Chapter 21: The Teddy bear's picnic
-o-
"What's happened to America? What's happened to the American dream?"
"It came true. You're lookin' at it. Now c'mon... let's really put these jokers through some changes."
- Night Owl and The Comedian, Watchmen
-o-
Peridot and Vidalia stood in the middle of the street in anticipation. It was a cool morning and the air was thick with mist. The rising sun offered little comfort, as it only served to make the air feel heavier. As a result the street and the entire world felt like a hallway leading into Purgatory.
"Heads up, Peridot. Here they come," Vidalia said. "Let me do the talking. And remember trigger discipline."
"Got it," came Peridot's reply. It was a good thing that the sun was behind their backs, so they didn't have to squint their eyes to see what they would be up against. The former Homeworld gem began muttering a poem under her breath: "When you're feeling low and woozy / slap a fresh clip in your Uzi / Assume the proper firing stance / and make those suckers jump and dance..."
Ugh, I just recited a poem, Peridot thought. An Earth poem, too...
A mob of what appeared to be humans emerged from the mists. They wore dark hoodies, jeans and shiny pseudo army boots. In the middle of the horde, someone carried a distinctive black and red black. Anarchists!
"They outnumber us," Peridot observed.
"Quantity has a quality of its own, but we got Amy to stir things up a bit," Vidalia reminded Peridot. "Pure quality is on our side."
Seeing the two sisters in battle, the mob halted. As luck would have it, the anarchists had chosen not to bring firearms with them. What they didn't know was that the Beach City Police Department was going through a heavy crisis and were in no shape to prevent riots or other 'peaceful' political or social protests. As it was, BCPD was crippled with strikes, pay cuts, more strikes and tense negotiations. Resources had also been mismanaged, as veteran officers that were desperately needed on the streets were tasked with policing the internet and social media. What was worse, the health department had started campaigning against donuts.
The closest thing the anarchists had to a leader took a couple of steps closer to Vidalia and Peridot. Well, actually, he stood in place while the rest of the gnomes took two steps backwards.
"Um, step aside, you two!" the anarchist leader called out in a remotely masculine voice.
"You shall not pass," Vidalia replied. "The last time you were here, you left dozens of burned car wrecks and spent Pepsi cans on the street."
"What? No! That was a totally different group!" the man protested.
"I'm sure it was... But aren't you supposed to be at work at this time of day?" Vidalia asked.
"TO BE HONEST, WE ARE BETWEEN JOBS AT THE MOMENT!" the mob sang together. For some reason, it sounded a bit rehearsed.
"I see. But yourrioting scares my little Onion. Get this through your heads: his right to a safe childhood environment comes before your peaceful demonstration. I'm sure you'll understand when you have children of your own."
The anarchists were slightly taken aback by Vidalia's words that displayed her mom authority. The leader continued in a slightly friendlier tone:
"But we're just going to, um, peacefully protest against mayor... let me see, ah, yes, Mayor Dewey's decision to cut the funding of arts in... um, Beach City, was it? Yes, that's right - Beach City."
"I thought we were going to protest Mayor Dewey kissing Trump's hand," a voice came from the back of the black bloc.
"Oh, we were? My bad," the leader said. "Let's go with that, then."
"Isn't it a homophobic reason? It sure sounds like it," some genius of an anarchist said. "We should phrase our concerns better. How about we protest his butt kissing? Even though I have to say that I like Mayor Dewey. He's handsome. Or so I've heard. Ahem..."
The leader scratched his commando mask. "Yeah, well, it was just a figure of speech. You made a good point, though. It is our duty as anti fascists to..."
"Excuse me, I thought we were fascists," a confused protester said.
"WHAT? NO! We are NOT fascists!" the leader shouted.
"Well, I am," the protester said. "I unironically like Hitler..."
"WELL GO HOME THEN! We don't allow fascists in our ranks! By Lenin's forehead! Why don't you go protest with actual fascists?!"
Another anarchist decided to join the civilized argument. "Excuse me, but aren't we supposed to be inclusive and not exclusive?"
"To a certain point, yes, but actual fascism is crossing the line! All fascists leave NOW!"
"Look, I baked you cookies this morning," the confused fascist said. "And I kind of think of you as my family. I don't care why we're protesting, really. I just want to protest with you guys! If you make me leave, I'm taking my cookies with me."
"Fine, you can stay, but we're going to have a talk about this later. And no more Nazi cookies, ok? Make them regular cookies from now on! Hm, where was I? Ah, now I remember. This is a peaceful protest, and it's our right to..."
"Let me stop you there for a moment," Vidalia said. "We heard a car alarm going off earlier. Tell me, does that have anything to do with that smoke pillar over there?"
There was indeed smoke rising into the sky at the end of the street. Apparently one of the anarchists had gotten carried away and decided to take his (or her) frustrations on a car that presumably belonged to a member of the oppressor class.
There was a sound of someone running away. Vidalia's accusation had hit home.
"I thought so. What about those baseball bats you're carrying?"
The anarchists briefly considered explaining that the bats were only symbols of teamwork and sportsmanship, but they never got the chance. Onion, the little devil, had been watching the exchange from his hiding spot, and had decided to take the matters into his own hands. He climbed on top of a bio waste container and whistled at the mob.
"What in the name of Marx..."
Onion tossed a small stink bomb he had been saving for the Beach City 200 festivities straight at the anarcho-communists. The capsule landed a few feet short, but as it shattered, it let out a frigging awful smell.
From that moment, things happened in a rapid succession, but to Peridot, it seemed as if she was watching a YouTube video at one quarter playing speed. A couple of the anarchists, angered by Onion's stink bomb, completely lost it and started running towards him, baseball bats held high. At a glance, it might have looked like as if they wanted to play baseball with Onion, but given the context, this wasn't the case. Peridot was raising her weapon as she heard a BOOM-CHUK, BOOM-CHUK from Vidalia's trusty Spas-12. The weapon wasn't pointed at the sky, but at the anarchists' knees. So much for warning shots, then...
"Youuuuuuuuu'lllll nnnnnooooooooot taaaaaakeeee aaaaannnnoooooootheeeeeer steeeeeeeep tooooowaaaaaardsssss mmyyyyy Ooooonnnniooooooonnnn!" Vidalia screamed.
Two of the anarchists got hit, stumbled and fell; Vidalia had made both shots count. There was no blood though, as she had used shells containing rubber slugs. "I guess this is what they call bullet time," Peridot thought. She fired a burst - BRRRAAAP - at the advancing horde, and the jolt of the recoil made time flow freely once again for her.
One of the anarchists, brandishing a lead pipe, rushed at Peridot and screamed: "Fight like a gem instead of a cop!"
"Will do," Peridot replied, and yanked the lead pipe from the man's grasp and flung it back at him. The pipe made contact with his abdomen, taking him out of the fight. "That's my gem power at work. Magneto LIVES!"
"That's appropriate," Vidalia said. "You just knocked out the Hitler fan!"
Apart from a few stunned warriors, the enemy was still advancing. Some of them utilized the very weapon that Captain America had used: trashcan lid made into a shield, and managed to deflect most of Peridot and Vidalia's shots. "Bah, these rubber bullets are no good. Unless..." Peridot reached out with her metal powers, but the lid cans were made of plastic instead of metal. Swallowing her pride, Peridot called out: "Amyyyy! We could use your help right about now!"
There was an audible THUMP as Amethyst landed right in the middle of the human gang. But something looked different about her: since when did she have a tail? But of course! Hadn't Amethyst managed to scare Peridot by shapeshifting into a...
"Meow." Amethyst had shapeshifted into a fearsome lion.
"Oh Jesus Christ it's a lion!" "Get in the car!" "What car? I don't have a car!" "Don't move! Maybe it won't attack!" "We surrender!" "Yes, we surrender! Just call off your beast!"
"There's my favorite kitty, heh, heh," Vidalia laughed. "Change back, you're giving them heart attacks!"
"Okey dokey," Amethyst said and changed into her quartz soldier form. Seizing the opportunity, she grabbed the red and black flag from the hands of one of the anarchists. "Yoink!"
"OH NO, IT'S A QUARTZ SOLDIER!" "RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!" "HELP!"
"Oh come on!" Amethyst protested. "So what if I'm a... Hey! Come back! Look, I'll give you your flag back!"
Seeing a lion turn into a dreaded quartz soldier was too much for the anarchists. Panic erupted, and despite running into each other like bumper cars at some 3rd rate amusement park, they made a hasty retreat. The Battle of Vidalia's Home Street was over.
Amethyst, however, was steamed at the way the anarchists had reacted to her. She casually dropped the flag she had taken... right into a puddle of mud - splat! "Whoops."
"Well, that's that, then," Peridot said.
"Hold on - looks like they forgot something else besides their flag." Vidalia pointed at a freedom fighter who was lying on the ground. "One for all, but not all for one... Amethyst, give me a hand. Peridot, go get Onion. Looks like we've got ourselves a prisoner of war!"
Taking a closer look, Vidalia and Amethyst noticed that the anarchist, a young woman, was in fact conscious. "Hey there, are you ok?"
"Why do you care?" came the reply. If she was afraid of the terrible quartz soldier, she sure didn't let it show.
"Hey, this is America," Amethyst said. "All the people under one flag and all that good jazz! Oh, and we want to know what kind of injury lawsuit you're going to throw our way. Seriously though, are you going to let us help you?"
The anarchist simply nodded. She didn't resist as Amethyst and Vidalia helped her up, but as she felt her left wrist, she gave a yelp of pain. "Ow, ow... I think my wrist is broken!"
Just then, Peridot walked up to them, holding little Onion by the hand. "Broken wrist, eh? This is why we should have a spare Rose Quartz with us."
Onion agreed with Peridot. "Meep mo meep!"
"We don't know for sure if her tears would work on a human, even if they can fix gems. Rose Quartzes are 100% gems, unlike our Steven, y'know," Amethyst pointed out. She had done her homework on gem healing powers.
"I have a medkit inside. We can create a temporary cast and give her some painkillers before taking her to a hospital," Vidalia suggested.
"No hospital! Please! They... I don't like hospitals, ok?" the girl pleaded.
Amethyst gave a sigh. Probably the girl didn't want her name entered into patient records or something. "That's just great. We'll just have to wait for Steven to get your wrist fixed, then. Don't worry, his healing spit will do the trick, since he's a human-gem hybrid. It won't even hurt."
The anarchist girl was confused. Healing spit? Tears? Gems? Hybrids? Are they completely mad, or some New Age believers? "Who... who are you people?"
"You first," Peridot demanded. "Judging by your poor tactical skills (among other clues), I can see that you're not from Beach City. Therefore, you are enemy combatants who attacked us, so you'll have to tell your name first!"
"Amethyst," the human girl said.
"Yep, that's my name," the quartz soldier said, pointing at herself, then at the girl. "Me Amethyst, you...?"
"Oh, you're called Amethyst? Well, my name is Amethyst, too..."
-o-
"How can I help you?" the hospital clerk asked Connie.
"I'm working on a school presentation," Connie replied. "Do you have any extra skeletons I could borrow?"
The clerk recognized Connie as Dr. Maheswaran's daughter and dutifully laughed at the jest. "Oh, it's Connie Maheswaran, isn't it?"
"Yeah. I have a special delivery for my mom. Is she available?"
"Let me check." The clerk tapped at her keyboard. "Looks like she's in a meeting, but you can go and wait for her in the guest room on this floor. I'll page her. Suppose you know where the guest room is?"
"Yeah! Thanks!"
The hospital guest room was dimly lit and plain, but cozy. Connie sat on a chair and looked at the familiar poster that was attached to the wall. It had an image of a lifeguard bear, along with an important message: "Only YOU can prevent spinal cord injuries - Don't jump head first into water!"
Connie looked at the package that rested on her lap. What was inside it that caused Jamie to be so protective of it? Or did he simply try to be more professional than the average U.S. deliveryman?
"Hm, I could use an x-ray machine right now. I wouldn't be actually opening the package... Wait! What if there's a BOMB inside?! No, that's silly. Garnet would have warned me if that was the case..."
Connie's risk analysis was interrupted as the door opened and Priyanka stepped in.
"Hi, Connie! I just heard that you came here. Is everything all right?"
"Everything's fine... I, um, me and Steven ran into Jamie the delivery guy. He had a package for you, so I offered to deliver it so he could go and practice. For the festivities, that is."
"All right, let's see the package."
"It's on the table."
Priyanka pulled up a chair and sat at the table. She was surprised to see that the package had some familiar looking seals and markings on it.
"Aren't you going to open it?" Connie urged.
Priyanka hesitated, but curiosity overtook her and she opened the package.
Inside the package was a painting, accompanied by a letter. Priyanka begun reading the letter while Connie took the opportunity to study the painting.
Connie's eyes grew larger as she realized that the painting was a portrait of... a much younger Priyanka Maheswaran. It was definitely her - who else could it be? But instead of a doctor's outfit, Priyanka was wearing a military uniform, complete with an American flag on the shoulder.
There was something crude or unrefined in the way the paintbrush had moved on the canvas, but the features of Priyanka had been painted with determination. In the painting, Priyanka held her head high, looking at the viewer. The background was a fiery display of blue and red, two of the exact colors of the American flag. But there was something in her eyes that didn't seem to fit... or perhaps it was something that did fit, given the subject matter. That stare! Where had Connie seen it before? She gasped as the realization struck her: the gaze was a close approximation of the thousand mile stare.
Priyanka was still reading the letter, apparently over and over again, and didn't protest as Connie picked the painting up and flipped it over. There wasn't a signature on the front, but on the back, an inscription "G.W.B. '16" could be seen.
After his retirement, George W. Bush, the 43rd president of the United States of the America had taken up painting. Not only did he receive praise from critics, but he also found a whole new universe in his new hobby. His favorite subjects were war veterans, many of which would carry the injuries and ailments of war with them for the rest of their lives.
"Mom."
Priyanka crumpled the letter and shoved it in her pocket. "Connie, give that painting to me," she said, voice nearly cracking.
"Mom, I lied about Jamie..." Connie began, trying to distract her mother by admitting to having told a lie.
"I don't care about that!" Priyanka snapped. "Give that painting to me right now!"
"Why? What are you going to do with it?" Connie asked. In its own way, the painting was wonderful - it was her mother in it, after all - and Connie wanted to keep it. She was afraid that if she obeyed her mother, she would never see the painting again. "You're going to throw it away, aren't you?"
"What I'm going to do with it is my business. Now hand it over!" Priyanka stood up and tried to snatch the painting from Connie's hands.
"No!" Connie yelled, taking a few steps back. Remembering the fate of the abacus, she felt a brief twang of guilt.
"Connie, stop being childish..."
"You stop lying first! A lie of omission is still a lie."
They stared at each other in silence.
"What's in Nevada?" Connie finally asked.
Priyanka didn't answer.
"Fine, I'll just phone Mr. Bush then and tell him: hello, Mr. Former President, sir, this is Connie Maheswaran from Beach City. You sent a portrait of my mom to her, and I was wondering if you could tell me in which unit and in which armed conflict did she serve?"
Priyanka knew that of course Connie would do just that. Where had she inherited such stubbornness? Knowing the answer full well, Priyanka sat down, breaking eye contact. "Oh, Connie. My Connie..."
"Mom, I want to know. I want to know everything. Please."
Priyanka gave a heavy sigh. There was a big part of her past life that she had wanted to bury. She had made herself believe that such a feat was not only possible but also necessary as she was raising her daughter. Perhaps she had been wrong on both accounts.
Priyanka spoke then with a calm voice. "Would you sit down? This might take a while."
Connie sat down.
"I remember when I had a very heated argument with my mother -your grandmother. I've never really told you much about her. We... had disagreements. About my life and future. Sound familiar?"
To Connie's joy, Priyanka was smiling a bit as she said that. Obviously, a heavy burden was being lifted off her chest.
Priyanka had wanted to get away from the life that had been built for her. She had run into a recruiting officer who had promised her a ticket somewhere far, far away from her hometown. When she had turned 18, she had joined the army against the wishes of her parents. She wanted to see the world... and found out that that there was some wisdom to the saying that you should be careful for what you wish for. After making through the boot camp and eventually becoming a medical officer (with access to all kinds of herbs), she became stationed to Groom Lake - Area 51 for a time. And just like so many promising young American soldiers, she would later take part in the Fast Food War in South America and the notorious Golden Sands Incident in the Middle East.
Instead of going into great detail of the horrors of war, Priyanka instead focused on things like the many pranks she and her fellow soldiers had played on each other and on their superiors. She had succeeded in making her squad mates nearly choke themselves with laughter. She had made a colonel cry bitter tears of rage, which she had accomplished by defacing a cringy motivational poster. Nobody had suspected her of the deed, or at least nobody had ratted her out.
And during one night over there, having managing to save the lives of almost every victim of a particularly bad ambush, Priyanka had looked at the stars and quietly told herself: "I'm not here anymore. I have already forgotten this fucking desert. I'm already home. No more army. Just me, Doug and our daughter. Or son. All of us, together. Safe."
A pager alarm brought her back to the present day. Knowing that she was needed somewhere in the hospital, Priyanka got up.
"Connie, I... I have to go back to work now. I'll tell you the rest later..."
But before she could leave, Connie caught her in a hug. "Mom, you don't have to tell me every detail. I'm just glad you're my mom."
"Me too, honey."
-o-
"We have the same name? Cool!" Amethyst the gem soldier said to Amethyst the human anarchist. "I don't suppose you have a gem, though... Say, did your parents like amethysts?"
"What? No! They didn't name me Amethyst. I took the name for myself." Something about the subject irritated the girl, and she forgot her broken wrist for a moment.
Onion tugged at Peridot's hand.
"Hey, Vidalia, I think your Onion wants us to go inside. It's tactically unwise to stand around here like this," Peridot said.
"All right, let's go," Amethyst Facet-5 Cut-8XM agreed. "You coming? We'll get your wrist fixed. Y'know, as a sign of good faith and all that jazz," she told the human.
"I guess I will."
Soon they were in Vidalia's living room. "Sit tight, I'll get my medical supplies," Vidalia said to the girl.
Onion mumbled something to Peridot. "I can't understand a word," Peridot said to Onion. "So, I'll just assume that you want to show the Em Gee 3 to me. Is that right?"
Onion smiled and nodded, clapping his hands.
"All right, lead the way!"
Amethyst decided to inquire further about the name of her human namesake. "So, what's your, um, full name?"
The human girl shrugged. "If you have to know, I used to be Charlotte Teremoidova. But I grew to dislike 'Charlotte', so I changed it to Amethyst. I mean, it's not official yet, but my friends call me Amethyst."
"What's wrong with Charlotte?"
"Isn't it obvious? It stinks of the bourgeoisie, aristocrats, oppressors, that kind of stuff."
"Well, you're safe with being Amethyst, then. You see, we amethysts are quartz warriors, not aristocrats. We're like an ancient but integral part of the gem empire. At least most of us are, I think. It's the Diamonds that are the oppressors, so..."
The girl grew worried. "What do you mean, 'Amethysts'? Do you have a twin who's also called Amethyst?"
"Well, you see, I'm a gem! There are different gem types - I guess it's almost the same as what a profession is to humans. You see, there are Rubies, Amethysts, and Pearls to name a few types. We're all gems, though, even if Amethysts are a whole different bunch than Pearls, for example. We can all fuse with each other, though, because... Hey, why are you looking so pale?"
Charlo... I mean, Amethyst ignored Amethyst's question. "You've been Amethyst your whole life? You and other Amethysts? You said that you were ancient..."
"Well, yeah. I mean, I'm not a day older than 5500. Or maybe I am, heh. Dunno about previous era amethysts, though. Obviously those would be a lot older than me."
"Ahhuk! Cough! I... I... I'm sorry! I didn't know! I didn't mean to..."
"Know what? Didn't mean to do what?"
"I have... I have culturally appropriated the name of your gem type for my own selfish needs! I'm so sorry!"
Amethyst (the gem) had almost understood what human 'culture' meant, but she had never even heard about cultural appropriation. "Culturally what?"
Vidalia came back with a medkit. She had heard the conversation, and she knew that tending to the broken wrist wouldn't be possible if Amethyst (human) started to freak out.
"Amy, cultural appropriation is what these geniuses consider to be the 11th deadly sin. It's human stupidity, really. Don't waste time trying to understand it. Hey, Amethyst?"
The girl looked at Vidalia.
"Think for a moment - was this purple Amethyst here angry when you told that you were also called Amethyst?"
"No..."
"That's right," the quartz warrior said. "If the name suits you, then you use it. It's that simple. I don't mind."
"You're not mad?"
"Obviously she isn't," Vidalia said. "How about you dump the idea of cultural appropriation and start thinking about cultural appreciation or celebration instead!"
The girl wasn't entirely convinced, but at least she now knew that she hadn't offended Amethyst the quartz. "But..."
Vidalia rolled her eyes and decided to talk some more sense into her guest. "But nothing! As an artist, I know what I'm talking about. Everything is connected to everything on this planet. It's a rare occasion when something is born out of nothing, very rare," she explained. "Even dubstep has roots in other musical genres. Another example: suppose you write a poem. Each and every expression, every word and every cliché you use has been refined over thousands of years by different people and cultures. Same goes for literature, fashion, architecture, film, you name it. There's nothing wrong in the act of rearranging the components to create something new. This planet is a huge recycling plant, and despite the missteps of postmodern art, people sometimes come up with stuff that actually speaks to you and maybe even makes the world a better place. That's what's important. I hope your ears didn't fall off! I get carried away sometimes."
"But I still think that taking bits and pieces of other cultures is misreprenting them - I should really give up my chosen name!"
"Look, there are guys whose first name is Jesus. Nobody accuses them of misreprenting or impersonating that Jesus. And I'm sure everyone knows that just because someone is called Jesus, it doesn't mean that they are the guy from Nazareth."
Man, you learn something new every day, Amethyst the gem thought.
"I... I guess you have a point," the human girl said. "So, um..."
"So you just call yourself whatever you want," the purple gem said. "We're all cannibals here, just like comedians, YouTube celebrities and wannabe authors. And you can call me Amy or Miss America, you know, to avoid confusion. Hey Vid, why don't you show some of your original art to our guest?"
"First I'll see to her wrist. May I?"
The girl rolled up her sleeve and nodded.
Vidalia used item: medkit
(Amethyst the human received 25 health)
With a makeshift cast around her wrist, Amethyst the human felt more comfortable. She refused painkillers, though.
"Would you prefer tea, then?" Vidalia asked. Yep, the little anarchist preferred tea.
"So, what's that group you're hanging out with... anarcho communists?" Amy asked.
"Why do you want to know?"
"Oh, I just wondered if they were anything like actual communists. You know, those old school types from the Soviet Union era."
"Aaaand there she goes. Watch out or you'll become a pacifist," Vidalia teased. "Amy is about to tell stories from the Great Patriotic War again."
"Da, tovarich," Amy said, making a military salute. "Such a nasty business. And it didn't really end after the actual shooting stopped."
"Look, I know you're trying to take my thoughts away from the pain, but you don't have to make up such... fables," the human girl said.
Vidalia and Amethyst looked at each other. "You don't believe her? Well, it doesn't hurt to be a skeptic sometimes, but... Hey, I have something that you might find interesting," Vidalia said. She retrieved a mysterious item from a storage closet and handed it to the girl.
"A military award - a gold star?"
"Not just any gold star," the quartz warrior pointed out. "That's the Gold Star Medal of Hero of the Soviet Union. Vintage of 1945."
"How... how did you get it? It's not a replica, is it?"
"Nope, it's the real thing. You see, I helped evacuate Russian civilians when the Germans started their Operation Barbarossa. And when the winter struck, I did my best to keep the Soviet tank crews warm. No, it's not what you think! Ahem. Well, anyway, when we eventually pushed into Berlin, I received a message that I'd been awarded the Star. My commanding officer gave his Star to me, so I could wear it before my own medal would arrive to the front lines."
The girl listened to the story without believing a single word. These people are mad. Nice, but mad, she thought.
"It's actually the same medal. You see, I got myself booted from their ranks after I started evacuating German civilians to the west." Amethyst clenched her fists; not all of memories were golden. "Some Soviet soldiers... did things to the civilians. As I said, I did my best to help them escape. Of course my CO caught wind of it. He told me off as if I was some kind of traitor - said that the best he could do was to try to remove any record of me being in their ranks to begin with. He said he'd call in a favor, and that he saved us both from being sent to a gulag in Siberia. You see, I kind of saved his life a couple of times, so he felt like he owed me. I told him that I'd keep his medal as a souvenir, though - then I grabbed some sausages and ran! I earned that medal, or at least that's how I felt then."
"I should have painted one of those bas-relief soldiers using your shade of purple when I visited Bulgaria during my art lecture tour," Vidalia said with a grin. "Maybe next time..."
"Nah, it's a waste of a good color. Just paint their hands red."
"You said you evacuated German civilians. Didn't it occur to you that they might have not been civilians at all, but war criminals?" Amethyst the human girl asked.
"Don't think so. They were women and children. There was one drag queen in the last group I helped escape, though. Definitely not a soldier or anything."
Amethyst Charlotte Teremoidova resisted the urge to facepalm. Instead, she inspected the medal more closely. "There's some engraving on the back. A name... Igor Teremoidov. My great-grandfather was called Igor... can this be...?"
"Some high grade fate stuff?" Amy finished the question. "Yes, it can. But it could just as well be a coincidence. Hm, I'm hungry."
"I thought you'd never say that," Vidalia said. "Hamburgers coming up for my favorite quartz. And for our guest!" With that, Vidalia went to toss some highly illegal hamburgers (they actually contained meat) into the microwave.
"May I... may I borrow this?" the girl asked. "I'd like to show it to my family. I swear I'll return it!"
"No need to swear. Just take it - I've got enough old junk back in my room. Heh, the Order of Lenin I got earlier looks really funny! Bald guy, baldy, heh, heh. Anything else you fancy?"
"You're really kind. I don't suppose you have Alexander Pokryshkin's autograph?" the girl joked.
"I... um, yes, Sasha did give me one," Amethyst admitted, blushing heavily. "It's just that the acknowledgment text is kinda private, so, um, I'm keeping it in a safe place. Sorry."
"No problem. About this medal, then... Look, I can't thank you enough. If there's anything I can do for you guys..."
Amethyst waved her hand dismissively. "Well, you can't do the dishes now, so just stay out of trouble, especially here in Beach City. We've got a big party tomorrow. Everyone is invited, except for troublemakers. Oh, and you might want to save your thanks until after Steven gets your wrist fully healed. Anyway, where are you from? Russia?"
"No, Seattle," the anarcho-communist blurted out. Damn, I wasn't supposed to reveal that information, she thought, but it was too late.
"Ok. Would you like some tossed salads and scrambled eggs, then? Ha, ha, haa!"
"I don't get it."
Amethyst the gem, of course, had found out what was really funny in the city name. "That's ok. But you pronounced your home city wrong. It's more like Sea-attle. Seeeee-attle!"
"Actually, it's pronounced more like Seatchklcht," Vidalia called out. Entering the room, she continued: "That's how the Native American tribe there called it. I think it was named after their war chief. Try saying 'Seatchklcht' with your mouth full of grub!"
Ding!
"Speaking of which, there goes the microwave!"
After 45 minutes of eating (they ordered pizza & Pepsi, too, yet another culturally appropriated trucker meal from Mongolia) and some art appreciation, there was a knock on the door. Three sets of knuckles belonging to Garnet, Pearl and Steven knocked at the same time. Amethyst, having almost finished her meal, let them in.
"Hey, ghuyf! Wha' hook u' fo wong?" she asked.
"We took Lion here and ran into some strange anomalies in the time-space continuum," Steven explained. Actually, he meant it as a joke, but he was unknowingly right. "So, you have a patient for me?"
"Right there in the living room. Hope your magic works!"
The gang gathered in the living room. Peridot emerged, too, having marveled at Vidalia's weapon collection. Onion had stayed in the basement to fill ammo belts. While Garnet, Pearl and Vidalia started discussing the recent events, Steven and Amethyst tended to latter's namesake.
"Hi, I'm Steven! I hear your wrist is broken?"
"Yes, but... Are you supposed to be some kind of healer?" the girl asked.
"Yeah. Now, this might feel a bit weird..."
"That's okay," she replied. "I'm getting used to weird stuff... I think."
-o-
A/N: What a great chapter to post just before Christmas, the time of joy, celebration and peace!
Despite their claims, modern communists, antifa members and anarchists have a very shallow and selfish political agenda: it's fun to loot stores - it certainly isn't violence if you liberate a few Mars bars after smashing in some windows. That's literally the whole extent of the antifa ideology. Just like their far right counterparts, these hooligans are the perfect useful idiots for certain dictatorships and shady organizations which seek to destabilize western democracies.
Alexander Pokryshkin was a highly skilled Soviet fighter pilot during the WW2. Not only did he bag a bunch of Luftwaffe planes, but he also revised the Soviet air combat doctrine. He flew most of the war with the Bell P-39 Airacobra fighters, which were delivered to the USSR by USA as part of the lend-and-lease program. The U.S. pilots thought that P-39 was an inadequate or even a poor fighter, but the Soviet pilots used the little cobra (which they affectionally called Kobrushka) with great success.
The name 'Charlotte' wasn't originally meant to be a reference to the Charlottesville protests. I just like the name, so why not.
-=== PERIDOT THE MAGNIFICENT RETURNS IN 2018 ! ===-
Well, it's not like she's going to Canada or anything. Anyway, Merry Christmas! (None of that "season's greetings" or "happy holidays" - nonsense)
-o-