#like o just have a very low threshold for boredom

[1roentgen]

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[ohhophelie]

ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Name: Ophélie Evangeline Redgrave

Nickname: O, Fee

Birthday: 31 July 1992

Age: 28

Gender: Female.

Place of Birth: London, United Kingdom

Places Lived Since: London, United Kingdom; Saint-Malo, Ille-et-Vilaine, France

Current Residence: Kensington, London, United Kingdom

Nationality: British & French

Parents: Lambert & Sérephine Redgrave, née Callac

Grandparents: Harold Redgrave (grandfather, paternal, deceased)  Hélène de Broglie (grandmother, paternal, deceased) Aurélien Callac (grandfather, maternal) Ophélie Hervé (grandmother, maternal)

Aunts & Uncles: Charlotte, Georgina Redgrave (aunts, paternal) Anita Acton (aunt, paternal)

Number of Siblings: Three brothers; Sébastian Redgrave (38), Arnaud Redgrave (36), Gaël Redgrave (32)

Relationship With Family: Ophélie is closest to Gaël, her other two brothers see her mostly as the family fuck up although they all feel somewhat protective of her as the youngest. This was particularly meaningful during the wild years of her teens when an attention starved Ophélie might find herself in places or situations she was likely too young for, they were mostly all still at home and willing to come collect her from wherever and keep her secrets from their parents. Her father has always been distant, she sometimes fears he’d rather forget she existed. Her mother is overbearing and critical - after three boys she thought Ophélie was at long last the daughter who’d belong only to her, a little doll to shape as she wished. She was very wrong.

Happiest Memory: The freedom and acceptance she finally found in university, the Christmas and New Years she spent with Gaël in New York when spent a year at NYU.  

Childhood Trauma: oh boy - see this answer HERE

PHYSICAL:

Height: 5'4”

Weight: 110lbs.

Build: Slim - some might say too skinny

Hair Color: Blonde.

Usual Hair Style: loose curls, a careless, practiced ease. Sometimes she wears it up if she's bored enough, high ponytail when she runs

Eye Color: Blue.

Glasses? Contacts?: Neither.

Style of Dress/Typical Outfit(s): Expensive as fuck - if she had to choose a ‘style’ it would be classic. She isn’t conservative in the least bit, but she also isn’t one to go into more out there fashions - that is Gaël lane. She tends to favor dresses and skirts and more feminine looks. Ophélie caught in jeans is a very rare Ophélie. When she is home alone she is usually wearing a thin robe or some form of lingerie/pjs  

Typical Style of Shoes: Ophélie does not like to wear shoes. However, given that going barefoot is usually frowned upon in society, she can usually be found in heels that match whatever she may be wearing. If she is very close with someone she will take her shoes off the moment she enters their home, and at her own flat can always be found barefoot.

Jewellery? Tattoos? Piercings?: She has both of her earlobes pierced, as expected. At one point she had a cartilage piercing, but she long ago forgot to keep it open. Unbeknownst to her mother and most of her family, she has both of her nipples pierced. Ophélie will say to anyone who knows that these are her favorite piercings. She has a tattoo of a scorpion on the nape of her neck. Everyday jewellery includes a heavy men’s watch that belonged to her grandfather, whatever earrings she fancies on any given day, as well as rings. The one ring she wears at all times is made up of three interlocking circles - when she is anxious or focusing on something Ophélie spins this around her finger.

Scars: She has a scar on her shin from falling off a horse as a child. The most recent additions include a thin line across her chest/sternum and a nearly perfect large C in the center of her back - she plans on adjusting that soon.

Unique Mannerisms/Physical Habits: When she is focusing, Ophélie will twist her ring around her finger. She has the tendency to curl her hands into fists and dig her nails into her palms. She also chews on her bottom lip, which has caused a significant investment in longwear lipstick.

Athleticism: Ophélie grew up playing tennis with her brother Gaël and got into running in her teens. She never does any actual races mostly because she couldn’t be bothered and also way too many people near her. It’s mostly a way for her to focus her own mind/punish her body.

Health Problems/Illnesses: She absolutely has an eating disorder from the unrealistic expectations of her mother when she was growing up. It is something she has struggled with most of her life that her friends are likely unaware of. Ophélie also has undiagnosed ADHD, PTSD, addiction issues that are yet to be explored.

INTELLECT:

Level of Education: BSc in Politics and Philosophy from LSE - it wasn’t exactly what she wanted to study but a compromise that got her parents off her back. If possible she’d want to go back to school for linguistics or art history.

Languages Spoken: English & French natively, Spanish fluently. Functionally fluent in Italian, a lingering understanding of Latin from prep school. She has a very good ear for languages and dialects and can pick them up quickly.

Level of Self-Esteem: Fluctuates between “I hate myself I’m such a bitch” and “I love myself I’m such a bitch.” No in between.

Gifts/Talents: Very good at languages and remembering things she’s heard if she cares enough to focus, weirdly good at crossword puzzles if she has the patience, has the ability to come off as unthreatening and use it to manipulate people.

Mathematical?: Hell no, she absolutely cheated her way through math and she is not at all sorry about it.

Makes Decisions Based Mostly On Emotions, or On Logic?: Emotions, particularly whims. She does have a vindictive streak and while that is based on emotions she can adapt logic to her purposes is.

Life Philosophy: live fast die young bad girls do it well. No joking, she doesn’t really have one or doesn’t like to consider it, but if we had to define it, somewhere along the lines of ‘never let them see you cry’ IDK TBD

Religious Stance: Was raised Anglican, not really about it. Enjoys the art and melodrama of the catholic church.

Cautious or Daring?: Daring, boarding on reckless, she has the arrogant privilege of the very wealthy, that they are untouchable and almost immortal.

Most Sensitive About/Vulnerable To: Her mother, people trying to lessen her or force her to be something she is not, her eating disorder/body image

Optimist or Pessimist?: says she's an optimist, mostly because she doesn’t let herself project any other way; deep down is def a pessimist mostly out of self preservation and years of building up armor

Extrovert or Introvert?: Extrovert.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Current Relationship Status: fucking her way through the french bros/leadership

Sexual Orientation: bisexual in that she is attracted to all beautiful women and men who are older, dangerous, and low key damaged.

Past Relationships: Only real/serious relationship was with Charles Jameson (alexa play champagne problems by taylor swift)

Primary Reason For Being Broken Up With: being caught cheating whoops

Primary Reasons For Breaking Up With People: boredom, afraid of getting to close

Ever Cheated?: yep, and if not for the way he reacted she might actually feel guilty about it.

Been Cheated On: not that she knows of

Level of Sexual Experience: very high and no she will not be slutshamed thank you very much

Story of First Kiss: A boy she met while staying with her grandmother in France. She was 11 and kissed him on a dare.

Story of Loss of Virginity: She’d just turned 14 but told him she was older, it was mediocre at best but she loved the rush of power she felt when she turned him down the next time.

A Social Person?: Very - she literally wouldn’t be able to do her job so well if she wasn’t. Plus shes a slut for attention and once you cross the threshold between casual friends and very close friends - she’s loyal as fuck.

Most Comfortable Around: Paul for sure, although she feels safe and comfortable with most of the frenchies she knows well - Noa, Laurent, Guillaume, Delphine, Sofie - its Paul she goes to first, her ride or die bitch. Outside of the French she feels comfortable around Spencer, shockingly, and within the family it's only Gaël who she feels she can even be remotely herself around.

Oldest Friend: Camilla Berkeley, her brother Gaël. Most of the people she knew through grade school and her teens she grew bored of or dropped for Paul and the French.

How Does She Think Others Perceive Her?: Dancing right on the knife’s edge between hot and hot mess; a fuck up; shallow and vain. For those who know her well she often fears they think she might be stupid or reckless, not as devoted as she actually is.

How Do Others Actually Perceive Her?: Literally dancing right on the knife’s edge between hot and hot mess. Those closest to her often think she’s smarter than she herself does, hopefully they also value and recognize her deep loyalty. All should think she's a great time.

SECRETS:

Life Goals: To be happy and find something and someone that makes her happy.

Dreams: That she will stop letting the negligence and cruelty of her parents - mostly mother, hurt her. That she will matter to someone, be loved and wanted for exactly who she is and not who they think she should be or who she pretends to be.

Greatest Fears: Being abandoned by those she loves,  being hurt by those who should care for her, never being seen for who she is. Horses - she had a bad fall as a child and doesn’t trust them.

Most Ashamed Of: The walls she builds out of self preservation, lying to her brother when he only wants to help her.

Secret Hobbies: Puzzles - the more pieces and complex the better. It isn’t really that much of a secret because there is usually one in progress on the unused dining room table. Collecting first editions of her favorite books - it's a secret because she is usually too impatient to find a better deal or negotiate and will literally pay whatever the seller asks for it, usually above what it is worth.

Crimes Committed (Was she caught? Charged?): She has never been caught or charged, but possession with intent to distribute multiple illegal drugs, selling said drugs for organized crime. There was also that one time that she may or may not have led a man to his death, which although she has done her best to block this memory, would likely make her an accessory to murder.

DETAILS/QUIRKS:

Night Owl or Early Bird?: Both really,  but that's the insomnia and stimulant usage.

Light or Heavy Sleeper?: light sleeper when she’s alone, heavy if she’s sleeping with someone she trusts

Favorite Animal: penguins

Favorite Foods: strawberries, champagne,

Least Favorite Food: anything mint

Favorite Book: The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

Least Favorite Book: any of the myriad of self help books well meaning psychiatrists have suggested

Favorite Movie: Heathers, Jurassic Park  

Least Favorite Movie: emotional porn - aka any movie specifically designed to make you cry without any profound or complicated themes other than ‘life is short’

Favorite Song: Kyoto by Phoebe Bridgers

Favorite Sport: she’s a tennis bitch for sure

Coffee or Tea?: coffee although she does like tea

Crunchy or Smooth Peanut Butter?: Ophélie is allergic to peanuts rip  

Type of Car She Drives: lol no one let this bitch drive

Lefty or Righty?: Left

Favorite Color: the champagne sheer of the sun pushing through the curtains in an early morning, baby pink of her favorite peonies, rich red velvet of box seats at the opera, the soft golden grey of art museum marble floors.

Cusser?: Yep - but controls it around her family because she doesn't have the patience or stamina for the lecture/scandal it would cause her mother.

Smoker? Drinker? Drug User?: Never smokes, drinks pretty often, regular cocaine use since her teens, a more recent venture into pills.

Biggest Regret: Letting it go on so long with Charles, the fact that she still lets her mother’s cruelty hurt her, not going to school for what she actually was interested in.

Pets: two italian greyhounds named Pogo & Banana

[tuffin-tuffmuffin]

Resistance, Part 3

Finally.

The Viper expected to be restrained, which the humans accomplished with duct tape binding around her wrists and covering her mouth, but she was surprised to see the rebels that attacked them joined the two XCOM soldiers as prisoners. Under the watchful barrels of four shotguns trained on her, the Outpost Safari militia led Natasatch and Malcolm back to the village proper.  

Scanning the town as they arrived, Natasatch surmised it had to be a successful settlement, as far as shantytowns go, and she counted over three dozen humans peering at her from alleyways or from second story windows. Even thoroughly defeated, every human she looked towards averted their gaze or took a step back. It seemed that the trigger-happy citizens had already played their hands, to use the human expression.

They stuck her in a square room, with gray walls, a bare mattress, and a tiny gated window that even a neophyte had no hope of fitting through. All she could do was wait, watch the dim sunlight finally fade, and wonder what came next. Her thoughts immediately went to Malcolm. Her friend was led down a different direction when she reached the jail, and naturally worst case scenarios filled the void he left. Maybe he collapsed and died from blood loss the moment he stepped out view. Or they took him to a ditch and shot him in the back, and she was just waiting to be sold to a black market merchant. Or… Or…

Or maybe they took him to the infirmary, her logical side told her. Natasatch shook her head, as if the motion could toss the thoughts from her mind. These humans weren’t like the ones that attacked her, the fact they hadn’t shot her immediately was proof of that. At least for the moment, Natasatch felt herself calming, and while the thoughts of worry never stopped, they at least dropped to whispers. But while she could try to relieve some of her stress, there was nothing she could do about the boredom.

She had counted the bricks in the room twice, the number of cracks on the floor thrice, and had watched the sky shift from a dark blue to a slightly darker blue. She’d long curled into a defensive ball, torso in the center and her head underneath the top loop, ready to fight or doze off at a moment’s notice. A decent effort at trying to hold the worries back, but between the optimism that she’d been borrowing from Malcolm, something had to give.

Just as the voices of doubt started to end, new voices took their place, but these ones weren’t products of her imagination. A creak of metal turned her red eyes front, and Natasatch jolted upright. Her sudden motion must’ve startled the new arrivals. There was an unarmed human female halfway through the cell door and an armed human male right behind her, and both were mid-recoil at the Viper’s sudden burst of movement. If the humans came to execute her, they were vastly under-equipped.

She held eye contact with the woman for a second, and with no more movement from the Viper, the woman saw fit to finish stepping inside. She managed to compose herself before she addressed her prisoner.

“Sergeant.”

A day’s worth of tension left her with a single sigh of relief. “Yes,” Natasatch offered back.

The human female relaxed as she witnessed the alien do the same. It also gave Natasatch time to examine her a bit more closely. As tall as Natasatch could stand, the woman was short, shorter than average for her species. A short bush of gray hair sat atop her head, contrasting with the wrinkled deep brown of her skin. From her ears hung a set of shiny rocks, the fanciest thing about her rather plain wardrobe. Still, she moved like a woman decades younger, stepping forward and offering a hand with surprising dexterity.

“I’m Denmother Aida,” she said, in an unfamiliar accent. “It’s good to meet you.”

Natasatch slipped her thin hands around Aida’s and shook firmly, completing the human ritual. The Viper’s dour look remained, however. Aida continued, “I’ll cut to the bone, Sergeant. We, the good people of Outpost Safari, are terribly, terribly sorry what happened to you today. No XCOM personnel should ever be attacked by anyone calling themselves Resistance, no matter what they look like.”

Natasatch’s features softened at the apology, but a few echoes of anger and worry resurfaced.  Her subsequent question sounded more like a demand, “Where is Malcolm?”

Aida looked a little surprised at the choice for a first question, but she had an answer. “Your friend is fine, I promise you that. He’s being treated for his leg and arm injuries, and an antibiotic treatment for dragging his wound around in the mud. It would do no good to have an XCOM soldier survive all that just to die by an infection, yeah?”

“It took you a while to realize we were XCOM,” she said, slightly accusatory.

Den Mother Aida allowed her shoulders to sag. “Yes… The blame is on those who attacked you, Sergeant,” she began to explain. “Our former communications officer was one of the men who attacked you. XCOM thought ahead to inform us one of their soldiers was an alien, but that info never reached past him. And he obviously didn’t report in your emergency, but instead alerted a few other troublemakers.”

“You know of this how?” Natasatch asked.

“One of the attackers confessed everything. I assure you, they will be punished accordingly. Even Miss Ackers, despite her age.”

Aida must have been referring to the human child the Viper subdued, and her blood boiled at the memory of the attacker that came closest to killing her friend. However, she would have more time to stew outside, and out of confinement. The Viper nodded, and asked, “Now, am I free to go, Denmother?”

“Yes, but first-”

“I would like to leave and see my friend,” Natasatch interrupted. Between the harrowing day and the agonizing wait, her patience was dangerously low. “And you just said I was allowed to leave.”

“You are, not as such.”

The Viper narrowed her eyes, sizing up the room. The elderly woman hardly seemed to be a threat, between her frailty and already standing next to an alien shocktrooper, but her shotgun-toting guard just outside the room still worried her. If these human continued to change their minds, a hostage would do well to-

Aida stepped aside and gestured to the door. “Very well. We’ll take you to the infirmary, Sergeant.”

Natasatch blinked twice, and her hood dropped in confusion. “Wait, are you allowing me to leave or not?”

Aida tilted her head. “As I said, you can leave, not as such.”

Admittedly, Natasatch had only been studying the English language for less than a year, but even she knew that grammar was off. “What did you just call me?”

“Your name, Sergeant?”

“Natasatch,” Natasatch informed her.

“Not as such,” Aida insisted.

“Natasatch,” the Viper corrected.

At this moment, the guard stepped in, chuckling to himself. His weapon was slung over his shoulder, to her relief, and he spoke in a voice with intonation common to other pale-skinned humans on the Avenger. “Miss alien, if you’re going to make our Denmother feel bad about her accent, try not speaking in thick Brazilian.”

“I’m not Brazilian, and I don’t have an accent.” Natasatch felt she was on the receiving end of a joke, both humans starting a belly laugh together. She could only roll her eyes and settle on asking Malcolm about it later. He was from Brazil, after all.

After the laughter ran its course, the guard led both the Viper and the Denmother out of the cell and to the lobby door. However, the door grunted in response to being pushed open, and all three crossed the threshold into the room to find a very familiar looking human on the floor, pointing a handgun in their general direction.

Natasatch raised an eye ridge as the weapon lowered. “Malcolm, what are you doing?”

“Uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was hoping to rescue you.”

“You’re supposed to be recovering, Mister Silva,” Aida said, looking bemused. “And staying off that leg, not sneaking around.”

“Well, I think I did pretty well, despite everything” Malcolm responded, as he looked at his bandaged leg and winced.  “Got all the way here and nobody noticed.”

Their escort spoke up as well. “Well, you didn’t have a guard posted outside the clinic, and nobody was looking for you, on account of you not being under arrest anymore.”

Malcom was pouting quite heavily at this point, so Natasatch intervened. “Malcolm…” she said, softly. The human looked to her, his mood instantly brightening. “…That was rather foolish of you.”

Malcolm pouted even heavier than before.

“But thank you, my friend.” She added, as she helped him to his feet. His head was angled downward, and a rush of heat came over his face as he suddenly kept unbroken eye contact with her. “Why haven’t they given you a new shirt yet?”

The rest of the night was uneventful, which was exactly how Natasatch wanted. The two XCOM soldiers elected to stay the night in the cell, which was already pretty defensible, and Aida allocated a few extra sentries. Natasatch insisted the cell door remain open, however.

The worst had passed, it seemed. As soon as they awoke, Natasatch and Malcolm made their way to the communications center to get in contact with XCOM. The Viper relayed their encounter as truthfully and factually as possible to the bewildered comm officer on the other end, and Malcolm chimed in with his first-rate medical treatment. Current orders were to sit tight until the Avenger returned as soon as possible, which still left at least a day of downtime for them.

Natasatch would have felt alone and defensive a few hours earlier, even with Malcolm hobbling alongside her, but the atmosphere of the town was almost unrecognizably welcoming. Citizens still gawked at her from her peripheral vision and whispered amongst themselves as she browsed the marketplace, but when Natasatch made eye contact they instead gave weak smiles and tiny waves. When she passed vendors offering food and salvage and assorted oddities, the humans were quite insistent on offering free samples of flavorful snacks and trinkets, enough so she had to ask for a bag to tote her gifts around. Unexpected treatment, certainly, but she much prefered unsure hospitality over outright hostility.

Natasatch heard a sharp whistle, and turned her head to find a familiar small human hobbling their way. Denmother Aida approached the two, with a bright smile and hands wide and at her side, and the Viper was treated to the bemusing sight of two lanes of foot traffic clearing to make way for a single elderly human.

“Hello, my dear friends,” Aida started once she was an arm’s length away. She pointed a digit at the tote bag in Natasatch’s hand. “I can see already that your day is off to a great start!”

“That’s for sure, Miss Aida,” Malcolm responded, his signature smile back on his face. “Far, far better than yesterday.”

“It was hardly a high standard to clear,” Natasatch added dryly.

Both of the humans chuckled at her quip, but Aida’s laughter was accompanied with a slight wince. Natasatch tilted her head a bit, noting the Denmother’s forwardness and closeness. The VIper could tell it was a forced comfort, not the familiarity that someone like Malcolm had. It was subtle, but she noticed how Aida’s weight was on her heels, and the way her eyes would flick to Natasatch’s tongue whenever she tasted the air. She thought better of mentioning it, though, content to continue the conversation.

Aida resumed again, “I’m glad you get to see the real Safari today, Sergeants. We pride ourself on our friendliness and tolerance to all friends of humanity, even if a few of us sometimes forget, and need to be reminded.”

Natasatch picked up on her phrasing. ���I don’t believe you explained how exactly your…” She paused, trying to think of a diplomatic way to describe their attackers.

“Hooligans?” Malcolm offered, with a twinge of irony.

“Yes, Hooligans. I like that!” Aida added.

“As you wish. Well, how are these hooligans to be punished, exactly?”

The woman rolled her shoulders as she responded, again vaguely, “Publicly and seriously. I could explain, but it’d be easier to show you. Trust me, my alien friend, we don’t want a repeat of the Gulag.”

A moment of confusion let the Denmother realize that Natasatch had no idea what she was referring to, just as Malcolm rescued his friend from her ignorance. “The Gulag incident was a few years back, in an abandoned Old Russian prison-turned-settlement. They were doing pretty well for themselves; isolated, had agriculture, well-armed and well-fortified, and contributed plenty to the Resistance despite half the population being the original inmates. Probably was kept together thanks to their leader, an ex-Russian Mafia kingpin.”

“You trusted them, despite their criminal backgrounds?”

“You’d be surprised, Natasatch. Nearly everyone in XCOM has a story, and not always one they’re proud of,” Malcolm interjected. He softened immediately, adding, “After all, aren’t we all criminals in the eyes of the only government left?”

Natasatch rolled her eyes. “You know what I meant.”

“I do, and you did have a point, actually, but in a roundabout way. From what I hear, that kingpin I mentioned was untouchable despite being Russia’s Most Wanted before the war, at least until a Spetsnaz team, Russia’s special forces, nabbed him when he was out of the country. Coincidentally enough, the leader of that same team, Captain Yuri, was one of the first to join the new XCOM. Bradford himself said that almost half of our guerilla playbook came from that man’s training regimen. And after a decade and half of keeping the Resistance in Asia kicking, by sheer dumb luck, Captain Yuri led a routine mission to pick up supplies from the Gulag, which was being run by the man whose criminal empire he toppled.”

“I take it the Gulag’s leader murdered the Captain as soon as he recognized him.”

Malcolm nodded gravely. “And only him. He justified it as ‘settling an old score,’ then let the rest go with the supplies and half over again ‘to compensate for the inconvenience.’”

“Despicable,” Aida added, genuinely disgusted. Natasatch inwardly agreed. Casually trading lives for resources was something she expected from ADVENT, and at least they were smart enough to cover it up.

“So, what happened next?”

“Bradford XCOM-municated him.”

The Viper had picked up enough knowledge about the English language and human humor to groan audibly at her friend’s wordplay.

Aida picked up where Malcolm paused for her reaction. “That is an accurate statement, jokes aside. Bradford made the Gulag an ultimatum; exile their leader or else, and when they didn’t, he immediately announced that XCOM revoked their promise to protect that settlement. That’s all he did, but word spread in the Resistance. The Smuggler’s Underground blacklisted them, meaning no trading at all, a huge chunk of the settlers packed up and left, and ADVENT moles scrambled to turn in the Gulag’s location without fear of being discovered. Within a week, death squads turned Koslov’s fortress into rubble, and he himself was executed live on the ADVENT network. A grim lesson on what it means for XCOM to turn your back you.”

Aida took a full step forward, surprising Natasatch.  Whatever cracks in her composure that emerged over the course of her explanation, the Denmother forced them away. “Which is why the good people of Safari would never do anything to provoke XCOM.

Natasatch released a short, reflexive hiss as she felt a sharp poke at the tip of her tail. She turned in one fluid motion, spotting another juvenile human scampering away, dropping a stick that walloped her as he ran. Further ahead were two other juveniles goading their friend on, who were also sprinting away when they saw the Viper glaring. Her predatory eyes narrowed as the pranksters dived around the corner, attempting to dodge the tongue lasso that never came, and undoubtedly off to boast about having touched the scary alien and lived. Ultimately harmless, but irritating nonetheless.

The Viper turned back around, and viewed a look of horror on Denmother Aida’s face. In fact, much of the nearby foot traffic had stopped the moment her hiss escaped. All of them couldn’t possibly have missed what provoked it, yet all eyes were on her as they braced for her reaction.

They were waiting a while. Eventually, Natasatch rolled her shoulders in the human way and posed the undeniably human question, “What?”

Aida began, “Sergeant, I’m so sorry –”

“It is fine, Denmother,” Natasatch interrupted.

“Nothing to worry about, really!” Malcolm jumped in. Perhaps his eternal optimism would defuse the situation. This was her human friend in his element, after all.

“Yes, but I cannot –”

“It’s fine. Really.” The Viper stated again. “It was merely a harmless prank. I believe you are overreacting.”

As she finished her sentence, a thought struck her. Wouldn’t this be the proper reaction for these humans? Had that juvenile tried this stunt on a typical Viper officer, he would have been cut down by a green plasma beam before he made it four steps away. Perhaps these humans have seen exactly that, she imagined.

One human asked the one question on every other human’s mind. ���Is she gonna be fine?”

Malcolm chose this moment to interdict directly. Her human friend wrapped his bandaged left arm around the she in question, pointing at her with his right. “Look, if Natasatch here says she’s fine, she fine! You never needed to worry at all. She’s perfectly friendly when you get to know her.

The alien smiled a human smile, genuinely from the praise. She clasped her hands together, trying to look as innocent as twelve feet of genetically engineered combat machine possibly could. From what she could observe, it was working.

“See? Harmless!”

Tension released and life returned to the market street. Aida excused herself with an apology, promising to give those children a stern lecture, and pointed the two in the direction of the market’s center, a mere two aisles over. Another vague promise, “You don’t want to miss this!”

Natasatch was starting to despise Vagueness.

“Yeah, I hate it too.”

The Viper turned to Malcolm with a ponderous look. “Did I say that out loud?”

Malcolm smiled. “Nope. You just flex your hood a little when you think about something you hate. Like vague assurances.”

Natasatch’s hand idly rubbed the scales on her hood, feeling lean muscles rippling with no conscious input at all. She never noticed that. “Interesting. Well, vagueness awaits us, Malcolm.”

Neither Natsatch nor Malcolm had to wait for long to see the surprise. At the center of the marketplace was a raised platform, with five odd devices erected on top. Each of the devices held a human in an uncomfortable forward lean, which kept their heads and hands visible and restrained. All of the humans bore a sheet of cardboard with writing, hanging as a necklace would. She looked left to right, not recognizing three faces in a row, until she reached the one with an eyepatch. Then Natasatch understood.

“A stockade! Ha!” Malcolm commented, chuckling on each word. “Or was it a pillory? Ah whatever! Did we time travel back to a hundred and fifty years ago or something?”

All of the captive faces turned upwards at the sound, eyeing the new arrivals. Two of them looked away once they identified them. The sole eye of Eyepatch met Natasatch’s scrutinizing gaze, but the vengeful look of the yellow-haired child drew her attention more. Unlike the others, a crude gag covered her mouth, and the need for the device shown as she began to struggle and yell muffled vitriol in her direction.

“Yep.” Eyepatch responded, in a tone of defeat the Viper knew well. “Laugh it up, Sergeants. You earned it.”

The Viper gave a pleased prrum at this appetizer for justice, but her amusement was matched by her curiosity. Smirking the whole time, she asked, “I expected you all to be punished, but not as… whatever this is? What is the purpose?”

“Bublic humiliation,” one of the other rebels added, not bothering to raise his head. From the slurring and the bandage over the bridge of his nose, this was likely the attacker who Malcolm personally disabled.

“I think I get it, Nat,” Malcolm said, turning to her. “Life out here in the free zones is tough. You’re always low on everything, scavving constantly, wondering if tomorrow’s going to bring an ADVENT kill squad…”

“If I recall correctly, this was your life before XCOM, Mal,” Natasatch observed. Malcolm nodded.

“Still is, kinda. You learn to rely on other people, like sharing your already scarce supplies and stuff. But the only thing you never run out of is human dignity. We’re all in this together, and everyone feels proud of that.

Natasatch turned back to the stockade, finally reading the signs hanging from the rebel’s necks. ‘I tried to murder XCOM soldiers,’ they all read. How embarrassing. Taking away whatever pride they had in being a part of this community, exposing their crime for their fellows to turn up their snouts at. The Viper witnessed ADVENT public executions of lawbreakers, and though this punishment was expressly non-lethal, she could see the parallels. Still…

“An amazingly light sentence for attempted murder,” Natasatch quietly commented to Malcolm.

He whispered back. “Outpost this size, losing even a single person is bad. Guessing if they learn their lesson, they’ll be allowed to stay.”

“Serves us right, I figure,” Eyepatch announced, regaining both of their attention. The blonde girl paused her thrashing long enough to shift her glare to him, and then went back to her tantrum.

The Viper tssked. “I do wonder where your remorse was last evening?” Natasatch dryly commented, moving herself closer to the platform.

He winced at the remark, then added, “You just missed it, snake lady. You know, they were still gonna take our side after they caught you both. Choosing between their own people and an alien? Hardly a question, until I came clean.”

“You sold us out, Rick!” The broken-nose rebel accused.

“And you lied to me, Kriss!” Eyepatch – or ‘Rick,’ she supposed – shot back. “You knew they were XCOM, even the snake. They radioed it to you. And Ro, how did she know exactly where they’d be? I should’ve know something was up before they… you-”

Rick stopped shooting accusatory looks between his fellow rebels, and looked at Natasatch directly. Her eye ridge raised as he said, calmly, slowly, “You still didn’t kill anyone, Viper. Even when you honestly should have. I mean, most of you are still evil aliens, but you? You’re alright.” Rich moved his hand forward, locking his fingers and raising his thumb. An offer of a handshake, but still shackled to the stockade. “I’m sorry. Really.”

The Viper leaned back, folding her arms over her chest. “I am still new to human culture, I admit. I can believe that you’re truly sorry. But I also know you can’t expect to be forgiven for attempting to murder Malcolm or myself with a just an apology.”

The eyepatched man winced, as if she had just sunk her fangs into his flesh. Humorous, since the exact opposite happened, with the rough bandages around her palm evidence to that. His head drooped further, and he admitted, “Yeah. That’s fair.”

“Besides,” Natasatch offered, “It is Malcolm you should be thanking. If he hadn’t – Malcolm?”

Her friend was right next to her, yet he was also a thousand yards away - metaphorically -, staring at the thrashing young female. Natasatch could tell Malcolm hadn’t registered a word either of them had said. She was just about to lightly tap his uninjured shoulder when he jerked back to reality.

“For fuck’s sake, Sam!”

“Hmm?” asked one perplexed Viper. She tried, and failed, to parse the outburst. A few heads in the marketplace turned, joining those who were already observing the scene.

A moment passed, and with a modicum more restraint, Malcolm started directly at the yellow-haired female. “You’re… Rochelle Ackers.” She stopped struggling. “Sister to Corporal Samuel Ackers. I know you. I’ve seen you before. He has a picture of you taped to his bunk’s walls.” Once again, the girl was paralyzed, wide-eyed and staring just as she did when Natasatch terrified her. “Goddamnit, that’s how.”

The Viper quickly racked her through her memory, recalling… Yes, she knew the name of Ackers, another XCOM soldier. Her only memorable interaction the man leaving game night in a huff on account of her presence. He still avoided her since, and she felt no impulse to reach out to him, but what he was being accused of went beyond a mere frosty reception.

But, it would make sense, she supposed. Malcolm would would be the type to never give up trying to reach out, and would have certainly invited Ackers to their waterside fun. That meant he would know she would have been outside the Avenger, and had time to pass the information off to others. They couldn’t possibly have known she and Malcolm would end up staying behind, but their misfortune was a boon for their ambushers.

Or not, looking at the rebels in the stockade. Silent. Worried. But her mirth at their punishment was secondary right now.

More firmly this time, Natasatch placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. He accepted the touch for a moment, and then shrugged it off. Her human was flush, hot with emotion but at an impasse for action. She quickly slid around him, so a very concerned alien filled his field of view.

Natasatch began, “My friend, it’s okay…” Her sentence stopped there, which surprised even her. What to say? Between the two of them, Malcolm handled the talking and reassurances. Not her. A dozen phrases started and stumbled in her throat, with nothing but silence emerging. She was at a loss.

And so was he. Malcolm gave her a sympathetic look before he returned to his fuming. “Nat, it’s really not. I… I gotta talk a walk, you know?”

I don’t know. “Yes,” she lied. “It’s a human thing, correct.”

Malcolm nodded. She added. “I should come. You… look like you need support.”

“I can handle myself,” her bandaged, painkiller-laden, bruise-covered human friend told her, as he slowly hobbled away.  

She sighed. Her worlds failed her, but at least Natasatch could assume no human at Safari would dare move against her or her friend, and she would have no trouble tailing him. “How long will your walk last?”

He didn’t answer.

It’s been literally two years since my last update. I’m sorry for being so quiet on the issue, but the wait was unfortunate yet necessary. To paraphrase a quote from Writing Excuses, the thousand wrong words you have delete later are a thousand words you needed to write on your way to craft the proper thousand words. Tens of thousands of words and other projects’ worth of experience later, I finally have something I’m happy to continue the story with. You’ve all waited long enough.

Shoutout to @tehangryxeno​ for helping with editing and pep talks, and to everyone that checked in to make sure I knew you hadn’t given up on the story. Image credit to @jamdrawers​. Check them out.

Chapter Index