Chapter 31: Dress Fitting

Dastahein clapped his hands together once the measurements were taken and had clothes wheeled in on trolleys.

"This should do, fine material here, good for underclothes. Hmm, yes, these should fit, yes, try them on, please," he said, offering up some underwear and a singlet to us. We took them cautiously, inspecting the soft green clothes curiously.

"They're clothes, not bombs, just put them on, yes?" Dastahein sighed, urging us on. We all put them on, relieved to be wearing clothes that weren't hot and sweaty or rough and coarse for once. They were nice, not as nice as new clothes back home (since these probably weren't new clothes) but a welcome change.

Thankfully, they fit well (I still didn't see the point to all those measurements if we were being given premade clothes) and were clean, so we didn't have to stand around naked waiting for…whatever it was they were doing.

I ran my hands across my thin hair, feeling how soft it was after all that oil was poured through it. I was a little on edge. This whole process seemed off to me. This wasn't a kindness. The Imperium didn't do 'kind', which meant that this was all part of the training process. I suspected it was to break us down even further, but another part of me suspected there was something else going on. I wouldn't say anything though, not with Dastahein and all his attendants here.

"So, next, we will have our dress pants, yes, pants. Alright, you are tall lads, er, and the lady, of course. Long legs. Now, these pants should fit, I think. Come, try them on," Dastahein said, wheeling out another set of trolleys with a variety of pant sizes on them. He made us try on each pair, muttering the whole time, then had us change just as quickly as he gave them to us.

"No, no, waist is wrong. Oh, and look at those seams, no, that won't do. Ah, yes, that's a fit, but…hmm, could be better. Right, these will do. No, no, not that one, yes, that one, now, fit that, yes, ah, how good you look, good lad, and the lady, hmm, no, those pants will not do. Uh, I see, they won't either, well, that means these should…yes, perfect, good. And uh, yes, the underwear fits, good, looks comfortable. Is it comfortable? Yes, yes, good, I never make mistakes, right choices only. Ah! Those pants fit on you? Good lad, yes, you are quite tall, long legs. Yes, hard fit there. Hmm, well, that works. Yes, good," he said, whirling around in a maelstrom of barked commands and muttered comments, appraising us critically, straightening and adjusting and smoothing pants as he spun around us, his gold baubles cluttering against his chest as he worked.

We just stood there and endured his manic energy.

Eventually, he abated, and had his attendants disperse to go get the next item of clothing, the shirts. Dastahein pottered off to somewhere in the huge stacks of supplies, leaving us alone.

"He seems…enthusiastic," I said. Prassus and Clauda nodded.

"Damn, we look good," he said, admiring his reflection in a mirror. Clauda hummed in agreement.

"Seems a little excessive, doesn't it?"

"Well, we have to look our best, right," Prassus said, flexing. Clauda rolled her eyes.

"Yes, but all this seems a little too…pompous, wouldn't you agree?"

"I don't see why they're giving us all this," Clauda agreed slowly. Prassus shrugged, a smile etched on his face.

"We're in the Imperial Guard, we have to look good," he said again, straightening. "What don't you get?"

"I don't like being coddled," I said, "I can dress myself."

"Well, if someone wants to do it for me, I won't complain," he said. Clauda looked at him strangely, but didn't say anything. She looked very different with a ponytail. Properly scrubbed and cleaned, with her hair shortened down to a shoulder length ponytail, she looked quite pretty indeed. Not to mention the fact the form fitting underwear she had on did wonders to her form. I frowned. I'd seen her naked over a dozen times already. Why did this get a reaction out of me?

"What are you thinking?" Clauda said, staring at me. Faintly, I was relieved I wasn't staring at her, just looking off into space, lost in thoughts.

"I don't know. This is all…it's a little weird for me," I admitted. Clauda grunted.

"It'll be over soon. You can't say you miss training, can you?"

"At least I know what's going on there. Here, I don't understand why they're going through all this effort. We're just ordinary soldiers, no, recruits. Seems a little…excessive. I don't like it. It's making me anxious."

"Ah, who cares. Enjoy it while we can," Prassus laughed, slapping me on the back. "Come on, man, you look great. Don't worry about it."

"I'm not worried about how I look," I said, "just, this whole process in general."

"Well, good to see you're not worried about looks, because you have nothing to worry about," he said.

"Alright, no need to lay it on so thick," I said, "I'm just saying…doesn't this seem…odd?"
Clauda, who was watching us with that same weird look on her face again, nodded.

"I can see that. This doesn't seem like the thing they'd do for anyone. Or maybe it is. I don't know. Free gifts are paid without coin," she muttered. That sounded like a quote. Prassus nodded, suddenly solemn.

"Yeah, I know," he agreed quietly, "this isn't quite right."

Whatever else we would say was cut off when Dastahein appeared from behind a stack of crates, smiling mischievously. Damn. Had he been listening in on us? He brought over some belts and suspenders, and his attendants reappeared with trolleys of shirts.

"Now, yes, let's try these on, come, no time to waste. I have more appointments to make, we must be swift," he said, clapping his hands.

We tried on the shirts, which were white button ups. Dastahein fussed and dithered and adjusted them with his endless reserves of inane perfectionism. Then we had to try on belts and suspenders, suit vests, coats, shoe fittings, it went on and on. Dastahein never gave us a moments peace the whole time, working like a madman. It turned out he was a fanatic, though not in the way I would've imagined. He was obsessed with modelling us into the perfect image of soldiers.

"Yes, yes, that works. Good. Good fit," he said, once we were (hopefully) done. He nodded as he inspected us, walking around us to get us from all angles. I hoped it'd be a good fit after all that effort.

The final result was something between a military uniform and a suit. Dark green pants, a white button up top, green suit vest, with a red belt and suspenders. We had black dress boots, polished so cleanly you could see yourself in their shiny reflection, and had been handed a white beret.

We were dressed as every Cadian whiteshield in the 417th had been dressed for the past three hundred and seventy-four years, according to Dastahein. I had to admit, there was a certain appeal to the image. It looked…crisp. Clean. Of course, I wasn't enthused to be dressed as a soldier on parade, as I wasn't really into the idea of other of those things, but, well, I had resigned myself to this fate for some time now. Grin and bear it and make it through. If you survived long enough, there may be a peaceful way out. I'd have to tolerate whatever was thrown at me, and make it through to the next day, if I had any hope of dying peacefully.

Prassus whistled as he looked at himself in the mirror, his beret tucked under his arm. We'd been told not to put them on until we were lining up for parade. Dastahein smiled, nodding at our reflections. Clauda had a little smile on her lips, her rosy pink lips curled upwards. I found myself frowning again. Rosy pink lips? Why was I paying that close attention to her lips?

Come on, keep focused. Now is not the time for that.

"Very fitting. Yes, this is good work. You look proud, you three. You will look good on parade. Do you have any questions?" Dastahein smiled. I nodded.

"Are you a soldier?" I asked, and he huffed.

"I'm Cadian," he said, insulted, "what sort of question is that?"

"It's only…do you actually fight? I thought your time would be spent…here," I finished lamely. Dastahein scoffed, pulling down his purple feathered collar to reveal a claw mark just below his throat.

"Got that from a Hormagaunt seven years ago. Nearly killed me. Medicae saved me," he said, putting his collar back. He unbuttoned his sleeve and showed us a burned forearm.

"Ork melta bomb went off nearby. Molten metal fell on my arm. Three years ago," he grunted. He slapped his leg, and there was a metallic clang.

"Lost the real one a year and a half ago. It was in the last battle before we came here. Bloody silly affair, a flak shell fell on our camp. Nasty work, that. But yes, I am a soldier. Just because I make outfits and sew uniforms and weave banners and look after all these clothes and dye uniforms and dress like this, doesn't mean I'm not a soldier. Support staff I may be, but I've been through more then a few warzones and served more than my fair share of time as a rifleman. Am I a soldier? Just because there's fighting on the frontlines doesn't mean they don't need uniforms made and repaired. Camo made. Flags stitched back up. Am I a soldier? Don't make me laugh, kid," he growled. Suddenly, he didn't seem so amicable. He seemed like an animal with wounded pride. But just as quickly, his smile returned, and he was back to his old chatty self.

"Ha! How good you look. Splendid!" Dastahein clapped his hands together. His attendants stood around us silently, staring at the floor.

"Now, come, go, go, out the door. I've got more business to see to. Must see how Maggie has done with the others. Hard working woman, she is. Why I married her, really. Yes, fine woman. Now, out you go. C'mon. Your sergeant will want to inspect you. You must get ready for parade. Parades are good fun. Much nicer than being shot at. You'll miss this, when you first go into battle. It won't seem so boring then, ha!" Dastahein laughed, pushing us from the room and out into the waiting room, where Alexei was waiting.

The sergeant was reading a prayer book with an intense look on his face, completely engrossed in the pages.

"All dressed up, sergeant," Dastahein said, as Alexei rose. "All ready for parade."

"Yes. I see. Excellent," sergeant Alexei said, eyeing us down. We stood at attention. "And the others?"

"On their way, on their way. Good lot, these folk. They look dependable," Dastahein said, smiling with his typical frenetic energy. Alexei nodded.

"Yes. I daresay they are."

Well, that's encouraging. Alexei thinks we're dependable. Nice to hear.

"Now, I must take continue on, much work to do, yes. Work, work, work. Always work," Dasatahein said, and with that, the most colourful character I'd seen since I got here disappeared back into his labyrinthine workshop.

"You look like a proper Cadian whiteshield," Alexei remarked once we were alone. Prassus smiled.

"That's what Dastahein said," he smirked. Alexei raised an eyebrow.

"That was not an invitation to speak, private," Alexei chided, but it didn't have his usual fervour. Even Alexei seemed to like the results of our fitting.

"It's been quite some time since I've seen that uniform," Alexei said, almost to himself.

"Sir?" Prassus said.

"It has been twelve years since I last saw Cadia," Alexei said, ordering us to sit. He chose to remain standing. We all listened intensely. Sergeant Alexei had divulged almost nothing about himself since we met him. We knew his name, his rank, and that he was from Cadia, but otherwise, nothing. I was hoping that not only could we learn something about him, but also I could find something that might help me place when exactly this was meant to be.

"I was sixteen," he said, staring at the wall. "Sixteen years old. My father took me out into the forest the night before I was to leave. He told me that I would find my way back to Cadia when it needed me most. He gave me his knife, told me it had been passed down his family since the second Tyrranic war. He told me to go to the stars and make him proud," Alexei said. He was still staring at the wall.

"That was twelve years ago. I haven't since Cadia since. We know Cadia is calling for help, we know what it has to be. The Thirteenth Black Crusade," Alexei's hand tightened on the grip of his laspistol in its holster.

"The 13th Black Crusade…and I'm not there," he hissed under his breath. "We're not there."

"Uh…what exactly is the uh…Black Crusade?" Prassus asked. I was initially surprised, until I remembered that very few people would ever hear about them outside the Cadian gate, or in those in the right circles.

"The war…the war that really matters," Alexei said slowly, as if he didn't know what to say. "The war against the Archenemy."

Prassus and Clauda froze. The room seemed to grow cold. I realised they were holding their breath.

"You mean the," Clauda lowered her voice conspiratorially, "the…dark powers?"

Alexei turned away from the wall and stared her down.

"Yes," he nodded. "Chaos. The Archenemy."

"The Emperor Protects, blessed be he on the Golden Throne," Prassus said suddenly, loudly. Clauda had gone pale and was muttering a prayer under her breath. I had gone pale too, but for a totally different reason.

There we had it. The 13th Black Crusade had been launched already. The Great Rift was tearing the galaxy in two as we spoke.