’d been tearful with joy as his freedom was finally granted to him.

But that’s not what he’d told you.

And now…

The old mill turns once more. In the newly-built State-authorised Official Administration building, the crude generator began to charge.

And then the door to the Khrenov household opens. A smug looking fat official steps out. Behind him, Svetlana Khrenov, her faint smile failing to hide her haggard mare ears, quietly waves him away.

…you need to head back.

[ ] Head back now. You’ll be scolded if you’re late
[ ] …Intercept the Official (write-in)
[ ] …Approach Svetlana (write-in)
[ ] …Approach Vanya (write-in)


…you can’t really afford to stick around. You turn back to head home, hoping Svetlana doesn’t catch your eye-

“Ah, young lady Mauzkovna. I trust the morning patrol will run smoothly this time?”

The fat official spotted you. Damn. You don’t know him personally, but it stands to reason that an administrator knows who you are…and any “difficulties” the household may have faced.

“…without error, comrade.”, you manage in a monotone. Your mother’s teachings are hard to fight.

“Good to hear it. It seems that the Grimm are growing restless of late. I couldn’t imagine why, but since it is your household that is responsible for controlling their population…well, I shouldn’t bother someone so young with such trifles. Embrace your youth, while you still possess it!”

“…Yes, comrade.”

“Jolly good!”, and with an utterly mirthless smile, he turns back to the Administation building, quietly humming one of the few State-authorised Post-Revolution songs. Even humming a Revolution-era song could warrant questionable behaviour these days.

You head back home, trying not to dwell too much on what transpired…

----

The morning patrol will start momentarily. But before that…

“Danya! Focus!”

You try to dodge, but your father’s fist is as blindingly fast as ever. It strikes you square in the solar plexus. The world briefly goes white as you’re sent flying backwards-

But you land on your feet!

Staggering slightly, your sight gradually clears…

And you instinctively twist to the right, narrowly dodging his follow-up strike!

He’s not holding back. But then, he never does.

Leon Mauzkov stands firm in front of you. Your father never really looked much of the part of a war hero. Being below typical drafting height and appearing only lean in stature, at a glance you’d never think of him as a soldier. But then that was part of the trick. They never know until it’s too late.

His fierce scarlet eyes mirror your own, staring down at you.

“Better!”

And so saying, he switches styles. His presence seems to fade…shit. You really hate that technique. He’s not invisible. But somehow, he’s so much harder to keep track of, even though he’s standing still. As if you’re only seeing him in glimpses of your peripheral vision. It’s a nasty one…but you finally catch his movement, faintly. He’s lunging straight at you!

You’ve got limited choices here.

[ ] Perfect Survival Technique 65: Better Part of Valour (Flee)
[ ] Perfect Survival Technique 79: Cross-Counter
[ ] Perfect Survival Technique 16: Phantom Step (evades opponent using their body as the fulcrum of movement)
[ ] Perfect Survival Technique 1: Feign Death