where: starts outside the armory to somewhere private idk when: after the mutiny whom: @intrepidim
“Play nice and you’ll both get to stretch your legs.”
Marcus addresses that, not to her, but to their prisoners––Jules and Roi––but she cannot pretend that she does not hear it; cannot be deaf to such an absurd concept. It shouldn’t be her place to comment. Violet is not a seaman nor veteran, at least not to any war Her Majesty would ever record; but what is war? Is it not the grappling of power between two groups ready to spill blood for an ounce of control? If that is the case then she is a veteran many times over. The scars on her hands, the bullet wound in her shoulder––long since scarred over––aches in memory to every power struggle she has survived and won. She was a captain once too, of her own concrete bound crew. The alley battles, the guerilla tactics, the victories; all of it, comes back to the forefront of her mind. A flexing of an old muscle. It is the tactician in her that urges to voice protest, but she is careful. Estrada is the captain and she does not forget to give him the respect he is due. “May I have word, sir? In private?” Tense politeness coats every syllable. And when they are alone, away from anyone who can witness a subordinate advising a superior, she continues.
“Sir, please don’t tell me you actually think that letting Jules out is a good idea.”
