2.7 The Officer Dilemma

What he wanted to say was: It's nice to have a new friend, rival, mortal enemy, or whatever else you decide to be. However, that didn't roll off the tongue the same way. Bellavarn gave himself brownie points to himself for attempting flair more often. In all honesty, he was wondering how safe it was keeping Kelly around. Her cousin, Bear, was a more interesting individual. He collected seashells. It intrigued Bellavarn to no end.

"And this one?"

"Ah~ That's an iridescent multi-spectral black-spotted snail shell. I found it mixed in with my Uncle's shipment of clay; this was before he started making his own."

"How'd you spot it mixed in with all the clay?"

Bear scratched the back of his head, a common habit of his.

"I was only five, and I had more fun digging through the mud than molding it. Kelly was the star student."

That made Bellavarn's lips curl.

"Reeeally?"

"She's always been passionate."

"That's not the word I would use."

Kelly was volatile like a chihuahua. Mostly harmless, but she kept looking for ways to blow them all up. Bellavarn dismissed the topic, tempted to pry deeper but convinced it would be more satisfying to learn directly from the source. There was also the way Kelly's gaze was skewering him on a spitroast.

He backpedaled to seashells.

"Did the hulking armadillo interest you at all, or was it too exotic?"

Bear beamed brightly; It wasn't often people were interested in his hobby.

"Are you joking? That shell was magnificent. Sturdy and Sharp. Here, I have a small piece. See how it glows like the sand dunes? The swamp armadillo is a migrant from the neighboring sands, so if you dig past all the awfulness, their shells can shine exactly the same."

"That's fascinating. I had no idea."

"I learned on our last expedition that their sandy cousins are much smaller, the size you'd expect a normal armadillo to be. They hardly ever surface long enough to be caught. There's a rumor that they continue to grow with age, and when they pass, their shells are left behind to shape the desert. Each crest of sand is supposedly the back of an ancient beast. It's fun to imagine."

"You make the desert sound almost beautiful. If I couldn't already feel the heat, I would be jumping for the chance to climb those dunes."

Bellavarn fanned himself with a cheap paper fan he made. It gave the soldiers new material for nicknames. Oh well, It was hot, and they were just jealous. Seeing an officer walking over, Bear hid his collection with practiced haste. He switched to lecturing Bellavarn on how to manage the supplies, the best order to pull out materials, stacking mismatching crates, and preventing food supplies from spoiling.

The passing superior stopped like he heard the juiciest gossip. The real reason he stopped was to find fault in Bear's explanations and mansplain it back to them. Bellavarn started a bet regarding how many times the officer would make a dick joke.

Bear chickened out when he thought of the consequences of getting caught. Kerv took the gamble easily, and suprisingly, Kelly upped the wager.

Kelly won.

"I'm almost scared to know how you guessed the exact number."

Bellavarn watched the prancing outline of the retreating officer while Kelly licked a finger to count her won ration bars.

"Men are in love with their lower appendages. The smaller it is, the more they feel the need to compensate, and I've heard from Officer Lambrey's most recent partner that he has a lot to compensate for."

"Oooh, do we have ice for that burn? Oh wait, Officer Lambrey instructed that the ice was to remain sealed under all circumstances."

Kerv tried to hold back his smile but couldn't. Kelly began to smirk until she realized her facial muscles were moving away from her constant scowl.

Bellavarn continued the rest of his duties in relative silence. It was mainly heavy lifting and inventory. Keeping track of what supplies were expended and accounting for items returned came naturally to Bellavarn. A lot of the duties coincided with the responsibilities his father assigned him during the shut-in phase. So, in the end, being a supply lackey was turning out to be relevant experience for his ultimate occupation.

There was the problem of batting away women throwing themselves at him. Kelly accounted for more than half of those attempts, but they were ultra-violent. The others were women who either approached him before or were new ones trying their luck. They didn't seem to care for anything other than that he was a Duchal heir. They were extremely pushy, abnormally clingy, and they all held preconceptions about who he was.

"I was prepared for grueling daily labor, potential death in battle, possibly being mauled by monsters, and even made plans for would-be assassins. Please tell me, Kerv. How was I supposed to prepare for this!"

He was using his entire strength to push away a woman who had successfully wrapped her arms around his torso and wouldn't let go. Kerv was too busy batting away an opportunistic Kelly to help. Bear tried to assist by pulling on the strange woman's legs; however, all it did was force Bellavarn to adjust his footing lest he too is brought low.

"I'll make it worth your while! Please don't deny me."

"Denied! I. Have. A. Girlfriend."

"I don't mind being a mistress. Hire me as your personal maid and I'll do anything you want."

It was more of a desperate plea than a lusty offer, but the undertones were still there.

"Would you just give up already?"

"Never!"

There was a strange sucking sound as she separated from her strangling hold. Then again, when she removed her face from the mud. Rejected, she laid there, outpaced and forgotten as the march continued, and Kelly finally calmed down.

"I don't get it. Why was she literally throwing herself at me? Scratch that. Why are there so many women in the army to begin with?"

Kerv smirked, remembering his army days.

"The army is different from society's social circles. They're no Ladies here. Just the poor and desperate."

"I resent that. But... I can't deny it. Mostly."

Kelly folded her arms. Bear picked up the conversation.

"The army provides poor kids with free food, clothes, shelter, friends, and ways to raise status. It's why I joined. And I've had my fair share of admirers too, you know."

"What? No way. Did... Did you accept?"

"I tried."

"What do you mean you tried?"

"He means I punched those women in the face."

Kelly boasted like it was her crowning achievement.

"Those women were terrible for him. They would have crushed him like a grape, so I rejected them for him."

"Teresa was nice. She used to be an acolyte, you know. You punched a nun in the face."

"She used to be a nun. Do you know what kind of nun leaves the church for the army?"

"One who values the lives of soldiers?"

Kelly craned her head and jerked a thumb at Bear like he wasn't there.

"See?"

Bellavarn and Kerv gave him pitying looks.

"What?"

The looks intensified.

"What?"

=

The next few days were relatively simple. Marching. Camping. Inventory management. There were no more frantic marsh battles. The scouts were on top of it. Klein was off fighting his 3rd hulking swamp armadillo. Bellavarn took it upon himself to illustrate the glorious battle. He'd been trying to practice his linework, and this was as decent an opportunity as any.

The image was supposed to stay private, but it ended up circulating throughout the camp over the next few hours. Someone had used a magical tool to recreate the image a hundred times and distributed it carelessly. The march became staggered and disorderly as people began to become distracted. Kerv wanted to hide Bellavarn for fear of descending punishment, but Bellavarn knew there was nowhere to hide.

When the entire marching order halted and soldiers mingled in groups, Bellavarn saw him. The General, Duke Klein Raiden, marched over holding a flapping piece of paper. Ash and Jerome escorted him as the soldiers began pointing fingers at him and snickering.

It took a lot of courage to stand tall in front of the towering Klein Raiden, eyes red like an enraged bull.

"Well."

It was a simple word, a demand for an explanation, and a foreboding promise.

Bellavarn examined his handiwork; the paper held out to him like a called-out child in class. The hand-drawn picture did have clean lines. It was a small caricature of Klein holding his pants down, bending over, farting, a little gas cloud coming out of his bare butt. There were also three cartoon beasts. One pinched its nose, crying and shying away. Another was running away while dragging its incapacitated friend.

A subdued snort.

A moment of silence.

"Pfft."

The sound of barely contained laughter squeezed out like an escaping fart.

Klein broke down, holding the drawing up and pointing to it as he laughed open-mouthed. He presented it to Ash, who shuddered under the mental strain. Jerome had to turn away from the drawing to control himself. Klein never ceased his fit as he went around the camp, sharing it with each group of soldiers. Soon the entire contingent was having a fit of open giggles. Some of the more studious and forward-thinking soldiers took to making even more copies, complete with speech bubbles. Their skills weren't nearly as good, but the image of Duke Klein Raiden defeating literal swamp monsters by way of passing wind was destined to become immortalized.