Rod of Brutality

Pardon the understatement, but it's unfortunately true: it's not easy to run an effective military force by the scrimmaging force of your own bootstraps. Had Dad really just done it all with charisma?

Not a chance, even if he was a grand old soldier. Too, his half of Rozana's marriage hadn't given him much to work with at all, in terms of public appearances. But...well, Monica tries never to think too hard about that.

She'll win the respect of the City by being just like her dad, if she has to, but she won't do it by stamping her foot and throwing around her fists. If they want to ignore her, that'll be their own downfall, but the strength of the Lost Numbers will continue.

There are too many of them now for it just to peter out; rather, there are enough of them that factions and fissures are starting to form, and it's about to get ugly, right as Ouroboros get ready to wake the world up.

The other kind of soldiers, using up Dad's precious Ouroboros Stone. Monica just hopes it's worth it, because the current round off the selection exam...they're rough. Not just a mother's bias that makes her say that about Ghondor, and Jansen too. No, she knows it. They all know it. They hardly need it said.

Oh, but she is so, so lucky to have Rozana, a best friend and a secret lieutenant who's easily happy not to have to take either the glory or the blame.

They've always been together, even with Monica a little higher in the ranks by virtue of being, well, the Elder's daughter, as well as due to her slightly advanced age. Still, they transcended rank as best they could, knowing even then that as long as the City stood, these numbers, this pair, were going to have a fair deal to do with it.

"I'm lucky you're committed," Monica remarks to her friend, not for the first time. "Dunno what I'd do if such an extraordinary operative like yourself just...didn't care."

"I care about you, Mo," is Rozana's cheerful but well-meant reply. "Can't be going on and making you look bad, now, can I?"

The City's far from a project of personal glory, even if it is engineered by the fists of the Vandhams at every historical point. "I suppose it's better than nothing," Monica agrees with a sigh. "Ro."

She can't just let this coziness go unchecked. At least, she shouldn't. It's not a good look from the outside and it's not a guilt-free feeling from the inside. Talk about making her - them both - look bad, seriously.

They're soldiers. They've got protocols because they need to protect each other, uphold the framework of the present to help win the future, and all. Too many exceptions make the whole lot go to pot.

But, then, Rozana's a spy, isn't she? Despite frolicking around and making nice with her commanding officer, she's hiding a stubborn streak that makes her sort of impervious to what any and everybody might think is proper. Put another way, there's no sense trying to order her around, period.

If that can be Monica's weak defense, it will be. She's got to have easy camaraderie with somebody in this damn army of reserves! And Travis won't quite cut it, there.

Always better the pretty redhead with sparkling, mischievous eyes.