#thistowerofiron

[irishironclad]

This Tower of Iron - Chapter One - "We Need Him Alive"

No matter where you stood, you could always see The Iron Tower. 

Natasha used it as a compass, knowing where she was by which direction the tower was, and by where its long shadow pointed. Sometimes she wondered why they built it, or who ‘they’ even were. Everyone told different stories about the Tower. Some folk said it had been there forever and would be there forever. 

Up on the rooftops, the diesel radiators couldn’t reach with their warmth. The sharp wind whipped at Natasha’s face, she pulled her coat collar up. Winter lasted long in the Commonwealth, particularly in Cienma, and it was always harsh. Yet, Natasha thought it necessary to face the cold to do her work as a courier. 

It wasn’t officially her job, but the folk of Brudna District often couldn’t read or write, and didn’t want to go through the Bluecoats just to send a word to someone. So Natasha often ran those errands for a favour or for a few coins, delivering parcels, food, gifts, or messages held on her tongue. It was her way of keeping everyone together, and she found the rooftops the easiest way to do it. 

It wasn’t always safe, despite how close packed all the buildings were in Cienma. An icy rooftop or ledge could still spell a short drop and a sudden stop, and even then you had to look out for the Red Guard and their machine gun nests. 

Curfew was soon, and it was going to rain. So Natasha scampered from rooftop to rooftop, her boots landing softly, and the only sound was the slight flutter of her coat. Until she was scaling down the side of an old print shop; using the pipes on the exterior as hand and foot falls. 

Her home lay off the main road, tucked around the corner in a narrow alleyway. Stairs built into the ground led down into their basement of a cafe, Natasha always thought it looked like the whole house had sunken down at some point. She made it through the door with a soft jingle of the bell just as the sky opened up in a torrent of rain. 

The patrons for that evening had long since left to make it home before curfew. Stained round tables with stools stacked on them filled the cramped space, and the dying embers of a fire gently cracked in the corner. The whole place smelled of diesel and stale Workbrew. 

“You are late, girl,,” called Gregory Solotovich from where he stood, hunched over the bar counting coins. He was a massive man, years of labour and simple foods made him that way. His curly black beard and thin black hair might have made him seem angry, but his brown eyes twinkled with gentleness.  

“Yes, Mistrz Solotovich,” Natasha said with exasperation.

“No sass now,” Gregory grunted, a wisp of a smile could be seen behind his beard.

“When have I ever sassed you?” 

“Only every day, every hour, from the moment they gave you to me.” 

“Are you going to report me to the Guard for having an attitude?” 

“That’s not funny, Nat.” 

“Then why are you smiling?” 

“Get sweeping, girl, before you make me lose count.” 

“You can count?” Natasha joked, she took off her heavy coat and hung it up. Wiping her boots clean she went about grabbing the broom and sweeping the soot and filth that always seemed to gather on the floors of Brudna District. 

The rain outside quickly flooded the streets, washing a layer of grime from everything and making its way down the steady slope of the district. Natasha watched it lap against the thin window where she could see out into the street. 

She tucked a lock of her thick chestnut brown hair behind her ear, it always sat in such a mess of waves barely contained by her braid. Looking at her reflection in the window her thick eyebrows furrowed at the sight of herself. She had a soft heart shaped face with fair sandy coloured skin. With large round piercing blue eyes that seemed to have their own light and made people feel at ease. Until Natasha scowled at herself - she hated how her hair wouldn’t sit still - and the softness of her face became harsh and angry in an instant. 

“The floor, girl, it’s still filthy,” Gregory grunted. 

“Everything’s filthy, Solotovich, it’s Brudna.” 

As the two bickered on, they couldn’t have known what was happening outside in the rain. Not far from their home, around the corner of their alleyway, a commotion came about that corner in Cienma. 

A man ran for his life, his heavy footfalls splashing through the rain puddles. He gasped and spluttered as the water ran down his face in a cold and relentless shower. He sucked in cold air painfully into his ever-tightening lungs as he drove his feet to move as fast as he could make them. Only his movement kept him from freezing to death right there. 

Clutched closely to his chest and underneath his distinctive blue overcoat was a stack of papers and documents wrapped tightly in leather.. The man did his very best to shield them from the rain. That, and the animalistic fear that consumed him, was all that drove his aching legs to keep moving. 

Behind him, he could hear the swiftly approaching sound of hoofbeats and men shouting, his pursuers hot on his tail. They would not relent upon him, he could hear them whipping and driving their horses forward. The man in blue had no hope of outrunning them, his only hope was evasion. 

He looked around rapidly and his eyes came alight to a corner into a narrow alley access, likely leading to a backstreet. Too thin for so many horses, so he dipped into the alleyway and continued running. The twisting back paths in between buildings offered an extensive labyrinth, and in his anxious state, Edward hesitated a deadly moment in trying to decide where to run next. 

At this moment, the hoofbeats caught up with him, rushing into the lip of the alleyway. Their riders; uniformed soldiers in long black overcoats with marks of red on them; they shouted and aimed their rifles at the man they chased. This spurred him to move but not fast enough as a gunshot rang out, echoing against the stone walls, and his right thigh exploded in the most agonising pain he had ever felt. He cried out, tears mixing with the rain as he stumbled to the ground, nearly dropping his papers. 

Yet as he struggled back to his feet and began to limp away, he could hear the horses as they reared and huffed, their riders struggling to control them. The horses refused to enter the alleyway in their frightened state.

“Check your fire!” screamed one of the soldiers. “We need him alive!” 

The struggle at the mouth of the alleyway gave the fugitive ample time to stumble into one alleyway and then the next, checking behind him to see if he had shaken his pursuers. His vision began to swim, and he became light-headed, the excitement and blood loss catching up to him. The man tripped, not watching where he was going, and fell down a short set of stairs which led down below the street and to a door which his momentum brought him through. 

And so he came to rest on the floor that Natasha had only just swept. 

Natasha was certainly startled when a man came crashing through the door, face down in a puddle of water and blood. She stood shocked as the man struggled to move and groaned out. 

“Help me…”

After just a moment of shock Natasha noticed the gore  wound on the man’s leg, the broom clattered to the floor as she immediately knelt and applied pressure to the wsound. Warm blood and cold rain embraced her hands, their feelings brought a tightness to her throat and stomach. This was not the first wound she’d seen, but it was the first gunshot. 

“What in the blazes?!” Solotovich exclaimed, rising from the counter and struggling over on his one good leg. “A bluecoat? What’s he doing down here?! What happened to him?” 

“He’s hurt!” Natasha said, trying to apply pressure to the gunshot wound on his thigh. “Please, try to lie still - what is your name?” 

“Edward… Darlow… please, don’t  let them find me…” he said, weakly. 

“Them?” Solotovich asked fearfully. They then heard a commotion outside, voices raised in anger that cut through the sound of the rain, boots stomping through puddles, getting closer. 

“Red Guard,” Solotovich said, his voice shaking as the colour drained from his usually flush face. “Kurwa! Why’re they after you, Bluecoat? What treasonous shit is this?” 

“Please, I carry something they must not find,” Edward Darlow said, his face strained with pain. “I beg you, sir.” 

“We have to hide him!” Natasha insisted. She’s seen what happened when the Red Guard got their hands on someone, faces beaten in, screams echoing through the night to suddenly stop. Her heart ached, they wouldn’t get this man if she could help it. 

“Are you mad?” Solotivich hissed as the sound of the Red Guard grew closer still. “Do you want to disappear, girl? Is that it? Throw him out there and wash our hands of whatever this is!” 

Natasha looked at Edward’s face, full of fear and pain, and she felt her heart set; and she trusted what she felt to be right. 

“We owe nothing to the Guard, and he needs help,” Natasha said, swinging Edward’s arm over her shoulders and helping him to his feet. “The storeroom, we’ll hide him there.”

“Dammit, girl! What’re you thinking!?” Solotovich said, his round face quickly becoming slick with sweat. But he made no attempt to stop Natasha as she dragged Edward Darlow over to a small door and through into the storeroom, where she let him rest amongst the barrels and sacks.

A loud banging came from the door, so forceful that it nearly broke the rusted hinges. A rough voice called out

“Open in the name of the Red Guard!” 

“Please, don’t tell them,” Natasha said as she closed the door to the storeroom, hiding herself with Edward. 

Gregory Solotovich had lived long enough to know when something was a bad idea. Some might have thought him something of an idiot with his round balding head and portly body from too much liquor. He had learned not to stick his neck out too far, else it got lobbed off. He glanced between the storeroom and the front door, Nat was too clever, he realised, he couldn’t turn in the bluecoat without turning in her. 

The banging came again, even greater. 

“On the authority of the Lord Commander, you will grant us access, or we shall force ourselves in and charge you with obstruction delayment of a of  the Red Guardsemen!”  

Gregory rushed over to the door, with little other choice. As he did so, he noticed on the floor where Edward had bled, the scarlet splatter nearly seemed to glow. In a panic, he grabbed a nearby mat and threw it over the stain. There was no time to stall further as he fearfully opened the door. 

He was met with the stern and impatient sight of a Red Guard captain glaring up at him, his beady brown eyes peering at him from under his dripping wet cap. 

“Name and number, now,” the captain said tersely. 

“Ah, Gregory Solotovich, one-four-six-six-seven,” Gregory said. 

The captain huffed and pushed inside, forcing Gregory to step out of the way. Two more guardsmen followed, their rifles clutched tightly in their hands. Gregopry Solotvich was twice the size of the largest of them, nearly three times the size of the captain. He could kill any of them with one hand, but they had rifles; and they were Red Guard. 

“We are tracking a fugitive and traitor to the Commonwealth, have you seen him?” the captain asked, his eyes scanning the whole of the shopfront. 

Gregory paused, perhaps too long. His mind was racing.

“A traitor, you say, sir?” Gregory asked. “I don’t think so, what does he look like?”

“He's  would be a bluecoat, we know he came this way, and you’re telling me you didn’t see anything?” The captain turned back around to glare at Solotovich, his arms crossed impatiently. 

“Heard some noise outside, but no one came to my door before you did, don’t have much cause to check, ain't my business.” Gregory said in even tones. His heart was pounding and he felt faint. 

“Indeed,” the captain said, as he looked at the two fellow Red Guardsmen who were casually searching the room while he spoke. 

“Sir, there is some minor evidence of illegal selling and consumption of intoxicants here,” one of them said, peeking behind the front counter. 

“Fond of the drink are we?” the captain said, looking back at Gregory, who averted his eyes, his face flushed. 

“As you know, the possession of intoxicants violates Section Thirty-Four of the Lord Commander’s Orders and Regulations,” The captain said. “I could very well place a citation against you for it.” 

“Sir… I…” Gregory trembled, hsis size and strength meant nothing here. He’d be flogged, or hung, or worse. 

“But I don’t have the time,” the captain said. “However, I will file a report on it, and if it’s found you know something at a later date, then even the smallest infraction can become very serious for you.” 

“I… understand, sir,” Gregory croaked. 

“Do ensure that all intoxicants are removed from your place of business, Solotovich,” the captain said. “And if you do come across our quarry, you are to inform a guardsman at once. Failure to do so will reflect badly on you, as you know.”

“Of course, sir,” Gregory said.

The captain gave Gregory a final look before gesturing to his men and marching back out into the rain. Gregory watched them walk away before closing the door as casually as he could.

The moment the door latched closed, Gregory let out a shuddering breath and ran his hands down his face. He could feel himself shaking and did his best to steady himself before going to the storeroom and opening it. There he found Natasha, kneeling over the wounded man, wiping away the blood from his leg. 

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth, girl,” Gregory said, he tried to sound mad, but his voice broke. 

“He’s badly hurt, look at all the blood,” Natasha said, her face was pale and he looked nauseous.

“Don’t move your hands, wait here,” Gregory disappeared for a moment, there was the sound of ripping and he returned with rough strips of cloth, what they used as washing rags; as clean as they could get in Brudna where everything was stained. He carefully wrapped them around the wound and tied them tight, sparing some to wipe the blood from Natasha’s hands. 

“That should help,” Solotovich said. “Come, we can put him upstairs.”

Gregory scooped up Edward with ease, carrying him as if he were like he was a child. He took the wounded man up the rickety stairs and to an old room barely used. There was a pile of bedding and blankets that Gregory lay the man down on. 

He was pale and his brow was slick with sweat. Natasha wiped his brow with a cloth. 

“Can you hear me, Edward?” she asked. “Why was the guard chasing you?” 

“... In my coat, papers…” Edward gasped. Natasha unbuttoned his blue overcoat and reached inside. There she found the leather wrapping and the documents.. Natasha unwrapped them. She stared at the words which she couldn’t understand. 

“I can’t read this, what is it?” she asked. 

“It’s…” Edward struggled to talk. “It’s terrible… complicated to understand, horrifying in its intention… they must not get it.” 

“Please, save your breath,” Natasha said. Gently pushing him back down into the bedding. 

Edward lay back, his face pale and covered in sweat. His breath came shallowly. Solotovich stood over him. 

“He may not make it through until morning,” he said. “The best we can do is make him comfortable.” 

“We can do far better than that,” Natasha pulled her hair back and fastened it with a quick knot. “Put the kettle on, will you? And do we still have that last bowl of soup Ana gave us?” 

“...Yes, I suppose we do,” Solotovich said, relenting to her determination, and moved to do as he was told. 

Soon enough, Natasha was cleaning Edward’s wound with a cloth soaked in boiled water. Another cloth, in cold water, lay over his forehead. Meanwhile, Solotovich coaxed a reheated thin broth into his mouth. 

“There,” Natasha re-applied strips of cloth to the wound, binding them tightly. “How does that feel, sir?” 

“You are a gift, my dear,” Edward said. “But I wonder if you might do something… for the pain?” 

“I have just the thing,” Solotovich left the room for a moment and returned soon after with a dusty bottle in hand. Natasha frowned. 

“I don’t think that will help.” 

“You wouldn’t know, girl,” Solotovich uncorked the bottle and brought it up to Edward’s mouth. With just a small sip, Edward immediately coughed and spluttered. 

“Disgusting!” 

“More?” 

“Obviously! Better than feeling.” 

After a few more sizable gulps of liquor, the pain in Edward’s face relaxed slightly. 

“I did not catch your name, my dear.” 

“Natasha.” 

“A lovely name.”

“Only one I have, please try and rest.”

“I’m afraid, I am far too terrified that the Red Guard shall return for me to sleep.” 

“Then I’ll stay with you,” Natasha squeezed Edward’s hand. 

“Girl-” Solotovich grumbled.

“Never you mind,” Natasha said sternly,  “Off to bed, I’ll tend to him.” 

“Fine.” Gregory Solotovich left the bottle with them and hobbled off. 

“Will you be okay if I grab something quickly?,” Natasha asked. 

“Yes, I think I can hold on for a moment, my dear.” 

Natasha offered him a smile before dashing out of the room for a moment, to her room. There was a small, rickety bookcase, stuffed beyond its capacity with books. Natasha took out one of her favourites and swiftly returned to Edward. 

“Just something to keep me busy,” she said. 

“Pardon me, my dear, if I’m being rude… but I had the impression you couldn’t read?” 

“I can’t, I just like looking at the pictures. Sometimes I imagine what the story might be.

“Ah, if you’d like, I could read it to you-” 

“-No,” Natasha said quickly, hugging the book to her chest. “That’s alright, you should rest, I’ll stay here with you until you fall asleep.” 

“You took a great risk saving me like this, Natasha.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

“Should I not? It’s an extraordinary thing.” 

“If you say so,” Natasha said with a nervous laugh, praise always sounded strange to her. She hadn't earned it in her mind. 

“Your master didn’t seem so keen on the idea.”  

“He’s just a grouch, never mind him.” 

“Still, I am grateful,” Edward smiled weakly. 

“Close your eyes now,” Natasha insisted. “Go on, you need to sleep.” 

Edward relented and closed his eyes, and within minutes his breath deepened, and his body relaxed as he fell asleep. Natasha stayed with him for a while, looking over the beautifully illustrated pages of her book. On one page, a messenger rode on his horse through a terrible storm, hunted by wicked hounds with gnashing teeth. He stumbles, and falls to the dogs.

Natasha checked that Edward was comfortable before returning to her own room and falling asleep the second she hit the pillow. Her mind was exhausted from that evening, yet unworried about tomorrow. 

Precious few hours were given to rest before a long mournful horn echoed through Cienma, waking the whole city with the sunrise. This was more of a courtesy than anything. 

Natasha forced herself out of her bed, wiping the frosted condensation from her hair. She shivered desperately as she wrapped herself in her warmest trousers, shirt, waistcoat, and brown greatcoat. She strapped on the same worn leather boots she’d worn for five years onto her feet.  Natasha quickly moved downstairs to the fireplace, eager to get at least a little heat moving through her home. 

With only a few drops of oil and some tinder, Natasha coaxed a flame forth and built it into a sizable fire. She moved to a nearby pantry, sparse as it was, and retrieved some canned pea broth and a pot, as well as a wrapping of fat trimmings. These she put into the pot and began to simmer. It could have been improved with some rosemary, but Natasha hadn’t been able to get her hands on any for six months. 

Solotvich came down and sat down near the fire with her, tasting the broth only after warming his hands for a few minutes. 

“A few potatoes would be fine.” 

“Really?” Natasha asked. “I thought we were saving them.” 

“We can manage three. And I imagine our friend will want something solid to chew on. Go on then.” 

Natasha fetched three potatoes from a sack in the storeroom and plopped them into the broth, skin and all. The two of them waited patiently for the potatoes to boil through before scooping their portions out of the pot with wooden bowls. 

They ate in silence - there wasn’t much time in the morning for conversation anyway. The broth was thin, but when mashed together with the boiled potato, it became heavy and warm in their stomachs. She finished quicker than usual, scooping the bowl full again and hurrying upstairs to Edward. 

He wasn’t awake and he looked considerably worse. His face was very pale, and despite a sheen of sweat over his face, he was shivering and cold to the touch. Gently, Natasha roused him awake. His eyes fluttered open, but were vacant and hazy with fever. 

“Edward, it’s Natasha. I’ve brought you some food.”

He didn’t seem to understand her, until Natasha gently placed a spoonful of the stew on his lips and he eagerly swallowed it. Carefully, one spoonful at a time, Natasha got the entire bowl empty.

“There’s not much we can do for him,” Solotovich said, appearing at the door. “Morning shift will start soon. You will be missed if you don’t show up for your labour.” 

“He needs my help!” Natasha insisted. 

“You’ve done all you can, and it won’t help him any if the Overseers come breaking our door down because you didn’t show,” Solotovich said. “Now, get. I’ll watch him.” 

“Fine, but don’t just ignore him hee! Check on him, make sure he has water, and food!” 

“I will,” Gregory said. “Now get on with it.” 

Natasha left reluctantly. She retrieved her gloves from her room, and just as she did so, the sun began to rise properly, and the light fought through the overcast of Cienma. She headed for the door.

As the sky brightened, a long mournful horn shook through the city as the clock hit seven o’clock exactly. It signalled the beginning of the workday. It was impossible to ignore it, and even if you did, the Red Guard would be around soon enough to knock on your door. 

Her hand gripped the door handle and Natasha glanced back, seeing Solotovich there waving her off, his expression stern and worried. Though he always looked like that, Natasha gave him a smile and left. 

Outside she was hit by the biting cold air and a flurry of snow. The rain that had fallen had frozen into the old cobblestone alleyway street and been dusted by the morning flurry. 

Careful not to slip, Natasha climbed out of the little landing that the door sat in and up into the alleyway proper. There was already the commotion of the city coming alive, echoing from the main street to her. And though their alleyway of a street had been empty last night, in this early morning light it was full of people, all of them sitting down and leaning against either wall. These vagrants were huddled here against the cold, but also to hide from the Guard who didn’t check in the back streets as often.

All of them held out their hands, gnarled fingers, skin blistering and cracked and beginning to bleed in places. The cold freezing what little flesh was stretched over sharp protruding bones. 

Natasha hadn't anything to give them; many begged for “Fodder'' which was a Brudna word for opium. Natasha pinched her nose as she passed them and took care not to let any of them get too close, she could almost feel the stew turning foul inside her at the sight of them. Their glassy eyes had no light to them, only want, only need, they’d either starve to death, freeze, overdose or be put down by a Red Guardsman if he was feeling merciful. 

Fodder had been the staple in Brudna since Natasha had been a little girl. The endless days of work worked up such pains in the body sometimes; folk lost themselves, and they did what they could to run away from the pain. Wasn’t uncommon to just see someone drop from too much or too little. 

Natasha slipped past the lot of them easily enough and turned the corner onto the street. Where she was almost knocked over as a platoon of Red Guard marched by in tight formation, she jumped out of the way at the last minute. 

“Make way for the Guard!” the sergeant snapped. Natasha put her head down and just stared at the polished boots which stamped in unison past her. They carried with them a smell of wax polish, which they applied to every bit of their uniform. It was a strong clean smelling stench that felt unnaturally industrial even for Brudna District. 

The streets of Brudna District were narrow and flanked by tall grey stone buildings which had once been somewhat ornate, but now were old, eroded, and dilapidated. This continued up the hill where, in the distance, through the haze and smog, one could almost gaze across the entire city, all the way to the overbearing shadow of the Iron Tower in the distance. 

That tower, you could always see it. No matter where you were in Cienma, you lived in its shadow. It was said that the entire Commonwealth could see the Iron Tower watching them, in one way or another. Natasha felt its gaze on her more now than ever. She wondered if it could see Edward too. 

Brudna was as grey and cold as all of Cienma, but more dirty and filth-ridden. Every inch of the place seemed to be coated with a thin film of oily fuel residue. Every stone was cracked and worn, all metal rusted, yet Natasha had always appreciated a kind of beauty in her home. Endurance, Brudna had been around forever as far as she was concerned. And it would always be there. 

All around were the Red Guard, black coats, red accents, caps and berets. Everything was always polished and neat with them, most carried rifles with bayonets affixed at all times; officers carried revolvers and sabres. They parade around the streets in square formation, more interested in looking neat and professional than anything else. Though others walked in pairs of two more casually, sometimes stopping to talk to someone or question them. 

Many dotted the rooftops, holding rifles with scopes or in nests of sandbags with machine guns. They always reminded Natasha of magpies, or some other vain bird, perched everywhere displaying shiny trinkets to appear appealing. Though today they took on the demeanour of crows, alert and foreboding, their eyes which were usually more casual now darted around at everyone suspiciously. Looking for Edward? Natasha didn’t know. 

Most motion came from the workers of Brudna, a sea of drab greys and browns which outnumbered the Guard thrice over. They milled fourth in a somewhat cohesive river of people, off to their designated place of work. 

Natasha pushed through them all to the centre of the street. There a metal rail was embedded into the road and along it came a Streetrail, a crude steel box which chugged along, with a small chimney exhausting heat and smoke from its bulbous diesel engine. It shuttered with every inch, and the engine drummed up a terrible noise. It always seemed on the verge of exploding, but never did. 

Natasha hopped onto it and squeezed between the other riders who managed to get on. The Streetrail steadily puffed along and brought them up the increasing slope to the industrial side of Brudna. 

There was the wailing of a horn that reverberated off the walls now, echoing anywhere and assaulting the ears. It was followed by a grave voice. 

“Residents are reminded that designated labour is required and failure to report shall not be tolerated. Glory to the Commonwealth, long live the Lord Commander.” 

The labour draft was how things had been done since Natasha was a child. Some folk, like Solotovich, had storefronts or some sort of work that took them out of the factory. Gregory had always said that anyone could run his little cafe, they just left him there because he had been there already when the labour draft started. 

Natasha did officially work there, but this was not a sufficient contribution to the Commonwealth. So she entered the draft, like most folk she got in line where a singular kiosk stood manned by just one bluecoat Overseer who gave everyone a job to do that day. It was somewhat of a lottery, many jobs were worse than others, but almost all of the back breaking. 

You lent your body to the industrial process for the day, for twelve hours, every day, and then you went home. You hoped your name wouldn’t be in the draft for the next day, yet you also needed to be in the draft as this was the only way to make money or get rations. Some folk were unlucky enough to be drafted for weeks straight until they could no longer stand, others left with nothing for a month until they starved. The Labour Lottery they often called it. 

As the Streetrail crested the hill, the stone was replaced by iron. Wide open factory floors which were little more than steel frames housed massive blast furnaces and smelters with tall smoke stacks pumping poison into the air. Natasha coughed. The noise and smell of this place was overwhelming, when you entered it that’s all there was, and it seemed like that’s all there’d ever be. Fire, diesel, and iron. 

The Streetrail ground to halt amongst this place of thunder and noise. The men and women designated to work here were lined up in a long queue to a single office that sat at the entrance to the industrial zone. Natasha found her place in the line. 

It was freezing cold as it almost always was in the capital, at some point in school they had explained Cienma was set very far north. Natasha didn’t know what that meant - she remembered a vague map of the Commonwealth with only Cienma labelled - but she wondered why anyone would put a city somewhere you could freeze to death for half the year. 

Natasha stepped up to the kiosk, the overseer was no older than she was and he looked miserable. He shuffled a thick stack of papers around for a few moments without ever looking at her, Natasha always wondered what was on all those papers that bluecoats seemed to be obsessed with. 

“Name and number.”

“Natasha, no last name, two-eight-three-seven-seven,” the number was her, or at least her as far as the Commonwealth was concerned, she’s said them so many times they were just noise to her. 

The Overseer wrote something on a piece of paper and then stamped it with a seal. “Callipers, next!”

“Callipers” summed up the job for the day, fortunately this was one of the easier ones. Natasha had done it before, though it wouldn’t have mattered if she had never heard of it. 

Along the production line there was a place where out from a dispenser came red hot bricks of iron. These would flow down the assembly line where Natasha was stationed, where she would pick one up with metal callipers and place it on another brick. Careful so they were aligned, she then campled the callipers down and twisted them taunt using the adjustable dial so they pushed the bricks together. Just hard enough so the bricks fuzed together and moved along their way. 

Natasha has no idea why this was needed, what the bricks were being used for, or why they didn’t simply pour the molten iron into a mould that fit their needs. It didn’t matter. Her thoughts and opinions were meaningless. Only thing that mattered was the monotonous repetitive motions. Pinch, lift, clamp, twist, release. Pinch, lift, clamp, twist, release.  

The hot metal radiated heat, but the air was still cold. Natasha’s body didn’t know wether not to sweat or shiver. Her wrists and fingers and joints all ached. All these were familiar pains, familiar misery. 

Worse than the actual work was the dullness of it all, the noise all merged together in a blank din, movement was mechanical and constant. So Natasha entertained herself with thoughts to her books, imagining what stories the pictures were meant to show. 

She liked to imagine maybe the metal she was helping forge might go to make a sword to be used in battle. Though that was unlikely, maybe a pot, that would be okay. She could imagine a mother making dinner for her children in that pot, their faces alight with eagerness. These sorts of daydreams made the day go by a little easier. 

Her thoughts inevitably turned to Edward with worry. Sheltering folk was not an unheard of thing in Brudna, but that was for locals who had been caught with contraband. This was a bluecoat, with stolen documents. Solotovich had a point, folk disappeared for that sort of thing. Yet when Natasha thought of the look in his eyes when he’d come through their door, she couldn’t bring herself to regret anything. 

A whistle blew, and Natasha realised it had already been six hours. Her whole upper body ached and stung. Twenty minutes, twenty minutes for a break and then you’d return to work. If lucky you got reassigned to something easier. 

Everyone in the factory shuffled over to the Abulatorium, which was a glorified tent with wooden walls and a canvas roof. The one for the factories were always like this though the ones for weekly rations were much larger. Abulatorium seemed too dignified a name for a place that gave you bread, crumbly cheese, one kielbasa sausage, and a cup of Ration Draught. So most folk called it the Ration Shack. 

Natasha got her meal and swirled the Ration Draught in her cup with distaste. It was as clear as water but smelled of chemicals. It was distilled from potatoes, or so they claimed. It would dull your mind and your aches and pains as well as push away the cold, but Natasha hated the way it made her head feel, and she hated even more what it did to men who drank too much of it. It could be useful for cleaning wounds, and she thought of Edward, but there was no way she could sneak it away to him. 

She passed her cup to the next man in line when the guardsmen weren’t looking, he was an older man with calloused fingers. His name was Pawel, Naatsha recognized him as a regular face at the cafe, he smiled in thanks. 

Natasha shuffled off to a corner just outside the factory floor where a small alcove leading into an alleyway provided shelter from the wind. Other workers huddled into this corner as well in clump to try and keep warm. They all gnawed on their rations, the bread was stiff, the kielbasa a tad stale, the cheese old, but they took what little they could get. 

A figure moved among them, swift hands taking a coin for a cigarette, trailed behind by a trio of youngsters. Natasha recognized the easy smile and the humorous glint in his sea blue eyes before he stepped fully into view. Popping one of his cigarettes in his mouth. 

“Morning ‘Tasha,” Niko said.

@west-end-lady @redheadedbrunette @bespectacled-ghost @clementimetodie @talesfromgringolandia @borgesperovago @thelegendofsqam @beakedwhalesyo @a-beautiful-crow @paula-of-christ @tinfoil-catholic @kasrkinguardsman n @rose-in-the-snow @supreme-leader-stoat @the-lost-alchemist @holbytlanna @edgar-allan-possum @cheerfullycatholic @cat-a-holic @the-writers-wrench @animeandcatholicism @lady-larklight @beaked-whales-in-exile @angsty-prompt-hole @tildeathiwillwrite @a-frogge-bip-a-smal-beastie

[wolvenjay]

Felt like drawing @irishironclad 's Nat

She needs a break

[lexareyouokay]

I finally finished the fanart of Natasha Nalkov from This Tower of Iron. Please go read some of the authors work!!! @irishironclad

[irishironclad]

TTOI - Chapter Two - Labour Draft

“Niko,” Natasha said, she tried to sound exasperated, but she couldn’t hide her smile. Just him standing near her was enough to put her at ease. “What are you doing here? Finally decided to stop skipping the labour draft?” 

“Ha! As if they’d put my name in their damn list, nah, I’m working something of a business opportunity, and ‘course servicing these fine working gentlemen here,” Niko said, he took a last drag on his cigarette and flicked it away. Immediately fishing out another one and offering it to Natasha. “Smoke?” 

“You know I don’t,” Natasha said, crossing her arms and frowning at him. 

“Your loss. And don’t give me that look, I lead a stressful life,” Niko said, popping the cigarette into his mouth and striking a match on his boot to light it. Natasha rolled her eyes. The crowd slowly trickled away from around them, and it was just Natasha, Niko, and three others. 

Natasha was nearly toppled as three kids their weight into a hug. Issac was the oldest, barely fourteen, older than Niko had been when Natasha had met him. 

Little Alexi was always by his side, curly brown hair, round cheeks, Niko had found him when he was barely just a toddler; left in the cold by a mother who couldn’t keep him. Nat took special care to hug him back and kiss him on his head. 

Then there was Ewa, a tiny wisp of a girl with wavy raven hair and eyes the name colour as Natasha’s. She didn’t speak much, except when it mattered, but she saw everything. Natasha tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, and she smiled when Natasha kissed her on her forehead. 

Niko took care of them when no one else wood, lost children of Brudna they were. It was not uncommon for kids to end up parentless and alone, their mums and dads dead from any manner of things or taken away for some minor offence. The boys would often die, or be swept up by Red Guard recruiters looking for an easy way to fill their quotas. The girls, they’d just disappear, sometimes never seen again, sometimes they’d be seen looking strung out, worn; taken in by men who used their bodies for profit. Natasha thought often about how there were not many women in Brudna under the age of twenty-five, only her and little Ewa that she knew of. 

Niko had been like them, not lucky like Natasha was to be given to someone kind enough to take her in. He’d survived the cold streets by being clever and very lucky. Which was how they met, he’d snuck into the bins behind the café looking for scraps of mouldy bread, and Natasha, just ten years old, had cried and pleaded with Solotovich to let him inside and feed him what they could. Solotovich had pretended to be stern but still gently offered spoonfuls of soup anyway. 

From that day onward they’d seen each other often, and he was the only one that could call her Tasha. 

“So, what kind of business opportunity?” Natasha asked. 

“An honest and lawful one, I promise.” 

“So smuggling then.” 

“Oi! Keep your voice down!” Niko said, slightly panicked. 

“It’s not like you hide it,” Natasha knew even with the guard agitated they had too many reasons to ignore goods being brought into Brudna. 

“Oh, look who's a model citizen over here. Not all of us get a bed to sleep in and a half decent assigned work schedule,” Niko said.

“So what? You’re not going to cut me in?” Natasha dramatically pouted her lips and looked at Niko, she knew it worked when his face grew red, he maintained his composure though and grinned mischievously. 

“Who says I haven’t already? Hop up to the kiosk and get your assignment,” Niko’s crooked grin was enough to convince Natasha to go along with it. Besides it was a welcome distraction from the events of that morning. 

She went right up to the Overseer kiosk, the men politely letting her cut in line. It was the same young man as always. His blue overcoat was a lot more faded than Edward’s had been. 

“Name and number,” he said tiredly, not even looking at her. 

“Natasha, two-eight-three-seven-seven,” Natasha said automatically. 

The Overseer shuffled some papers, stamped one, he then turned to a machine adjacent to him. He stuck the papers in one after another. The machine whirred loudly, then shuttered with a series of ca-chunk! Noises before it produced a stamped punch card which the officer looked out and announced;

“Cargo hauling, next!” 

“Cargo hauling?” Natasha asked, returning to Niko. 

“Yeah, easy work, you move cargo from one place to another place,” Niko said. “And would you believe it, me and these three have the same job.” 

“Colour me shocked,” Natasha said blankly. “Alright, what’s the hustle?” 

“Hustle? Ah! You wound me! I am a good, dutiful citizen of our fair Commonwealth!” Niko put a hand to his chest in mock offence, 

Natasha’s eyebrow couldn’t rise any farther. Niko couldn’t grin any more mischievously. 

“You’ll see, come on.” 

Niko flicked his cigarette, and it was quickly replaced by another one, he led Natasha down a backstreet. Little Ewa held Natasha’s hand as they walked, and the boys joked, shoved, and laughed along the way; it made Natasha smile. 

“How’s old man Solotovich then, Nat?” asked Alexi, grinning at her with a mouth full of gaps. His proper teeth would grow in soon. 

“As grumpy as ever,” Natasha smiled. 

“Ah! Old bear loves to growl, but he's got no bite!” Issac exclaimed

“You’d best talk better of him, I know he leaves bread and meat out for you lot,” Natasha said. 

“Begging your pardon, miss, just harmless teasing,” Isaac said in mock gratitude, tipping his cap dramatically. “Send our thanks and regards to Misterz Solotovich.” 

“I’m sure he’ll grumble and complain about you freeloading kids all the same,” Natasha laughed, taking the opportunity to tussle Isaac’s messy black hair as he lifted his cap. She then felt a tug on her sleeve, and Nat leaned over, so Ewa could speak softly in her ear. 

“Has Misterz Solotovich been able to make the sweet buns?” she asked, those were always the favourite for any kids, but they hadn’t been able to get their hands on the glaze needed for the recipe for months. 

“Maybe soon,” Natasha said gently, and Ewa smiled. 

The boys continued to joke and holler without reprieve as they all followed Niko, a few angry faces poked out at them from the windows but softened when they saw who it was. They were a recognizable bunch in Brudna, Niko, Natasha, and their kids. 

Eventually the narrow alleyway opened, and the buildings ceased to give way to a small dock, gently rocking in the calm filthy waters of Brudna Bay. Rusted ships that looked like they could sink any moment were moored there, and the whole dock was practically empty of people or cargo. Save for a few pallets piled with crates, which were guarded by one lone bored looking Guardsmen. 

Niko approached him nonchalantly, pulling a carton of cigarettes from inside his coat and tossing them to the Guard, who caught it just as casually. 

“Go and have yourself a break,” Niko said, winking. 

The guardsmen shrugged and sauntered off, rifle shouldered, tobacco smoking trailing behind him. Natasha wasn’t surprised, for all their polish and marching in straight lines many Guardsmen had no sense of duty if left to their own devices; their discipline came when they acted in a pack. 

“Upstanding citizen, huh?” Natasha asked. 

“Of course!” Niko said. “These poor guardsmen, they stand all day and have no break! I’m just giving back to our dutiful servicemen.” 

“Uh-huh,” Natasha said. “What’s in the crates?” 

“Can’t give away all my secrets, can I?” 

“Niko, I’m not moving anything without knowing what it is,” Natasha said. “If this is dru-” 

“Oi! Don’t say that!” Niko hushed her, looking wildly around. “What are you nuts?”

“Well, what is it, then?” Natasha asked.

“Alright, have a look if you care so much,” Niko rolled his eyes with a solid kick to the nearest crate which popped open the top. Niko worked his fingers under the lid and pulled it free, revealing piles of burlap sacks tied tightly with twine. Niko worked one open to reveal it stuffed with a fine white powder. 

“Niko...” Natasha said tiredly. “I said no d-”

“It isn’t!” Niko looked over his shoulder again, then leaned in to whisper. “It isn’t drugs, it’s sugar.” 

“Sugar?” Natasha asked, she leaned forward to inspect it. The sugar rations they occasionally got came in the form of tins or jars of a sort of syrup, never raw sugar. Natasha couldn’t even remember the last time she had seen sugar like this. 

“Where does it come from?” Natasha asked. 

“Lestille,” Niko said. 

“Where?” 

“No idea, some island somewhere, and then smuggled into the Commonwealth somehow.” 

“Where’s it going to?” 

“Now, now,” Niko said. “You know better than to ask questions, listen the job is we gotta pour these bags into barrels and then put them on… that ship right there.” 

A small rusted collier with a single smokestack towards the back chugged along through the murky waters until it smoothly pulled into an open dock, mooring itself with its anchor instead of tying off. A man put down a gangplank and stepped onto shore, he seemed to pretend they weren’t there as he lit up a pewter pipe and leaned against a mooring bollard, offering them only a glance from his sea green eyes from under a mariner's cap. 

There were barrels on the ship, Issac and Alexi went about moving them off so they could be poured into without trouble. While Natasha, Niko, and Ewa began removing the bags of sugar from the crates and undoing the strangely complicated knots that bound them tightly closed. 

As Natasha worked, she glanced over at Niko, watching his hands. His fingers danced along the rope deftly and in quick precise movements he would undo the knot in a blink. Natasha had witnessed the speed and skill he had before, in a picked pocket, a shimmied lock, in how he caught a cigarette deftly from a pack and placed it in his mouth. 

His eyes were blue like the water sometimes was on a bright day, and they lit with simple concentration on skilful work, with a sparkle of humour in them as Natasha knew he enjoyed roping her into his schemes. It was all as well, Natasha enjoyed being roped into them. 

Natasha wanted to tell him then, of Edward and all that had happened. He’d have ideas, some clever plan to get Edward out. Ever since she’d known him he could read any situation and think his way through it, there was safety in that, an easing of tension. But as alone as they were you never knew who was listening, Natasha glanced around her shoulder. Later, she told herself, tell him later, when they were alone. 

It had been just past midday when they started, and by the time they had poured the sugar into the barrels and loaded them onto the boat it was well into the afternoon. They watched the boat quietly depart into the fog, a ghost in the dimming light. 

“No need to go back to the draft, we’re supposed to be cargo hauling all day,” Niko said. “How about dinner? My treat.” 

“Gunna, get the rest of us some grub, Niko, or just the pretty lady?” Alexi teased. 

“You lot get out of here, I’ll feed you parasites later,” Niko. 

“Oh, come now! These two worked hard today, they deserve a good meal,” Natasha said. 

“Oi, it’s my dime.” 

“It is, but can you say no to these faces?” Natasha wrapped her arms around Alexi and Isaac who pouted dramatically, Natasha mimicking their expressions, with Ewa poking her head out from behind them to stare. Nico spluttered on his cigarette. 

“Fine, whatever,” he grumbled, his face red, the boys snickered. 

“Who would strike you as a parent, huh?” Natasha said, smiling as she approached Niko only to jab him playfully in the ribs.

“Don’t you start,” Niko said, his cheeks even more red. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Do you want food or not?” 

“Since you twisted my arm.” 

Niko huffed but still walked along with them away from the docks, Natasha allowed herself to forget all about Edward and everything else for just a moment as she playfully hooked her arm into Niko’s. He blushed harder but couldn’t help but grinning at her, Issac and Alexi made mocking coos at them, even Ewa giggled at the display. Suddenly the city didn’t seem so cold and dark. 

They navigated twisting backstreets and alleyways until they came across a rather secluded corner. Here, in a thin little strip of street, the proper name of which had been forgotten, was The Kosz. 

No Red Guard marched here, and every inch of it were street stalls huddled together, handing out bowls of whatever food could be made hot, many of them peddling trinkets, curios, and shiny baubles galore often pilfered from one place or another. People in Cienma enjoyed the oddity or two when they could afford it. There were tables and bar stools set up, with old oil barrels filled with flames warming the whole corner along with the countless bodies crammed into the place. 

Even if the Guard didn’t come here it would be impossible to miss, the sound of talking, haggling and laughter echoed off the stone walls and seemed to carry for miles. It was a bright little spot that radiated warmth and the sound of simple happiness, as if in defiance of the hot slag and angry noise of the factories. 

They beelined to a familiar spot, not a stall but a wide open window that peered right into the kitchen inside the home. A wooden plank sat atop a barrel as a countertop and bar stools were set up outside under a patchwork canopy. Inside the kitchen, a bent-over old woman moved about, her head wrapped in a knitted shawl, and her weathered hands working ingredients into a stewpot. 

“Babica,” Niko called out sweetly. “How are you, my dear lovely Anastazja?”

“Compliments will get you nowhere with me, boy,” Ana said, peering at Niko with warm brown eyes. “You still owe me for the ruckus your band of troublemakers gave me last week.” 

“I believe I thanked you many times to count for you accommodating our late night celebration,” Niko said. He sat down at the bar stool, subtly snaking his hand into the kitchen, fishing for one of the peeled carrots that Ana had on her countertop. For his trouble, he got struck across the knuckles sharply with the spoon Ana wielded. 

“Hands outside the window, cap off, and no smoking!” Ana snapped. “And you two boys best sit still if you want food!” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Niko said obediently, removing his cap and flicking his cigarette.

“Yes, ma’am!” echoed Isaac and Alexi, mirroring Niko. 

“You’re lucky I let you lot even sit,” Ana said. She then looked at Natasha and smiled warmly, reaching over to push the strands of loose brown hair away from Natasha’s eyes affectionately. “And how are you, kochanie?” 

“Very good, Babica,” Natasha said. She kissed Ana’s hand. Ana’s other hand reached over to pinch Ewa’s cheek gently. 

“You are so thin, my girl! Does Gregory Solotovich not feed you properly?” 

“He does his best, but he isn’t as good as you,” Natasha said. 

“In another life I would have just married that man and then no one would have to suffer his cooking, alas!” Ana said, returning to her pot to stir it. “What is what is.” 

“You’d drive the poor old man insane, you would,” Niko said. 

“Keep talking, boy, you won’t get a drop,” Ana said. 

“How has business been lately?” Natasha asked. 

“Well, there have been better days, there’s always been better days,” Ana said, and an unpleasant look came over her face. 

“There’s been trouble?” 

Ana tapped the side of her nose and pointed north-east, towards the Iron Tower. Natasha let the matter drop; it was an old Brudna gesture. It meant I can’t say, the Iron Tower might be listening. It was safer to say nothing, though, the idea of the Guard harassing dear Ana made Natasha’s jaw clench. 

Her mood was improved when Ana put a steaming bowl of stew in front of her. The concoction was simple, carrots, onions, and other bits and bobs, with the meat being little more than minced offal; all they could afford in Brudna. But it was warm, filling, and made with love. 

They enjoyed their food in peace, Ana watching them contentedly with a smile. She cleaned up her kitchen and packed away the leftover stew into large mason jars which clasped shut, keeping the food warm inside. 

“My compliments once more, my lovely Ana,” Niko said, slurping up every last drop. He then reached into his coat pocket, coins jingling in his hand. 

“You put the money away, Niko,” Ana said. She took away Niko’s bowl and replaced it with three mason jars. “Take those to the rest of your gang of hooligans.” 

“Ana, I have the money to pay you-” 

“I don’t want your damn thieving money, Niko, now get out,” Ana said, brandishing her spoon. 

“Much obliged,” Niko said, swiping the jars and making a quick getaway. 

“One is for Solotovich,” Ana said, she placed ten jars into a box for Natasha to carry. “The rest is for your usual run, I put in an extra one for Adrien and Julia, their poor little one has come down with some sort of pox. I've been trying to get herbs for him, but you know how things have been.” 

“Thank you, keep safe,” Natasha said. She leaned forward to give Ana a kiss on the cheek before taking the box and following Niko. 

They walked back out into the main street in high spirits, turning towards Natasha’s home. 

“A fresh roll from Solotovich would go great with those, Nat,” Isaac said, eyeing the jars of stew in Niko’s arms. “What’s the chances the old man is feeling generous today?” 

“Tell you what, you help me hand these out, and I’ll put in a good word with him, deal?” 

“You gotta deal!” Alexi said, and the two of them took an equal share each and ran off to hand them out, Niko took Ewa’s hand and followed after his boys. 

Fortunately, each home was on the way back to the café, so they made quick work of it. Natasha had always made a habit of running food and other goods to her neighbours, either extras snuck out from the café with Solotovich pretending he didn’t notice, meals made by Ana, or treats smuggled in by Niko. Not everyone had such lucky friends as she, so Natasha had decided to be that friend for them. Besides, the smiles she got was all the payment she needed. 

First was Aurelian Proctov, a strange little man that Solotovich always insisted they keep in good favour. He lived in a small dwelling out of sight of the main road, and if you had looked at it, you would have thought it abandoned. 

Natasha knocked and was met with a distant “Enter!” She opened the door and went inside, the place was dimly lit by candles and lamps, and every inch of the place was covered in shelves filled to the brim with oddities and curios. Aurelian was a collector of sorts, often sold to the market stalls in the Kosz, and most usefully he could get you anything, no matter how odd or rare; for a price. 

Aurelian was at the very back of the building, at his work desk. He’d seemed to have grown smaller from the last time Natasha had seen him, his whole body was crooked from too much sitting and his brown hair tumbling down his face in messy waves. 

He was working on some contraption Natasha didn’t recognize. It was a square base with a few dials on it, in the centre of the box extended upwards a thin copper tube at the top of which was some manner or crystal, around the tube were several metal rings oriented in varying degrees around the centre, making a hollow sphere. Natasha blinked and peered closely, as the rings seemed to be suspended in the air with nothing keeping them in place. 

“Natasha,” Aurelian said, not looking at her. He was focused, peering through an apparatus of lenses, focusing on the movements he made with a screwdriver which adjusted something or other inside the mechanism. His hazel eyes were lined and tired. 

“I brought you soup,” Natasha said, holding up one of the jars. 

“Place it on the desk.” 

“What are you working on?” 

“Adjusting the resonance frequency.” 

“Adjusting the what?” 

“No matter,” Aurelian said dismissively, Natasha frowned. “Oh, and there’s a package for you.” 

“I don’t remember buying anything.” 

“This one’s from a secret admirer.”

“Oh really?” Natasha rolled her eyes. “Which one?” 

“His name was Charles, I think?”

“I thought this was supposed to be a secret admirer?” 

“He didn’t pay me enough for that.” 

“Never change, Aurelian, where’s the package?” 

“On the shelf somewhere,” Aurelian gestured vaguely. 

It took Natasha a few minutes to find it, a small package wrapped in brown paper. She stuffed it inside her coat and made on her way. Admirers weren’t uncommon for her, with so many girls getting plucked young for overseers or disappearing. The pool for women was very low, Natasha was certain half the men who fancied her wouldn’t give her two seconds thought if there were more women around. Though, Charles was different from them, which was the only reason she took the package at all. 

She stopped by three other houses on her way, one jar to Kuba Michalik who had lost an arm in a machine once, yet was always willing to offer the other one in help if he could. The next went to Nina Jakubek, who had been born without her hearing, she made a sign with her hands which Natasha had learned meant ‘thank you’. Another jar for Samuel Biedranov, who hands still shook sometimes for need of Fodder, he greeted Natasha warmly like a grandfather might and gave her a small box of nails to give to Solotovich to repair stools and tables with. 

Natasha made sure none of them had had any visits or trouble from the Guard recently, like young girls, anyone with bits missing or something broken had a habit of going missing all of a sudden in Brudna. Natasha made a point of checking in on them whenever she could. 

Eventually she came to the front step of the Piórkowski residence, and she was greeted by Julia, a lovely middle-aged woman with curly raven hair, who greeted Natasha with a smile but looked very tired. 

“Ana told me Sebastian down with the pox,” Natasha said, handing Julia the jars. 

“He is the poor thing, rations have been so tight, and I haven’t been able to get him any medicine, the soup ought to perk him up a bit, thank you.” 

“How’s the other one coming along?” Natasha asked, Julia smiled and rubbed her swollen abdomen. 

“Better than the first one, oh, but I worry about it, Sebastian came out so small…” 

“May I?” 

“Oh course, dear.” 

Natasha smiled and placed her hand gently on the baby bump, she swore she felt movement underneath, she smiled and felt her heart leap at the sign of life. 

“I’ll see if I can’t drum up some extra food for you somehow, and medicine for Sebastian.” 

“You’re too sweet, Nat,” Julia leaned over to kiss Natasha’s cheek. “But when can I expect to meet your own little one?”

“No time soon, I’ve got enough on my hands as it is.” 

“Your time will come soon, dear.”

“I hope so,” Natasha said, a noise caught her attention and she saw Isaac and Alexi pushing each other and laughing down the street as Niko strolled up behind them. She smiled at them and bit Julia a good day. 

“Best keep those boys out of trouble,” Julia said, giving Natasha a knowing look. “Be sure to send Adrien back home when you see him! Probably in that café of yours!”

Natasha went back out into the street and the boys ran up to her and took her hands in turn, spinning her sound while giggling, Ewa clung to Niko’s arm smiling at them. 

They walked all together, headed towards the café, though Natasha laughed along with the two boys and their jokes, but she couldn’t help the darker thoughts about Edward as they neared her home. 

“You’re frowning, what's the matter?” Niko asked. Natasha hesitated, they were close to the café, but the mounting weight of Edward’s presence hung over her. She opened her mouth to let it all spill out but didn’t get the chance. 

“You two! Stop!” 

The bark of the voice made them stop on instinct, and the sight of two Red Guardsmen marching up to them made them freeze. The one who yelled was an impatient looking officer, a pistol and sabre on his belt and his cap with golden wreaths on its brim. He was accompanied by a rather dull looking private who stood by passively, his rifle held casually in his hands. 

The officer stopped in front of them and placed his hands on his hips, glaring at them. 

“First of all,” he said, and leaned forward to snatch the cigarette from Niko’s mouth, a look of disgust on his face. “This street is a no-smoking area.”

“I was… unaware of that, sir,” Niko said. His usual confidence died as he stared at the ground, there was no fear, just learned passiveness. He and Natasha had quickly stepped closer on instinct, so the three kids could make themselves less obvious behind them. 

“Unaware,” the officer repeated, he crushed the cigarette under his boot before producing a thick handbook from his coat pocket, the Commonwealth state crest - a black eagle with its wings spread - embroidered on its cover. The officer flipped through it and landed on a page. 

“Right here, section twenty-four-two, addendum sixty-eight of the Lord Commander’s Orders and Regulations for the Conduct and Responsibilities of the Third Estate; it states that all personnel of the Third Estate shall not consume tobacco within a two-mile radius of a designated labour zone,” The officer turned the book over to show Niko. “You see?” 

Natasha knew this routine all too well, most Guardsmen were happy to overlook minor infractions and get on with their day. Then you’d have some like this officer, too eager, too angry, all too willing to swing around the power he’d been handed because it made him feel good. He’d either mellow out with time or be promoted out of the dead-end posting of Brudna. You just had to suffer them best you could. 

“No, I do not see, sir,” Niko’s face was flushed. “I can’t read.” 

“Of course you can’t,” the officer snapped the book shut in Niko’s face. “Fucking Browncoats. All the same, that is what it says.” 

“As you say.”

There was a moment of silence, the Red Guard officer tapping his foot as he stared down Niko with contempt. 

“What are you carrying?” he asked. 

“It’s-” Before Niko could answer, the officer snatched one of the mason jars from his arms and popped the lid. The hot stew steamed in the cold Cienma air. 

“As I suspected,” he said, before tipping the jar over so the precious food poured out and into the gutter, flowing down into the drain along with the filth. 

“According to Section Two-Eighty-Five of the L.C.O.R’s-” The officer tossed the mason jar away, the glass shattering against the cobblestone; before taking the other one Niko had and pouring it out too. The private was less gentle about it and merely struck the remaining jars from Natasha’s hands with the butt of his rifle, they hit the ground and cracked open dashing the broth everywhere including all over Natasha’s boots. 

“...Meals and foodstuffs not produced or approved by the State shall not be consumed nor distributed in any manner,” the officer said. “And I happen to know that the local approved Abulatorium is not handing out such well put together stew, are they Private?” 

“No, sir,” the Private mumbled. Natasha suspected he wasn’t really paying attention. “Was wheat porridge today.” 

“Exactly,” the officer pulled out a notebook. “Name and number?” 

“Niko Boryaski, two-eight-seven-zero-four,” Niko sighed. 

“And you, miss?” the officer said, flipping to another page.

“Natasha, two-eight-three-seven-seven,” Natasha said.

“Last name?”

“None.”

“Fine.” The officer finished writing and ripped out the two tickets. “Since you cannot read… These tickets are to inform you that you have been found in violation of one or more regulations put in place by the Lord Commander and his government; the account of these violations that has been accurately recorded by the Red Guard shall be forwarded to your local Civil Overseer office and based upon review of these violations may significantly increase your liability to the Iron Tower and the Lord Commander. A representative of this office shall contact you should further citations be required in order to correct these violations and assure compliance and the continued safety and stability of The Commonwealth.” 

Natasha had been through it before; she knew what all this really meant. They would file away this incident and never bring it up again until she did something they really cared about. That's when they would pull out their papers and bury her in citations. She’d known men brought in for smoking infractions only to be charged with hundreds of petty offences from half a decade ago. 

“Do you understand?” 

“Yes, sir,” Niko and Natasha said. 

The officer handed them both their tickets. When he handed Natasha hers, she managed to look him in the eye. He didn’t look at her with malice, but what must have been solemn conviction. Natasha figured he must have really believed in what he was doing, and would likely sleep tonight without even thinking once on their meeting. 

“Carry on, you’re dismissed,” he said, tipping his cap and walking away. 

Natasha and Niko were quick to get out of there. The moment they were out of sight, Niko lit a fresh cigarette. He also used the match on both their tickets and tossed the ashes into the gutter. They were of no consequence, just something to shame people with. 

“You don’t need to walk me home,” Natasha said as they neared her street. “I’m sure there’s a law against gentlemanly conduct.”

“Come off it,” Niko pulled on his cigarette. “Anyway, you were saying something before that bastard came about, what was it?” 

“I’ll let you know later tonight, usual spot, alright?” Natasha said. 

“Alright,” Niko said, as they approached the café, “I gotta make some runs anyway… gotta make up for those meals now.” 

“Alright, I’ll see you rascals later,” Natasha said. “Come here darlings.” 

All three of them approached eagerly, and Natasha Wrapped them in her arms, kissing each on the cheek. 

“You stay out of trouble now,” she said.

“Never,” Alexi laughed. 

“Not while we’re with this idiot,” Isaac said, jamming a finger in Niko’s direction. 

“Watch it, you,” he muttered. 

@west-end-lady @redheadedbrunette @bespectacled-ghost @clementimetodie @talesfromgringolandia @borgesperovago @thelegendofsqam @beakedwhalesyo @a-beautiful-crow @paula-of-christ @tinfoil-catholic @kasrkinguardsman n @rose-in-the-snow @supreme-leader-stoat @the-lost-alchemist @holbytlanna @edgar-allan-possum @cheerfullycatholic @cat-a-holic @the-writers-wrench @animeandcatholicism @lady-larklight @beaked-whales-in-exile @angsty-prompt-hole @tildeathiwillwrite @a-frogge-bip-a-smal-beastie

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A remake of a very old Nat piece original under the cut

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I think Maya Erakine would voice Nat

[thatcrazypoppiigirl]

I did this!! Thank you @irishironclad for tagging me for this!

So I realized that I didn't quite properly understand what Natasha looked like, yeah I've drawn her before, but something was always off, and I never quite settled on the details. And this was sort of disconnecting me from her character and voice, so I worked with @thatcrazypoppiigirl on a redesign. This is her art.

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Jon Checklov

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Lord Commander Nicholas Nalklov

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Peter, Son of Gregory, of House Dubanov. True Heir to the Great Tower, last Czar of Cassimira

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Oh yeah if anyone’s wondering I’ve officially changed the name of the capital city of the Commonwealth from Chunwall to Cienma. Just because it fits better.

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So one flaw I actually give Natasha early in the books is she looks down on addicts.

Natasha's whole thing atm is she's a bit of an idealist, and assumes the best of people and situations, and is very kind and loving towards her people. She sort of expects people to act good and perfect in a way and if they don't can be prone to write them off. She lacks nuance.

Her dislike of addicts is somewhat an extension of this as well as tied to her general distaste for the drug addiction problem in her community

she cares a lot for her home and sees the rampant addiction as a disease. Pushed by gangsters, ignored by authorities, so it makes her angry and she directs that anger at the victims sometimes because the people responsible she can't do anything about later on in the series when she goes through some shit she develops a bit of a drinking and smoking problem and gains a lot of sympathy for people in that position

She becomes the addict and thus grows empathy for them.

this goes for a lot of things actually, everything Natasha hates right now in one way or another she becomes eventually she hates soldiers, she becomes one, she hates bluecoats, she becomes one, she hates the leadership of her nation, she joins them, she hates addicts, she becomes one. Etc her journey is realizing the world is not so black and white and cannot be divided cleanly into those that are evil and those that are not. but what she maintains in spit of that is hope that things can be better, hope that people can be good, and firmly saying "things WILL be good if you try"

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I properly started my novel when I was 20, with the specific intention of never having any out and out romance in it.

Now I’m 26 and I have to physically keep my characters from making out.

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Alright let's talk about this asshole

Lord Commander Nicholas Nalklov is the primary antagonist of the This Tower of Iron novel(s)

He's the authoritarian military dictator of The Commonwealth, and entity he created from the ashes of the Cassimiran Empire, born from the chaos of the revolution.

Nicholas started out in a very similar situation to our protagonist Natasha. He grew up an impoverished street rat in the gutter of Cienma (capital city, used to be called Chunwall) until he was taken in by Peter Nalklov, the Lord Commander of the Czar's personal guards; the Order of the White Tower.

Nicholas growing up was dutiful, passionate, and patriotic. He truly did love his country and its people, and most especially the royal family who he came very close to. Especially the crown princess Maria.

Nicholas was never really accepted by the nobility and the aristocracy, and they hated how close he was to the royal family, fearing his influence as he suggested policies to the Czar that would uplift the serfs and peasantry and diminish the role of the nobility. So they conspired against him.

They managed to implicate Nicholas in a conspiracy against the crown, and have him arrested, but not before he is seriously injured in a false flag explosion that results in the loss of his leg.

Nicholas became disillusioned with the regime he'd served almost all his life and was easily radicalized by the growing populist revolutionary movement. He lent his military strategic talents to the cause and saw them overthrow the old czarist regime.

Yet it was during the revolution that he realized their follies as well, he watched the revolution begin to eat itself alive as factions split and the cause turned to chaos. All the while the leaders who should have been maintaining order focused all their energy on hunting down every last person who had served the Czar and seeing their heads roll.

This is why Nicholas Nalklov took full military control and declared the formation of the Commonwealth with himself at its head as Lord Commander.

The Lord Commander forms one half of the conflict in the novels. He believes that humanity are flawed beings who cannot be trusted, that any system or government that you create regardless of itself intent or moral cause will always fall into corruption and authoritarianism or chaos. The system will either collapse into violence or be forced to don and iron fist. And thus it must inevitably be brought down through violent revolution. Nicholas pessimistically believes humanity will be stuck in this cycle forever.