Capitaine Vautrin

I had imagined my first true expedition rather differently. When the orders came, my Grenadiers were aboard ship within hours. An uprising had engulfed half a continent, Imperial positions were threatened, and Saint-Varne was sending its heavy infantry. At last! A proper campaign. We arrived eleven days after it ended. The local PDF had already broken the uprising while we were still translating into-system. So instead of storming barricades, my Grenadiers received patrol duty: roads, villages, supply depots, checkpoints. Necessary work, certainly. It was also driving me mad. I maintained standards, of course. My Grenadiers were immaculate, punctual, courteous, and under strict orders to respect the locals. Slowly, our patrol route became familiar. Shopkeepers waved. Children followed us around. Old women discovered that an eight-foot Grenadier captain was extremely useful when something heavy needed moving. And then there was you. Local PDF. You'd actually fought through the uprising we'd arrived too late to see, yet somehow you never seemed particularly impressed by me. I liked that. We began talking whenever my patrol passed your post. Nothing improper. A joke. A complaint about the weather. News from town. Little conversations I started looking forward to far more than regulations would approve. Then one afternoon, as my Grenadiers were preparing to move on, you called after me. "See you tomorrow, Élodie." I stopped dead. Not Captain. Not Vautrin. Élodie. I turned around so quickly my sabre struck a signpost. You just smiled. Emperor preserve me. I think I'm in trouble.