#ruinstarter

The air was crisp and only growing colder by the hour as it did as the sun sunk below the horizon. The dying glow from the sun illuminated the small area Elise had occupied for nearly half an hour now as she wiped off her tools with a wax coated cloth and read her worn down copy of Napoleon le Petit which laid flat on it’s spine on the table beside her. The girl took occasional sips from her canteen filled with coffee instead of water and soon noticed someone carrying quite a load of cargo. It was nearly an immediate reaction- her getting up from the table and quickly heading over. “Here, let me help-” Elise spoke with her French lilt.

Her feet had barely touched the Belarus soil for more than thirty second before long strides had quickly taken her back to the mechanics to critique the work that they had done in her absence. The suggestion of leave had been met with dragging feet and a clenched jaw with the brunette so unwilling to return home. Back in Glasgow it didn’t matter that dozens had turned to her when her father had been unwell or how dozens more had flocked to her when her brother had been called to war. Back home she was just a girl with a talent for cars but here she got to make a real difference and that was why she always had more time for the machines that she worked on rather than the people that made up the rest of the unit she was a part of.

“These aren’t yours, are they?”

His fingers thrummed idly against his thigh, eyes narrowing in thought. “If you were to take a guess, when do you think this,” he motioned at the landscape with his cigarette before looking in the other’s direction, “will all end?”

The night had bled into dawn as Marco had worked, desperately trying to save those in his care from being another name on a death notice in a mother’s hands. It took it’s toll, seeing so many die under his emerald watch, but he would not let unnecessary numbers add to death’s legions - not while he could help him. Reprieve came only in the short breaks he permitted himself - to eat, to sleep a little, or, when there was no time to find an empty cot or a meal, to pray behind the tent for a moment.

His hands held precision. The blade flipped upon his palm, deft digits curling lightly around its textured grip. Three of his knives were already lodged within the center ring, outlining the crimson mark which would receive his fourth. Index and thumb grasped the silver blade whilst his eyes honed in on the inanimate victim. His arm swept upward, dagger poised beside his ear before the swift backward wrench and forward release. The weapon struck home, its sharp point embedding itself within the core as commanded. Esca often chose luncheon to occupy camp outskirts, where the majority of camp settled among the mess hall-- or in this case, evaded the masses of ‘moving day’. Yet, an uninvited presence arrived to interrupt his ritual. His gaze failed to greet them, his attention instead plucking a fifth knife from the table.

Markus was starving. She meant to grab something to eat much earlier, but she had been busy getting things organized in the medic tent, sorting the supplies and making sure her ducks were in a row before she would leave anything or take a break. That ended up taking up most of her day and all she was running on at that point were fumes and caffeine. Not that she really stopped to get any coffee, but a mug would be placed on her desk and she would sip at it while she worked.

When Aino was just a child, visiting the neighbouring Sweden had been incredibly exciting to her. She remembers how she couldn’t fall asleep the night prior, how she could only lie in her bed and imagine the streets and people of Stockholm. Back then, she had been convinced everything would be different and exciting on the other side of the Gulf and wouldn’t listen to anyone trying to assure her it wasn’t all that different from Helsinki. No, Sweden represented something magical and exotic to the young girl who had never even dared to think about travelling.