714: On Her Behalf

On Her Behalf

As Haelvia entered the command tent, Optio Phaedra stood up from the central table. 

It was unusual to see the woman without her helmet... but seeing how tight her braided bun was made Haelvia's own scalp hurt. 

"Immunes Haelvia of Leopardon," She saluted, "reporting as ordered." 

"At ease," Phaedra gave a quick return-salute before turning her nose up in disgust, "And what took you so *Flame-taken* long, Immunes?" 

Haelvia chopped her salute down and assumed a neutral stance, "Good afternoon, Optio. Centurion. I ran straight here as soon as I received the summons."

In truth, she took an easy, relaxing jog over... 

Haelvia knew Optio Phaedra well. The woman was the female instructor who oversaw her several weeks of combat training. If any recruits dared to *walk* in her presence, she took it as personal offense. 

'Move with a purpose,' she'd say. 

*Walking* was a privilege afforded to civilians... or otherwise, people who rated it.

Most of the males in the company didn't know just how strict Optio Phaedra was. 

She was the only female combat instructor in the company... and it was her mission to be a cold-hearted, badass bitch who held the females in the company to a standard beyond that of their weak-bodied, male peers. 

Haelvia held nothing but respect for the dark-haired Optio.

...Even if her height made her the easiest target to be made an example out of. 

Push-ups, running laps, shoulder rolls... it didn't take long for Haelvia to learn how to not be slow. 

Before her combat training, her long stride made her graded physical fitness tests laughably easy. 

After... her light jog outpaced half the company's full sprinting speed. 

"Ran all the way here," The Optio glared... "--likely story... and without a drop of sweat on you? You expect me to believe that?"

"Yes, Optio," Haelvia answered confidently. 

No one besides Loki and maybe the people in the medical wagon had the privilege of sweating, considering their current conditions. 

Phaedra eyed her suspiciously for a moment... then gave a brisk nod... "Very well... Button your top, fish."

Haelvia breathed a sigh of relief as Phaedra sat back down. She wasn't keen on the idea of running a lap around the camp... and thankfully, the Optio was more interested in performing maintenance on her crossbow than ruining her sun. 

It was... disappointing to still be called a fish even after a year of service, but Haelvia decided to take the minor scolding as an overall win. 

She buttoned her top... which made her shirt uncomfortably tight and arguably far less professional. 

...She wasn't going to argue with a superior, though. 

Centurion Januarius looked up from perusing a large piece of parchment... a map, it seemed. With a grunt of acknowledgement, he gestured towards a seat opposite him, beside Optio Phaedra. 

Haelvia pursed her lips as she made her way over to the table. The Optio had summoned her... but it was to speak to the Centurion? 

There were two things that everyone in Guild Metal Wolf knew about Centurion Januarius. 

The first was... he really liked wolves.

The guild symbol-- a wolf, of course, was branded onto every single piece of gear utilized by the company. 

The Centurion took it a step further. 

The buckles on his belts and equipment were specially-crafted into miniature wolf heads. The image of three wolves howling at the moon were embossed onto his chestplate. He had a wineskin on the table; it was painted with little wolf puppies chasing each other through a tree-filled forest. 

Even though he was inside of his command tent, he had yet to remove his metal full helmet... painstakingly shaped into a realistic wolf's head, hungry and snarling at its prey. 

Rumor had it that he took a severe injury escaping an Adamantine-Rank Dungeon... but Haelvia personally believed the older gentleman just wanted to wear an expensive, custom-made helmet wherever he went. 

"Grrr..." The Centurion was literally growling, deep and low underneath his helmet, "What... in the hells... are you doing here... *puer[1]*?"

Haelvia thought it was cute. The wolf impression was nigh-perfect. 

Eh? But who was he talking to? 

...As a scowling Phaedra slowly turned her head, Haelvia cranked her neck towards the tent entrance. 

The 'puer' was... Munifex Loukius. He had entered the command tent, unannounced... and he looked... incredibly lost?

What *was* he doing? Unlike her, the boy had certainly ran the whole way... but in pursuit of her? 

Loki tried to adjust his posture-- notably forgetting to salute, "Sir, I just... um-- well... y'know, I..."

It really should have been obvious... but Loki tucking his figurative tail between his legs was not the way to get respect from either Optio Phaedra or Centurion Januarius. 

...Or her. 

Januarius gripped his map in his hands, bruising and tearing at the expensive paper... 

"Out."

...Haelvia felt her body twitch. The one-word command almost made her get up and leave. 

"Guh..." The green-haired boy gathered what was left of his confidence, puffing his chest out, "Or you'll do what, old man?"

Optio Phaedra met Haelvia's look of shock with a rare look of pity, "The boy isn't a very bright child, is he?"

Haelvia closed her eyes and bowed her head slightly, "He is not, Optio."

The second thing that everyone knew about the Centurion... was that he did not tolerate the backtalk of fish. 

The Centurion put down his map and tapped impatiently on the table, the sharpened claw-tip of his glove clicking against the wood. 

"Munifex... Loukius, was it? Are you here on the lass' behalf?"

Loki glanced towards Haelvia, pleading with his eyes. 

...She slowly pursed her lips in thought. 

For whatever reason, no one in the guild called her by name. 

Optio Phaedra referred to her by her rank, Immunes, or lumped her in with the other female fish. 

Loki called her Elle, which Haelvia didn't mind. 

...Most other nicknames she earned were unflattering and changed by the week. 

The Centurion... he called her Lass-- short for 'adulascenta'... or 'little girl' in the Old Language. 

Haelvia found it nostalgic. It just so happened that her father had the same nickname for her. He was the only adult in the village that referred to her as... little-- and with benevolence, just as the Centurion did. 

Maybe. It was hard to tell, through the helmet. 

[1] Puer: In the Tyrion old language, this means 'boy.' 1

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