Archive of Our Own

“You sleep with the troopers?”

Barriss hadn’t expected to sound so scandalized so loudly but she can’t believe what she’s hearing.

Her new comrade, Ahsoka Tano, however hardly seems fazed by the rouge glances their way. She responds with a shrug. “Sometimes. Why? Is that against some regulation I don’t know about?”

Barriss blinks, head shaking as she attempts to follow any sort of rationale here. “No, but it’s just strange. My Master and I would never do such a thing.”

“Why not? They’re cool guys. You trade stories, show off scars, then crash out together. It’s fun.”

Barriss’ eyebrows are still up far too high. She knew Master Skywalker was an unconventional Jedi, and Ahsoka definitely seems to take after him in that regard, but this is such a substantial breach of decorum. “But surely it isn’t proper.”

“Yeah, well war usually isn’t.”

That was almost blithely unconcerned, naivete then. Barriss is a year or two older than her, but she is aware that Togruta mature at different rates than the standard, likely making Ahsoka emotionally even younger than she appears. Ah, and they are carnivores as well! A pack hunter no doubt. Of course, biological familiarity has superseded Jedi modesty. That explains the defensiveness. She’ll have to approach this from a different angle then, without offending her. “But it isn’t a necessity, you have your own quarters I’m sure.”

Ahsoka’s arms cross over her chest. “And I sleep there most times, but sometimes I bunk with the guys. You’re making this weird.”

She can’t help but bluster, she’s being weird? She’s the only normal person in this conversation at present. “You’re being the weird one. We’re Jedi. These are soldiers. Grown men!”

Ahsoka outright glares at her. “And?” Her tone challenging her to finish that line of thought.

Dear, she seems quite cross, and Barriss’ own thoughts are a mess, she’s not sure how to phrase this correctly. She ends up stammering out some excuse, face flaming, and taking off before she can upset her further. Fleeing for her own quarters.

This is bordering on outrageous. Certainly in times of desperation or by accident she could see falling asleep amongst the troops but to do so intentionally? It’s absurd. Improper. They are peacekeepers first and foremost, such titles come with a certain weight of expectation. They were not intended to be soldiers so to have such a lack of separation between actual soldiers and Jedi-- it’s an unflattering image. There is also the matter of rank of course, Jedi are the clones superior officers and thus not intended to be exactly hobnobbing with them. The code warns against that sort of closeness, even amongst her fellows.

It’s not as if it is forbidden to be friendly (and she definitely doesn’t make herself unapproachable!) but she can’t exactly swap temple gossip with their gunners, now can she? Or wax poetic about different fascinating planetary histories? (Not many other padawans humor her in that regard either.) What could a young Jedi learner possibly have in common with thousands of boisterous battle hardened soldiers in any case? Nothing that she could think of. The men of the 501st are going to incorrectly assume all Jedi are so casually overfamiliar and chummy. In actuality, a certain level of propriety should be called for in a keeper of the peace. Not to disparage, merely to distinguish. The path they are intended to walk is a lonely one at times, she’s come to embrace it.

Not to say she herself hasn’t attempted to fraternize with the clones, a few times near the beginning, but their conversations always were so stiff. Short answers, medical questions, commander this and that. She knows a few names and faces, might even call their battalion’s medic, Dritz, a friend. But other than shop talk they don’t make any casual conversation. (In a dull moment, she’d tried to inject a bit of levity into a conversation with Dritz a single time. A small pun on how their new blast wound treatment cream was to be for their “burnifment”. You would’ve thought she’d told him she’d accidentally flushed out the fresh bacta tanks.) Further still, she’s overheard some of the discussion they have when they think she’s out of ear shot. Filled with brutalities, vulgarities, told with sprinkles of a language she doesn’t understand. Yes, absolutely improper. What Jedi would even find that kind of company entertaining?

Perhaps she’ll have to discover that herself.

-

“Master?”

“Yes, Barriss?”

No turning back. She’s prepared to handle Luminara’s classic lecture on grace under pressure even if it’s just to prove a point. Hopefully her Master will have a better argument than she had had. Her Master’s insight would be helpful in this situation so that she can more eloquently articulate it. “Suppose I chose to bunk in the trooper’s barracks this evening, would you find objection with that?”

Luminara’s movements still briefly over her datapad but otherwise she is unaffected. “Are you unsatisfied with your own quarters?”

“No, I just wanted to stay with the men tonight.”

A pensive hum and she feels her Master gently scan her over. She tries to project complete neutrality in order to not influence her decision. Eventually, satisfied, her Master’s presence withdraws from their bond. “Well, I can think of no reason to deny your wishes. So long as you ask permission from the men, I will allow it.”

Barriss stands violently, a rush of heat from head to foot overtaking her. “Are you certain, Master?” The honorific comes out a beat too late. She had been so sure she would deny her, had almost wished it after entering her and her Master’s clean and kept quarters. The one time for Luminara to be lenient.

Luminara turns her skeptical gaze upon Barriss ever so gradually. “Padawan, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were displeased with my approval of your request.”

She scrambles to reply and very carefully lowers herself back onto her cot. “I just didn’t expect you to agree.”

Luminara stills again and breathes out quietly, setting aside her datapad to give her her full attention. “The campaign has been long, the men are tired, we all are. A night of good company might do you all well.”

Barriss removes her teeth from her bottom lip to ask, “So you do not think it improper or unbecoming?”

Her Master’s brow crinkles in rarely seen perplexion. “Improper how? These men are good men, they have always treated us well. I fail to see how sharing the same sleeping space as them changes that reality. Unconventional as it may be.”

“Well surely you understand the implications.”

Luminara huffs, amused, at what Barriss doesn’t know. “I do, from an outsider's perspective, without context, the implication is odd. But I am lacking either of those things and I have faith in both parties.”

Ah, she still doesn’t quite seem to grasp her meaning. Perhaps she’s not being clear enough. “I meant more, you understand how some might see this as debasing of my status. As a Jedi.”

The long silence that follows is louder than any thunderclap and Master Luminara’s voice is severer still. “No, I am not sure I do.” And it is perfectly clear that that is not a true statement, for Luminara looks to her with something like disappointment weaving across their bond. “Please, elaborate.”

“I-I only mean that it might appear-- Or maybe that’s not the right…” she trails off, helpless to properly convey her feelings into words. She is not at all used to being the target of her Master’s displeasure. “It would be possibly besmirching the Jedi’s image of reservedness and nonattachment.”

She is not frightened of her Master, never, that would be silly and antithetical to their beliefs. Yet when Master Luminara folds her hands together and shuts her eyes, visibly gathering patience, her own heartbeat begins to thud in her ears. “Barriss, firstly, these men have been thoroughly vetted. By myself and countless others. I can assure you with great confidence that they pose no threat to you or I in any manner.” Luminara states, harder than flint. Then there is a moment where her temper seems to ebb and her Master’s eyes search hers. “Unless someone has made you feel unsafe-"

"Oh no! Master, no. Not at all. I feel perfectly fine." She knows with disgusting clarity that sensation in the Force of being looked at and coveted. Never here, never among the troops. "I have never felt anything but safe with them, I assure you.”

Master Luminara nods, accepting, but her back stays rigid and her eyes are trained solely on her. “Very well. Secondly, to consider time spent among comrades as debasing is completely counter to our teachings. We are not higher beings but humble servants to all manner of people, no greater or lesser than any living thing. It is regrettable that you would feel this way towards the men we fight beside.”

Stars, that’s not what she meant at all, it makes her sound horrendous. “That was a very poor word choice on my part, I apologize. I do not consider myself greater than our men, not in the slightest. What I meant was such closeness with the troopers undermines the Jedi Code's call for modesty and poise. A degree of separation should be expected from soldiers and their officers, should it not?" The line between peacekeeper and soldier that has always been there, she’d thought.

The tight coil of their bond slackens at her apology and she feels like she can breathe again. Luminara’s expression remains pinched; however, her next words are her usual softness. “A degree of separation, yes, we are Jedi and commanders over legions, and are distinct in that regard, but you are welcome and encouraged to be friendly and kind to them. To do so would be honoring the Code.”

It feels as if her stomach bottoms out. “And I am! Surely you don’t think I am unkind?”

Luminara holds up a hand, palm forward, a plea for calm that Barriss heeds. “I do not doubt your compassion for them but you have kept them at a distance. These are our comrades, allies, and far be it from strangers. Interrelationships do not necessarily preclude composure or serenity. We are the sworn protectors of the living. We are not forbidden from engaging with those we defend.”

At a distance? They have almost nothing in common, does it not make sense to have kept them at arm’s length? She had thought their separation should be intentional, as Jedi, as commanders, but Luminara’s saying that’s incorrect. She can feel the prick of frustrated tears rising to the surface. “Have I done something wrong?”

Her Master’s expression warms completely and her voice softens to match. “No, padawan. It merely seems in your effort to obey our ways that you have adhered to them to a disproportionate degree.” For a moment, Luminara pauses and glances away, pondering. “Barriss, I would like to give you this evening as a test. I would like for you to make an honest attempt to befriend our troopers. I will not ask you to force a relationship, if you do not wish it, but I wish for you to understand. Creating bonds from outside the temple, especially our comrades in arms, is no taboo. One can reap many benefits from having companions. Greatest of all these being perspective.”

Perspective. So she is lacking. Her mind is abuzz with so many questions that need answers. What comes out first is a surprise even to herself. “What possible reason could they want to befriend me?”

Barriss has her face turned down, hiding her eyes, so she must be mistaken when it seems as if Luminara reaches for her. For when she gathers the nerve to look back, her Master is merely watching her with a frail smile. “You offer a great deal more than you realize, Padawan mine. If you doubt your own judgement in this regard then do not dismiss mine.”

The potential excuses die on her tongue when she notices the downward slope of her Master’s shoulders. How her knuckles pale in her lap as her hands braid together.

Instead she says, “Yes, Master.”

-

As she strides across camp in search of Commander Gree, the amber sand of Geonosis stinging her ankles, she tries to collect her thoughts.

Clearly she has been unapproachable. Enough to be noticed and rebuffed for it by Luminara. Had she truly misinterpreted the Code so crudely? Misinterpreted is perhaps too drastic, likely taken too literally, as apparently she is prone to do. What is it Luminara had said? Disproportionate, distant, regrettable. In truth, she had put up a barrier between herself and the troopers, to maintain the respect befitting her station. Instead she has been too far removed when she had only intended to be stringent. They had been incompatible, she was their commander, it was their way; she had excused it. Perhaps that was only vanity talking. No wonder Ahsoka had been so cross, and Luminara so disconcerted, she must have seemed so haughty. A quality far more unbecoming than any vulgar stories. How awful.

Even worse, what must the men of the 41st think of her? She’s not just their commander but a healer. They should be able to come to her for any aid, has she stifled that? A protector of life, but one who had refused to engage with the intricacies of it. For fear of overstepping, for fear of being indelicate, for fear of--

Oh.

She stalls at camp’s center, staring as two clones, nameless to her, go walking by. She exchanges a bleary nod to their salutes and they continue on. For fear of being unwelcome. All that talk of impropriety and crassness but deep down she had still wanted them to see her in a positive light. That reality seems an unlikely one now.

Laughable. Luminara has gifted her with such startling clarity. To think this could have been avoided with a mere conversation. She had been proud, too eager to draw her own conclusions. They would lay down their life for her (some already have) and she would do so for them. All that and she had decided arbitrarily she couldn’t break bread with them. In an effort to follow the letter of the law that she had misread? Not just regrettable, foolish, and the mark of a poor learner. She is a stranger among friends and it is entirely of her own doing.

“Commander Gree?” Unsurprising, tireless Gree was at the rudimentary command center, likely finalizing patrols. When his keen gaze meets hers and his posture straightens all she can think about is what he must think of her.

“Yes, Commander Offee?” His tone and expression betray nothing, stalwart and unflappable, as always.

Oh and now she is going to put them through this. A delayed attempt to salvage any kind of comradery. She can only hope they will see this as the earnest attempt that it is and not as some ulterior motive.

“Can I make a request?”

“Of course, sir.”

She hesitates, only continuing at the prospect of potentially delaying his work further. “I suppose I should be asking the company, maybe you can ask for me, would it be alright if I bunked with you and the men in the trooper’s quarters tonight?”

There is a ripple of surprise but all she sees are a pair of raised eyebrows. She quickly amends, “It’s not an order, only a request. Just for the night.”

Despite clearly being at a bit of a loss, her fellow commander recovers quickly. “I can certainly inquire, sir. But are you sure? It’s not really a good place for a…” She can’t help but wince as he trails off. “A sensible young woman such as yourself.” He finishes with a bit of a frown.

“I can handle myself quite well, Commander, I promise you. I thought I might swap a few stories?” The last part of that sentence is more uncertain than she wishes it was.

Commander Gree is silent for a long moment before saying slowly. “The boys do love a good yarn, sir. I’m sure they’ll enjoy having you.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

There. No backing out, she’s expected. Assignment or not she has to correct this. It may take time but Force knows she can be patient. She drew the lines so she’ll have to be the first one to cross them. Starting with tonight. She rushes to gather her things and burn off the energy that makes her hands shake.

-

The doors slide open and the dull roar of several conversations rapidly pewters out into scrambles for salutes then silence at the sight of her.

“At ease.”

She feels so silly, standing there with her bedroll in hand. There’s a blank bit of space by the door where it’s drafty and the sand has been dragged in. It’s cluttered, armor placed here and there, larger weapons against the walls. The place is musky and stale and no one pays her any mind, in fact they all slowly go back to their conversation with only a bit of hush to indicate that they acknowledge her. This had been a terrible plan. Ahsoka is sweet and cheeky, her troops must like her, they have rapport. While she is plain and reserved. They know her as a healer and not much else. What did she expect to happen, that they’d get on like old friends? She’s being ridiculous. She’s missed her chance to make a good first impression by months. She has very little hope of turning their impression of her around.

“Commander Offee?”

“Yes? Chase, right?”

A smile curls Chase’s face at her recall, a shiny is what they call them she thinks, as he nods. She'd learned his name after she had to mend an acid burn on his arm after his patrol had been attacked. He’s flanked on either side by the rest of his group, a mix of old and new clones. Two she can name, three she can’t. “Commander Gree says you’ve got some good stories.”

She winces, oh great now she gets to ruin their expectations further. “Oh, I don’t know if they’re any good.”

The trooper to Chase’s left, with chipped paint armor and a tattoo on his neck, ah that’s Buzz then, she wonders how his knees are doing, speaks up. “We’ll be the judge of that.” He catches himself. “If you’re up for it, Commander.”

She sighs, and places her bedroll to the side as the five turn towards her in polite interest. “I’ve got a few to choose from.” She’s not quite sure where to go from here. She knows plenty of stories but knowing what they’ll want to hear is a different beast entirely. She could always ask.

“What sort of story would you like to hear?”

“What have you got?”

Very helpful. “I know a few historical accounts but those might be too dry.” She uses them in the creche to put the younglings to sleep while she practises for tests. She imagines they’ll want something more exciting than that.

“What about a Jedi tale?” One of the new troopers inquires.

She balks, “Like a mission report? We don’t have many, it’s really only a wartime practise. I could talk about the founding of the Order, compare and contrast the cosmic and living Force, various fantastic feats but they’re mostly outsider accounts. And usually outlandish. Most Jedi are too humble to record their accomplishments unless it’s for technical purposes.”

She doesn’t need to see the glazed eyes to know she’s losing her audience.

Chase perks up again. “What about an embarrassing one? I’m sure you know plenty of good temple chitchat, eh Commander?”

The clone with varactyls painted on his armor bumps him, “She probably can’t talk about that.”

Excited, she leans in, got them. “Oh no, it’s alright. I know a good one. Once when Master Windu-” That draws more eyes, she thrills. “-was still a Padawan he was on mission to an Outer Rim planet where the people there didn’t speak Basic. He managed to pick up the language himself here and there and eventually was able to get by just fine. Eloquently, he managed to broker a solution to a planetary issue with only a rudimentary understanding of the language. However, he noticed often when he introduced himself that many locals would snicker at him.” A few of the clones laugh, they can already tell what’s coming. She takes a breath to chuckle to herself, it really is an infamous story. “So finally as he’s being transported off planet he asks a protocol droid what the closest translation is for the name Mace Windu.”

She can’t help the grin that overtakes her. “Apparently the closest translation for his name had something to do with an urn specifically made to ferment fruit.”

She holds for the raucous laughter. That never comes.

Instead she gets a lot of shrugged shoulders, stifled coughs, and disappointed faces.

Her heart sinks. “No good?” she questions meekly. Every New Year Fete week when Master Mundi tells it it always kills.

Jynch in his blacks (from how he carries himself that scar on his back must be too tight, she'll need to put in a request for Junpa oil) having walked up partway watches her piteously. “It’s sort of funny-'' there's a comment she doesn’t catch from somewhere in the group and then an angry hush. “-but I think we were expecting…”

“Something more risque?” She offers.

The look he gives her is sympathetic. “Yeah, just something more dramatic.”

The stragglers she accumulated begin to take off, turn back to their conversations, and she can feel her breath catch. It’s not too late, if they’re willing to meet her halfway, after everything, she has to do better. She may be clumsy at this but she knows about hard work, and she never does anything by half measures.

“Wait! If you want something dramatic then I’ve got a few of those, just one more chance, please.”

There are several mixed glances and the moments stretch, perhaps she has exhausted all her chances. Then their cannoneer, who’s name she can’t recall but he’s the one who Dritz always has to chase down to make sure he takes his medicine for his tinnitus. He surprises her by flopping onto the bunk beside her and fitting her with an incredibly serious look. “One more.”

-

It is nearly 2300 and Barriss hasn’t returned.

She had assumed as much. Her apprentice is many things but her tenacity is a pillar of her character. Even if her assignment is going poorly, she will likely remain there the entire night, meditating upon her missteps. Luminara’s next breath is heavy and her consciousness is drawn by the physical sensation. Immersed meditation ceases but she remains seated, sending mere ripples across the surface of an ocean of existence. She still has thoughts to parse through.

This is not the first time Barriss’ dogged perfectionism has proven a stumbling block. The girl is obsessed with flawlessness and they have discussed this ironic foible in detail. It is the mark of a student to fail, to learn, and then grow. Time and again she tries to warn her that this cycle does not end once knighted, that even as a master Luminara has never ceased in her own education. She will forever be learning, through study or error, and that catch ensnares her pupil every time.

When Barriss had returned to pack her things for the evening, Luminara had been nearly overcome with the palpable sense of shame and remorse. Which for once was both depressing and a relief. Barriss has always taken correction harshly, overly so, and she finds this mental burden her padawan subjects herself to to be counterproductive. Normally, when she is this disquieted, Luminara offers to guide her through further discussion or meditation. But this once, she had let be. She wanted Barriss to reflect individually and think hard on her own misconceptions. Misconceptions that had veered toward alarming.

Which is why she is relieved too, that Barriss has considered her words and found her ideals lacking. Perhaps she had been too hard on the girl but the subject of the clones' humanity is a tender nerve. One touched far too often for Luminara’s liking. Blessedly, Barriss seemed only to be misguided, overzealous in an effort to always, always keep ahead. She had noted her student’s estrangement from the men early and assumed shyness, to be overcome in time. A well worn reminder not to trust inference when the truth can be made readily apparent. She should have caught it sooner, should never have permitted such assumptions to become a perception. To hear her student almost parrot some of the talking points that circulate within Republic spaces had been jarring. Barriss' efficiency and maturity is something she has become readily accustomed to, taken advantage of. Today---Nails drive into her palm. The ripples expand. The air catches in her throat---proves how much her apprentice still requires her guidance.

It might be in the best interest of all to breeze by the barracks and check in. She would be remiss to have Barriss fret all night when she should be resting. The day has been long and arduous, it would be regretful if she were not able to take advantage of a night of rest. There are also the troopers to consider. Gree had not approached her on this, likely not wishing to disturb her, but she is hopeful that if there had been issue he would have been by. Similarly, she had not received any word from Skywalker although that is less surprising. The man had been an absolute tumult of emotion, her advice, however well intended, had been largely unwelcome. He is likely steering clear of her, spending time in the company of his apprentice, no doubt. His presence in her thoughts is a fresh reminder that his unrelenting faith is the only reason two more don’t join the roster of dead.

That final thought takes her fully away from her trance and she is left on the floor of her empty barracks with the pain of stiffness and a void in her chest. The place where her grief had been burrowed still stings at the edges. Yet still she concludes she has been gifted more than enough time than a General should be allowed to languish.

Righting herself on aching knees, she dusts the dirt from her robes, and goes straight to the barracks. Only to eventually find someone has beaten her there, hovering just outside the doors.

“Commander.”

A muffled curse then Gree whirls towards her. Saluting.

“General.”

She suppresses a smile but it ends up coloring her words. “One would think your sleeping quarters would serve you better if you went inside them. Why are you lurking?”

He’s far too well trained to shuffle like a scolded child but she watches him twitch with the repressed desire to. “I was merely checking in on the commander, sir. She wished to bunk with the men tonight.”

“Yes, she and I discussed it.” She steps closer and attempts not to peer over his shoulder. She refocuses on Gree. “I hope we have not crossed any boundaries. If we are depriving you and your men of privacy, I can tell Barriss to return to our tent.”

Gree has an odd expression on his face, bemused perhaps. “Not at all, in fact you might have issue recouping her from them after this evening.”

He steps to the side with a tilted chin and a pointed look to allow her to see into the barracks. The entire area is pitch dark save for the middle of the room where backed up against a wall is Barriss in nothing but lantern light surrounded by a circle of enraptured troopers. They’re all lounging comfortably in any way they can, on bed rolls, sheets, or one another. It is difficult to tell at times where one starts and another begins from those farthest from the light. Meanwhile Barriss herself tries to stay curled up and unmoving but Luminara can see her posture shift minutely as she gestures, overexcited.

“It’s some sort of play from her home world. I’m afraid I got a bit caught up in it myself.” He admits the last sentence quietly.

“It is a very popular drama from where we come from.” And more than a little tawdry she doesn’t have the heart to admit to him.

“It’s very popular here.”

She feels a soft laugh catch in her throat. “I can see that.”

She faintly can hear Barriss ramping into the final conclusion of the Sandsailer. She quietly pauses at the end of the verse where the hero seemingly perishes, falling off the edge of the world, before she leaps bombastically into the next verse of their daring escape from death. There is a visible ripple in the crowd as the men jolt and cheer, cutting themselves off quickly with hisses and hushes in order to hear Barriss as she continues. The men radiate rare contentment and ease, at contrast with their constant alertness or the somber air after battle. And Barriss--she could be glowing with how joyful she is, eyes wide, clever mouth never without a smile. Luminara may have told her the tale first, paved the lines of dialogue in a way that Barriss always retreads, but her Padawan has always been a much more gifted reteller.

The Saga of the Sandsailers has at times been regarded as borderline heretical from how far removed it is from true Mirialan mythology. Much too preposterous and increasingly removed from historical context that she understood many elders spoke of banning it when she was young. That fact hadn’t stopped Barriss from loving them with all her heart. There had been three Mirialan younglings raised in the temple when she had begun to feel the pull to take on an apprentice. It was the child that had sweetly begged over and over to hear how Arbatus the rogue stole a star to save their planet that she had chosen.

There is the lightest of touches below her elbow just as her eyes glaze with fresh tears. How dreadful of her to lose her composure so easily after only just today admonishing Skywalker for the very same. Perhaps she is not done grieving even when her apprentice is a mere stone's throw from her.

“General Unduli?”

She doesn’t allow him to inquire about her health. “Forgive the sentiments of an old rook, Commander.”

There is a carefully blunted edge to his voice when he says, “I should’ve warned you, ma'am, the dust around here can be incredibly grating.”

She laughs wetly and places her hand on his.

-

“And they flew off into the atmosphere, off perhaps to steal another celestial body, but most assuredly on their way to cause more trouble for Montenanu.”

There is a moment of silence as the ending settles palpably before the barracks explode with cheers, whistles, and stomps. And once again cries for another.

She shakes her head, light headed with fondness and throat sore from talking. “Oh come now, surely it’s someone else’s turn.”

She can’t quite make out the next part but the answers are overwhelmingly negative.

“Your stories are so good!”

“We don’t know anything like that.”

“Just one more!”

“Alright, one more, then I want to hear from all of you. Any particular requests?”

More senseless noise with a few vaguely decipherable genre’s. She scans the half circle until she can pick out a familiar face, broken wrist once, sitting there quietly, as he glances around him.

“You there, what’s your name?”

He jolts, and when she nods when he gestures at himself, answers, “Toz, ma'am.”

“Toz, very well. What do you think?”

Toz jolts in surprise and ducks his head as all the others in the room swivel towards him.

“Uh do you know anything spooky?” He asks somewhat bashfully. Bashfulness that fades at the scattered whoops and pats he receives.

“Oh no, I’ll get in trouble if I tell you the scary ones.” Is out of her mouth before she realizes she’s not talking to a class of little ones. The reaction is much the same however, loudly disappointed.

“Alright, alright, I think we can get away with one.”

More cheering and she smiles despite the pain in her cheeks.