Forgot to say Jeffery Arrow belongs to my friend , and is used with permission.
Thank you all for the AMAZING reviews, and as with the first AAAE, I stress them immensely.
Anything not copyrighted to Disney is mine and I give no permission for it to be used by anyone in any way, shape, or form.
Delbert felt his throat tighten as he brought Amelia closer to him, kissing her neck and then burying his face, playing with her hair she'd let grow out the past couple of years. It grew remarkably fast. It was now past her butt, a bit gorgeous red mass she left down purely for Delbert's entertainment unless going to work. It was also used so he could practice braids for the un-avoidable future of putting up little girl's hair. Either way, as he ran his fingers through the long tresses, the dread spread throughout his body, licking up every little bit of hope he had. He'd dealt with many a war in his time, having to assist in battle strategies and the prediction of any sort of supernova, solar storm, or other natural disaster that could be used to their advantage. Thinking back, he was surprised he'd never worked with Amelia, considering her revolutionary military achievements.
"W-What's going to...are you..."
"I'll be s-shipping out in...in a few months." She swallowed, taking a shuddering breath, her lips trembling by his ear. "I-I start training ca-cadets...tomorrow. I'll..." She let out a whimper, going limp in Delbert's arms, resigning. This made Delbert whimper himself and lick her cheek and nuzzle her. She'd only been like this one other time, and that was due to the near death of Clara because of a bombing. This terror inside Amelia seemed to radiate off her and attach itself to Delbert, making him feel ill.
"I'll be s-staying at the a-academy. N-no negotiations."
Delbert nodded, slowly running his hand down her back, fingers through her hair, relishing the cool, silky feeling as his hand performed this action.
"I c-can't visit on the w-weekends..."
He only nodded, stopping at the tips of her hair, twirling around his fingers the beautiful strings. Looking at them in the moonlight, at her, with her sad eyes and frown that went against the flow of soft laugh lines on her face, he felt his heart sink into the deepest depths of uncertainty and consternation.
Bad things were going to happen as time progressed.
"You get those bloody scissors away from my hair or, I swear upon my mother's life, I will smite you." Amelia snarled at the stylist who stood next to Dean Richard Hopkins, an aged Army veteran who'd been in his position since Amelia was a student.
"Please, Madam, you know it's protocol as well as I."
"Yeah well I don't give a rats arse about protocol, and you know that." She growled. "I have yet to ship out and I do not plan to even consider chopping off my hair until then."
"You always were a hair-greyer." Hopkins sighed, shaking his head and motioning for the stylist to leave, who did so quickly. "Fine, have your way, Madam. But you do know you must-"
"Keep it up. I know. Bugger off, Hopkins. I don't plan on flaunting my femininity long as I'm in the arms length of immature teenage boys who seem to have a death wish."
"What of the girls?"
"They're not off their rockers."
"Ah, I forgot women get crazier as they age."
He dodged the whack aimed at him and trotted off, leaving a very perturbed Amelia to go out to her ship, the RLS Lyonesse. She owned two ships, the Legacy and this one. Out of them both, she preferred the Lyonesse. It was better armed, swifter despite its size, and had an outrageous amount of storage space. Currently, since the Legacy was now more of a personal transport ship, this was the ship she would be using as she gave cadets lessons in the field, which would include simulated rescue missions, target practice, and actually helping out the townsfolk of the nearby islands, whether it be with fishing or trade. There was always a skill that needed learning when one was preparing for war.
Upon reaching the deck of the ship, where Amelia started tying up her mass of hair, she was approached by a very familiar face.
"Why, hello Clara." She smiled slightly. Clara smiled back, extending the metal contraption she now called an arm to Amelia, who shook it, indifferent. Only months after the babies had been born, Clara had been in a terrible, terrible accident while abroad, building houses for refugees of a famine. Some bastard had planted a bomb, and Clara had suffered.
Unfortunately, she was the luckiest out of the group of volunteers.
"Life treating you well, I trust?" Amelia questioned.
"Quite well, Auntie..." The young woman, her mechanical hand hidden by her long sleeves as she walked, scratched her head with her good arm. "Haven't you wondered why I came here?"
"Well, I assumed it was for one of your unannounced and sometimes un-appropriately timed hello's, but now I'm guessing otherwise." Amelia glanced at her and turned to a crew member, speaking with him on some specifics of the ship, finding out her First Mate was to be a man by the name of Clement Clarkson.
"I came to tell you I'm getting married." She said, getting straight to the point in her usual Clara fashion. Amelia whirled around, staring. "Fredrick proposed?!"
She grinned. "No, I did."
Amelia paused before letting out a hardy laugh and grabbing Clara in a hug, ignoring the looks she got for her un-professionalism. She pulled back, beaming. "That's just bloody brilliant."
"Mhm, and-and so is that." Clara's eyes glinted while she looked over Amelia's shoulder. Amelia blinked and turned around in confusion, her eyes landing on what, she agreed, was bloody brilliant.
He appeared to be in his late thirties, tall. Drop. Dead. Gorgeous. Slightly curly raven feather hair tied back in a short ponytail with a few strands of hair in his face, helping to emphasize his captivating green eyes. The stubble on his chin helped with the rest of the image, as did the six pack abs that could be seen through the shirt under his opened uniform jacket. He flicked his tail and perked his Felinid ears before walking straight towards Amelia.
Amelia looked up at him when he stopped a mear foot from her. "Hello, are you Madam Amelia?" He asked, his voice a rolling baratone that reminded Amelia of crashing ocean waves, sending a chill down her spine.
"Y-Yes." She stammered, cursing herself inwardly. Damn attractive men and their ability to make her, like an woman, all too distracted.
He smiled and chuckled lightly, the sound remnant of a pleasant thunder. "As on edge as I am, Madam?" He shook her hand as she coughed awkwardly. "Um, yes, I do suppose so. Things like this never end well."
"Training?"
"War."
"Oh, yeah." He looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry I'm, uh I'm Clement Clarkson."
"Madam Amelia Doppler." She nodded to him. "I'm going to be honest, I haven't the chance to read over your credentials before coming onto the ship. Though, judging by your slightly timid walk and lack of appropriate conduct when it comes to your attire," she gestured to his open shirt, which he quickly buttoned up. It hugged his abs more than the undershirt. "I'm guessing this is your first time in this particular position of authority."
He slowly nodded, whistling slightly. "You sure are smart. I...was appointed the position by Queen Illysa. She said she knew you were picky and thought...uh...that I'd, to quote, "fit your requirements physically and mentally""
Oh you definitely fit them physically...
Amelia nodded a bit. "Well I'll trust her judgment until further notice. For now, you'll be in the room on the left of my stateroom. The door is behind the bookcase, just slide it open."
Clement just nodded and slowly made his way to where he needed to be, looking around at things. Amelia admired his toned hindquarters until she realized she was in public and married.
"I would do so many things to that man." Clara whispered. Amelia would normally scold her, but she was thinking the exact same thing.
At that point Clara said she must leave, as she was late to an appointment. Amelia bid her farewell and then continued with her duties, talking to the sparse crew on her ship-only enough to operate it for training exercises- and then commanding lift off for the first exercise that was to begin shortly, about a thousand yards from the docks of the Interstellar Academy. They were soon met by the sloops with the students in them, who all looked frightened and naïve. With a sigh, Amelia stepped onto the railing of the ship and cupped her hands around her mouth, a rather unnecessary action considering her voice was already ungodlily loud.
"Cadets, today is the day you go from boys and girls to men and women! You are training for one of the most dangerous wars our great empire has ever been in! Over the next few months, you will learn skills that most spacers take years to acquire, skills myself and many of the officers on this ship wish we had when we were your age, so you better feel pretty damn privileged! I hope that you all do learn these skills within the amount of time we have to teach them, because, when you're out on the battlefield, or stranded in the middle of nowhere, you've only got yourself, your skills, and the mercy of God. Ships in Triangle formation, we will simply practice accelerated navigation today."
And she stepped off the railing, satisfied with the looks of terror and near tears some of the cadets were in. She waved her hand to the helmsman and started patrolling the ship out of habit. She heard clopping steps and then looked to her side to find Clement. Or rather, his abs. Ah, she loved tall military men.
"Madam, great speech but, I must ask, wasn't it a bit...well...harsh?"
He held himself as if he had confidence, but the pauses in his sentences revealed his still hesitance. Amelia nodded. "It was quite harsh, but it could have been harsher, and it does give them the appropriate wake up call."
"...Wake up call, ma'am?"
Amelia stopped and looked to Clement, who blew a strand of hair from his eyes. "Have you ever been to war before, Mister Clarkson?"
Clement nodded. "I was in the Kattindog Quasar War, ma'am. Earned a purple heart."
"Ah. That's where I earned my Green Badge of Honor." She nodded once and continued walking, Clement following. "With such an achievement, I'm sure you're aware war isn't all about glory, facing your fears, and saving your empire, eh?"
"...What is it about, ma'am?"
Amelia sighed. "Survival. If you don't keep your damn head on your shoulders, then you can't do a damn thing for anyone. You're not there to come home a hero, you're there so everyone on the home front can keep their lives and livlihoods and never have to see the horrors. The seas of dead bodies and the chunks of your comrades spewed about by a mine or grenade. The amputations. The loss of hearing, sight, smell, taste from chemical explosions and the knowledge that wherever you go, whatever you do, you are never safe, and that, before anything else, you're just trying to keep your own ass above water long enough to shoot the bastard aiming at you from round the bend. That's what war is: survival of the fittest and smartest. The stupid get knocked off first, then the scrawny ones, and then those who prevail earn the title of survivor, not hero, survivor. No one is a hero, just a person who does something right, and they need to learn that. You understand, Mister Clarkson?"
Clement stared at Amelia with wide eyes, an enlightened air about him, and nodded. "Yes ma'am."
"Good." She turned to him when they reached the bow of the ship. "To get you used to things around here, shout the commands to the cadets for me."
"Why?"
"Because I said so, wanker."
"...Yes ma'am."
And he left, leaving Amelia to turn and stare out at the sky, a very action that would save all their lives.