"-nd today is the day you take that first step for our glorious Empire! Each and everyone of you will be an avatar of our might, a paragon of virtue and stability!"
Weiss raised a delicate hand to her mouth, barely suppressing a yawn from her place in the crowd. The portly, frothing officer at the front of the stage had been raving and slamming his podium for about twenty minutes. Weiss let her eyes imperceptibly shift from the Officer... Clorne? She couldn't be sure exactly what it was, the man muttering his first few sentences before a fire erupted in his overworked heart.
Row after row of her new found 'colleagues' stretched across the wide amphitheatre. The troopers and officers had tried to jostle the cadets into some semblance of ranks, but instead they ended up looking more and more like a mismatched circus. The room was brightly coloured in red's, and whites, with the obvious black and grey accents of the Empire. Long banners held the their sigil, draping down from the obnoxiously high ceiling.
A loud, unconcealed yawn sounded next to Weiss, as Trina stretched her arms far above her head without a care in the world. A faint headache wormed its way into her brain as she watched blatant disregard for ceremony.
To her credit, Weiss tried to pay attention to the man's speech, but unlike her professors it would seem that Officer Clorne's droning wasn't even connected to one specific point or story. The disjointed rambling, the rattling of the faulty air conditioners and the fact that she had been standing there for a good half hour was slowly burning a hole through Weiss' senses. The atmosphere of the crowd was practically catatonic as everyone tried to look attentive while searching for literally anything else to hold their attention.
"Is literally no one listening?" whispered Trina in Weiss ear. Weiss bumped her shoulder against the redhead and nodded towards the stormtrooper surrounding their mob, some nodding imperceptibly while others simply stood as still as stone. While she hadn't heard much of the exploits of Nuygen's comrades, the fact that they hadn't faltered in the face of this spittle was impressive.
A loud clearing of Clorne's throat directed her attention back to the stage and watched as three officers who had been sitting on stage slowly stood up, their gray-green uniforms as pristine as ever. Sensing the end of his speech approaching, the jowled man sought to end off properly.
"The Imperial Army will be the shield that defends our worlds, the Navy its sentinels, but you... You will be the hammer of the Empire! You will crush our enemies, liberate the oppressed and restore order to this crippled galaxy. The lesser species of this galaxy will try to rot our foundation, to see our strength broken and our future shackled to theirs. These lesser creatures and their sympathizers will oppose you at every turn, and at every turn you will crush them. It will be in your nature to stamp out rebellion and create a civilisation for every human to call home." He thrust a fist in the air, "For Humanity! For the Empire!"
The resounding echo of his cry startled Weiss as the ramshackle crowd shouted and screamed their approval and loyalty. Many whooped the cry over and over again, even as the masked troopers silently clapped. Even Trina held one fist in the air with a wide smile on her face.
Weiss could only clap and nod politely, not wanting to seem so out of place.
'I'm not so sure about the Empire, but security for humanity? I suppose that's not so bad.'
Thump.
"Get it together Cadet!" Screamed the class' drill sergeant, inches away from Weiss' ear. She growled in frustration as she pushed herself off the duracrete floor, back to her feet and wheezed an apology. She could barely hear the scoff of her instructor as she stomped away in her brand new, standard edition combat boots. The exercise itself was simple, yet deceptively brutal. What was originally a leisurely jog had slowly twisted itself into a grueling run, one that caused each lap around the massive gymnasium feel like a race to her death.
The uncomfortable boots bite at her feet as she staggered to catch up with the group, her laces loose and hitting her legs as she ran alongside the lazier members of the group. A few rolled their eyes at her, while others ignored her.
Good. The last thing she wanted was their sympathy, her eyes narrowing at the thought. The sensation wasn't foreign, Weiss having trained most of her life in heels. No, the issue came from its weight and its function. Her usual footwear gave her an advantage in few things, but chief among them was perfect posture and a constant readiness to sprint. With Aura and Remnant's highly creative society, a life in heels had been a stellar choice, one which provided her a weapon should she be stuck in the wilderness without one. However, that line of thinking leaned heavily on the usage of aura, and that once glamorous door remained shut.
"Stupid… Combat… Hrnk…" gasped Weiss to herself, glaring at Trina chatting amicably with her fellows at the front of the pack without a care in the world. Although her slim build was naturally conductive to speed and parkour, a great portion of her swiftness and stamina came from her aura reserves and semblance. As she tried to push back into the pack, the former heiress tried to push some small measure of her aura into her legs to cool the burning sensation pooling in them. The absence of relief in her legs made Weiss groan, leaving her no choice but to keep swinging one foot in front of the other.
The troubling part was everyone's ease in the boots, none seeming overtly fazed by the weight on their feet. Each had their laces tightly tied and tucked, jogging forwards in measured paces. As though they'd run in them their whole lives...
A growl escaped Weiss as the obvious train of thought arrived in her head. Of course they were, not a single person she'd seen since her abduction had worn anything close to even sneakers, much less heels. The unfair advantage frustrated her, more so than anything else.
It was shameful really, almost as bad as achieving peak physical form only to be beat by some brutish footwear.
The rational part of her mind argued against her anger, informing her that her reluctance to condition her core without the aid of Aura had been her own fault. Elegance, however, had demanded heels and a prim figure. She wouldn't have been so revered in the singing community if she was walking on her fists. She pushed the thought aside, focusing on her weakness in the now. She'd worn boots before of course, though nothing on par with these shackles.
These boots, however, were far from designer, or even humane.
Her eyes flitted across the room for some distraction from her agony, deliberately passing over Trina jogging backwards and towards the ceiling. Coiled up tight within a series of pulleys were a larger series of hoops and ropes, as well as several sets of monkey bars slotted within the ceiling like some strange microchip. There were also a nooks that looked like trap doors mixed among the roped netting, though the distance prevented her from really getting a good view of it.
What she did get a good view of was a fellow joggers sweaty backside as she crashed face first into him. Weiss felt anger rising within her, but it was quickly stomped down by her exhaustion. She quickly tried to gain control of her breathing, keeping her breaths shallow as the Drill Sergeant swaggered in front of their group, the lead runners running back to rejoin the pack.
The man had a permanent sneer on his face, and an eye that flickered just a little bit too independently for Weiss' liking.
"Alright you buncha lopsided Mon-Cal degenerates, form ranks by score!" he screamed, face a puce red. When everyone simply ambled around and looked at one another, the old trooper stomped his armoured foot on the floor and clenched his teeth. "That means line up in groups of twenty you shambling wrecks!" he ground out, looking positively psychotic.
Weiss quickly found herself shuffled to the front of her column, taking a second to shoot a glare at the man behind her desperately trying not to make eye contact. Their ranks spread out across the width of the gym, all standing ramrod straight in whatever pale imitation of action vids they had seen. The drill sergeant, however, was not overly impressed.
"By all that is pure and beautiful on the gleamin' hills of Alderaan, I don't think I ain't ever seen a group of slack jawed fools like you beneath my boot. If you had any other instructor, you'd be dead before you hit whatever backwater planet they tell you bleed on!" The man gave them a wicked smile, and cracked his gloved hands against one another. "Lucky for you, you sad sacks got me. Who I am, what division I served in and how many ugly little kids I had to step on to survive ain't quite your business. All that matters to you is that you call me either 'sir' or 'Sergeant', or Dennis if you're feeling pretty suicidal." He let out a sharp laugh, one that was weakly echoed by a few members of their class.
Weiss couldn't help but raise an eyebrow slightly at the man, unimpressed. So far, he'd been a belligerent taskmaster with an unmatched talent for screaming obscenities. A part of her was confused how they were supposed to learn anything from a man who spat more than he spoke, though she would never admit it.
"Let me just give you a little bit of knowledge kiddies." He tore off his stormtrooper plating on his right arm, giving them a full view of his clearly mechanical prosthetic. "I fought in the Clone Wars, holding off pirates in the Outer Rim. I didn't see a single Republic or Separatist ship the whole damned war, but I saw plenty of death. Pirates, political opportunists, slavers and the odd wildman wandering into town with a knife and a blaster. That's who you're goin' up against out there, make no damned mistake." He clasped the armour back onto his hand and pressed a few buttons on its inbuilt console. The coiled ropes on the ceiling began to unravel and descend to the gymnasium floor, more than two dozen at once. Weiss was no stranger to heights, but the length of those ropes was both daunting and concerning to just about anyone. "And for every single man I killed, I had to crawl over the body of a dead comrade, take an enemy held hill, and choke out an old man who tried to sell our town out." He held their eyes, bleeding intensity with each laboured breath echoed back by the class. Weiss felt her breath catch as his eyes ghosted over hers, almost like the man didn't see anyone there. Suddenly, his demeanor shifted once more, setting a leisurely pace as he walked back and forth between the ranks, one hand gesturing to his side as he spoke.
"At the top of each of these ropes is a small bell, one that you must swat before letting yourself down. If you can hit it, you're done for the day. But if you can't, then you're gonna stand here with me until you do, or I get so tired of laughing at your miserable corpses that I just make you clean the gymnasium instead. Any questions?"
Before anyone could stammer one out or react, he already had a whistle shoved between his lips and let loose. The high shriek sent everyone into sudden motion, Weiss herself lurching forward on instinct.
'This is nothing. I've seen and done far more stressful things in my life.' thought Weiss. 'Hey, during initiation I climbed the rocks of a falling temple and helped kill a bird the size of a building! That bell is done for.'
Weiss built up her momentum as she sped towards the rope, coiling her muscles and getting ready to spring into action. As soon as she cleared the initial climb, the rest would be a mix of combating muscle fatigue and maintaining her pace. Easy.
With a plan in place, Weiss took a huge breath and leapt the remaining distance to the rope, aiming high and latching onto it with dear might. The tension and pain was almost immediate, her muscles flaring up with pain, her shoulders unused to the sudden exertion. Hand clamped over hand, letting her make steady progress with teeth grinding against each other.
Unfortunately, the aged ropes of the base were quite beaten with their constant use, and had begun to fray the closer Weiss got to the top. One stray cord had escaped the ropes coil and poked Weiss right in the hand as she dragged herself up. The cord drew no blood, but was enough to shock her.
Weiss gasped in pain, and suddenly her grip slipped from the rope and sent her plummeting to the ground. Her instincts kicked in, and her huntress mind kicked into overdrive as she sought salvation…
Only to have those instincts be shut down as she hit the padded mat, the ground apparently closer that she thought. The Sergeant stood over her, looking down at her impassively.
"How...How high… was that?" gasped Weiss, slightly winded by her fall. The aged trooper laughed when he told her.
Exactly three meters higher than her starting point.
Weiss eyes narrowed, but before she could say anything he cut her off: "Back of the line maggot." he snarled, before turning to observe her fellows.
Struggling to her feet, Weiss stomped back to her column, desperately trying to block out the sound of Trina whooping to the accompaniment of a small tinkling bell.
"Touch it again," Corporal Khuntean sneered, "and I'll shoot you with it." His disturbingly sincere tone silenced the room and sufficiently chastised the over-eager cadet.
Corporal Khuntean was a representative of BlasTech Industries, producers of almost all of the Empire's small arms arsenal. Weiss' business acumen had made her curious as to how absurdly profitable a company with exclusive contracts for the equipement of a galaxy spanning-empire's. In fact she was almost as curious as she was in the weapons themselves. But it was becoming clear he probably wasn't the person to ask about the company's economic health.
She was in a group of about forty other new troopers who had been classified as having "introductory" marksmanship skills, courtesy of the performance report that had gotten her impressed into the military in the first place. Despite the accuracy of the assessment, her ego had been bruised until she met her new classmates.
Most of the people she had met so far were either from a military - or at least a criminal - background, or were political fanatics the Empire saw fit to utilize. The first group had enough experience with the gritty details of combat to justify their potential inclusion into the Stormtrooper Corps, while the second group offered fervent devotion and sheer bloodlust. Weiss reasoned that combining these two groups was probably a good way to engineer a fighting force that was mindlessly loyal but still capable and pragmatic enough to get things done.
The cadets around her now were quite different. She had mingled with them before class started, as Kluntean had been late. Like her, many of them came from affluent, even spoiled, backgrounds and had never seriously touched a gun. Unlike her, most of them were here because of family expectation or political expediency rather than ability. They had enough connections for the Empire to begrudgingly provide them a chance to be Stormtroopers, provided they worked hard enough to meet the standards.
One young man was the son of an Imperial politician, whose father insisted he join because it look good politically. Another was from a rich family that had thrown him out after endless drama and conflict, but arranged for him to join the elite force to preserve the family's image. Though she could tell some of them were clueless, Weiss felt much more comfortable with these people than the brasher cadets.
While everyone else had taken their first trip to the firing ranges, Weiss and her group were in an imposing classroom to start from the very beginning and learn the basics of a "blaster" from BlasTech themselves. In front of each cadet was a podium with an all-metal black gun, rather small for a rifle, mounted on it.
So far, Weiss had learned that "blaster" was a rather crude term for a rather complex type of plasma weapon. The principle was that the gun would take a special type of gas, supercharge it into a focused plasma bolt, and then launch it. The intensity of the burst could be varied by changing the amount of gas and power used, resulting in both wide array of blaster weapons and the ability to change settings on individual guns.
Corporal Kluntean tended to go on digressions that were clearly not essential but interesting nonetheless: for example, blaster gas could be synthetically produced, but it was much cheaper to simply harvest it en masse from gaseous planets like Bespin. This could make otherwise worthless gas giants into very important strategic assets.
Corporal Kluntean also tended to be, for lack of a better word, angry.
"The blaster is so common nobody respects it anymore," he said, continuing his beratement of the cadet who started touching his weapon before he was told. "These things are not toys." For effect, Kluntean picked up the weapon on his own desk and waved it around haphazardly with one hand. "I could kill any one of you, right now, with a single shot. Literally disintegrate everything above your neck. Do you still think it's a toy?"
Weiss had to fight off a smile at the contradictory display. Kluntean was clearly insecure in his authority, though it wasn't hard to see why. He wasn't a real soldier - the Empire had given him the humorously low rank of corporal as a formality - and that probably meant his more hardened students didn't respect him. He compensated by being constantly over the top.
"But since everyone's eager to get themselves killed, let's move on to getting familiar with your weapon. The weapon in front of you is an E-11 Blaster Rifle. It is the product of the enormous amount of experience gleaned from the Clone Wars, to produce a much more efficient and capable weapon than anything before it.
On the top of your weapon is the scope. The scope is a powered device that provides an outline view of targets in the ultraviolet and infrared spectrum on top of the visual spectrum. Very useful for fighting in poor visual conditions. You can toggle various magnification levels with the knob on the side. These things were also designed to integrate with your helmets, when you get them, so a skilled Stromtrooper can take advantage of the scope's line of sight without having to actually look through it.
On the left side of the gun is the power cartridge. These things are easy to replace in a stressful situation and last for about a hundred shots. You'll usually be given four spare cartridges in addition to the one already loaded. You can also adjust the power setting with this gauge under the cartridge feed.
On the tail of the gun is the gas chamber. It holds enough gas for about five hundred shots, which is why you get five power cells." Kluntean unscrewed the cap from the gun and pulled out a cylinder attached to it. "This is the gas container. It's entirely shockproof, but if it was to be punctured or hit by a blaster, especially at full load, it would wipe out this room and everyone in it."
Kluntean screwed the gas chamber back in and continued. "Next, we have the stock." He lifted the gun up and pressed a latch release on the piece of metal attached to the blaster's undercarriage. A crude but effective stock unfolded and swung under the length of the gun. Kluntean demonstrated how to fix the stock in place with another latch.
"This stock effectively doubles the length of the weapon, and allows you to brace it against your shoulder" he said, demonstrating the proper way to aim the weapon with the stock extended-"
"Excuse me," one of the cadets said, raising his arm.
"...yes?" Kluntean growled.
"How come I've never seen Stormtroopers firing with the stock? Wouldn't it be much more accurate?"
"Yes, but your training will focus on firing accurately without it. Most of you are not going to be snipers or scout troopers, you will be close assault troops and almost all of your engagements will be within fifty meters. When you're storming a starship or fortress, it's much more important to be able to fire quickly and on the move than to have perfect aim. In close quarters even a missed shot is likely to cause shrapnel or hit another enemy combatant, provided you could at least send it to the right general area.
And speaking of close range combat; on the body of the weapon directly behind the trigger you will find your fire mode adjuster. You can flick it with your thumb while aiming the weapon. Your first option gives fires a single shot with every trigger pull, the second will fire a three shot burst, and the third will provide continuous fire as long as you hold the trigger down. You shouldn't use fully automatic mode often, as it heats up the gun quickly and goes through ammunition very fast.
Moving on, these weapons are vacuum proof, liquid proof, contaniment proof, just about everything-proof, but they still require cleaning to stay that way." Kluntean pressed a button and a small door opened on everyone's podium, revealing cleaning kits.
Kluntean was meticulous about cleaning the guns correctly, so they spent the next half hour going over the procedure. The gun could be factory serviced for severe damage and could be separated into pieces, but end users were not expected to do this. Their part was extremely simple: wiping down the gun when it was dirty, making sure the sensitive scope was not damaged, and ensuring the few moving parts were well lubricated. The most complicated process was deep cleaning the barrel. Kluntean explained that the outer half of the barrel would be automatically cleaned when the gun was fired, since the plasma bolt would destroy any contaminants, but in the inner half dust and other debris could disrupt the bolt's formation, potentially leading to an explosive misfire. They learned how to thoroughly clean the barrel with a small metal rod that was long enough to go all the way down. It had a sponge-like metallic mesh at the end, which was dipped in adhesive to scrap off and collect any particles it encountered.
"And with that," Kluntean announced when he was finally satisfied, "we're done here." He allowed himself an obnoxious yawn. "Now, to the firing range!" A few cheers rose from the class.
He instructed everyone to take their weapon and march single file to the nearest of the academy's many ranges. He wasn't very strict about order, often walking backward to talk to people along the way, and the single file "march" soon broke down into small groups conversing as they walked.
Weiss found herself alone, so she slowly maneuvered along the line until she was alongside one of the other solitary people. Lunar, the young man who had been exiled by his family, smiled when he noticed her. She liked his faint sky blue hair, white at the base and progressively more blue. He wore it in a short ruffled style, and reminded her of a shier version of Neptune from Beacon.
"How are you?" Weiss asked, returning his smile.
"I'm alright. This thing isn't as heavy as I thought it would be."
"Yeah. It's still rather heavy though."
Lunar glanced to visibly look over Weiss. "I can see why you're having trouble," he said with a light heartened grin.
"Hmpf." Weiss was in good shape, but she knew she wasn't very strong.
"Anyway," she started, "where did your family get their fortune from?"
"Oh. They inherited it, mostly. I don't wanna talk about them."
"I understand."
"Seems like an odd question to ask a stranger, though."
Weiss shrugged. "It is, but I just wanted to talk about something we can both relate too. I came from a well-heeled family as well and living with the...you know, others, is kinda aggravating."
Lunar chuckled. "Yeah, they're pretty boisterous. I don't have any problems though, most of them are good guys. I can see why a cute girl might have a harder time though," he said with another grin.
Weiss made an exaggerated show of sighing and rolling her eyes, although she she let a playful smile show. "I see I'm not safe from the more classy ones either."
"I guess not. But seriously, some of these guys really believe in the Empire and want to do great things for humanity. And others are more than qualified to be Stormtroopers. It's good to see them using their skills for the Empire instead of being petty criminals or mercenaries, or worse."
"The Empire sure is...interesting."
Lunar chuckled again. "If you're not a fan, why are you here?"
"I didn't say that that. I just mean...I guess I still need to learn more about it."
He gave her a confused look. "What's there to learn?"
"I was never into politics. At all," Weiss quickly bluffed. "So I never paid much attention to the Empire until now."
"Ah. One of those types."
Weiss reseated her rifle in her arms. It was getting burdensome, and she wished it had some sort of strap for her to sling it over her shoulder.
"What about your family, by the way? What planet are you from? I'm from Corellia."
"I'm from...umm, the Outer Rim."
"Really? I guess your family isn't very old then."
"No, actually. We were established by my grandfather."
"What do you guys do? Spacers?"
"No."
"Government contractors? Do you work with Core or Mid Rim interests trying to expand or something?"
"No."
"...do you work with the Hutts?"
"Uh, no."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "Weiss, are you a criminal?"
"No!" she said, appalled. "We're not involved in any criminal activity! My family made their fortune mining."
"Ah, mining, that makes sense. You had me worried for a moment there," he added playfully. "What resources do you mine?"
"Uh, well, special types of dust."
"Dust? I've never heard of commercial applications with any kind of dust. Did your family invent a new use for it or something?"
"...I don't want to talk about them anymore."
Lunar smiled again. "I guess that's fair."
They walked the rest of the way in silence, Weiss resolving to be more careful about talking about Remnant. It was clear no one was aware of it, and trying to explain would certainly cause problems or unwanted attention for her. She still didn't understand the new world she was in, much less how Remnant fit into it.
When they arrived at the firing range, Kluntean directed all of them into individual firing booths, arranged side by side. After instructing them to use the lowest power setting, he activated round holographic targets twenty-five meters away. Fortunately, they would be using the stock to fire slow, aimed shots from the shoulder for now.
Weiss, enticed by the possibility of being ahead of at least one group of cadets, was one of the first to open fire. The blaster rifle had essentially no recoil, yet holding it up and steady would get tiresome quickly. But the immediate problem was how to aim through the confusing multi-spectrum scope.
"How do I turn the extra spectrums off?" She asked Kluntean when he passed by her station.
"You don't. Everything with a green tint and a bright body is in the infrared spectrum, while things with a purple outline are being displayed in ultraviolet. Everything else is in visual. So right now you should be able to see the target as it is without the scope, but with a green tint and a purple outline, since it is registering on the other spectrums."
"It's distracting. I can barely see the accuracy circles on the target."
"Do you need to? You just aim for the middle," Kluntean said snidely.
Weiss groaned, carefully setting up her shot. She fired and watched the bright red bolt strike the center of the target, exploding on contact with the projected light.
"Good work. You've also learned the chief limitation of blasters - they break on almost anything. The plasma bolt is designed to break out on contact, and it doesn't have any penetrating power besides what the plasma itself does. You can't fire through obstacles. You can't even fire through heavy smoke or hail, as those contaminants will intercept the bolt. This is one of the only advantages projectile weapons have over the blaster."
"What are the others?"
"Well, the only other one is that you can fire beyond the horizon on a planet with a projectile rifle, by taking advantage of the planet's gravity and curvature. But that's harder than work in a Kessel mine and I know none of you mucks could ever do it, so it doesn't matter."
"Thanks for the encouragement," Weiss groaned.
"You're welcome sweetheart," his voice returned with pleasure. "But if you're actually thinking about a slugthrower, keep in mind that the blaster has them beat in just about everything else. A plasma bolt can do far more damage than any slug. Power cells and blaster gas are a lot lighter that heavy slugs, and you couldn't put a hundred slugs into a cartridge the size of the one in your rifle. You couldn't even shove ten in there. And don't forget those things don't shoot straight on their own. You have to account for wind, you have to aim above your target for gravity, and every slugthrower has different quirks and and ammunition. It's a mess. Be thankful for your blaster."
With that, Kluntean pressed a button on his remote and the target disappeared, reappearing at fifty meters away this time.
"Time for some real practice," he announced. We're going to go up to two hundred meters today, and I'll be moving back and forth between ranges to throw you all off. And no one is leaving until everyone has made five perfect shots at every distance. I don't care if we're here all night. Enjoy!"
Weiss sighed and braced her rifle.
"Why are we doing this again?" grumbled Weiss as she threw another poorly peeled potato into the absolutely massive pot that herself and five other cadets stood around. Bits of peel fell into the vat as Weiss took out her frustration on an unfortunate potato, turning it into pitifully thin slices.
A heavy set woman stood next to them, shrivelled grey hairs tucked into her frayed hair net as she tossed one fistfull of salt after the other into the vat, blank eyes not even registering Weiss' question.
Weiss felt her eye twitch as she cleared her throat loudly, earning a few furtive glances between herself and the lunch lady. When the woman proved she had the awareness of a comatose snail, Weiss cleared her throat once more before repeating herself.
"Excuse me, but I asked exactly what we are doing here. It's rather rude to ignore a rather simple question." huffed Weiss, searching for purchase in the woman's features. When she found none, she sighed and placed her peeler on a nearby metal counter-top.
The previously unresponsive lunch lady's head snapped in her direction like lightning. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the idle implement, before slowly raising them to Weiss.
'Finally, some recognition from this beast.' thought Weiss with a small surge of pride. "Why are we doing this menial labour with our bare hands? I was under the impression that we were an advanced society, capable of creating sentient life. Isn't there some other way for us to do this that doesn't involve developing a medical condition in my wrist?"
The statue of a woman stared deep into Weiss' soul, and opened her mouth with what sounded like the grinding sound of stone and the distant cries of a wounded creature. Before she could speak, Trina spoke up from beside Weiss, nudging her with an elbow as she dutifully continued peeling; if not pitifully.
"Weiss, don't you see? How can they trust us with anything important if we aren't willing to do the little things? This is a way to teach us dedication, endurance and a bit of patience with what feels like an unimportant task." Explained Trina, logic ringing sound with Weiss. Her own upbringing hadn't involved such tactics, but still aimed for the same sort of lesson. Her father made her sit outside the door's of his office during board meetings, watched like a hawk by one of her handlers to ensure she didn't move too much or run off. He claimed it was to teach her patience, and while the method wasn't very pleasant, Weiss couldn't discount the effectiveness of it.
Trina, seeing progress, continued: "And I mean, I wouldn't trust a blaster to anyone who can't be trusted to peel a potato. It's all common sense really." she finished off with a smile.
Weiss nodded as she picked her peeler back up alongside a fresh spud, suitably cowed. Humility, it would seem, had still eluded her despite her time at Beacon. Simply one more thing to improve of herself in this strange new life.
Sighing, she went back to work, trying hard not to look at the lunch lady who still stared at her like some unfeeling sentinel. The grim underneath her nails would be frustrating, but hopefully with enough peeling and hard work, Weiss could find some greater peace wit-
"Actually." droned the woman with absolutely no feeling in her voice, "We just make you guys do it because you're free. Automation is expensive."
A loud clang echoed across the kitchen as a peeler fell from Weiss' slippery, clenched hands and into the pot. Trina winced as Weiss' half brutalized spud was crushed in her hands, the heiress breathing heavily as she gave the pot a death glare.
With one final breath, Weiss relaxed the tension in her muscles and look at the peeler, stuck way down below her pile of shredded potatoes and the murky water it rested in. Looking back to the once again comatose 'chef', Weiss resisted the urge to push the woman into the pot.
"Can I at least have some gloves to take it out so it doesn't contaminate the pot or something?"
Weiss' response was another handful of salt landing right on top of her peeler.
A/N: Hey guys! Jupitermonkey4 and Darthbrowser here, finally coming in with an update. Things were in the pipes, and life got in the way, but we hope you liked the chapter :) It was perfect timing with the new Clone Wars trailer dropping, so I guess that's just destiny. As always: Favorite, Follow, and Subscribe!