Chapter Text
Margaret Nearl glanced at her fitness tracker, marking the half-way point of her morning jog through Rhodes Island's lower decks.
I made it to column B20 in less than twenty minutes. Looks like my ankle is just about healed. Liz may fuss needlessly sometimes but her ministrations are without equal…
The steady cadence of Margaret's trot echoed through Rhodes Island's deserted halls. Her gait had finally evened out as her injury healed over the last few days. Walking out of Chernobog with naught but a sprained ankle and a couple of scratches made her one of the lucky ones. Some operators had suffered much more severe injuries, both physically and mentally. And others still had made the ultimate sacrifice to cover Rhodes Island's withdrawal…
Margaret shook her head to clear it of thoughts of Ace. He had known what he was doing. All of Rhodes Island felt his loss keenly, and each had their own way of grieving. For Nearl, the best way that she felt she could honor his memory was to ensure that those for whom he laid down his life would continue to stay safe. And that started with holding discipline in her training each and every day. Perhaps I'll cook pancakes when I'm done. Shining should be getting back from her night shift right around then, and Liz just waking up. Some companionship would serve us well after these recent dark days.
The landship's quiet hum was a comfortable backdrop to the dawn breaking over eastern Ursus. Even at this hour, Rhodes Island's main deck had a moderate amount of foot traffic from the various workaholics and insomniacs that called it home. Not wanting to deal with the congestion, Nearl charted a path through the oft deserted lower levels of the ship. Not so low that it intruded on Kal'tsit's restricted zones, though. That was one woman whose ire was not worth any amount of peace and quiet.
Margaret knew that she wasn't the only using this space, though she had never actually seen another soul on one of her runs. She didn't believe most of the ghost stories whispered of hidden horrors lurking in the bowels of the landship, but it was impossible to rule out all of them. Sometimes she would hear noises, like distant sad singing, or see evidence like scuff marks on some crates, but she never pried further. No-one who descended here did so looking for company. There was an implicit understanding that those who roamed these halls would respect their fellows' wishes for solitude.
The underlying reason for Margaret's route was her dislike of the foulest of beasts in the gym; the treadmill. Her kuranta blood rose at the thought of a good run, but the idea of running without moving was a crime against nature. It held no sense of progress, left no feeling of accomplishment. It also meant that one wouldn't get to enjoy a changing landscape, even if that landscape was just a sterile corridor lined with a row of perpetually dust-covered portholes. A corridor which, on this particular morning, held an irregular person-shaped blanketed lump slumped behind a support pillar.
Strange, I feel like I recognize those shoes. It looks like a school uniform from Ursus… could it be one of the students we picked up in Chernobog the other day? What brings them to this lonesome place? I should inquire if aught is amiss.
Margaret slowed to a walk about a dozen feet ahead of the person and paused her fitness tracker. Wiping the hem of her shirt across her flushed brow, she announced her presence by scuffing her feet loudly as she approached.
"Fine morning to be out for a stroll! It’s rare to meet a comrade in this gloomy place, though. May I be of any assistance?"
Receiving no response, Margaret stepped closer until she could peel back the edge of the standard-issue dorm blanket swaddling the figure. She reflexively caught a glass bottle that rolled out before it hit the floor. The hand which had been clutching it dangled limply, and its owner gave no reaction other than a single especially loud snore. Brown hair dyed with a splash of crimson clung to gaunt cheeks, matted with a combination of sweat, tears, and drool.
So it is one of the young refugees. And judging by the empty bottle of vodka she had a hell of a night last night. Poor cub.
Margaret recalled the gruesome scene from when she had searched Peterheim Middle School two weeks prior. Hailing from the Grand Knight Territory, she was used to the spectacle and aftermath of bloodsports. But what Reunion had done to those ill-fated students… abhorrent didn't even begin to describe it. Locking up children on the school grounds and forcing them to fight to the death over a dwindling food supply didn't even seem to have any connection to the group's goals in the devastated city. It had been sick entertainment, plain and simple.
By the time Rhodes Island operators found them, the surviving students had been driven to the brink of despair. Such was their exhaustion and terror that they hadn't realized that the new arrivals intended to be their saviors. Margaret owed her twisted ankle to one such survivor who had ambushed the knight to buy time for her friends to escape. She held no hard feelings toward them, though. If anything, it was inspiring to see such a selfless act. That any of the students had made it out of such a hell with their minds and bodies largely intact was nothing short of a miracle, though their path to healing would be a long one.
Margaret gave the young Ursus a once-over to confirm that her present state of unconsciousness was nothing more than alcohol-induced slumber. Poor girl hasn't had a chance to get any meat back on her bones yet. Other than some fresh scabs on her knuckles, nothing immediately stood out as concerning. No immediate need to take her to the Medical Department, then.
She looks vaguely familiar, though it's hard to be certain since she's been cleaned up since Chernobog. I could accompany her to rejoin her companions in the student group… No, better not to assume. I can't abandon her in this state, though. I’ll at least watch over her until she wakes up.
Gingerly, Margaret scooped up the sleeping student and held her in a princess carry. Lifting the fragile waif of a girl barely registered to her well-muscled arms. I guess this will count as warmup for biceps and shoulders later? The sturdy Kuranta used her nose to poke at her fitness tracker until she had pressed 'Lap' and 'Resume', and continued on her route with her sleeping charge.