The minute they're back in camp, she brushes off any inclination or offer to rest immediately. Doesn't have time for that, who ever does? Rather when the first soldier that approaches them asks what has happened, where she's half slung over Daryl's shoulder is given barked questions that are the edge of orders. Her voice catching, digging - where is the Count, is he in his tent, is he free? Well, boy, he had best go and find out, hadn't he? Because that's where she's taking them, isn't she? Go on then, hurry up, get to it. Do they look like that have all night?
It might be more impressive if her voice wasn't croaking a whisper up the back of her throat. Straining like it hurt her to do half that much. Soon, soon, she can stop moving soon. Eyes shutting every so often in pain but never complains, never going to waste her breath on something as trivial as that.
She hopes Piotr forgives her for sitting without invitation when they do manage to get to see him. Sliding into the chair across from his desk. A brief in nod of thanks to - well all of them. Maine, Miles, Washington and Daryl. A politeness she can manage. They'd proven themselves to her in the only way she cared about, and she would do what she could now for them. Without hesitation and pause, ( things she would not voice, but would be there now, always, hers to protect, to care for, whatever patronage meant when she's a throneless queen and a woman too old and a half breadth away from being treason on a planet she's apparently elected to get herself half killed for, it would be theirs first and foremost. )
But for now, she looks at the Count and tries to come up with, something to summarise it all, but there's a lot there, isn't it? Best to simply... start then.
Damn, she was getting too old for this. "Count, I must beg your indulgence for my absence at your and your wife's side. The Cetagandan's extended to me an invitation I felt it rude to refuse."
also d :V
It might be more impressive if her voice wasn't croaking a whisper up the back of her throat. Straining like it hurt her to do half that much. Soon, soon, she can stop moving soon. Eyes shutting every so often in pain but never complains, never going to waste her breath on something as trivial as that.
She hopes Piotr forgives her for sitting without invitation when they do manage to get to see him. Sliding into the chair across from his desk. A brief in nod of thanks to - well all of them. Maine, Miles, Washington and Daryl. A politeness she can manage. They'd proven themselves to her in the only way she cared about, and she would do what she could now for them. Without hesitation and pause, ( things she would not voice, but would be there now, always, hers to protect, to care for, whatever patronage meant when she's a throneless queen and a woman too old and a half breadth away from being treason on a planet she's apparently elected to get herself half killed for, it would be theirs first and foremost. )
But for now, she looks at the Count and tries to come up with, something to summarise it all, but there's a lot there, isn't it? Best to simply... start then.
Damn, she was getting too old for this. "Count, I must beg your indulgence for my absence at your and your wife's side. The Cetagandan's extended to me an invitation I felt it rude to refuse."