#[[Surging pathways--Offical timeline thread

[royalblades-cosmicfates]

(@ask-the-guardian-core : Blueberry & Cranberry!)

~ There was an abrupt rumble in the sky, as a sudden dark circle of Green clouds came in from out of nowhere. It thundered and lighting'd all about.. Before spitting out a pair of Minibots onto the ground, each made squeaky toy noises as they landed. And just like that- the storm disappeared without a trace, leaving the bots behind.

What a way to make an entrance.. ~

[[OOOOO~~Placing them like...Rebel/bladed making first contact because--heh

Readmore used to shorten response

Kolivan had been heading down the halls with Keith at his side. On the other was the rather loud lieutenant of the fighters with another human and a lagging behind rebel. Who was now sprinting up behind them, not even drawing the lieutenants attention as he continued on reporting the recent updates.

The blade leader wasn't at all surprised as the lieutenant continued on with talking. It had been rather stressful with planning the rebels fleets and blade's positions. While they had the guidance of Voltron on their side--

He knew none trusted them entirely. They were still Galra in their eyes. Well, maybe not the lieutenant, he seemed to be rather open and friendly towards them.

Which did spark a bit of confidence in being able to build up some bond of trust or something similar to tolerance between them. For a moment he had hoped it would have. Though his thoughts were interrupted by the clouds, thunder, and high-pitched, and accompanied thud, of the rebel behind them.

He had his blade drawn out in ticks, Keith followed him as well. The lieutenant quickly went for his belt, and some sort of device clipped on it. However, before they could do anything, the sounds of something squeaking and sudden disappearance of the storm halted them.

Kolivan let his gaze roll down to spit the figures that fell from the storm. And he blinked in pure bewilderment. He had no words to share for that time, all he had were forming questions.

[diskwrite-ffxiv]

Timeline: Leading up to 4.5 MSQ

First Commander Bleiswys Junghberkwyn was a woman of routine. On the sixth and a halfth bell each morning, she was in her office. By six and three quarter bells she expected a crisp copy of the latest Harbor Herald and a hot cup of tea- usually an Ishgardian blend with a single cube of sugar only on the side- delivered quite promptly to her desk.

At the seventh bell she switched from the newspaper to whatever memos or reports had accumulated from the evening before, and at seventh and a half bells her secretary, Corporal Hemmet Green, was to enter her office for the daily briefing which generally went fifteen minutes or more. 

It was generally acknowledged amongst the officers that served beneath her that the morning routine wasn’t something you interrupt. It wasn’t that it couldn’t be done, for the Commander always told her officers that to them her office was an open door- but in these early bells unless she deemed the matter important enough it didn’t matter how calmly the Commander carried herself. Through the entire thing she oozed a layer of irritation that made her displeasure vividly real. 

This could be easily accommodated except for one simple fact. Green’s daily briefing frequently ran long. And in the event the Commander had an eighth bell meeting, there were days the gap between it and the briefing was scarcely long enough to say, “How do you do?” You could wait until after of course, but the Commander was a busy officer- and if you reported directly to her, so were you.

So, more often than not the officers beneath her found themselves faced with a choice. Either they threw themselves at the mercy of their Commander’s hectic schedule and hoped they could squeeze an appointment into a suitable gap, they delivered a message and waited for her to call on them, or they could interrupt the routine and hope for the best.  

So it was that Ojene stood before Green’s desk with pocket chronometer in hand after the sixth bell, watching as the minute hand ticked from forty-five to forty-six.

It was a wide room, ensconced in the administrative wing of the First Squadron offices. One side of the room was given to sweeping cabinets full of records and files. Some were copies of laws and documents, while lockable drawers held relevant documents for whatever cases lay on the military legal docket. Windows spanned across the other side, their rectangular panes set in a subtle curve that fit the cylindrical wrap of the Coral Tower itself.

A center pathway cut through the room with a wide limestone arch at its end, framed by two Maelstrom banners, leading to the trio of commanders whose individual offices lay just beyond. And astride the pathway itself were six desks split half and half on either side. Even at this early bell half of them were already manned.

And so was the one Ojene lingered in front of- even if at this precise moment it was empty.

To the secretaries and filing clerks at their desks who thrust themselves into their morning business, Ojene was simply a familiar face waiting patiently for Corporal Green to return. But as she locked an eye on the ticking face of the chronometer, it was her breathing she focused on above all else. For the steady rush of air was the only way to batten down the thunderous cascade of intent that roared through her chest. The one that carried her here, from the moment she awoke. As if through a pane of glass it surged, demanding she spring to action, but in these few minutes she needed patience.

And so, to distract herself she turned her eye to the other desks. It was strange, in this liminal moment, to watch the officers work. It had been just a few scant moons since she’d come back from a diplomatic voyage to Doma- the moons-long trip she’d taken with the First Squadron Ninth Levy, the very levy her husband ran. And she’d returned to the final approving stamp of a promotion she knew she deserved, with all the extra duties that came with it. She’d only just found her routine, reclaimed old familiarity and struck a fresh stride. But now as she stood here waiting there was a sort of distance to this place, already baked in by the knowledge that her Maelstrom duty would once more send her far afield.

The chronometer ticked forty-eight, and she’d only just pocketed it when Corporal Green emerged from the rear archway. He was a bit short for a Midlander, with mousy brown hair and freckled olive cheeks that drew deep dimples every time he smiled wider than a twitch. 

“Ah- Legalman,” he said, and there were no dimples in the smile he treated her with. Even as he shuffled back to his desk, there was a distracted jitter to his eyes that pulled his gaze this way and that. A harried sort of look- one shared by so many in the Coral Tower today. The weight, Ojene supposed, of a once-more escalating war.

As he stopped at his chair- but didn’t yet sit- he asked, “What can I help you with?”

Ojene leaned forward, but she kept a few respectful ilms from the desk. “Does the Commander have an eighth bell meeting today?” she asked.

“Ah- let me see.” Green claimed his seat and slid open the main desk drawer to his right elbow. He produced a slim leatherbound book. A few thin strips of cloth of various colors dangled out from between the parchment sheets, and his fingers slid to the orange one. Deftly he flipped the ledger open, and at the very top was marked today’s date. 

Ojene’s eyes shot across the list, making every effort to peer around his fingers as they slid down the page. She spotted it before he stopped, and as he tapped the scrawling ink set just above a faintly etched line, her heart sank.

“Indeed she does,” Green continued. “It’s all to do with the Brooks trial, I believe.”

“Oh-” Ojene’s chin lilted upwards. “I forgot that was tomorrow.”

“Yes, she’s due to be in meetings til the first hearings at the tenth bell- do you need anything?” As he peered up at her, his squint drew an involuntary wrinkle in the bridge of his nose.

With a grating noise that rustled from the back of her throat, Ojene hesitated. Like wildfire the beat in her chest surged, but above its inexorable push wound a single thread of logic. It would make more sense to wait, it said. To slot in an appointment rather than risk interrupting Junghberkwyn’s morning routine with a personal matter. 

It was right, she knew, and yet- to barricade these feelings was to lock a herd of aurochs in her chest. Her hands curled at her sides, and through her nose she forced a long steadying breath. On stillness, she focused. Through the moment, Green watched her. Waiting for an answer- but this was fine. She would give the correct response. She would wait. She would-

“Is that Suinuet I hear out there?” called the Commander’s voice from around the bend. “Go ahead- send her in.”

It surprised them both. Green’s brows darted towards his crimped hairline. Ojene straightened where she stood, and an unconscious hand smoothed down the front of her uniform. But after a beat, Green cracked a smile. This time, his dimples showed.

“There you go,” he said. 

Commander Junghberkwyn’s door was already open, as it usually was at this point in the routine. And though she had a full view of the hallway, she didn’t look up from the Harbor Herald until Ojene stepped in. 

It was a spacious office, as to be expected of an individual of the First Commander’s rank. The white limestone floor gave way to polished wood in a wide oval that kept the massive desk at its centerpiece. Shelves symmetrically lined the walls on the left and right, and between the records that filled them darted the occasional small curiosity from across the star- most of them from the New World. And behind the desk itself framed a massive array of ceiling-high windows. East-facing, they poured the haze of dawn through rectangular panes, cascading a golden fringe across the Commander’s hair so vivid it nearly blotted out the faint sections where its maroon color had begun to give way to age. Bleiswys Junghberkwyn was not as old as Ojene- or even Sylbfohc for that matter- but she’d served the martial interests of Limsa Lominsa for just as long as he had. 

A single dark eye, its iris so deep brown it was almost black, turned up at Ojene- the other was ensconced by a wide eyepatch. Edges of scars poked out on either side, then etched down Junghberkwyn’s cheek and finally ended somewhere across her throat. An old injury, that if rumor was true was responsible for the permanent rasp that trapped the undertones of her voice.

With a smack of her lips after a hasty sip of tea, Junghberkwyn set both cup and newspaper down and gestured forward. “You can close it.”

Ojene shut the door, and the woman before her leaned forward, twining her hands atop the desk.

“You wanted to speak to me?” Junghberkwyn said.

“Yes.” Forsaking the trio of chairs that cluttered before Junghberkwyn’s desk, Ojene opted to stand there at attention, her hands neatly folded behind her back. “As you know ma’am, the war has once more been ramping up on the front between the Garlean Empire and the newly reformed nation of Ala Mhigo.”

Ojene hesitated. The sharp scrutiny of Junghberkwyn’s eye rested inexorably on her face, but so far her characteristic cloud of irritation at routine’s interruption hadn’t collated anywhere Ojene could see. And so- after a pause she continued. 

“With my previous service the way it stands,” Ojene said, “I believe I could best serve Maelstrom interests from the front. I know my record wasn’t something you were as familiar with in the last campaign to liberate Ala Mhigo, but everything past and present shows when it comes to fighting Garleans I’m a valuable asset in the thick of it. I would like you to send me back to Ala Mhigo and the line at Ghimlyt.”

“And presumably,” Junghberkwyn muses, “you would like me to lend you to Ostulmsyn once again?”

“Ah… yes.” There was a subtle ripple of motion that threatened to marr Ojene’s stonelike stature- but she forced a small twitch through her shoulders and the sensation subsided. “That would suffice.”

With a deep wheezing sigh, Junghberkwyn leaned back. Her steepled fingers trailed to the very edge of the desk, and she regarded Ojene through a long, silent pause.

“I am quite aware of your record,” she said at last. “I wouldn’t lend you to other commanders so often if it weren’t the case. There are those of us in this Grand Company whose skill sets are too wide for a narrow box, and I acknowledge that you are one of them. You’ve got your experience, and all else aside the commanders you worked with in that prior campaign spoke highly of you, and so yes- I agree with you. You would be an asset on the front.”

“That being said-” Junghberkwyn continued, and a wrinkle marked the broad slope of her nose, “I’ve already thought this out. And the answer is no.”

A rush prickled Ojene’s skin, as if a cold glop of something unpleasant slapped onto her neck and rivuleted down her back. It took a moment for her to find her breath again, swallowed sharply by disbelief. “I… beg your pardon ma’am, you’re… declining my request?”

“Indeed I am, Suinuet. Because I’ve been thinking about this for some time.” At once, she leaned forward, and her single eye narrowed. “We’ve all been hearing about the resurgence of the war for weeks. But through all this time I never expected you to walk in here and ask me this- that is until the news I learned last night. Do you want to guess what I heard?”

When Ojene didn’t answer, Junghberkwyn drew herself up in her chair. “Tell me what you think I heard,” she demanded.

A muscle flexed in Ojene’s cheek, and as her jaw rolled her fingernails dug into her palms. “The First Squadron Ninth Levy’s deployment orders,” she said, her voice clipped, “wasn’t it?”

“Right you are!” One finger stabbed forward. “Because I knew you wouldn’t want to go anywhere until that very moment! Your entire career since you signed on good and proper, whenever that levy’s commander gets posted somewhere, you jockey to go along with him. You’re right that you would be an asset up there, but it’s got nothing to do with why you swiving asked.”

One eyelid twitched rapidly as Ojene fought to keep her expression steady, but the rushing in her veins thrummed. “It’s hardly the only reason. I would be invaluable up there.”

“Which is all well and good, except I need you here. I can’t go replacing all my captains because they decide to rush off to the war. Someone has to keep this damned country running, and you know what? For us-” one hand cut a sweeping circle through the air, “that often means staying put.”

Ojene’s fingernails drew a sharp bite into the flesh of her palms, but she hardly noticed. “I understand your position, ma’am,” she forced. “But if we don’t defend this country and our allies when the Garleans push in, then we won’t have a country before long. I should be out there- protecting us!”

But Junghberkwyn’s eye flashed. “I did not push you up to captain just so you could run off at every foul wind.” She loomed forward, and her painted lips curled in a toothy snarl. “You’re my captain. Not his!”

A taut silence snapped between them. At last, Junghberkwyn leaned back. “Anything else?”

“No. Ma’am.”

“Dismissed,” the Commander said, but Ojene was already turning on her heel to go.

As a steady clack of footfalls swept his way, Corporal Green looked up. The dimples on his face died, shriveling just as fast as his smile. He bent his head back to his hasty outline of the day’s agenda, for it only took one look at Legalman Suinuet’s face to decide it was better to let her pass without a word. 

At the egress of her wake, Green’s eyes met the corporal’s across from him, and between them passed a silent, unexpressed shrug. Without comment, the two of them went back to work.