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“Major, heads up!”
Beatrice’s cheerful voice made Eleonore snap her head up, hand lifting just in time to catch -
“Orange?” Eleonore blinked.
They were in Ukraine, in the middle of an operation – how in blazes did her foolish little sylph manage to get hold of an orange?
“You complained yesterday about the lack of fruit,” Beatrice shrugged. “So I got you a basket.”
Indeed, there was a basket resting on the stack of crates in Eleonore’s and Beatrice’s shared tent, filled to the brim with various fruits: pears, apples, oranges, plums.
“… do I want to know how you got this?” Eleonore narrowed her eyes. There was no way Beatrice could’ve obtained this legally – or at least, not in a way that wouldn’t break regulations.
“Ask me no questions,” there was a secretive smile on Beatrice’s lips, and Eleonore couldn’t help but be fascinated by the sight, “and I won’t have to lie to you, Major.”
“Idiot,” Eleonore pinched the bridge of her nose. “Should I be ready for a court-martial?”
“Nope!” Beatrice skipped out of the tent with an shit-eating grin. “Enjoy the fruits of my love, Major!”
“… idiot,” Eleonore muttered with a soft smile, and started peeling the orange.