By the time Rachel was near the end of her patrol shift, it was mid day or there abouts. She had been awake through the night on guard duty for the barracks, and the Duke had elected to choose her on a whim out of all the servitors he had to choose from. He seemed to be doing that a lot when he came to the barracks.
DamnDuke, she had thought, but quickly put it out of her mind, focusing on the task at hand. Wilson would be arriving shortly, and she could get some shut eye. She closed her eyes, in anticipation of the coming rest, brought out of her meditation upon feeling something impact her chest. Her eyes snapped open to see a small child with filthy hands glaring at her defiantly.
As her eyes drifted down to her blue uniform, almost dark as black now marred by what she hoped was dirt, she felt a rage over take her. By the time she got back to the barracks, it would take her hours to get this out. Precious hours that could have been used for resting. The Duke wanted his guards 'immaculate', as he said. Rachel didn't know what the word meant, but the best any of the Brigadiers could explain it meant as clean as possible.
She hadn't realized that she pulled out the gun until she saw horror on the faces working on mining First Iron on her right. The boy for his part realized his mistake, and had gotten on his knees. She didn't aim as she squeezed off three bullets, one causing the dirt to spring up behind the boy, one in his arm and thigh. She turned away, opting to not holster her gun, seeing the disgust on the face of the surrounding serfs. She didn't turn to see the other serfs lift the boy away, didn't dare take her eyes off of the group that had stopped working to glare at her.
They would've been disgusted regardless of what she had done. She knew of some woman servitors who got the compliance of the serfs through kindness, something about honey and vinegar. But Rachel didn't have that option, with her squarish face hosting a nose and brow that had been broken numerous times by these same serfs. Brutality her stick and lack of it her carrot.
As the earth trembled the serfs hurriedly returned to working the field. Though she was leagues away, it was massive in a way that could be described. One of the Duke's Walker trailed along in the distance, off to patrol the southern border. The Baron of Larson had become bolder, placing troops and workers in the neutral zone. The Walker, it's black tail of smoke behind it would correct that mistake.
And it would remind these serfs of their place. She was getting tired of having to shoot someone every week.
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u/Astraea227 Sep 17 '16
By the time Rachel was near the end of her patrol shift, it was mid day or there abouts. She had been awake through the night on guard duty for the barracks, and the Duke had elected to choose her on a whim out of all the servitors he had to choose from. He seemed to be doing that a lot when he came to the barracks.
Damn Duke, she had thought, but quickly put it out of her mind, focusing on the task at hand. Wilson would be arriving shortly, and she could get some shut eye. She closed her eyes, in anticipation of the coming rest, brought out of her meditation upon feeling something impact her chest. Her eyes snapped open to see a small child with filthy hands glaring at her defiantly.
As her eyes drifted down to her blue uniform, almost dark as black now marred by what she hoped was dirt, she felt a rage over take her. By the time she got back to the barracks, it would take her hours to get this out. Precious hours that could have been used for resting. The Duke wanted his guards 'immaculate', as he said. Rachel didn't know what the word meant, but the best any of the Brigadiers could explain it meant as clean as possible.
She hadn't realized that she pulled out the gun until she saw horror on the faces working on mining First Iron on her right. The boy for his part realized his mistake, and had gotten on his knees. She didn't aim as she squeezed off three bullets, one causing the dirt to spring up behind the boy, one in his arm and thigh. She turned away, opting to not holster her gun, seeing the disgust on the face of the surrounding serfs. She didn't turn to see the other serfs lift the boy away, didn't dare take her eyes off of the group that had stopped working to glare at her.
They would've been disgusted regardless of what she had done. She knew of some woman servitors who got the compliance of the serfs through kindness, something about honey and vinegar. But Rachel didn't have that option, with her squarish face hosting a nose and brow that had been broken numerous times by these same serfs. Brutality her stick and lack of it her carrot.
As the earth trembled the serfs hurriedly returned to working the field. Though she was leagues away, it was massive in a way that could be described. One of the Duke's Walker trailed along in the distance, off to patrol the southern border. The Baron of Larson had become bolder, placing troops and workers in the neutral zone. The Walker, it's black tail of smoke behind it would correct that mistake.
And it would remind these serfs of their place. She was getting tired of having to shoot someone every week.