Here's a story I whipped up to be seasonally appropriate. (This is just the first installment -- it kind of got away from me. The date becomes relevant in the next part.)
For narrative convenience, I pretended the mission launched in early January and they've been at it for about a month. (So they haven't had time to level up *too* much, just to get to know one another.)
Parliament of Fowls
PART 1
Fiddles and flutes played as strong arms swept Tuuri up into the dance, whirling madly around a palatial hall lit with thousands of electric bulbs. Her feet, in glittering Old-Time slippers, barely seemed to touch the floor as her long princess skirt flared around her ankles. Then the whirling stopped, the arms tightened around her, and golden hair brushed her brow as a voice murmured…
“Tuuri? Tuuri!”
Fingers snapped in front of her nose.
“Wake up, little pal! I said, can you read back the status report?”
The Finnish skald dropped her notebook, blushingly scooped it back up, and read:
“Year 91, Day 119. Before-Times reckoning: Day 42. Weather: Warm and rainy.
“Status report: Disabled list, four personnel. None serious. Eide: Black eye, mild concussion. Hotakainen, L: shin splints. Madsen: wrenched back. Vasterstrom: food poisoning, minor burns.”
(Lalli murmured: “I told him those weren’t the kind of mushrooms you can eat, or at least without saying the right words while they cook. But he just ignored me and kept jabbering, as usual…”)
“At Capt. Eide’s recommendation, we are taking a three-day rest and recovery period while we wait for the weather to turn in our favor. Dr. Madsen will conduct a thorough inventory while the Captain leads weapons and self-defense practice.
“Books found at our last stop include…”
“All right, brainiac, you can save those details for our bosses,” Sigrun said affably. “You’re having too much fun with ‘em, anyway. I should check out the one that makes you giggle so much – Halvtreds Gråtoner, is that it? Although gray is such a boring color…”
“Ooh, uh, it is boring. That’s what makes me giggle,” Tuuri said hastily. The last thing she wanted at the moment was more of Sigrun’s “war stories,” full of details that seemed not only unnerving but anatomically unlikely.
“All right, crew, an hour to yourselves, then we meet back here at 0900 hours for judo practice. Remember to strip and remake your bunks neatly, or the good doctor here’s going to have some words with you about protocol.”
As the crew got up to leave, Sigrun grabbed her wrist. “Hey, Mikkel, I think this one might have a concussion too – remember how she whacked her head against the bunk this morning? Give her that eye-test-thingie you gave me.”
The medic lumbered over, gently took Tuuri’s chin in one hand, and looked steadily into her eyes for the space of 10 heartbeats, while he probed her scalp with the other hand. She could feel her face growing hot, and wished she could drop her gaze. Instead, she tried to think of the exact shade of dark blue his eyes were. Lake Saimaa in full summer, maybe?
Mikkel let her go and turned to Sigrun. “No, her pupils are the same size, and she focuses and tracks just fine. She’s got a bit of a goose egg back there, but nothing time and maybe a cold compress won’t cure. You, though, are not allowed to grab and throw anyone until I’m satisfied you can actually see straight.”
“Yeah, yeah, you and what army are going to stop me,” the captain said, rolling her eyes. Once he was out of earshot, she leaned over Tuuri with a sly expression.
“I didn’t actually think you had a concussion, kiddo. I think spring’s coming early for someone. And I wanted to see how you reacted. Haha, you’re still red! Back home in Norway, we’d just lock a couple in the broom closet till they’d gotten it out of their systems. Here – I dunno, I could take the boys hunting for an hour and you and Mikkel would have the tank to yourselves…”
“Oh, no! No, no, it’s not like that!” Tuuri said, horrified. “I mean – Mikkel’s so big! – er, old! Besides, he’s always ordering me around, just like the Supply-Sergeant at home. I’d never… I couldn’t…”
“OK, kiddo, OK, I believe you,” Sigrun said comfortably. “So how about the pretty Swede? I mean, he screams a lot, but you know what they say about screamers…”
“It’s not like that,” said poor Tuuri, near tears. (Truthfully, early on she had been fascinated by Emil’s golden hair and how it always flowed so gracefully, unlike the rough military haircuts she was used to. But after you’ve stumbled over someone’s sweaty boots a dozen times, fished clots of his blond hair out of the shower drain, and mopped up his vomit, the enchantment does fade.)
“Well, little pal, I don’t know what to tell you. You’re probably smart not to get your meat where you get your bread… but it’s not like Prince Charming is going to come riding out of the forest like in the old stories. Tell you what – the minute we get back to civilization, I’ll pick out a couple of hot prospects for you. Okay?”
And with a friendly shoulder-punch, the captain strode off.
“Prince Charming riding out of the forest…” Tuuri murmured.
TO BE CONTINUED
