BP, Ismene -- WIP

Ismene Theodorou sat before her small altar in the tavern's smallest upper room. The lizardman spent a moment of reflection as she burned the incense. Her mind wasn't truly where it should be on this holy day. The finely ground powder filling the room with the properly proscribed scent favored by Bastet had been charged by a human and endowed with his mana. She had thought to serve her tours in the military both for the natural joy she found in combat, and perhaps to find a mate. Her service in the Compact, the successor of the Order, had only succeeded in one of those ways. The military had rules about fraternization, she had learned to follow them, to get along with the humans. Yet she was still mateless.

The human mana intermingling with the pleasant smelling smoke made her jaw ache with the pain of what she lacked. The mana had been donated by an military comrade. Like most of her military comrades, he was still enlisted. Ismene hadn't extended her last tour of duty, though it had been made clear that she could be officer material. Cpt. Chochokpi Barrande had said so himself. As a fellow member of Bastet's Cult, he'd been more than happy to charge the ritual incense with his mana to celebrate today. After briefly holding the incense, his hands had pulsed, charging it. He had offered to join her in the ritual. Then after a moment looking into her eyes, he'd reconsidered and invited her celebrate at his local church instead. It had been a wise move on his part, the experienced military man could probably feel her aching with need. She'd had enough engagements under his command and experiences with him that she was absolutely certain the short and thin human would be a challenging opponent in a mating duel. She had learned much from him and the other servicemen.

She recalled moments from her tours of service, the many battlefields she spent fighting inhuman beasts that should not be, while in foreign planes that throbbed and reeked of strange energy. Her abstracted look of longing would've made any observer believe her to be in the middle of a romantic daydream. Despite the unusual subject matter, she actually was. In her mind, the short brown-skinned Cpt with pale eyes leapt and cut. As all good swordsmen, he moved like a dancer. With a slight step to the side, a vicious tentacle would pierce where he had been and taste the fine sweet edge of his blade. She'd seen him do this a number of times, it was nearly unbearable to serve with so many fine men when she couldn't institute the formal mating duel. Sweet Goddess why did the human rules not allow fraternization?

The room was steeped in his mana, thick and syrupy. The consistency was due to the military diet so focused on keeping the enlisted soldiers producing a surfeit of mana in conditions where such excess meant the difference betwixt life and death. Along with the rich sweet smoke of Bastet's favored herbs, it was so easy to imagine the Goddess favoring their pairing. It was even easier to see them dueling in her mind. Had they not practiced on occasion during her tours? In her mind, the reddish skin of Cpt. Barrande flushed with exertion as he parried her blade. The elegant footwork he used while circling, forcing her to overextend. How his thin short build concealed a strength that battered through her guard at such odd angles, making it so hard to dodge and recover her stance.

Ismene was so lost in memory, that she wasn't aware of how her body reacted in response. She had been kneeling before the altar in sieza, the formal posture proscribed for such incense burning. Now her torso was extended forward and nearly horizontal compared to the usual upright stance. Her claws were in the floor gripping the wood. Her ear-frills were at full extension, and the secondary inner eyelid of her kind was lowered. Ismene noticed none of this. She was too occupied to see how her tail rose upward in invitation or even hear the loud croaking mating call flow from her throat. Cpt Barrande was about to knock her guard beyond recovery, as he had in their practice bout. In her heart she dared hope that instead of stepping out of range and ending the match with a formal salute, he would shift forward and thrust or cut. Even a tap would do, oh how she needed to feel his blade. That moment of the duel played forward in her mind and her twitching body. Just as he broke her guard and footwork beyond recovery, just as she was fully at his mercy, just when it was possible he could remotely decide to give her his blade in most unambiguous way possible -- the thin door to her rented room rattled with a series of angry knocks. Her secondary eyelids snapped open and she glared at the door as the tavern owner yelled at her to "keep it down in there".


Ismene snarled at the door then leapt forward at startling speed, in a swift smooth movement she turned the knob and swung the door open. At the sight of her face the tavern owner's hand, raised to knock, balked. Then, as if his body was only now catching up, it shook and he stumbled back. Seeing the large man stumble back brought her back to her senses, her ear-frills contracted, teeth and claws no longer bared. She cleared her throat, shifting to the standard military 'at ease' posture. "I'm sorry Maximilian. I may have started the festivities a bit early today.", said Ismene. The large tavern-man had recovered enough to frown at the use of his name.

"It's Max, not Maximilian. Whatda I keep telling you? It's five in the morning and you're up making a racket like a cat in heat. What festivities? Whadda are doing in there?", said the large man, probably rattled by her earlier grouchiness.

"Today is the day celebrating the Goddesses' sealing of Pirapasa, Max. I'm burning incense and...meditating in thanks.", said Ismene. Maximillion didn't look particularly convinced, but after a few moments of obtrusively looking past her into the room he seemed more accepting.

"Yeah. Just keep it down Isme. I thought...", he said trailing off, he cleared his throat and continued, "So who was this Papaya anyway?"

"Pirapasa, Max, is a city. There was a Compact military victory in the city. After that, the Goddesses sealed it against the Other and blessed it with Their glory.", said the lizardman stoically. At the word 'goddesses' Ismene had made the ritual 'Two Claws of Contented Stretching' gesture in emphasis of which goddess she credited most with the sealing. Now on more familiar ground, Max grinned and spoke more easily than he had in the conversation thus far.

"If there were soldiers, there was wine. You know that. I'm sure we got a lot to be grateful to thank the Goddesses for.", said Max, predictably making the 'Wobbling Mug that Inexplicably Finds its Way to Your Mouth' gesture of the Bacchus Cult. Ismene smiled, she wasn't particularly good at socializing. Max, who owned this tavern, was very easy to get along with. It hardly mattered that despite his large size, she was certain that she could disembowel him with barely any effort. While certainly not mating material, he was good friend material. A thought struck her. She tried to recall what he'd just said. Ah yes, the gesture.

"Well, I'd like to drink to that.", said Ismene, trying to make an effort despite not normally being one to drink, herself. She even remembered to smile without bearing her pointed teeth. Her time with the military was well spent, she thought, she'd put Max at ease and get his help with the complex and confusing human mating rituals. She'd prove to the Cpt. that she could lay strong eggs in no time at all! Ismene didn't notice how her ear-frills flapped in pleasure nor the sinuous movements of her tail. She barely noticed that Max's smile had frozen slightly.

"...yeah, I'll uh be down at the bar, we're about to open up anyway.", said the tavern owner, giving a nod and heading downstairs. She followed him down to the bar. The weak light of the dawning day was complementary to the somewhat dingy tavern. She took a stool at the bar, maneuvering her tail and claws carefully. The tavern wasn't in the best shape, but she didn't want to make things worse. Max was a likable man and well known to the Compact soldiers who often took their leave in the area.

"So, whadda ya want, Isme?", said Max, as he fiddle with mugs, barrels and taps with the air of a man who knew the slightest bit of these things. Ismene didn't know much about human society past what she'd learned in her service. She had a brief flash of gratitude that her fellow soldiers were so fond of drinking.

"I would like one wine, please.", said Ismene, placing as she folded her clawed hands in an effort to seem less threatening. Max quirked an eyebrow at her in expectation, when she simply kept smiling at him, he shrugged and filled a pitcher with a smooth practiced hand.


"Two silvers. Not that I don't mind the business, Isme, but you wanna talk 'bout something? We're open but business'll be slow for a while. No one's around.", said the bar-tending man as he finished filling the pitcher and placed it and a leather blackjack in front of her on the bar's discolored wood. Ismene brightened, he was being helpful. She took a small sip from the leather mug and made a moue of distaste before quickly setting it back down along with 2sp she fished from her coin purse.

"Yes, I do. I'd like to talk about human mating rituals.", she said. Max stilled momentarily, he gave a wince and a nod before leaning on the grimy bar a few arm lengths or so away from her.

"I'm kinda old to be fighting here, Is.", said the barkeep uncomfortably. She gave a small jolt of surprise. She liked the man well enough, but not in an egg-bearing way! She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand, before speaking again, "Just making sure, y'know. You're always with all o them soldier pals of yours, but you came by alone. I ain't no lizardman sort o pick, but sometimes people get kind of antsy." Ismene was glad that the man was so perceptive, though somewhat uncertain how he put things together so well.

"I'm not asking about you, Max. No offense, but human society is... confusing. There's a man who. I'd like to.", she sighed uncertain how to put the matter. Humans were so strange with all of their odd rules. Lizardman mating was simple, you challenged someone to a formal duel. If you lost you laid eggs with them. The military recruiters had made it very clear that this was not the human way. They had provided her and all other soldiers with a small but thick book on the subject. She had hoped that the small size would make it quick and light reading.

It wasn't, and the print was very fine. There were mana diagrams and complex ritual procedures. The first entry under the lizardman section had been three pages describing protocol violations, disciplinary actions, rules against fraternization, and the chain of command. Even the section describing the rules of safe mana transfer and the use of mana transmitters wasn't really helpful for navigating human mating. The little book insisted that mana transfer using the small enchanted transmitter stones issued to all personnel wasn't a sexual act among humans, but was "necessary for safely allowing the accumulation and decoupling of mana without inducing erosion within the human mantic biosystem" and "ensuring that mamono soldiers can increase the order of magnitude of the mana available to the military unit while engaging in mantic bio-sublimation of instinctual elements and forming non-exclusive rapport within the military unit and increasing mantic efficiency in a manner compatible with human social norms". Ismene had no clue what any of that meant, but everyone had made it very clear that she was always to have several of the small enchanted stones on her person and use them exactly as directed.

Any form of mana transfer not involving the stones was expressly prohibited. Several pages of prohibition and punishments had followed. It was if the book was written by a lawyer who neither liked nor knew her. Several of the mamono soldiers had mixed views on the little book they were all required to carry and read. Opinion of the book seemed to vary by species, and made her truly question how well the book was even written.

One of the enlisted demons had called the little book "proof that the human soul is capable of the deepest levels of romance". Out of curiosity, Ismene had looked at the chapter for demons. It had been a very complex and elaborate graph with hundreds of footnote numbers and a long listing of where to look them up in the text. The dozens of small numbers attached to the text in the lizardman chapter weren't random at all, and the little numbers were scattered across all of the sections of the small dense book. Apparently the writer actually expected the demons to assemble their section from randomly numbered chunks of text in all the other sections, and then order it using a painfully complex graph notated in some legal language.

When Ismene had suggested a formal complaint on the demon's behalf, Hisano Chikae, her fellow soldier had looked shocked at the idea. "I know the majority of it is cock-blocking", said the short demon while rolling her eyes, "but the bit of foreplay at the end, and the format itself are proof they care." Ismene had looked at her in confusion, she hadn't been able to get through her section. It was so dense, that inevitably she'd start over after hitting something she couldn't understand. Though she could read and write, Ismene wasn't much of a scholar. She'd just assumed that reading was like doing kata, where skipping to the end would be unhelpful.

The demon eyed her thoughtfully beneath hooded reddish eyes, with a lewd smile. "Oh. I see, you haven't gotten to the last subsection of the lizardman chapter yet? I never figured you to have such refined tastes as to enjoy the whole 'do not do this or else' section. You've envious self-control.", she said looking at Ismene with appraising eyes shifting her posture in a mamono gesture, giving an inviting flip of her reddish hair. Ismene coughed in embarrassment and told her the truth. Hisano had stared at her in disappointment. The short thin demon had huffed and then insisted that Ismene go off to read the entire lizardman section herself.

The lizardman heard Hisano muttering about her "ruined warrior-lawyer fetish" as Ismene went off to tackle the little manual in her tent. Hisano was a friend, skilled soldier and fellow mamono. Despite this, she wasn't sure what to make of her friend's bemoaning the lack of "ruffled collars" in the background. Vaguely aware that lawyers wore that peculiar bit of clothing, Ismene still wasn't sure what that had to do with anything. The demon's gesture of invitation had been flattering though, she wouldn't mind being egg-sisters with Hisano, but clearly the demon had overestimated Ismene's knowledge and enjoyment of the law.

She had taken Hisano's advice and had been all the better for it. Ismene had skimmed to the end of the section for lizardmen. Immediately, the demon's words made sense. From what she could tell, this wasn't exactly what she wanted, but it was a much better start towards it...

Ismene shook herself free of the recollection, from her first training and tour with the Compact. Had it been so long ago? Max, probably tired of waiting for her to elaborate, had set to cleaning the stained bar with an equally stained towel. The lizardman lacked enough imagination to think that it had ever been a clean towel. Reality seemed to concur. She'd spent so long with the humans, but they didn't take to questions about their mating so readily. She was near bursting with questions that wouldn't be answered in the complex military way that gave so few actual answers.

"How do humans prove they can lay strong eggs?", she asked. The bartender who had been smoothly smearing the towel on the bar gave a small start. He turned to look at her with an almost pitying expression. Ismene had gotten used to the look, as had the majority of mamono in the service. She desperately hoped he wouldn't start speaking in odd ceremonial terms or metaphors. Ismene had heard too damn much about birds and springtime with little to show for it. The bartender gave a sigh.

"We don't lay eggs, Is.", said Max, whatever comfort smearing the dirty towel on the bar gave him seemed to be dissipating. He paused seeming to try and bring some notion to mind, but Ismene was still hopeful. The human soldiers seemed to say the same sort of technical responses, and Max's was far from the service's typical clumsy elaborate non-answers.

"You live birth your young, I know.", she interrupted, "but how do you prove to a male that you can hold his brood. Is it abdominal strength?". The lizardman took a deep breath, aware that she was somewhat agitated. "I'm sorry Max, what were you going to say?". Trying to quell the urge to overflow with questions, she tried to occupy herself with the leather mug. While she took a few more gulps of wine from the jack, Max looked to be trying to respond. His bearded face was scrunched and his lips twitched as if testing words to say to her. The tense lizardman kept drinking from the mug, hanging on his response.

"Maybe you should talk to some human women about this, Is.", said Max, he looked at her briefly and frowned before continuing, "I may have a gut, but I don't know nothing about no brood holdin.". He gave a pat to his ample belly along with an uncertain grin that did little to reassure her. The lizardman sighed and tried again, humans were so dense. She had in fact talked to human women about this, they'd responded that abdominal strength, vaginal strength, and egg-laying weren't important. She had been advised very strongly by all of them to not bring up vaginal strength as a conversational topic, it had been a very long hour for all of them. In the end, Ismene had felt a flash of pity for them. Clearly the man must be the one to determine this vague fitness criteria among humans. The knowledge had agitated her more than she thought it would. If her capable human women friends in the military couldn't tell if they could produce strong young, how could the less experienced Ismene? Maybe she couldn't bear strong eggs, and...

That sort of thinking filled her with a sense of panic, she had to breath deeply to calm herself. She had even tried to go on a few "dates" as the female soldiers had suggested, there was no form of fighting involved as far as she could tell. All of the humans advising her on the subject of "dates" had said this repeatedly, several times each, as if to make sure she understood this point if nothing else. The strange human ceremonies involved eating food, doing activities that were not involved with fighting in any way, and asking each others questions. Across her service she had spent much of her time with humans eating food and exchanging questions, somehow these situations were not "dates" despite appearing to be exactly the same. Or so said the humans.

The lizardman could accept this, the mating duel was special among duels. None of the questions she was allowed to ask on a "date" were invitations to a mating fight. She was allowed to extend or accept a friendly match if offered, however it would not be the mating sort she yearned for. Even these restricted fighting conditions made most civilian humans she "dated" uncomfortable -- their tendency to decline had put her in a mild depression for most of her leave on that tour.

Word must have gotten around about her funk. Soon after, there had been a steady line of servicemen on leave who'd happened to need sparring practice with her. Despite how badly and desperately she'd needed the matches, something in her was pained at how every one of them had felt the need to expressly mention that these were not to be mating duels. She had accepted them with sincere happiness, yet the ache persisted. Their friendly compliments made it even worse in some way. If she was such a "strong, attractive woman" as they claimed, then why did none of them fight her in earnest before tackling her and biting her neck? The military's love of hygiene had grown on her. She made sure to was her neck thoroughly. Was there some special tree she needed to rub against first, or maybe some sort of bright color she should wear? Why were humans so damned confusing?

This still didn't make the idea of "dates" sensible. What were they for? Ismene had the tenuous notion that all of the questions involved were some sort of pre-fight screening process or indirect means of determining her strength and fertility. That none of the "dates" had led to anything was even more off-putting and fed into her doubts about her own egg-laying value.

She drank heavily from the large mug once more as she thought and tried to talk. "I know you don't hold the brood yourself, Max. What I meant to ask was 'how you as a human male determine that a woman can hold your brood'?", said Ismene, she felt better for saying it so clearly. It was exactly what she needed to know. She looked at the bartender expectantly, he didn't seem any less confused. After a moment, realizing that staring at him might make him retreat into one of the strange skittish moods humans got into without warning, she decided to nurse her blackjack of wine. In her agitation, she'd drank more than half of it already. She finished it off, and refilled it from the pitcher as Max responded.

"Look Isme, it don't really work like that for us humans, y'know?", said Max scratching his chin in thought, "I guess you really don't know. Eh. This guy you got yer eye on, you tried goin on a date with him?"

The lizardman, who could now barely taste the bitterness of the wine, replied, "I couldn't date him, Max. I don't even understand what dates are really? Iszit a word fight, why doesn't he just fight me? I can fight however he wants, all kinds of ways. He's in the military too. Can't frret-frad-fraternize in the military. So, I'm not going back in. Gonna prove I'll bear strong clutches of eggs. Wh-once I figure out how to do it the human way." Absentmindedly, one of her claws was caressing her neck firmly. Cpt. Barrande would bite her neck like this and pull her into position, his leg would push her tail like so to get the angle he pleased. A vivid image of him bobbing his head up and down to scare off rival males as he mounted her flashed in her mind. Oh Goddess yes! Her fantasy was interrupted by a heavy throat clearing from Max. Her second pair of eyelids opened, she hadn't even noticed that she'd closed them.

"Take it easy on the goods there, Isme, ay?", said Max before nodding at the stiff leather mug's handle crumpling in her claw. She looked at it slowly for a moment, before placing it on the bar. "Yer uh neck there is bleeding a bit, Isme. I gotta look after the other customers, you just stay outta trouble." He glanced upwards before adding, "Why doncha go upstairs with yer wine there? Just keep it down yeah?" The lizardman blinked slowly, before nodding at the retreating tavern owner. What was that about her neck? She looked at her other claw, covered with a small trickle of blood. There was a warm pleasant and wet soreness to her neck. Human teeth were so weak compared to lizardman teeth or claws. She'd seen human soldiers eat quite often. They had no choice but to weaken and soften their meat before eating it. That was alright though, it just meant he would spend longer getting her position just right. Ismene would gladly bear him a strong clutch of eggs, even if drew he blood with the slightest nip. He could even use his blade if that's how humans preferred, she was a soldier, she could take it. She was confident enough that her head bobbed in an instinctive show of strength. Finishing the mug in a single chug, she sat it on the bar before snatching up the pitcher of wine and heading to her room upstairs.

Back in her rented room upstairs, she closed the door and set the pitcher down. She spent a moment groggily regarding the incense which had long ago burned out. The rich aura of herbs and the Cpt's mana still permeated the room. She spent a moment eyes closed, inhaling and enjoying the atmosphere. It was almost like being encamped with the platoon, but even better since the feel of him was everywhere. It felt like home, her frills and tail sagged with relief. She would take him up on his offer to visit the local Cult of Bastet. She'd received her discharge papers yesterday after meeting him. As a civilian now, Ismene could do the human dating with him. Perhaps only human civilians were uncomfortable with fighting? Her head lowered, slowly shifting forward diagonally to make it more easily graspable as she drunkenly considered the matter. Her mother would be scandalized at the thought, but Ismene would be perfectly happy if he simply clamped onto her neck, held her down and mounted. What mother didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

The lizardman sauntered to where she'd sat the pitcher of wine, still half full. She drank a slug of it directly from the pitcher. She was a civilian now, she didn't have to follow rules! A moment of blurred thought later, she corrected herself. There were a lot of rules for mamono whether civilian or military. The Compact spent a lot of time and effort making sure mamono understood them. She scratched her scalp muzzily. There were less rules for civilians, though. That counted. She sat on the bed which she'd made habitually before starting this morning's ritual. Taking another pull from the pitcher, she yanked the well made bed linens into disorder with an aggressive chirp. A slight tearing sound made her freeze in panic where her claws had caught in the linen. Untangling her claw, she sat the pitcher aside on the floor and fervently made the bed back again. Her eyes jittery scanned the room, her altar hadn't been disassembled. Her head ducked in it's direction and she flicked her tongue at it submissively before grabbing a knapsack and the the partial pitcher of wine. She headed downstairs as she drank, it would probably be best to work the wine out of her system before she did anything rash.

The local hunting grounds were lush and verdant in more ways than one. Ismene’s senses throbbed with pleasure. Already warm and relaxed from her earlier bath, the lizardman could feel the air rippling with mantic messages. Expanding her perceptions within the Bastet Sect’s holy ground was like coming home.  The taste of prey and hunter’s marks filled the air. Scenting the Captain, she felt for the traces of the man, and mentions of him as well. The divinationary gift of Bastet didn’t show her target real-time, but gave traces and references that a skilled hunter could use to acquire said target. The mantic layer was such that hunting another inevitably left traces of yourself.  The lizardman let her own eddies in the mantic stream show ‘friendly hunt’ and ‘playful’ as she strode forward stealthily to his last marked location.

Among the rippling sensory data of the hunting ground, the lizardman felt responses to her movement and tracking. Her frills perked with interest, feeling others hunting and tracing her. One presence was clumsy and obvious in showing its interest in her. She knew immediately that it wasn’t a Bastet Cultist, the scent and taste of it were poorly camouflaged. Ismene glanced around, eventually bringing her glare to rest on a sturdy and thick low hanging branch jutting off from a gnarled and thick tree. Already keyed up in anticipation of meeting Barrande, at his temple of all places, the liardman found the attention irritating. Nonetheless, she tried to maintain an air of polite interest towards the interloper. For all she knew, it could be some associate or friend of the Cpt. This was his local hunting ground/ temple, after all. Ismene cleared her throat meaningfully at the space. Not intending to postpone or miss her meeting with the Cpt, Ismene was very early. This didn’t mean she planned on slacking or sitting idle though.

An echoing chiff radiated from the empty tree branch as the space throbbed and twisted with a reddish glow. The reddish knot of twisted space unwound in a way sure to send geometers scrambling for their dried frog pills. The lizardman, secure in the twin protections of her mamono nature and utter lack of concern for blatant violations of physics and telemetry, simply did her best to project an impression of polite interest at the spacial distortion.

The glow and tortuous folding of space resolved into two familiar figures, a pair a mamono from her last platoon. Both were wearing the standard light but durable khaki uniform of the Order of the Compact’s Army. The woman on the left was much taller than ismene’s own slight height. Though the loosely fitting uniform didn’t make it obvious, she knew that the pale haired woman lacked Ismene’s own strongly muscled form. The uniform didn’t conceal the dark metal patchwork interlaced with her pale skin either, not that it was intended to. The lizardman had a brief pang of regret that nothing concealed the insolent smirk that so often sat on the Cursed Sword’s face. Corp. Adeliya Seleznyova’s brand of insubordinate mischief was the last thing Ismene needed on such a crucial day. Even now, Selenznyova’s red eyes were far too playful for the lizardman’s comfort. The Fallen Cultist had yet to finish dropping whatever spell had been concealing the two, and already she was smirking. The lizardman did her best to stifle her ire as she regarded the figure next to the smirking Cursed Sword.

This one was shorter than even Ismene’s slightly below average height, but she was still proportionally tall for her species. The floating figure’s uniform was neat and form-fitting, especially when situated directly next to Corp. Selenznyova’s slovenly worn one. Her light brownish skin positively rippled with defined muscles, and the Ares worshiping Familiar’s brown eyes and regulation short black hair were set around the perfunctory polite expression that every officer seemed to have stamped on their faces. Still, Lt. Fulcinia Caecilius’s idly twisting tail made Ismene suspect that the Familiar officer was beginning to find the Cursed Sword’s company somewhat grating.

Ismene repressed the urge to salute the by-the-books officer, and greeted them with a brief nod. The Lt nodded in response, while Selenznyova’s eager grin grew even larger. “How’s the hunting going, Sarge?”, asked the Cursed Sword. Ismene felt herself tense as she considered her response, her mind blank.

“Theodorou isn’t a Sgt anymore, Corporal.”, said the familiar, before Ismene could formulate a response. The lizardman gave a grateful nod at the Lt before speaking on her own behalf.

“That’s correct. Lt. I’m no longer a part of the Army, Corporal.”, said Ismene, and she felt a body wide ache run through her, as if the truth of it had only now dawned on her. The world suddenly felt fragile as if the solid earth beneath her turned to sand. The Cursed Sword’s expression shifted to surly mischief, a sight that Ismene had learned to find irritating across her years of service. Now, for some reason, it triggered an aching wave of hollowness and longing instead of the expected urge to chew out the troublesome Corporal.

“Hunting on the Cpt’s turf, huh?”, said the Cprl, leaving a deliberate space in her phrasing so that ‘hunting on the Cpt’ was emphasized. Ismene gave a nod as the dizzy hollow feeling grew. In this new strange mood, the thought of dueling the Cpt seemed patently ridiculous. Even being here seemed pointless. What was she going to do, challenge him to a mating duel and expect him to accept just because she was a civilian now? She couldn’t legally force him to fight, no matter the situation. He didn’t have to accept, or even recognize her challenge. Her body felt so numb and weak, but the numbness didn’t diminish the sharp sensitive ache as another wave of pain washed through her.

The heavy hollow ache made her feel weak too. Her carefully honed soldier’s muscles even felt insubstantial. Ismene wasn’t even sure how she was still standing. Even that simple act felt impossible. For lack of anything else to do, she nodded at the Cursed Sword, and said, “Yes.”. Even that seemed to take too much energy, as if everything were drifting away from her faster than she could ever move to catch, or even keep up with.

“Yeah right. Like you’d ever give up soldiering.”, said the Cursed Sword with her easy abrasive manner. The blatant attempt to goad Ismene somehow missed the mark. Ismene numbly felt her body give a shrug, though it felt like someone else was doing the shrugging.  Selenznyova was right in that Ismene had never truly considered leaving the service. It barely rated a passing thought even when she drank. Even Ismene could hardly believe it. Yet here she was. The Corporal held her gaze, and whatever Selenznyova saw was enough to wipe the mischief off her face. Instead the Cursed Sword’s dark red eyes were wide, and frightened maybe? Ismene couldn’t tell, but the lizardman just knew that she’d never again see that stupid face that Selenznyova made right after causing trouble that Ismene would have to clean up. The Cursed Sword never seemed to learn, but now Ismene didn’t mind anymore. Even putting up with Selenznyova was better than this numb ache that just keep growing. Was it winter?, she asked herself dumbly while barely noticing the warm summer day. The aching cold didn’t seem to care about the weather.

“Ms. Theodorou!”, said Lt. Caecilius, the little muscular mamono’s voice was sharp and commanding. The normally calm tan face of the Lt was sharper, her brown eyes glittered intensely. Ismene sluggishly realized she was suddenly standing at attention, the little familiar now a demanding presence in her visual field -- despite not seeming to have moved at all. Ismene vaguely noted that Selenznyova had been drawn to attention as well.
“Yes ma'am?”, asked the lizardman, her voice carrying the professionalism ingrained by years of military service. Questioning routines developed by nigh anal retentive practice was not a facet of military life, so Ismene didn’t. The vague and unfamiliar dread of earlier had been easily overtaken by the much more developed and regularly exercised dread of Sgts everywhere -- being under the scrutiny of an officer. Lt Caecilius held the moment as Ismene squirmed internally.

“I understand you may be * enjoying * the many new and unusual opportunities of civilian life, but I  * suggest * you do try and maintain some focus here, Ms. Theodorou.”, said the Lt. She spoke in the characteristic clipped cadence and rhythm that had yet to be used in the history of sapients for giving something so mild as a mere suggestion. “After all,”, continued the familiar, but not unkindly, “Corporal Selenznyova and I are here on behalf of the whole platoon.” With the smallest hint of a smile, she continued blandly, “Get to it Corporal.”

Cprl Selenznyova, who up until that moment had clearly doing her damnest to be as still and therefore as un-noticed as possible, gave a brief wince before nodding sharply.  “Yes ma’am.”, said the Cursed Sword with an uncertain glance at the Lt. “Er.  We were kinda wishing you well on your uh hunt, Sarg – Ms Theodorou. Maybe help you get a little pep in your step, ma’am.” The tall mamono gestured to her own right with a tip of her head.
Ismene, now functioning on automatic and not nearly at her best, blinked slowly in incomprehension. The habits of interaction were taking over again, however. Ismene’s years of reigning in exceedingly * too * flexible troops, often including Selenznyova herself, were making themselves known. Ismene’s suspicions were beginning to crystallize enough for her to unconsciously glare at the Corporal.

“Is that so, Corporal Selenznyova? I’ve been a little out of sorts lately, would you mind being a bit more clearer? I’d really appreciate it.”, said Ismene in the hearty cheerful voice used when helping someone acquire enough rope to hang themselves with. Looking at the too wide to be friendly smile and narrow ‘v’ of irritation  between the lizardman’s eyes  brought smiles to the faces of the other two mamono. Only Lt. Caecilius’s was sincere, not that the other mamono were paying much attention to the officer.

The Cursed Sword flustered under the Ex-Sgt’s scrutiny, her ‘you can trust me’ smile had little chance of convincing children, let alone Ismene. Still Selenznyova persisted,  “Me and the crew were thinking of you,  Sar – ma’am.” The Corporal’s red eyes rotated wildly seeking help in vain. She gave a swallow, then shuffled forward to nudge Ismene with an elbow. “We thought you could use some pep in your step ma’am. Ya know. With the Captain.” The Cursed Sword seemed to have some sort of crick in her neck, or was she trying to flip her long pale hair to the right? Then it dawned on the lizardman, the heavily sweating and nervous Cprl was trying to surreptitiously indicate the sword in her right hand.

Cursed Swords had an innate weapon, hence the name, and the demonically charged blade was versatile enough to do more than kill or main. Selenznyova could harmlessly incapacitate or induce crippling levels of lust should she connect with enough strokes of the blade. The honorable lizardman felt her paradoxical grin grow even larger, and could feel the muscle beneath one of her eyes begin twitching. The thought of the Cursed Sword applying the blade to * her * Cpt and in such a * dishonorable * way should’ve made Ismene furious. Strangely, after the brief surge of anger that made her cheek twitch, Ismene felt absolutely nothing. Amid the distinctly unnatural calm and stillness gripping her, the wide sharp tooth exposing grin and spasming cheek continued,  “What was that you were going to do with the Cpt, Corporal?”, asked Ismene, her voice did in fact sound ridiculously calm.

The Cursed Sword’s face went from flushed sweaty nervousness to ashen pale within seconds.