Book Three: The Heart of Yang Xiao Long
Chapter 94: Matters of Debt
"I give men dreams. And men are led by their dreams." - Lord Solar Macharius
The glass cage again.
No no no no no!
Yang hammered against it until her knuckles were cracked and bleeding. Not even the power of a Saint could crack its uncaring surface. Her attempts slackened as her breaths got shorter, as the air depleted, weakened, thinned.
Her chest heaved as her punches became slaps, smearing fresh blood against the surface until she couldn't see from her prison.
It's a dream, it's a dream, it's a dream!
That didn't help, didn't make the pain in her chest go away, didn't restore the fading edges of her vision. Didn't wake her up.
Little-Yang wiped away the blood from the outside. She was not smiling.
Yang reached out for her, her skin blue and turning black. Couldn't say anything. Couldn't beg her younger self for help.
She couldn't anyway. Little-Yang pounded on the glass frantically, but nothing happened. Her lips were moving but Yang couldn't hear her. She only saw the tears, salt that turned into iron, into blood.
Her face wasn't right.
Couldn't see her eyes through all the blood.
Amat! Yang cried out as the pain swallowed her whole, the pain, that blade in her heart that took everything away. Where are you? Amat? Blake? Weiss? Ruby?
Yang, the voices said, one and innumerable. Come back to us! Yang!
Yang!
"Yang!"
Yang came to, gasping, choking down the recycled air of the Ascendant Dawn like it was summervine.
"Yang!" Amat said again, a sliver of concern.
"Amat," Yang said. She felt sweat running down her face, and her clothes stuck to her like a thin-skin film. "I'm okay. I…" She took a deep breath, settled her head on Amat's lap as her chest heaved. Recycled or not, air was nice. They'd departed White Horses three days ago. Three days since she'd said her goodbyes to Weiss, on much better terms than the last time they'd parted.
No tears either.
He stroked her face. "Shhhhh," he said, something he learned from her. "Bad dream?"
"Yeah," Yang said, savoring his touch. His fingers wiped away the nightmare, each touch pushing it further and further into an infrequently-visited corner of her mind. "It's… been awhile since I had a bad one like that. Months." Curling herself up to him, she brought herself back to reality, slowed her breathing, her pounding heart. "Thought I was done."
"Guess not," Amat said.
"Guess not," Yang agreed. Fuck. Seeing her younger self suffering stabbed a spike of… something into her spine. Terror? Guilt? Misery?
"You're okay?" Amat asked. He didn't show it, but he was still worried. His fingers laced through hers.
"Better now," Yang said, smiling.
"If you say so," Amat replied. A pause. Something crossed his face, something that looked like mischief. "You know, I think you've waited long enough. It's time."
"Oh?" Yang said, rolling off the assassin's lap.
Sitting up on her knees, Yang shook her hair out, pulled it behind her ears. "I'm kinda gross right now," she said, reaching for the bottom of her tank top. She met those wonderful eyes of his. "But if you don't mind that for your first time, I won't judge."
Amat took her flirting in stride - not a hint of red shone through. Fuck! I'm losing my edge… or he's getting used to it.
He caught her hands as she tried to lift her tank top over her midriff.
"You know that's not what I meant," he said.
"Can't blame a girl for trying," Yang said, wearing her sultriest smile. One of these days, assassin-man.
Amat smiled in turn. We'll see. Restoring her modesty, he leaned in to kiss her. She wanted to deny him, teach him a petty lesson. But she couldn't resist. Soft and warm, the taste of him chased away the last remnants of her horrid dream.
She liked their game. The back-and-forth. Even if it drives me bugshit. But he deserves every ounce of patience I have.
"So what did you mean?" Yang asked, falling back on her ass. The sheets were damp with nightmare-sweat. They'd need to be changed.
"'Garment for a garment'," Amat reminded her, pulling his duffel bag out from underneath their bed. "Uh… Hm. I think you're supposed to cover your eyes?"
"Seriously?"
"Please?"
"Fine," Yang allowed, trying to conceal her delight. He's so cute it hurts. She covered her eyes obediently, and heard a soft hiss of silk as Amat withdrew his gift.
"Open them," he said.
Yang obeyed. "No fuckin' way," she hissed once she saw it. "You didn't!"
Amat's brief grin was delightfully impish. In his hands, he held an eldar infirmary robe, one of the garments they'd worn aboard the Void-Whisper.
"Now," he said. "It may be of xenos make, but I can't deny that it is supremely comfortable. Forgive me, beati," Amat said, bowing his head mockingly.
She accepted the gift, hand on his shoulder. "You are forgiven." Yang leaned in, brushed her lips against his ear. "But only if you rip it off me."
That got the response she was looking for. Beaming from ear-to-ear, she kissed his boiling-hot cheek. Parsing the newest item of her wardrobe between her fingers, she sighed happily.
"Forgot how nice these things were," she said. "If this is what they make the wounded wear, I can't imagine what they wipe their asses with." That earned her a chuckle. "Seriously though," she said, punching his shoulder. "Thanks. Hopefully the eldar didn't give you a hard time about it."
"One of their medical staff saw, but she didn't challenge me." Amat's flustered smile finally faded. That was a good one.
"Not a big strong assassin like you," Yang said. "No wonder you were being all weird just before we left." She laughed. "Thanks, Amat. Really."
"Of course," he said. There was something there that looked like nostalgia.
"Why'd you wait so long to hand it over?" Yang asked, slipping an arm through the robe. It was decadently soft, bordering on the obscene. I can really appreciate it now that I'm not worried sick. "Not that I'm ungrateful, but it's kinda strange you gave me an entire painting before handing me some sweet stolen eldar goodies."
"I'm a patient man," Amat said, his voice adopting airs of mystery. Yang giggled.
"Didn't want to overplay your hand? Or making good on your threat?"
"Can't prove anything."
"Thought so," Yang cooed. She stretched her arms, groaning as her shoulder popped and the night-cycle's weariness left her. A yawn. Amat was watching her intently. "Something up?" She asked.
"No. Just... " He struggled. "It's been nice having you here."
"Having you all to yourself, you mean," Yang said, rubbing her eyes. "No Gamma platoon to steal away your lady-friend." She missed her friends and comrades, but she had no idea how to approach them. The 111th knew they were going back to Woadia. And why. But she hadn't said a word to them since her ascension.
Looking over Amat's barracks, she saw the pile of dirty laundry that had accrued, the used knuckle-wrappings that she'd used to hammer away at the sandbag in the corner. The paintbrushes that dried on lovingly-folded towels. The hasty armory they'd slapped together.
It's… our barracks now, she reminded herself. Lazing around with Amat the past two days was a welcome relief. Hours of talking, training, meditating, praying, sharing each other's company. But it couldn't last forever.
Gotta get back out there eventually.
Amat caught her eyes. "Not quite that," he said. "Before… us, I never had to share a living space with someone. It's… different."
"Bad different?" Yang asked.
"Weird different," Amat said. "I'm accustomed to…" He searched for the right word.
"You're going to say 'quiet'," Yang said, grinning.
"Can't prove anything," Amat repeated.
Yang laughed. "I see. I guess I'll have to move out since you don't want me around anymore. Gonna take the Colonel up on whatever digs he's gonna foist on me." She yawned again. "When was that meeting with him?"
"It started twenty minutes ago."
Yang blinked. "Fuck."
The hallways of the Ascendant Dawn were mercifully empty, with only a handful of Woadians and Gartenwalders bearing witness to the golden blur that streaked past them. After a three-second rinse off in the shower, Yang's nightmare was nearly forgotten in her race to reach the Colonel's office.
Pretty unprofessional of me.
He deserved better, but Yang couldn't beat herself up too badly about her tardiness. The request for a meeting had come through her microbead minutes after they'd departed for Woadia, and she'd been putting off thinking about it.
Plus, I was having a weird psyker-dream. Amat had rescued her from the worst of it. I owe you, assassin-man.
She hoped she wasn't coming on too strong. A frustrated grunt as she nearly bowled over someone from Second Company. "Sorry!" she called behind her back, already ten meters past him.
I really don't do patient well. It was weird not being able to have what she wanted. And it was so close, she could taste it, feel the constant, needful ache. If this keeps up too long, I'm going to develop a denial kink.
She chuckled, nearly biting her tongue as she tore through the hallways. Gotta make yourself laugh sometimes. Her thing with Amat was weird. Different. Hey, she reminded herself. It's the first time you've tried a real relationship. Him too, and he's gotta deal with so much other shit. No wonder we both don't know what the fuck we're doing.
Skidding to a stop before the Regimental Command office, she caught her breath, readjusted her hair. There hadn't been time to grab her dress greens - or anything resembling nice clothes - so she settled on donning her spare BDU.
The bulkhead opened, revealing the regimental Commissariat and the Colonel in their dressiest uniforms, their litany of medals shining impeccably. Though she'd never seen the Command office before, it looked about as she'd expected - a host of tangled, snaking cables attached to projectors, cogitators, and a large recaf machine. Aside from the more advanced machines, there were also an impressive collection of filing cabinets and stacks of paper, all marked with the seal of the Offico Munitorum. Behind the officers, a blocky device blinked red, slowly, languidly. The only thing out of place was a wide, upright foot locker, conspicuously placed beside the command staff.
They saluted her as one, snapping their heels together as if she was the Lord Commander Militant himself.
She returned it. "Sir!" Yang barked.
Colonel von Longinus reddened, almost imperceptible behind the bandages that swaddled the left side of his face. Lasburn. Helmet took the worst of it. Yang knew how she knew that.
"You… don't need to do that anymore, Your Holiness," the Colonel said. With great care.
"Sorry Sir," Yang said, realizing. "Guard habit - we're trained to salute anything shiny," she said, nodding at his chest.
"I… suppose so," Longinus said, collecting himself. "You also aren't required to refer to me as 'sir' anymore," he added.
"What do you mean?" Yang asked. "Did you get demoted?"
"N-no," Longinus said, stumbling. Commissar Daniloft pushed down a wary grin with a heroic effort. "It's you, Your Holiness," the Colonel continued. "Though Preacher Alvito and Preacher-Militant Laurentius had some trouble combing the Ecclesiarchy's available records, there have been precedents."
"Precedents?" Yang asked, allowing herself to stand at rest.
"Besides the obvious example of Saint Macharius," the Colonel said, "who was canonized post-mortem and has yet to return to the Imperium, the Preachers could only recover a handful of cases regarding the apotheosis of guardsmen. But yours is different… you were not martyred first."
"Oh," Yang said.
"Yes," Longinus said, clearing his throat. "An odd case, certainly. Most Living Saints are found amongst the Sisters of Battle, whose piety is unmatched."
"I see," Yang said. "I suppose that makes sense." Her mind flickered to the Palatine. To Sister Eleven, as humble as she was tall.
I'm sorry I was so shitty to you.
"Yes," Longinus tried. "As they are living manifestations of the Emperor's Will, all Living Saints found amongst the Guard are promoted to the post of Lord General Ascendant. With the exception of the Lord Castellan Ursarkar Creed…" He took a breath. "Your Holiness, you are now, as far as we are aware, the highest-ranking individual in the Segmentum Obscurus." Recovering his airs of command, his back straightened, and he saluted once more. "All hail!" He called. "All hail the Living Saint Yang Xiao Long!"
Yang swallowed as the command staff echoed his prayer. "Oh fuck me," she said, far too loudly.
"Excuse me, Holiness?" the Colonel asked, as pale as Neuhoff's fancy gloves.
"Uh… sorry," Yang said. "Thank you for informing me." Her mind was working too fast to construct a workable sentence. "So… uh... what's expected of me?" She asked. "What are my responsibilities?"
"From what Laurentius could deduce," Longinus said, "the post is largely ceremonial, although should you insist upon your commands, they are treated as if they came directly from the Emperor."
"I… see," Yang said, letting loose a poorly-concealed sigh of relief.
"Your Holiness?" The Colonel asked.
"Well…" Yang tried, unsure of how to continue. "I am a reflection of the Emperor's will, that much is true. But I wasn't granted any super-special knowledge about strategy or tactics or anything. I guess that's something that has to come from experience. Not planning on the whole 'martyrdom' thing just yet."
Already tried it. Not a fan.
"I…" The Colonel fumbled. "I'm glad," he said, landing on a taught yet genuine grin.
"So," Yang said, hands on her hips. "Besides the ludicrous promotion, is there anything else that you need?"
"Well…" Commissar Daniloft said. "The 111th is wondering after you. I have heard currents of concern after your health."
"Yeah, that's my bad," Yang said with a long sigh. "Josephus didn't go down easy." She coughed. "Needed to rest. Pray." Try to establish some healthy boundaries in my relationship with a genetically perfect super-assassin who's still learning stuff about how to be a person.
"I see," Commissar Daniloft said. Yang sighed again, scraped the sleep out her eyes. They deserved the honest truth.
Stop fuckin' around.
"Look," she said, throwing her hands up. "I'm going to be straight with you. Commissar Neuhoff knows who I am. What I'm like. I'm sure you've heard rumors, Sir," she said with a nod towards the Colonel, "and I can't keep up the super-saintly front for long. Or at all, really. I am one," she said firmly. Unequivocally. "But it's not something I knew forever. It's not something I planned on becoming. And it'll probably take a half-century before I really get a handle on it."
"You… didn't know?" Daniloft asked.
"Not really," Yang answered. "I liked being a guardsmen. When I was... younger, I had issues with structure. Authority. But I liked fighting with my friends. I liked looking out for them. I just didn't know that I was destined to look out for a lot more than just them, you know?" There's that word again. Destiny. "I appreciate you guys coming along on my pilgrimage to Holy Terra. But you need to know that I'm still First Sergeant Yang Xiao Long. I really want to live up to what's expected of me. It just won't happen immediately."
"Your Holiness," Commissar Daniloft said. "I'm… I don't think I understand."
"Or are you just worried that the first time we met, you punched me in the face?" Yang asked, sprouting a wide, toothy smile.
Daniloft paled. "Oh Emperor. I'd prayed you'd forgotten."
"You did what, Anton?" The Colonel hissed, utterly aghast.
Yang laughed. "It's all good, don't worry!"
"I… are you sure, Holiness?" Daniloft spluttered.
"Of course man," she said, waving his concerns away. "Ancient history. Hell, Eberil shot me in the face! But he... uh… he's not with us anymore. Got hit by a sniper on Ranshu." She neglected to mention that the sniper was Caolin.
"Oh shit," Longinus whimpered. "We've failed you, Your Holiness," he said, making the sign of the Aquila.
"Hey, hey hey," Yang said. "Like I said - I'm not like the Saints from the history books. Or Alvito's sermons. I mean, the 'holy fire' part for sure, but not so much the 'rigid bastion of pure, unrelenting fury'. Getting mad over mistakes doesn't get you anywhere." Nor does wallowing in them. "People fuck up, it happens."
Longinus and Daniloft cringed once 'fuck' passed her lips. Dammit. Neuhoff took it in stride.
"Thank you, Your Holiness," Commissar Daniloft said. "I would like to say…" He struggled for a moment.
"Speak your mind," Yang said. "You're not gonna hurt my feelings."
"It's not that," Daniloft said. "It's just that your… approach to Sainthood is… well, it's not what I expected. Aren't you worried that such an attitude might cause some issues within the... 111th?" The unsaid - 'the Imperium'.
"Not particularly," Yang said, "My cult began with the Ranshans. They saw me fight, saw me dance in the square with Major Hrakksson. They know what I'm like." My cult. Emperor, what a weird thing to say. "If you want some more details, check this out," she continued, handing them a dataslate from her pocket.
The Heart of Yang Xiao Long. She still hadn't read it. I pray Ice Queen knows what she's doing. Colonel von Israfel took it reverentially, as if it were holy writ. Yang realized that by handing it to him, it was.
I'm never going to get used to this.
"Thank you, Holiness," he said.
"No problem. So, I guess I'm asking you guys to give me a little leeway here as I try and figure out what I'm doing. That's… probably not what you wanted to hear." She sighed. And I was doing so well. "We're going to purge Woadia, then we're headed to Holy Terra. I might not know too much about being a Saint right now, but I know where I'm needed."
"That should suffice," the Colonel said. "I presume then, given your admittance, that you don't really know many… trappings that are afforded to those that achieve Sainthood."
"Nope," Yang said.
"Understood," the Colonel said. "Then allow me to present you with some… suggestions."
"What do you have, Sir?" Yang asked. Damn it, I did it again.
"You'll be given the Ambassador's Suite," the Colonel said. "Alongside some handmaidens to serve you."
Yang burst into laughter. "Handmaidens?" She asked. "Handmaidens?"
"Well…" the Colonel said, flushing as he avoided her eyes. "Your dressing, laundry, cooking… washing," he said, turning even redder.
Yang nearly doubled over. She clutched at her chest as it seized with agony. Tears gathered in the corner of her eyes, but the laughter would not cease. Daniloft coughed.
"I'm sorry!" She said, sucking in a breath. "I'm sorry! That's just… Throne, that's so funny, holy shit." Resting her hands on her knees, she took a moment to collect herself. "I'm sorry," she said again. "That was rude. I'm being an ass. I know you guys had the best intentions. But you know I can take care of myself, right?"
"Well," Neuhoff said. "It's more of a status thing." He glanced at his superiors, seeking for permission to continue. They were too busy with their embarrassment, so he pressed on. "If word gets out you were not treated adequately, there will be repercussions for us."
"Even though you guys are my personal guard?" Yang asked. "That's f-messed up," she added, catching herself in time. "Don't worry. I'll have one of my servo-skulls type up a document talking about how you guys were the best."
"Your Holiness!" Longinus exclaimed.
"It's not a lie," she added gently. "You two slew a warboss on Elodia. Doing so saved more of my comrades than I possibly could have that day. And that was just Elodia. You fought alongside us, did your best to keep us alive. I know that in the Guard, you can't really ask for more."
They all bowed their heads at her admission.
"Thank you, Holiness," Daniloft said.
"Thank you, Colonel," Yang insisted. "If someone has a problem with you guys, let me know." She cracked her knuckles, threw them a grin. "I'll sort it out." Though she intended to be reassuring, the Colonel only managed a nervous swallow. Shift gears. Now. "I just… don't really need servants. Or a fancy flat. I like taking care of myself." I like living with Amat. "Neuhoff might have told you I'm a slob… and he's not totally wrong, but it's how I like to live. Being waited on…" She looked for the right words to say. She couldn't find them. "Doesn't feel right. Don't wanna end up like some bloated Planetary Lord," she said, shooting them a reassuring smile.
"Your will be done," Longinus said, bowing his head. "I... don't fully understand your reasoning, but you will be obeyed."
"Thank you," Yang said, still feeling weird about the exchange. "Is there anything else?"
"Well…" Daniloft said. "We've prepared something for you. Commissar?" He said, glancing at Neuhoff. He nodded. Striding over to the foot locker, he opened it, revealing the most glorious set of dress-robes Yang had ever seen.
Slim enough to accentuate her form while still evoking images of a wrathful angel, they were bound at the waist by a simple golden aquila, while the neck was embroidered with golden thread that spiralled down the arms. Carefully placed pleats conjured images of power armor, and at the sternum, the image of a golden, haloed skull stared down at her.
"Damn," Yang whispered. "Fancy," She said, immediately kicking herself over the choice of words. A sigh. "This is too much, Colonel," she said. How many more gifts am I going to get?
"I'm sorry?" the Colonel asked.
"I love it," she said. "I really do." She grinned. "But for formal wear… I think I'd rather just go with my dress greens."
"Oh," Longinus said. "I'm sorry if I brought offense-"
"Colonel," Yang said. "Longinus," she said, switching to his first name. "It's beautiful. You did a damn good job, don't worry." You're still insulting him. "You know what," she said, perking up, "I think this might be best suited for religious occasions," she said. I don't like lying to him, but it's worse seeing him so disappointed. "I'll take it back to my quarters."
"And where might those be?" the Colonel asked. Yang shot a brief glance at Neuhoff, who kept his lips sealed. She didn't know for sure if he knew, but she had her suspicions. At least he knows to keep his mouth shut.
"If you need me," Yang said, sensing the direction this was about to go, and swiftly, violently shifting directions. "Call me on the microbead. I'll find you. Give or take twenty minutes," she added with a wink.
"I… uh… understood," the Colonel said.
"Is there anything else you guys need?" Yang asked as she gathered up the dress. It felt as beautiful as it looked, even though it wasn't as soft as the eldar robe. Sure looks better though.
"I… don't think so," the Colonel said.
"Awesome," Yang said. "Don't get me wrong, I really appreciate all this. It's just… I'm from a rough-and-tumble place. All this fancy stuff is going to take a while getting used to."
"I… guess that makes sense," Longinus said, still trying to process Yang's words. "Is… there anything you require of us?"
"I'm all good for now," Yang said. "Though I'll let you know…" She trailed off, a thought coming to her from the ether. "You know, is it possible to get a year advance on my munitorum bills?"
They stared at her flatly.
"Settling some debts I had as a guardswoman," Yang explained. "Doesn't seem appropriate for there to be a debtor Saint, you know? Even if it's small."
"Ah," the Colonel said. "No, you are entirely correct." Reaching into his desk, he retrieved a massive stack of munitorum bills.
"Thank you," she said. "Last time, I promise," she joked. Tucking it into her pocket, she made for the door, dress in hand. "Sorry to be in a rush, but I have an appointment with my faithful. Been awhile since I showed my face."
"Of course. Your Holiness!" They said, saluting once more. Yang returned it and departed.
That was... weird, she thought as she left. They're just doing their jobs though, I suppose. Handmaidens! Ha! Weiss had servants in Schnee Castle, but not a single one like that aboard the Scythe of Morning. It was a little tempting to be waited on like that, but it felt wrong. Definitely not cause you just want to keep shacking up in Amat's barracks.
She smiled as she strode past a gaping Gartenwalder. Yang gave him a wave.
No, she'd been honest with the command staff. I hope they don't take it personally about the flat. If Amat had wanted space, she would have just gone back to living with Gamma. I know that'd be a little weird for everyone, but fuck it, I'm a saint. Everyone's just gonna have to live with it.
Chuckling, she threw open the doors to the holds. As always, the press of humanity brought a smile to her face. Thousands made their lives here. It smelled. It was squalorous. She loved it anyways.
However, in the center of canvas rooms and scrap-metal buildings, a new shrine had been hastily constructed. It was little more than a crude statue of her crowned, forged from spare metal and laminated with gold foil.
Damn.
As she walked down the streets without name, she heard a number of whispers follow her, prayers, beseechments. She smiled and waved to those that made eye contact. Returned the sign of the Aquila to those who offered it to her - a little awkward with a gorgeous dress slung over her shoulder.
Slipping a requisition bill to a slack-jawed stall owner, she plucked a canvas bag from an improvised rack and stuffed the dress inside.
"Keep the change," she told the woman, who nodded dumbly.
Turning back to the new shrine, Yang saw a small crowd had gathered, whispering after her, staring. Adoring.
"Hey everyone," she said, giving them a short wave and a brilliant smile. "You guys work fast," she said, nodding at the shrine. "I'm flattered."
"T-thank you, Your Holiness," one of the Ranshan men stuttered in broken gothic, pressing his face to the metal floor. A few made to copy him before Yang cut them off with a slice of her hand.
"Ah, come on guys, none of that groxsh-" A pause. "That's... not necessary." She put on her best beati-smile, crouching down to help the man up. "C'mon dude," she whispered. He accepted her hand slowly, as if she might burst into holy flame at a moment's notice. Not a bad guess, really. He looked up at her.
The man's name was Feng-Se, a Shao-la native, a blacksmith who helped the 111th repair their flak armor. His wife died during the siege. His son was engaged to a Woadian, and they had heard stories of Yang holding the gatehouse, how she shattered siege towers and tore apart ravenous berserkers with her bare hands.
Yang caught a glimpse of polished gold around the man's neck - a flaming heat, that same one she'd doodled endlessly during her Signal days. She embraced the man, fist ringing off his back.
When she pulled away, his eyes were wet.
"Thanks for being here," she told him. "She's proud."
Feng-Se nodded.
"Now, I'm really not one for the bow-and-scrape routine," she said, raising her voice so that the crowd could hear her. "The fact that you're here is enough. We guardsmen need all the help we can get, huh?" She asked, giving the Ranshan a wink.
"I-I… yes, Holiness," he said.
"Speaking of guardsmen," she said, as an echoing, familiar laugh ripped through the holds. "I have some more business to take care of. See ya around," she said, shooting him a wave.
Despite her declaration, a few civvies still bowed out of her way, mumbling prayers as she passed. Yang sighed. Weiss' book better fix this. Even now, the bowing still doesn't feel right.
But her immediate concerns lay elsewhere. She found the place she was looking for - a long canvas hall brimming with guardsmen and the stink of stale beer. Stepping through the bead curtain that served as a door, she nearly choked on the punch of acrid blue lho-smoke and sweat that filled her nose.
The sounds of laughter and tumbling dice stopped the moment she stepped inside.
"Holiness?" One of the Gartenwalders asked, lho-stick tumbling from his lips. She snatched it out of the air and flicked it back to him.
"One and the same," she said, hand on her hip. "What's everyone up to?"
"Uh..." Caolin's voice sounded out from the back of the hall. "Gambling?" He tried eventually, poking his head out from the swath of soldiery.
"Awesome," Yang said. Withdrawing the stack of requisition bills, she slapped them down on the nearest table. "Anyone wanna try their luck against a Saint?"
Silence.
It took ten minutes before they got over Yang's presence in the gambling hall. Another ten after that before they let her play. Fifty more before they were all piss-faced drunk, and only five until she'd nearly cleaned them out.
A boisterous crowd of Rangers had gathered to join their matron Saint in one of her favorite pastimes, with a full company of clamoring Woadians and Gartenwalders crammed ass-to-elbows into the ramshackle gambling den. It was unbearably hot, and Yang was already down to her tank top and workout shorts.
"For fanden!" Asgeg cursed drunkenly in Woadian Low, tossing the last of her bills on the table, the force of the throw reeling her back into her friends, who caught her, shouting condolences in her ear to be heard over the tumult. She slammed the last of her beer - one of Theni's. "What the fuck was I thinking, trying to out-dice Yang?"
"You never had a chance!" Yang bellowed back. "Another round on me!" She called to Brídyé, "Or rather, on Asgeg's last farthing! To Asgeg!" She cried, hoisting the last of her own beer.
"Asgeg!" The crowd roared, as loud as a mortar shell in the sweltering hall.
Laughing, Yang passed Brídyé yet another fistful of bills. She dashed back to The Drunken Major.
"Saint 'er no," Caolin slurred, returning her attention back to the table. "Your luck's gotta runout evenshully," he said, pointing emphatically at the dice. "E-Eveshully. Gotta happen. Laws of prubbability."
"Is that so, Corporal?" Yang asked, leaning forward. "Care to wager your skivvies on that? If I remember correctly, that's all you got left to your name."
Caolin flushed as laughter erupted around them. Shin-se clapped his shoulder, sweat and flesh-metal shards shining in the dim light. The Ranshan man had a little trouble following all the slurred gothic, but he was enjoying himself.
All that mattered.
"These guys…" Caolin tried. "These idiots don' know ya. Or they're scared of ya. That's why ya got so much," he said, gesturing at her considerable pile of winnings. "But I know you ain't shit, Yang. Heh. Ahehehehe. I'm gonna win this time. I gotta. I gotta."
"So determined, big man," Yang said. "Have it your way." She pushed her entire pile of winnings towards her friend. "Here ya go. If you lose…" she mulled over her demands. "The Colonel said I needed handmaidens. I declined, but I think the 111th as a whole could really use one. And I think I know the perfect candidate," she said.
Piercing whistles filled the gambling hall, Yang's the loudest of all.
"Yes please," Solveig purred - Alpha platoon's chirurgeon. She fanned herself with her own meagre winnings, leering unabashedly at the Corporal. "My quarters are exceptionally messy. Got the perfect outfit picked out too."
Caolin spat dismissively, a confident - yet completely inebriated - half-grin on his face. The men and women of First and Second Company cajoled him with lurid suggestions and encouragement, but he waved them away.
"Doesn't sound like much of a bet to me!" Someone called.
"Solveig's full of it," Caolin insisted. "Plus, she's juss like Yang. Lives like a fuckin' pig."
"Exactly," Yang said. "Sorry Solveig, but it's not gonna be anything sexy. Toilet-scrubbing duty, KP, you name it - Corporal Roriksson will be your man."
"We'll see," Solveig shot back, slugging the rest of her beer.
Caolin groaned. "You're th' worst, Yang."
"You're delaying," Yang insisted, slapping the table and scattering the dice. "Yes or no?"
"Yes, damn it!" Caolin said, sloshing over with liquid courage. A roar of approval met his declaration, and Sparlich, the referee, scooped the dice together into their respective shakers.
"Your call," Yang said, leaning forward.
"Evens," Caolin declared proudly. "Low."
"Odds then for me," Yang said. "High."
Sparlich handed them their shakers. She never took her eyes off the Corporal.
"On three!" He called. "One! Two! Three!"
They slammed the shakers down, waited a moment for the dice to settle. Yang removed hers first. Three-four. Her jaw dropped.
Oh fuck.
Caolin threw his open. Two-two.
Silence.
A cacophony of noise exploded from the gambling hall, Caolin's roar of victory the loudest voice among them all.
"Yes! Fuck yes!" He bellowed, beating at his chest. "I told ye!" He said, pointing at the dice. Yang groaned, face filling her hands. "I talt ye alle, a' ya dinnae lissen!" He cried, slipping into Woadian Low.
Solveig groaned too. She slouched against her friends, who nodded solemnly, patted her back reassuringly.
Yang laughed, pushed her bills over to her friend. "Fair and square," she said.
"Miné pridthies," Caolin said, lovingly stroking the bills. "Ye høve, nae!"
"Well I'm cleaned out!" Yang declared, grinning.
"Ah don't feel bad Yang!" Asgeg said from the floor. "You'll win it back."
"For sure," Yang said, planning to do no such thing.
The bead-door clattered once more, and the hall went silent.
"Beers." Bridye said, quiet.
Yang turned around to greet her, smile fading as she saw the Commissariat stomping towards the gambling hall.
"Ah shit," she said under her breath.
"Guardsmen!" Daniloft roared as he stomped forwards. "I have received reports of excessive noi-" He locked eyes with Yang, and his voice curdled into a low vocal fry.
"Now to be fair," she told him, holding up a finger. "I'm pretty sure he cheated."
Yang helped her friends stumble back to Barracks Block Three. Some needed more help than others - Caolin was effortlessly slung over her shoulder, mumbling incoherently as the bag for her new dress slapped his face every other step.
Asgeg managed to walk a wobbly line, always quick to rally after a bender. Hanging from her flesh-and-bone soldier was Caolin's winnings, haphazardly stuffed into a duffel bag. Sparlich and Shen-se were far behind, helping a few others home from the gambling hall.
"You guys can't hold your booze," Yang noted, as if talking to herself.
"Feh," Asgeg said. "We're small. Hold up," she said, bracing herself against Yang. Her mechanical digits bit into her bicep. "Urgh… I think… I think…"
"If you puke on my beautiful new dress Asgeg," Yang hissed, eyes magma-red.
"Nope, I-I'm good," Asgeg said, followed by a belch that reeked of bile. "It passed. Oh Emperor."
Yang couldn't stop a grin from cracking. "Saved yourself a good deal of pain there."
"Thank the Emperor," Asgeg said. Standing upright, she tried to walk a straight line. She didn't.
"Nodda dress, bud whb'm'?" Caolin burbled.
Yang blinked. "What?"
"'Not the dress, but what about me?'," Asgeg translated. They shared a laugh.
"He was desperate back there," Yang said.
"Yeah…" Asgeg said, smile fading. Her gaze went elsewhere.
"Asgeg," Yang said. "What's wrong?"
"N-nothin'," she managed, still avoiding Yang's piercing crimson stare.
"Asgeg," Yang said firmly.
"Fuck," Asgeg hissed, steadying herself on the wall. "I… I wasn't supposed to tell you. Plus, we couldn't even… couldn't even find you," she said.
Yang sighed. "Yeah," she admitted. "I'm sorry."
"It's… yeah," Asgeg said. "It's about Soo. After White Horses, we were all… flush with shit from the Munitorum," she mumbled. "Caolin decided it was high time for her Odallthing."
"Bless you?" Yang said.
"Odallthing," Asgeg insisted. "Woadian tradition. Presents for expecting mothers."
"Oh, a baby shower," Yang said, realizing.
"A shower of babies?" Asgeg asked.
"Never mind." A long, awkward pause. Yang turned to look at her friend. "Why wasn't I supposed to know?"
"Complicated," Asgeg said, resuming her trek back to her barracks. In a straight line. "You being… who you are and all."
"Asgeg," Yang said, her hand landing on a metal shoulder. "I'm hurt. I expected better of you. Better of Gamma."
Asgeg wiped her eyes. Sniffled. Then she saw Yang was beaming.
"Oh fuck you," Asgeg said, cracking a wide smile. "I'm sorry! I made a promise!"
"It's fine," Yang said. "I realize I haven't been… available these past couple days."
"What's that all about anyway?" Asgeg asked.
"I…" Yang's words failed her. "I… hm."
Asgeg blinked, watching her expectantly.
"You know what?" Yang asked. "This Odallthing… thing, I'll host. I'm in Third Company's old block. Barracks Seven."
"Ghost Town?" Asgeg said, incredulous. "Is that where you've been hiding?"
"Yeah," Yang said. "I insist. Tell the rest of the conspirators," she said. "When is it by the way?"
"Next week," Asgeg answered.
"Explains why Caolin was trying to drum up some funds," Yang said, jostling him. He moaned, lost in nausea and poor decisions.
"Yeah," Asgeg said. "I… know why you joined us. In the gambling hall."
Yang said nothing.
"We appreciate it. We really do. I do. But… even the sight of a gambling Saint won't make it go away," Asgeg said. "We'll take her back. Inch by bloody fuckin' inch. And damn the losses."
"That's what I'm worried about," Yang said.
They arrived at Barracks Block Three, quiet for the hour. Normally, sergeants would be running drills up and down the hall, or there'd be camp followers gathering laundry, visiting their lovers, chatting to each other, learning gothic. But even as Yang's chronometer neared noon-standard, the block was quiet, subdued.
"Still resting from White Horses," Asgeg explained, reading her expression. "Now come on, hand me Corporal Piss-Pants."
Yang obeyed, transferring Caolin from her shoulder to Asgeg's. He groaned.
Asgeg balanced Caolin and his winnings, trying to spread the weight evenly. "I'll take it from here," she said.
"I could stop in," Yang said.
Asgeg smiled. "You've done enough today. Thanks."
Yang forced herself to smile. "No problem."
"New digs better not look like your old bunkspace," Asgeg warned.
"We'll clean," Yang said.
"'We'?" Asgeg asked, eyebrow raised.
"Not you, don't worry," Yang said. Spinning the bulkhead latch open, she helped Asgeg fit her luggage through the door. Once through, the trooper paused, side-braids bouncing, a thought on her features still flush with drink.
"You didn't have to go to Woadia first," Asgeg said.
"I really did."
Asgeg smiled. "See you next week, Yang."
"See you then," Yang replied, shutting the door.
Through the bulkhead, she heard Caolin retch, followed by muted scream of 'Oh fuck!' that reverberated through the hull. Yang chuckled. Her hands found her pockets, and she made her way back to Barracks Seven. Back to Amat.
She whistled a Woadian drinking song. The sound echoed down the hallway, ringing clear and bright like cathedral bells at daybreak.
A/N: I'm sorry this took a while to release! Besides things being a bit crazy IRL, I've realized I really struggle with chapters where Yang has to work on reconciling her new identity. I finally landed on something I'm happy with, though!
I was also vacillating over whether or not to even do large swathes of this chapter, as I thought, 'is it really necessary to include all this bureaucratic bullshit?' It took me until a few days ago to realize how perfectly it encapsulates everything about the Imperium.
This chapter was also pretty necessary on a pacing level - I think we needed some come-down time after the emotional onslaught of the past few chapters.
Hope you enjoyed!
Next chapter, Yang hosts a baby shower, and we'll check in on Weiss!