2. Time For Action
By Rurple101

Chapter Four

The following half an hour passed without any interesting incident. Venice refused to remove her helmet but couldn't refuse Donut's cooking. When they'd all walked out (except Donut as he was one that she knew she could trust) she removed the helmet.

Donut's cooking was brilliant. The pancakes he'd made were just right and with the golden syrup, who couldn't resist them?

Donut kept up a steady stream of questions which most of them, she rebuffed as they were too personal.

"Have you ever gone to hit someone but ended up kissing them?" was the strangest question he asked her. Brown furrowed in confusion, she shook her head as she finished her meal. Donut cleaned up the dishes as she put her helmet back on.

"You shouldn't hide that face away" he called to her as she lifted it. "Nobody will bother that you have s-"

"Be quiet!" she hissed angrily. She knew it was a bad idea to remove the helmet.

"Sorry" he answered in a sad voice that made her cringe again. "I'm just saying. Nobody will care about looks. It's your personality that matters." He said softly.

Venice closed her eyes and forced herself to keep the tears out of her eyes. Why was he reminding her of him so much?

Donut reminds me of Trevor and anyone who does that is something to caution.

"I will need to interview you guys for records" Venice continued. "Would you go get my uncle for me?"

"Who's your uncle?" Donut asked curiously.

"Sarge."

Donut gasped and dropped the plate he'd been washing. It didn't break as it hit the ground, but splashed him with soapy water.

"Really?" he said, amazed.

"Yes, really" Venice sighed.

Donut hurried out of the room without another word. Venice sank into a seat at the table and rested her head down on it.

"What's the matter sweetheart?"

Venice jumped upwards as her uncle's voice floated down towards her. He was sitting across the table from her and had a sad look in place.

"I'm fine" she said automatically.

"What did the war do to you Venice?" Sarge said in almost a pained voice. He was scanning the scars that littered his niece's once beautiful stunning face.

"I'm healed, and you know damn well that no solider in this war did this" she said, pointing to her face. The scar that was there ran all the way down from her left eye to her right hand side of her mouth. It was dark but faded.

Sarge scowled into the wood table, his fists clenching. "I knew that I was too late by the time I got there!" he cursed.

"Uncle, you haven't done anything, it was her, who found me first."

"That woman was a crazy pycho Venny! You didn't deserve b-!"

"I'd committed something wrong in his family. That was punishment." She shrugged; glad she'd interrupted the rant.

Sarge grumbled incoherently.

"Right, time to get to business, that part of my life is forgotten Uncle John. You just need to learnt that it isn't going to re-paid. I know what you're like." Venice said, trying to change the subject. It worked.

"I suppose so."

"Full name?" she started, and from her tone, you could tell it was protocol so she had to ask.

"Sargent Jonathan Michael Neilson-Banks."

"Age?"

"Don't you know yer old uncle's age?"

She grinned and wrote down 49. He nodded.