And Another One...
Greetings! :-D
Here's a quick dash-off for you, while I try to work my way through another Mal/Polly explicite-sex-fic. (It's funny... Those ones are the hardest to write... Everything else comes so easily...)
Anywhoo. This one was written as a follow-up to Hyel's "Corporal, Sergeant, Lieutenant" fic. It takes place immediately before "Not Playing", and is definitely a K+ type of read. ;-)
Promotion Beckons
The HQ building in the Capital, an imposing stone structure on the outside, was really a maze of cubby-hole offices and make-shift cubicles once you got through the doors.
In one of the larger offices - it even had a window in one crumbling wall - General Flannel was attending to his first appointment of the morning.
"Good morning, Sergeant," said the general.
Polly saluted, smartly.
"Sir. You wanted to see me sir?"
"I did, Sergeant." The general looked up from his (her?) paperwork. "I understand that it's to you that we owe our recent victory against Solvania." Here he raised his eyebrows, clearly expecting Polly to comment.
"Thank you sir. But it was mostly due to my squad. I just made sure we all got out, sir."
"Your modesty, while admirable, is unnecessary, Sergeant." He glanced at his notes again, muttering to himself briefly. "Right then," he said, looking up. "Despite your humility, it appears that you are up for promotion thanks to this victory. As of this April, you will be Lieutenant Perks of the Tenth Foot."
Polly blinked, opening and shutting her mouth.
"I -- thank you sir," she said, surprised. But... "Unfortunately, I may have to turn it down, sir."
"Turn it down? Are you quite mad, Sergeant?"
"No. Sir. With respect, sir, it's because I'm not mad that I may have to decline your generous offer."
The general cocked an eyebrow. "Really, sergeant. Explain your reasoning, why don't you."
"Thank you, sir. I can only accept this promotion if my corporal, Maladict, is made my sergeant."
"Really?"
Polly nodded, firmly, hoping she wasn't shooting herself in the foot, but certain that this was the only way things could go.
"I understand that your corporal is also a friend of yours, yes?"
"Yes sir. We joined up together, sir." Well, that was true enough after a fashion. "But he's more than that, sir."
The general's eyes widened. "I beg you pardon?"
"No, sir. Not like that, sir. You must be joking. Sir. What I mean is that... the corporal possesses a certain charm that, even as a sergeant, would mean the recruits would open up to him. Privates talk to each other, sir. But they tend not to talk to R-- Officers," she saw the general's mouth quirk at her slip. Perhaps he'd started out as a private and worked his way up, too.
"That victory was due to my squad, sir. If I hadn't been able to talk with them, I wouldn't have known their strengths. I wouldn't have had any idea that Private Svitz -- who would make a good Corporal, if you don't mind my saying, sir -- was as quick with her head and her tongue as with her sword, or that private Sklotz is as good with a needle as any Igor, if I hadn't had some sort of a connection with them. If I hadn't known those things about them, the attack could have been a complete botch-up, sir.
"I need to maintain that connection with my men, sir," she continued. "If I become an officer, I'll lose that. But. If my sergeant is, as you say, a friend... He'd talk to me, sir. And the men would talk to him. I need him next to me, sir."
The general regarded her, considering.
"Well," he said, eventually, glancing at his notes once more. "The corporal is up for promotion... and you do make a compelling argument. I expect it can be done."
"Thank you sir!" She tried to hide her smile. "With that in mind, sir, I will gladly accept your promotion!"
"Excellent, sergeant. That will be all. -- Oh, no, wait. There's this as well." The general handed over a pasteboard oblong. "You're expected to turn up, understood?"
"Of course sir."
"Right then. Dismissed."
Polly saluted again, and marched smartly out of the office.
Outside, she examined the pasteboard in her hand.
The words Regimental Victory Ball were printed in ornate script along the top.
Oh, hell! she thought, miserably. This is the last thing I need.
*****
What do you think? :-)
Here's a quick dash-off for you, while I try to work my way through another Mal/Polly explicite-sex-fic. (It's funny... Those ones are the hardest to write... Everything else comes so easily...)
Anywhoo. This one was written as a follow-up to Hyel's "Corporal, Sergeant, Lieutenant" fic. It takes place immediately before "Not Playing", and is definitely a K+ type of read. ;-)
Promotion Beckons
The HQ building in the Capital, an imposing stone structure on the outside, was really a maze of cubby-hole offices and make-shift cubicles once you got through the doors.
In one of the larger offices - it even had a window in one crumbling wall - General Flannel was attending to his first appointment of the morning.
"Good morning, Sergeant," said the general.
Polly saluted, smartly.
"Sir. You wanted to see me sir?"
"I did, Sergeant." The general looked up from his (her?) paperwork. "I understand that it's to you that we owe our recent victory against Solvania." Here he raised his eyebrows, clearly expecting Polly to comment.
"Thank you sir. But it was mostly due to my squad. I just made sure we all got out, sir."
"Your modesty, while admirable, is unnecessary, Sergeant." He glanced at his notes again, muttering to himself briefly. "Right then," he said, looking up. "Despite your humility, it appears that you are up for promotion thanks to this victory. As of this April, you will be Lieutenant Perks of the Tenth Foot."
Polly blinked, opening and shutting her mouth.
"I -- thank you sir," she said, surprised. But... "Unfortunately, I may have to turn it down, sir."
"Turn it down? Are you quite mad, Sergeant?"
"No. Sir. With respect, sir, it's because I'm not mad that I may have to decline your generous offer."
The general cocked an eyebrow. "Really, sergeant. Explain your reasoning, why don't you."
"Thank you, sir. I can only accept this promotion if my corporal, Maladict, is made my sergeant."
"Really?"
Polly nodded, firmly, hoping she wasn't shooting herself in the foot, but certain that this was the only way things could go.
"I understand that your corporal is also a friend of yours, yes?"
"Yes sir. We joined up together, sir." Well, that was true enough after a fashion. "But he's more than that, sir."
The general's eyes widened. "I beg you pardon?"
"No, sir. Not like that, sir. You must be joking. Sir. What I mean is that... the corporal possesses a certain charm that, even as a sergeant, would mean the recruits would open up to him. Privates talk to each other, sir. But they tend not to talk to R-- Officers," she saw the general's mouth quirk at her slip. Perhaps he'd started out as a private and worked his way up, too.
"That victory was due to my squad, sir. If I hadn't been able to talk with them, I wouldn't have known their strengths. I wouldn't have had any idea that Private Svitz -- who would make a good Corporal, if you don't mind my saying, sir -- was as quick with her head and her tongue as with her sword, or that private Sklotz is as good with a needle as any Igor, if I hadn't had some sort of a connection with them. If I hadn't known those things about them, the attack could have been a complete botch-up, sir.
"I need to maintain that connection with my men, sir," she continued. "If I become an officer, I'll lose that. But. If my sergeant is, as you say, a friend... He'd talk to me, sir. And the men would talk to him. I need him next to me, sir."
The general regarded her, considering.
"Well," he said, eventually, glancing at his notes once more. "The corporal is up for promotion... and you do make a compelling argument. I expect it can be done."
"Thank you sir!" She tried to hide her smile. "With that in mind, sir, I will gladly accept your promotion!"
"Excellent, sergeant. That will be all. -- Oh, no, wait. There's this as well." The general handed over a pasteboard oblong. "You're expected to turn up, understood?"
"Of course sir."
"Right then. Dismissed."
Polly saluted again, and marched smartly out of the office.
Outside, she examined the pasteboard in her hand.
The words Regimental Victory Ball were printed in ornate script along the top.
Oh, hell! she thought, miserably. This is the last thing I need.
*****
What do you think? :-)