#daphne freaking ironstar

[finlaygibbs]

The First Regiment

Every regiment’s got a character.  The Eighth was stern.  Out at Foewatch, ogres everywhere, a wooden palisade between us and whatever, sure. Ironstar’s a stern man, and the people who thrive in his command?  Stern men. Great hooting Grenth, I can’t believe I lasted as long as I did.

The First...it’s got a reputation.  I haven’t met the Captain yet, fine, fine. Transfers slam right back down to private, so I wouldn’t be trading ale and jokes with the Captain anyway.  I’ll get to know the little blonde Sergeant and the corporals under her before I ever see someone bristling with insignia.  And again, that’s fine.  Fine as can be.

Do I miss corporal?  Psssh.  I’ve been in twenty-four years, I should be higher than that.  But I like to shoot myself in the foot (And the cock, on occasion. Metaphorically.  It hurt to write that), and I’m a stupid asshole now and again, and I channel the dead and make the ground boil, which isn’t...look, I know I’ll never retire an officer.  If I live long enough to retire, I’ll be one lucky piece of Grenth-loving shit. 

But anyway.  The First.  Reckless, the sort of regiment that tosses orders up in the air and chooses to follow the ones that land face-down.  The drunk regiment, the regiment where everyone’s fucking everyone else.  On face value, I would be very happy in such company.  My people!

But you know what?  Foewatch is under near constant attack from this, that, and that other thing’s ugly brother.  And still, our medic isn’t kept hopping as much as the lady doctor here.  Our, bah.  Their.  And I’ve read over some situation reports, and the Eighth doesn’t get sent to the godsdamned Silverwastes and the like.  There’s either some bad luck or some bad politics up in those officer clouds, and if there’s one thing no soldier ever wants to see, it’s bad luck.

I miss Daphne, though she’d have killed me by now.  No man’s supposed to feel that good that often.  I miss my fucking cot, hard slab that it was.  A few of the other soldiers, I miss them too, though not as much or as many as I thought I would.  It’s a gift to find an old friend here -- Keser!  Grenth’s cold corpse, of all the people I’d ever thought to see.  

But the First’s an odd duck, and I don’t mind saying it.  And swimming in circles.  Maybe drunk.