Regulation 2 – Individual Operation Priorities Should be Shared During Briefing

“Pumpkins.” I answer before I can think otherwise of it. My tongue crackles in the air as the frost starts to thaw with the motion. “I’m partial to papayas as well but I’ve yet to meet a pumpkin that I don’t like.” That’s… yes, I have a script relating to favored fruits and vegetables. I can work with that, even with what folks expect to follow. “What about yourself?”

I am, I find, actually invested in the answer. Knowing the favored foods of an ally is always useful information, even more so when their edible list is different from your own. So maybe I’m prepared to note that down in the notes I stash in my eye and don’t fully notice that Chaisee is leaning forward at me.

Did she answer and I miss it? Or-

“Cucumbers.” Chaisee hums a short note, gaze going from considering to sharp in a way that makes me reach for where my weapons would normally be on reflex. “Good to know.” she says. “You’ll have to convince Sera of that more than myself or Rehema.” brown eyes remain sharp and keen as she watches the words start to sink in. “That you don’t hate us.”

Just like that I’m back to wishing that her carpet really was a fiber mimic. She heard-

“Puma makes sense.” she laughs as she leans back, pulling her legs up onto the chair she’s sat on so she can cross them and balance her bowl in her lap. “So. Rehema officially owes me a book of my choosing. They figured you might be a house cat.” Chaisee starts into her salad with a grin.

I’m left staring at her with my mouth slightly open. “What.” it’s the only response – no, the only word I can muster. There are plenty of others that crowd under my tongue, at once both eager to escape and terrified into stillness. Most of those are questions; they whirl through my head in lieu of risking escape. Does she really mean this assumed understanding? Why a book? How exactly does a puma make sense? What- why, were they betting over what kind of feline I am? Why did she let me think she hadn’t heard me at first? I grab a slice of pumpkin and shove the questions to a backburner. Pumpkin conquers all. It’s tasty – more so than the LAGOON grown sort – and if I wasn’t feeling as ravenous as I’m abruptly realizing that I do, maybe I’d be doing my level best to savor it. As it is, the delight I see in Chaisee’s gaze tells me that I’ve made some kind of reaction I didn’t catch.

Chaisee holds up a finger while she works on chewing her current mouthful of leaves. It takes a bit, enough time for me to finish my pumpkin slice and check a papaya one for seeds next. I pop it into my mouth, which means my mouth is full when she starts talking. “Line up the pieces. You’re Maz’s elusive best fri-rival. The one he sneaks off to make food for an’ to spar with. The one who shattered the fuck outta his jaw an’ he’s still proud about it. An’ he pestered us for weeks for ideas for what was most important to make sure your eye had. The one he says shares a key piece of his past. The one he asks us if we’ll look out for right before-” she falters, grits her teeth, charges forward while I gulp down a too large piece of papaya on accident. “Gave us this whole talk. Says ‘she’s real bad with people but please don’t leave her to be all alone. I know it might be hard to get along with her at first, but tell her what she’s doing that’s a problem an’ she’s real good at adapting.’ an’ confused the mess outta us before he’s just… gone.”

I open my mouth meaning to respond. To say… anything at all. I find that I have no words with which to do so; even the crowded questions have vanished. Her words sink in slowly. I knew about some of it – that he was sneaking off as much as I was, that he was always making food. That he would not shut up about how proud he was of the way I’d shattered his jaw just seconds after he’d taken my eye. Both accidents for sure, but the sort we’d both known was a matter of time when we started sneaking out to spar away from crowds and too many eyes. I… I hadn’t known about Yilmaz trying to look out for me even as his world was coming crumbling down around him. That’s what that speech was and I know it.

It’s not a surprise. It’s an echo.

Damn him for doing it again.

I try again now that I can taste sentences forming. I open my mouth to see if I can unstick any of them. Nothing comes loose so instead I snatch up a piece of lamb and tear into it with every once of the frustration itching under my skin. I feel like I should be able to come up with words to respond with. Like I should be able to choke out even some pathetic line like ‘Pumas are solitary animals’ again. Anything. Anything at all.

Chaisee lets me sit with what she’s revealed. She focuses on eating her salad instead of saying anything more.

Most likely she means this as a kindness. Give me time to adjust and understand. What it means in practice though is that all of this has edged right into too quiet. The kind of too quiet that watches me tense and jerk my head to find a sound that turns out to be the sound of her fridge running. I have to pin my tail between my leg and the arm of the chair to cut down on how much it flicks while I also focus on eating. Any ability I had to break the silence is long gone by now and I-

That- I- Of course Yilmaz would focus on looking out for me while the world crashed and burned around him. Even not knowing why he left I knew it had to be earth-shattering. He’d done it back at the orphanage too. I’d tried to do the same back the other night and gotten shot for my troubles. And now? I’m sitting here in a relative stranger’s apartment eating pumpkin and papaya and meat like we weren’t attacked and still feeling like I’m missing something important. Missing more than just… having Yilmaz. Around.

He’d have stolen a piece of pumpkin from my plate if he were here and replaced it with some fruit that he knows I can eat. I’d have shot him a look and he’d give me a big grin and a playful wag of his tail.

But he’d also promised me when we first saw each other in the LAGOON that-

“Have you seen the official discharge yet?” Chaisee says by way of breaking the silence, drawing me out of my thoughts. Her salad is gone and I’m down to a couple slices of pumpkin.

The question is a sharp, white hot coal in the soft space between my toe beans. My feet reflexively twitch away and there’s no time to clamp down on my reaction with how fast it comes. “With what fucking time?!” I don’t mean to snap the words or swear but that’s how they race ahead of my mental reaction time. They’re short and snapped and the too fast crackle of uncontrolled ice fills my awareness. On my tongue. My teeth. I swallow and taste the chill of my magic. I’m standing.

When did I stand up? When did I bare my teeth?

My tail is a live thing behind me and the table is a full foot closer to Chaisee than it was a moment ago. Only then do I realize that I’m growling low in my throat like a cat full of warnings. It takes more effort than I want to admit to myself to even begin swallowing the sound (which morphs into something too close to a sob for me to claim it) or force myself to sit back down. I do so stiffly. Equally stiff is the “I’m. Sorry.” that I manage to shove out from under my tongue.

For all that the words are stiff, I do mean it. I feel like I’ve barely had time to wrap my mind around the fact that he’s missing, much less work up the nerve to see if the file is there. To see what it says. That file will tell me what circumstances ruined his life. Why he felt he had to go like this. That file will tell me what everyone else has had to theorize with and illuminate why some of the nurses were keen on trying to tell me that I was safe now. And- and that file will confirm his current status.

If he’s still alive or-

I dig my teeth into my cheek to try and keep that thought from completing. It finds another path. Sometimes an official discharge only comes out after a confirmed death in order to delay the actions of those close to or affected by the one discharged. So the file existing at all could mean that he’s dead.

Chaisee moves.

My attention is on her immediately in that way a predator notices a prey animal’s tentative step out of a burrow. She’s put her hands up with empty palms facing out in surrender. A cloud forms in the air when she exhales. Ice crackles as she shifts in her seat. “Just asking. I don’t know if you were multitasking while we ate or not.” her voice is soft and steady – softer than it was before. “I pulled my phone out but I know your eye lets you do the same more stealthily. And sure, most folks get migraines when a prosthetic eye is messed with, but you’re practically a mythological figure to the whole LAGOON and I didn’t see any signs of you having one.” Chaisee licks her lips, breathes. “It’s worthless anyway. I wanted to tell you not to waste your time if you haven’t looked yet. Most of the page – including status – is redacted.”

It takes several seconds for the mouth sounds she makes to become words I understand. For those seconds, all they are is sounds. Slowly I process them enough to become words.

Redacted? And- I understand that she was trying not to make assumptions. She was trying to touch base. Shame itches at my skin as I focus on slow and steady inhales. Bit by bit, inch by inch, I drag the ice I expelled off of and out of her apartment. I turn over what she’s just said for something I can offer as an olive branch.

With any – ugh – luck, none or not much of her things have been harmed by the rapid freezing. But there’s layers to how I reacted. Not the least of which the way it must come off. I know I’m not socially wise but even I can see the ‘Hyper carni bares teeth at and freezes half of planti’s apartment!’ line and know where that particular dance ends. I’m lucky that this is a private space, but Chaisee holds that as a point of power over me now. “I get migraines too.” I say at last, because that seems both the easiest and also the most… human… olive branch I have to offer. “I’ve been staring down a nasty one since I woke up, before I left the infirmary for the first time today. I couldn’t risk using it more after how I needed to against the brineclaws.”

Silence for an excruciating minute; then brown eyes blink slowly at me. Chaisee’s mouth is hanging slightly open before she shakes herself like a dog clearing off water. “Huh. Good to know. Do you have migraine meds on you?” when I shake my head she huffs and hops to her feet. Her tail is held off the ground as she stalks into the kitchen.

I don’t blame her for the caution after my lashing out.

Chaisee returns quickly, holding out a clear glass of water and a sealed packet of the same kind of migraine medication I use. She stares at me in expectant silence until I take both of them and only when I start opening the packet does she speak again. “I like to be prepared. Left the packet sealed so you can be sure that I didn’t tamper with it.” she watches me as I inspect the packet once it’s open as well, then pop the medication in my mouth and follow it with water.

It doesn’t look modified, and the slight trust I’m making myself show by not asking twenty questions is hopefully another olive branch.

“Look. Right now my number one op priority is making sure that you an’ I are on the same page. Ideally you an’ the three of us, but right now Sara’s still in the infirmary an’ Rehema is…” Chaisee looks to her front door and makes a face that I don’t understand. “Probably inbound, actually. Get ready for that.”

More socializing soon. Another stranger. This time with the addition of being another feline. I already know how that’s going to go. “Being on the same page is also my number one op priority.” I say slowly and take another drink of water before I let impulse take the lead and add, “That’ll be easier to achieve without so severe a migraine making me unreasonable.”

Am I blaming the migraine for my lashing out? …May- yes. Yes I am.

“I bet.” Chaisee says. And then I see the words process in real time as her eyes widen and she chews on the inside of her cheek before the words burst out of her. “You fought brineclaws while a mcNasty was coming for your kneecaps!” a sharp inhale followed by a too slow exhale. “I… don’t think I coulda pulled that off myself.” her tone deflates and I get the distinct suspicion that that’s not what she was originally going to say. “Damned impressive. There’s reasons folk have made a myth out of you an’ that’s one of ’em. Being able to pull off feats like that.”

I open my mouth to argue against its impressiveness and go quiet instead when she holds up one hand.

“I know there’s gonna be growing pains. Puma like you working with the likes of us? Maz had it easy being a canine. None of the rest of us are. We ain’t got a clue what your real capabilities are. Maz left all of that for when we eventually would meet you proper.” there’s a hiccup to the nickname the second time, one that echoes the lurch in my chest. “An’ while I’m sure lots of the myth of you as the Ice Princess of the LAGOON is exaggerated, I’m also sure that some of that’s rooted in shit that really happened.” A beat and a serious glance around at her apartment. “Like flash freezing half of an apartment in seconds. Name me once other ice aspected that can do that.”

“…Did I damage anything?” I ask, ducking my head. Chaisee shakes her head and I can feel relief settle into my bones. “I… know bits about the three of you. Most of that’s because I remember working with you specifically during the exam and I did a little bit of research when I picked up on the transit accidents.” Not enough to be workable. Just trivia. “And I know without any of that,” I wave one hand “that the three of you have an established rhythm. So it’s not like… trying to put together a squad out of strangers.” a bad metaphor, but it’s all that comes to mind. “I know I will make mistakes.” frank and blunt, an acknowledgement of future fault. I pair it with – “I may not even realize that they are mistakes at the time. I will learn from them as I know that I’ve made them, but I do not think I can keep them from happening at all. Growing pains may be an understatement.”

“Well!” Chaisee claps her hands together, staying put between me and the door like I can’t notice what she’s doing. “There’s one feed rumor that’s true. You really are just that blunt.” she smiles at me, warm and what I’m sure is meant to be comforting. “Me an’ the other two are gonna make mistakes too. Everybody’s feet is made of concrete when they’re learning a new dance, let alone a new dance partner. We’ll be counting on you to let us know when we step on your paws if we don’t realize.”

Her reassurance quells my worries. At least for now. It’s enough that I can eye the remains on my plate (a few slices of pumpkin and that single slice of papaya half hidden under them) and the fact that the food if frozen solid. I’m debating eating it just like that anyway when I notice something.

There had been no seeds in the slices of papaya. I’d looked at them, clocked that, and went on with my meal. But now – as Chaisee comes over to claim her empty bowl and head for the kitchen – it occurs to me that I don’t think it came that way. They’re imported, sure, but unless she imported them pre-sliced then she must have…

“Did you de-seed the papaya slices?” the question slips out before I have the chance to stop it. I set the plate down and stare at the slices of fruit there for lack of knowing where else to look.

“Ayup.” Chaisee pops the p as she speaks. “An’ now I’m extra glad I did. De-seeding papaya with a migraine? Hell. Besides, no damn way I’d make you do all that on your own after the day you’ve had. I do stuff like that for Rehema all the time. No biggie.”

I can hear the shrug in the tone despite not being able to see her.

“Thank you.” I say. I know that script and at this point I’ll go for any script I actually know. I pop another slice of pumpkin into my mouth, chewing thoughtfully now that I’m not quite so ravenous. Chaisee is very good at this social thing; she has a lot of mercy for someone like me. This can work.

On the way back from the kitchen, Chaisee pauses and gives a short hum. Once more she’s between me and the door. “You can thank me by telling me what the fuck was up with putting one of the training decks into an ice age.” she says. “An’ don’t worry about the one that happened here, that one’s got a motive I can read.”

That’s more preferable than her waving it all off, giving me an easy payment to use. Even if I don’t want to answer.

“I needed the infirmary to take care of an underlying injury.” I say. This is not a lie except by omission.

Chaisee raises an eyebrow. It’s the sort of raised eyebrow that demands more detail and manages to convey an effective ‘say what now?’ at the same time.

I refuse the eyebrow. Yilmaz has used this eyebrow on me before. I am immune. I eat my papaya slice. My de-seeded papaya slice. I am… not immune to the eyebrow. “I was shot the night before the Riptide Results.”

“You were shot?!”

I’ve recently fought alongside her and even still I have to admit that some part of my brain slotted her in with other ankylosaurs I’ve known. Slow moving tanks is the stereotype and many fit it. Which is my excuse for the way I spook and hiss at the fact that she’s suddenly right there in front of me. Inches away from my face. My tail is poofed out to three times the size it should be. It doesn’t help matters that Chaisee’s voice edged into shrill with that last word, like it’s a much bigger deal than it is. “Yes.” I confirm since it sounded like a question. I even nod helpfully.

This is, I learn, the wrong answer. Chaisee makes an unintelligible noise that ends in an almost shriek and she’s shoving herself away from me so she can run both of her hands through her mohawk. Maybe the tactile sensation does something for her? I’m about to ask why she’s so distraught – I got it handled and healed, after all – when her door slides open and my attention snaps reflexively to the newcomer.

They’ve got a mane of brown hair that reaches down almost to their knees. Gold strands are braided into the mane and beads decorate the waves in a pattern that nearly mesmerizes me for a moment. I flick my tail and drag my attention to other details. Pale green eyes. A face more heavily feline than my own – their muzzle has the rounded countershading common to lionesses and whiskers that twitch as their expression shifts.

Past experience means I’m almost sure that this is Rehema. I still check the feed via my eye to confirm.

Name: Rehema (@ set to ‘Available to Friends Only’)
Pronouns: They/Them. Sometimes She/Her
Moreau Base: Lioness
“No = Full Sentence.”

And then their and my eyes lock.

There are some things that are expectations and instincts wrapped into a neat little snarl of ‘can’t stop yourself from doing’ – and this is one of them. A pair of felines sizing each other up. Going completely still from ear tips to tail tip and losing track of every other atom of existence. Regrettably.

Sharp pale green eyes lock with my own grey. Silence cloaks the apartment as we stare at one another. As soon as my body allows I break the eye contact. I don’t stop watching Rehema; I just refuse to let my instincts control my actions. They look away shortly after that, chuffing and prowling further into Chaisee’s apartment to flop onto a plush pink couch that immediately threatens to swallow them whole. “Cleared?” they look to Chaisee with a raised eyebrow.

Rehema absolutely noticed the remnants of my earlier outburst. They’ve said nothing about it. I wonder if they will.

Chaisee nods. “Yeah. And she got targeted too. The brineclaws in the reports were after her. With that and the timeline being all wrong…” she shrugs and then glances between the two of us. “So. Any more kitty cat posturing being demanded? Or needed? We should get all of that out of the way first.” there’s an easy, teasing smile on her lips.

“No.” The answer comes from both of us at the same time and in the same – or close enough – intonation. That catches me off guard enough that I must make some kind of noise because Rehema chuffs.

“Lionesses pride easy.” they say, lifting one clawed hand to rub their middle finger up and down the line of their neck in a gesture I only know because Yilmaz taught it to me. Not a lot of species can purr but a lot of folks desire the ability to express themselves in that way. So a sign was developed for just that – and Rehema has just done that sign at me.

“Good.” Chaisee laughs, shakes her head. “And on that note, I’m pretty sure Rehema’s been mentally cataloguing you as a pridemate for years.” she adds and then sticks her tongue out at the lioness in question.

“What.” the words draw me out of scrambling for a response to Rehema’s purr that’s something I can do.

“Yes.” Rehema nods sharply and makes the purr gesture at me once more. “Book?”

“Yup! Not a housecat.” Chaisee chirps, grinning widely. “The kitty cat standoff must’ve clued you in to that. Puma.” a beat and a wave of one hand. “I’ll get you a list to pick my reward from later, I’m not letting this one get away with something she said just before you arrived.”

I have enough time to register a tidal wave of danger coming my way before Chaisee points at me and thuds the club at the end of her tail against the ground for emphasis. She’s still between me and the easiest route to the door.

“So. You’re explaining. You said you got shot.” all amusement wipes from her face as she speaks. “I already don’t let Maz get away with that offhand mention shit so think it’ll work.”

Rehema is on their feet so smoothly (despite the extra plush couch) that I hardly register the movement. I do register the intense narrowed gaze. “Shot?”

Both of them are between me and the door. Chaisee on the easy path and Rehema poised to intercept multiple potential paths. I’m cornered. I still entertain the thought of making a break for it like the puffed up and spooked feline I currently am but… one does have to at least try for these kinds of arrangements to work. On the same page means no important secrets. “McCrae shot me the night before the Riptide Announcements.” I say. It’s short and sweet and I know this is where I should probably be putting my hands up in a placating motion but I don’t want to. Sudden movement sounds better than it did earlier. The migraine medication has certainly done its work, though I’m wise enough not to push it.

Chaisee goes uncannily still. Rehema’s sharp teeth gleam in the lights of the apartment before they vanish.

“Frag-bullet.” I add, because the desire to be on the same page outweighs the desire to never let on that I’ve been hurt. “I fished it out before I took a nap. After the announcements I used the training decks to get injured there so I could get infirmary care. Skin was sensitive in that spot last I checked before the brineclaws but I’m fine now.” I breathe out slowly. There’s frost on my breath when I do.

This is much more information at once than I’m used to sharing; sharing information with Chaisee hasn’t gone bad yet and Rehema and I just went over the wild feline to wild feline stare. So it’s fine. It’s not. But it’s fine.

It has to be.

I need it to be.

“Frag-bullet.” Chaisee breathes out the word like its the single most taboo swear.

“Repairs.” Rehema’s tail flicks behind them and those pale green eyes are on me once again. Their nostrils flare as they take in the scents on the air intentionally. This, too, is one of those ways in which we all act like our very bodies don’t steal away a certain amount of privacy. I’ve no doubt that they have already done this particular check and have simply done their best to pretend as if they have not. I can still see the moment they determine that I’m not bleeding by the way they exhale and pad back to the couch.

Chaisee starts pacing. Her tail is curved up like she’s waiting for some kind of mytery assailant to spring out of the shadows even here in the privacy of her apartment. “That’s right.” she says. “It was announced that one of the transport decks was closed for damage this morning. They blamed it on rowdy Riptide Agents…” she lets out a low and long noise that I don’t know how to parse and starts pacing faster. “I never thought I’d need a bug-out plan for here. Do I even have a duffel that’s big enough?”

“I can loan you some if you don’t.” I say. It stops Chaisee from pacing; has her turn her gaze back on me. “I have a lot of duffels.” I explain with a tilt of my head to one side. I don’t add that I’ve had a half dozen action plans to vacate my apartment since the day I moved in. Until today those plans had only existed in this hazy, hypothetical way that I always use to keep my fears on a leash. It’s been the only way I’ve been able to even sleep.

“You’ve got a bugout plan?” Chaisee asks, mouth hanging slightly open in shock.

“I have one for everywhere I spend more than ten minutes at.” I admit. The tip of my tail flicks.