#lieutenant Minkowski

[plainlyraine]

Episode 18: I'm gonna fuckin kill Hilbert

Episode 45: wait not like that--

[l-herz]

[aro-oak]

"Scout's honor" she says, but she was never a scout.

[the0retically]

WOLF 359 Controlled Demolition:

Hera being such a representation for disability will never not break me. I had to just sit for a couple minutes after this conversation and have ended up relistening to it multiple times because yeah that’s it

“Why are you being so chill??” -Eiffel

“Because I might be able to help with the pain, because I might be able to make it stop” -Maxwell

“When did you-wait what? What pain?” -Eiffel

“Eiffel-“ -Hera

“Somebody tore a hole in her skull and someone stapled it shut, do you think anyone would be ok after that?” -Maxwell

“Wait, wait, wait. You're saying that Hera's been in pain ever since Hilbert brought her back?” -Eiffel

“No. I am saying that she's been in a state of electroconvulsive feedback. "Pain" is just the closest thing we have to it.” -Maxwell

“Hera, why didn't you say anything?” -Eiffel

“What, with both Lieutenant Minkowski and Captain Lovelace talking about how I couldn't do my job anymore? With all of you thinking that maybe I was too broken, period? Right. Lot of good it would have done. Look, there was nothing you could have done.” -Hera

“You could have told me.” -Eiffel

“Well, there's things you wouldn't understand.” -Hers

“And she would?” -Eiffel

[godsjoke]

Y’all probably already knew this but on episode 12 of Wolf 359 when Hilbert took over the Hephaestus. Hera automatically switched to calling Minkowski Lieutenant.

So when Kepler first came on the Hephaestus and Hera was calling Minkowski Lieutenant, Hilbert clocked that shit real fast because he did the same shit Maxwell and the rest of the SI5 were doing.

Like I said not any knew intel (if that’s how you spell that sorry I’m dyslexic) but I just thought it was neat because I was re listening to it with my friend and I was like oooooh shit that’s how Hilbert knew about that shit so fast.

[skoople]

astronaut food

i've been meaning to outline the eating habits of the main wolf 359 characters. specifically, what do they eat and drink, what do they enjoy, what are their kitchen sins, how do they eat, and why. this is going to be a combination of canon, implications, and my personal read on them. let's get right into it:

DR. ALEXANDER HILBERT

his view on eating is utilitarian to the point of reddit-ness, and he'll often go without meals to get something done or to prove a point (see: Succulent Rat-Killing Tar, What's Up Doc). his palate is a very "get what you can out of whatever you can" approach without considering much in the way of taste or texture (seaweed coffee is his invention). HOWEVER! hilbert has one prized treat that is his achilles heel/autism samefood: Pecan Pie (see: Mission Mishaps Cold Turkey). i think it's got a unique texture, and a comforting smell that meshes with his suppressed desire for family and safety well.

kitchen sin: he regards the human need and desire for food as both frivolous and an unfortunate necessity.

LIEUTENANT RENÉE MINKOWSKI

she definitely enjoys fruit, or she wouldn't've cryogenically sealed a Braeburn apple (which are excellent for baking or dehydrating, btw) and brought it to space (see: What's Up Doc). she's also a planning type, and i think an efficient and tasty meal that involves the preparation and presentation of a fancy yogurt bowl is a favorite of hers and a dietary staple. minkowski is highly conscious of table manners, although that slacks a bit on the hephaestus, because she's eating across the table from hilbert and eiffel, for god's sake. still, clean and organized is her food philosophy. she owns possibly the only tupperware collection on the planet that includes every matching lid. the wine has almost no canon basis, and is mostly just a nod to voice actor Emma Shierr-Ziarko's own love and knowledge of wines.

kitchen sin: she thinks a clif bar counts as a real dinner if it's a weeknight.

CAPTAIN ISABEL LOVELACE

lovelace's favorite food is appetizers for the whole table, a team pizza party, a big awesome-smelling potluck, or anything meant to be shared. for her, eating is a casual and (more importantly) a communal activity. the social engagement from a loud brunch will nourish her just as much as the food does. besides that, i think she likes chocolate with nuts in it (e.g. snickers, chocolate covered almonds, rocky road ice cream, etc), but one of her favorite desserts is probably a strawberry milkshake. maybe it's a way to make up for all the protein shakes and high-efficiency smoothies (that taste like wet cement) she has to chug on account of the intense way she lives and works.

kitchen sin: she is a vulture if anyone else is cooking or eating. "you gonna eat that?" and picking off searing hot pans and baking sheets. she's really just curious but she never asks until its already burning her mouth.

COLONEL WARREN KEPLER

ok, the drink is a given. it's even on his official wolf 359 store merchandise. he likes the feel of it in his hand. but what does kepler eat? when does he eat? in private, obviously. his job is an exercise in restraint and perception, and he is his job (see: A Matter of Perspective). monsters under the bed don't need to eat, and they certainly won't be that vulnerable in front of a superior. but he's still a person, so i struggled a lot trying to figure out what he would crave. fish tacos, biscuits and gravy, and a loaded chicago hot dog were all floated, but the only meal i could picture kepler ordering where anyone could see him was lamb with mint sauce. it's expensive, recognizable, difficult to cook exactly right, and almost bloody.

kitchen sin: he will go out of his way to make you feel bad about what you're eating no matter what it actually is. he doesn't even have to say anything, he'll just glance at you or shift his posture slightly.

DANIEL JACOBI

this is a guy who loves to snack (see: Time To Kill. pringles: popped). he likes crunchy, salty snacks a lot, but it's more about the activity than the taste. that doesn't stop him from ritualistically complaining (see: Mission Mishaps No Complaints). he takes his time eating, but he doesn't pay much attention to it, which is why the longevity of a slushy is a favorite of his. jacobi lives off road snacks, but will find a way to complain about the points of a michelin star. he just likes bitching! the stinky cheese (see: Need To Know) pictured is a baked Camembert, because it's my post and i get to pick the cheese. Camembert is one of my personal favorites, but it can be fairly pricy and is a pain to clean up, which doesn't matter to jacobi (goddard company credit card please!)

kitchen sin: he spends an excruciatingly long time on any meal to the point where, if he had his way, they'd bleed into each other by taking an average of one bite every 15 minutes.

DR. ALANA MAXWELL

the drink pictured is a rockstar energy, but whatever legal(ish) stimulants can get inside her body the most effectively is maxwell's favorite. she eats a lot of takeout (see: Mission Mishaps Happy Holidays) because it's quick when she forgets to eat all day and it's tasty and she has the pay grade for it. she grew up in a tiny nowhere town that was in all likelihood at least partially a food desert, and her family dinner table warranted a restraining order, so i think in her adult life she tries to get as far away from that as possible. this often manifests in trying all the outlandishly spicy things she can get her greasy mitts on, because she is both inquisitive and masochistic. fuego takis are pictured because theyre a staple snack that jacobi will buy for her if she promises to share (she's lying and will eat the whole bag)

kitchen sin: she allows the nearly-empty cans, bottles, bowls, and bags to sit out and fester. once every 2 weeks she sets a timer and rushes through dumping it all into a giant black trash bag so that she doesn't get an infestation of ants again.

OFFICER DOUGLAS F. EIFFEL

and the "F" stands for food! eiffel definitely spends the most time talking about food. he's hungry! since his eating habits are so prominent in the show, i figured a compilation of his food and drink moments in canon would work a little bit better than my own personal extrapolation. excerpts from Limbo and Boléro were omitted.

kitchen sin: while some people might argue that pineapple on pizza belongs in this spot, i am not so judgemental. i just want him to eat from dishes that aren't visibly dirty.

HERA

[insert byte joke]

kitchen sin: she doesn't have a mouth.

[hephaestuscrew]

Do you ever think about Minkowski and Eiffel? Do you ever think about how, even when she didn't really like him, she refused to contemplate the idea of not going out into a solar storm to save his life? Do you ever think about how after Hilbert's mutiny, when everything they thought they knew about the mission had been replaced with dangerous uncertainty, Eiffel was the only person within lightyears that Minkowski could trust, and vice versa? Do you ever think about how he was able to make her laugh in spite of everything? Do you ever think about him saying "At least I have you around to keep me out of trouble" and "The force of your common sense keeps the rest of us insane-os in check"? [cont. below the cut]

Do you ever think about how Minkowski told Lovelace she couldn't imagine losing Eiffel, and then she nearly lost him over and over? Do you ever think about her shouting "No. No! After all the crap we - We still have time!" beside what could have been his deathbed? Do you ever think about her promising not to leave him out in deep space and then yelling his name into the void? Do you ever think about how she had to report him as 'missing in action' on two separate occasions?

Do you ever think about how often he imagined what she would say to him in a crisis? Do you ever think about how his imaginings of her went from just relentlessly berating him (Ep6), to harshly talking him through working out how to survive (Ep30), to reassuring him and telling him not to listen to his insecurities (Ep61)?

Do you ever think about when they were reunited and she hugged him so tightly he could barely breathe and he said "I missed you too, Commander. I missed you too"? Do you ever think about how he never stopped calling her Commander, not when Kepler demoted her, not even when she voluntarily gave up Command to Lovelace?

Do you ever think about how deeply it shook her to learn about his jail sentence? Do you ever think about he couldn't deal with her not talking to him? Do you ever think about when they reconciled, how they stumbled over themselves to apologise, how he said that his past was her business, how they shook on the fact that they were friends and Hera said they were "adorable"?

Do you ever think about how he didn't give a shit about the military chain of command but he would have followed her straight into hell and everyone else on the Hephaestus knew it? Do you ever think about how often and how determinedly he backed her up? Do you ever think about him declaring "there is a special place in hell reserved for those dumb enough to die trying to outstubborn Lieutenant Commander Renée Minkowski"? Do you ever think about how he served as her moral compass and how he reminded her of her values when circumstances almost pushed her into doing awful things?

Do you ever think about how at the beginning of the mission he didn't really listen when Minkowski explained about the importance of the pronounciation of her name, but, after she told him towards the end of the mission how much it mattered to her, he made sure to get the pronounciation of her name right, even when she wasn't there, even in high stress situations like preparing for a leap of faith into a star?

Do you ever think about how he trusted her specifically to convey "all the stuff you tell people back home" if he didn't make it? Do you ever think about when he returned from his journey into the star and he told her "Oh, it's so good to see you" and (according to the script directions) "embrace[d] her tightly, happiness radiating from him"?

Do you ever think about how he said he didn't want to hurt her even as she was beating him up because of Pryce's restraining bolt? Do you ever think about his horrified under-his-breath "No..." when he realised that Pryce was planning to make her step out of the airlock? Do you ever think about his desperate yells for her to snap out of it?

Do you ever think about her calling him "my mischief specialist"? Do you ever think about how he was the one she decided needed to make it back to Earth? Do you ever think about how his survival was more important to her than having his help in the fight against Cutter's plan? Do you ever think about how distressed he was at the idea of leaving her behind? Do you ever think about "Goddammit, Renée, DON'T DO THIS!" / "Goodbye, Doug."?

Do you ever think about how he went from resenting her authority to telling her "It was an honor to serve under you. Sir."? Do you ever think about how she watched him forget her? Do you ever think about the script direction "There's a BEAT for Minkowski's heart to break a little"? Do you ever think about how she reintroduced herself to him but asked him to call her by her first name? Do you ever think about her insistence on seeing him as soon as possible when she woke up on the Urania?

Do you ever think about how she once called him an "insubordinate hyena" and a "conniving little snake", but later told him that he "made it up to [her]. Big time"? Do you ever think about how he went from seeing her as "our resident Statsi agent" to thinking she was "the greatest, coolest, most badass space commander ever"? Do you ever think about how Eiffel thought that "spending time with [Minkowski and Hera] was about the best damn thing Doug Eiffel ever did"? Do you ever think about how, after everything she'd been through, after three and a half years away from Earth, what Minkowski wanted "more than anything" was to be there with Eiffel as he figured things out?

[officerdougeiffel]

when eiffel is talking to bob in ep 54, bob says that the captain of the previous ship that encountered them valued music more than anything else. in change of mind its shown that music is also special to lovelace, she only ever relaxes when listening to music. minkowski loves musicals and musical theatre

all the ships that encountered the aliens had people who hold music dear to their hearts. but from what I gathered they were the only ones on their crews to be like this. except minkowskis crew, because eiffel also loves music

(image IDs under cut)

[image ID] 1st picture. a screenshot of the transcript for episode 54 of wolf 359.

BOB : THIS.

He SNAPS HIS FINGERS AND-

In a corner of the room, a RECORD PLAYER COMES TO LIFE. It begins to play Beethoven's SONATA PATHETIQUE. Eiffel FROWNS, confused.

BOB (CONT'D) : THE FIRST TIME WE ENCOUNTERED YOUR SPECIES. THE MISSION LEADER, COMMANDER ZHANG, SHE VALUED THIS TECHNOLOGY MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE.

2nd picture. a screenshot of the transcript for wolf 359 change of mind.

LOVELACE : All right. See you in a few.

She floats upwards, looks down... sees the tiny figure of Lambert growing smaller and smaller... And then she looks up. The song she listened to last time begins to play. She's at peace.

3rd picture. a screenshot of the character bio for minkowski.

An immigrant of Eastern European origins, Lieutenant Commander Renée Minkowski is an accomplished pilot, expert tactician, and closeted lover of musical theatre.

4th picture. a screenshot of the transcript for episode 54 of wolf 359.

EIFFEL (CONT'D) : Well, Bob my man... you gotta check out some of the latest advancements. Otis Redding. Zeppelin. Taylor.

(snaps his fingers)

Sir Mix-A-Lot. I think he's been doing some ot the best scientific work of the last fifty years.

[ID end]

[sapirserket]

Lieutenant commander Renée Minkowski. Authentication code victor uniform ligma charlie alpha november

[averagejermafan]

i want to kiss lieutenant commander renée minkowski on the lips so bad

[ducksandneetleteetles]

went on the Wolf 359 wiki today and all the comments on minkowski's page were like "aw yeah that's my wife," glad to see all the sapphics are in love with lieutenant commander renée minkowski in this house tonight

[aro-geo-turtle]

I would 100% never consider myself lesbian at all cause 1. Aro and 2. Genderfluid, but there are times when I get somewhere vaguely nearby

And one of those times is women with the honorific “sir”

This is specifically about my beloved Lieutenant Commander Renee Minkowski

[lustrecannon]

cheeky bit of minkowski

[aro-oak]

Oh my god Hera calling Minkowski lieutenant instead of commander also happened during Christmas bc of Hilbert

[hurlumerlu]

What’s a Star Wars ? Anyway. Happy Birthday Lieutenant-Commander Renée Minkowski !

[whump-a-la-mode]

The Adults Are Talking - Angstpril Day One

This is a little different from what I normally post, here. This is actually my first fanwork on the blog as, for the first time in years, I’ve actually gotten into a fandom! Of course, it had to be an obscure piece of media from 2017, but, y’know...

Anyways, this is my entry for Angstpril Day 1. Angstpril is an event focused on female characters in whump, and the prompt for this day for “Doorstep collapse.” The prompt made me think of this show I’ve been into, so, y’know, I had to.

The show this is from is a podcast known as Wolf359, with this piece taking place after canon. Even if you haven’t seen the show, I encourage you to read! It might just inspire you to start listening.

Without further ado, it’s time for women.

CW//Bullet wounds, blood, amnesia, memory issues, military/government talk, pills

    Lieutenant Commander Renée Minkowski had never been quite able to kick the habits of her time in the Air Force, even as those times seemed, now, so terribly far away. One of those particular habits being, of course, her sleep schedule. She did not quite remember what it had even been like, before her enlistment-- though she couldn’t imagine it was that different from the rest of the high schoolers in her age group. That was, staying up far too late and making a fuss in the morning.

    Of course, the Air Force had no time for such nonsense. Sleeping hours were from ten to six-- exactly eight, enough for a healthy human to get going. Those in the force rose with the sun, every morning, right on time with the sound of the blaring trumpet. 

    That particular habit had stuck with her, sans the part regarding the trumpet. Six in the morning, every morning, the Lieutenant Commander opened her eyes and sat up, no alarm clock necessary.

    On this particular morning, there was some issue with that-- unfortunately, the whims of the spinning sun and the Earth’s axis had no care for human timekeeping systems. When Commander Minkowski sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes and peering through the curtain-shielded window, there was no hint of sun to be seen. Despite the clock upon her bedside table clearly flashing the numbers 6:00, the outside was still plastered in shroud.

    It had been like that for a while now, she pondered. The long winter had yet to give its way to spring, even when the dates on the calendar indicated that it very much should have, some time ago. Just another machination of the spinning planets, beyond Minkowski’s influence or care.

    Sun or not, her training still hung heavy. She wasn’t going to be going back to sleep, not until 10 PM that night. Tossing her covers from her bed, she climbed to her feet, tucking neatly the sheets back under the mattress, just as she had been trained.

    She wondered, sometimes, if everyone’s time in the military stuck to them like this, or if she simply had some unnatural affinity for the lifestyle. Heck, she barely even remembered the Air Force. Yet, here she was, getting up on their time table, right in sync with tens of thousands of others across the country.

    The rest of her morning routine was just as rigid as her mental wakeup call. Showering in less than five minutes, brushing her teeth in exactly two. She had never much cared for coffee before, but now found herself making a cup as a force of habit. Bitter and black, real coffee.

    For some reason, the flavored and sweetened stuff seemed to rub her the wrong way. The first time she had tried a fancy, flavored cup of sweetened mocha, a chill had run up her spine, and she had had to excuse herself to the restroom to vomit.

    Minkowski wondered sometimes if she had an allergy to whatever they put in the stuff, but had never cared to find out. The coffee maker let out a beep, calling her from her thoughts and presenting her with a steaming cup of black liquid. The first sip was taken gratefully.

    “Thank you.” She muttered to the coffee maker. Of course, it wasn’t listening. She knew that, she wasn’t stupid. Force of habit, she supposed as she went over to the island in the middle of her kitchen, sitting to drink her coffee and scroll on her phone.

    It was a Saturday. She hated Saturdays, an opinion she did not share with most. Yet, she had a clear enough reason: The lack of reliable structure from her work tended to make the hours drag on.

    More than that, Saturdays were when she had to worry about maintaining her home, something she didn’t particularly enjoy. The place was far too big for her, and she had always hated that fact-- hated that it was the smallest home she could find in the area. There were plenty of apartments, certainly, but she had never been very keen on those, especially since her salary did not force her to live in one. 

    The thought of so many people, living in such a small space, unnerved her. More than anything, the fear of fire made her jumpy. How could one get out in time, if they were on the very highest floor? What if they became trapped?

    Trapped in an enclosed room with a ball of flame-- It was a common nightmare of hers, despite the fact that, as far as she knew, she had never had an incident with fire in her life. Just a basic fact of being human, she guessed. Something deeply embedded in the most primitive parts of her mind.

    Given said fear, having her own stand-alone home had been the natural option. Minkowski had finally settled upon a three-bedroom, even though she only needed one. She blamed Floridian opulence for that one.

    Then again, most single people did not live in homes of their own. Most had a partner, or a kid, or a friend.

    She was lucky to not need any of those, but it made dusting and vacuuming the useless rooms a chore. Not to mention, she would need to go grocery shopping today. She was almost out of coffee.

    Those particular tasks of day to day life had never much appealed to her. She was not the kind of woman to have any interest in keeping house. 

    Standing up, coffee in one hand, Minkowski moved over to the window, brushing the curtains aside. Was anyone awake at this hour? Any other early risers like her? She often looked, but never found a single face in the streets.

    Not that she would have recognized them, anyways. In her own neighborhood, she was more of an alien than a community member. That was what happened when you were transplanted by the military, she supposed.

    She was never sure what, exactly, her neighbors thought of her. How much gossip had surfaced regarding her arrival. It was far from a traditional move, of course, with black government vans always moving in and out of her driveway. Lawyers and doctors and militarymen, being as formal as they could manage while seated at her kitchen table. 

    Did they think she was a spy? A member of the witness protection program? Or, worse, did they know about her accident?

    Minkowski wasn’t sure. Luckily, she didn’t care too much, either. 

    After ensuring, like a watchful guard dog, that the outside streets were empty, she pulled the curtains back and turned. Looking down in her coffee cup, she swirled around the last sip. 

    The last drink of her morning coffee was always used to wash down her medicine. Still moving with a rather absent sense about her, Minkowski ambled to the cupboard, taking down her pill caddy and popping open the capsule for Saturday morning. She wondered if she should have felt something, looking down at the sectioned container, seeing each space barely able to hold all the pills and capsules within. 

    So many prescriptions. So many names, so many bottles. Meperidine, Phenergan, Adlarity, and plenty of others with names far too long and confusing to keep track of. One by one, in a methodical performance, she picked up the pills and placed them in her palm, preparing to swallow them all at once, before washing them down with her last sip of caffeine.

    Lieutenant Commander Minkowski didn’t get the chance. As though on cue, as the last pill fell into her palm, her world shattered.

    A horrible slamming sound echoed throughout the open-plan kitchen interior, bouncing off cupboards and walls. Letting out a sharp yelp, she jumped back, pills flying and scattering with a cacophony of hollow bounces.

    When the sound came again, its source became immediately clear: The door. Someone was slamming on her front door. Not a knock, no-- There was a desperation to the sound, a repeated pounding, like a character in a zombie film.

    Any reasonable person likely would have immediately panicked, hid behind furniture, called the police. Yet, there was a reason Minkowski’s coworkers thought of her as fearless, and, more than that, strange.

    With wide, stupefied eyes and ajar jaws, she turned towards the door, staring at it for a long time. Hearing the bangs, one after the other, bang bang bang bang.

    Was someone trying to knock her door down? Well, that was awfully strange, wasn’t it. After a few more seconds of standing dumbly in the middle of her kitchen, her wispy gaze cast over the counter. It landed upon her two-pronged meat carving fork, likely the most dangerous item she had in her home. The doctors had advised her not to keep large knives or firearms, given her impairment.

    She supposed it was better than nothing, though. She certainly wouldn’t want to be stabbed by it. Grasping it by the handle, she held the item at her side as he, against her better judgment, walked straight towards the door.

    Another bang. Minkowski’s heart lurched, but her mind did not, staying as placid as undisturbed water.

    “Minkowski!” A voice cried on the other side of the door. Not a robbery, then. She stored that away as helpful information.

    Yet, something more important came of the voice than its content of speech. Rather, the tone of it was concerning, to say the least.

    A woman’s voice. A desperate woman’s voice.   

    “I know you’re in there, Minkowski!”

    Keeping her fork securely at her side, Minkowski raised a hand, placing it on the doorknob. Should she let this person in? Probably not, right?

    She wasn’t sure. She was getting lightheaded again.

    “Minkowski, please! We need you.”

    Minkowski.

    We need you.

    It felt as though a cold bucket of water had just been dumped on the Lieutenant Commander’s head, running down her spine. She let out a miserable little gasp, and opened the door.

    The moment after she did so, she immediately came to her senses. Why had she just done that? Minkowski shook her head, trying to blink herself awake. Dammit, she needed her pills. Her pills always made her feel better. 

    But, now, the door was open. There wasn’t much she could do about that. Yet, looking out over the empty streets beyond she, paradoxically, saw nothing at all.

    Until she glanced downwards.

    Her guess had been right, it was a woman who was screaming. A woman who was, now, on her knees, trembling for all she was worth. She looked absolutely terrible, having clearly collapsed, right where she was, right on Minkowski’s doorstep.

    Yet, she wasn’t unconscious. Not yet.

    When Minkowski looked down, the stranger returned the favor by looking up. Immediately, Minkowski was flooded by a horrid nausea, one that threatened to make her expel the coffee she had just drank, all over the driveway. Yet, swallowing, she was able to keep it down-- though it didn’t make her look any less pale.

    The woman in question had warm, sepia skin, contrasted by hair the color of dark-finished wood, glistening with varnish and tied in a tight, military-style ponytail that drooped down the back of her neck and over one shoulder. Once, Minkowski assumed that her shirt had been a light blue color, but it was now stained much darker, as were her jeans.

    She paled when she realized exactly what substance had resulted in the color change. The stranger on Minkowski’s doorstep was bleeding, and heavily. If the holes in her clothing had not made it clear enough, the scent of gunpowder residue most certainly did:

    The stranger had been shot. At least once, if not more than that.

    Had she stumbled onto any other doorstep in the neighborhood, the home’s residence would’ve likely immediately called the ambulance at once. Yet, the thought did not so much as once cross Minkowski’s mind. 

    “Come.” She spoke under her breath, words still slow, almost slurred. Leaning down, she wrapped one of the stranger’s arms over her shoulders, supporting her as she moved inside.

    The stranger closed the door behind the two of them. Minkowski didn’t mind.

    With scarlet dripping thickly across her hardwood kitchen floors, the two moved to the adjoining living room, where Minkowski aided the stranger in sitting on a couch. Sitting, the stranger let out a few exhausted, harrowed breaths.

    “You’re shot.” Minkowski spoke monotonously.

    The stranger on her couch hunched over, letting out a barking laugh as she raised her head.

    “I never thought you were one to state the obvious, Commander-- Maybe Eiffel has rubbed off on you?”

    The words sent another wave of sickness through her chest, one that she was able to withstand. Rather than addressing the confusing string of nonsense, thus prompting more discussion on the topic, Minkowski changed the subject:

    “Are you okay?”

    “I dunno, Minkowski, I was shot. Not sure how many times, to be completely honest.” She gave a wide grin as she sat up straight, revealing the bloody mess that was her torso. “But that doesn’t matter, huh? No, not really.

    What matters is that, holy shit, you’re here! We found you! Oh, Minkowski, it’s been ages.”

    Minkowski stared on with wide, dumb eyes.

    “Who are you?”

    The stranger’s eyes widened, jaw dropping. She seemed to take a few moments to collect herself.

    “M-Minkowski, it’s me. Lovelace! Captain Isabel Lovelace!”

    “Oh. Well, I’m Lieutenant Commander Renée Minkowski. Would you like me to take you to the hospital?”