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The weary gutterflame picked at a metal pen — ball point, black ink, extra fine lines. He held it as if it were hot, tossing it between his fingers as he watched it. Then he held it a second longer, than a few seconds longer, then a minute. Surprised, he checked it over. The pen looked pristine.

Feeling a margin bolder, he went to his writing desk and unlocked its dusty drawer. Only a few sheets had been used since his Captaincy. Each went to the report that Roselite wrote, so he'd forgotten what kind of paper he stored. Or that he had cardstock. Or smaller papers for memos. Each of these he touched, and his black fingers lingered on them, and he sniffed at the air. Then his fingers moved and he looked at the unmarked pages.

Squiddy's death granted him a measure of convenience, then. He took up the cardstock and the memo pages and returned to his desk. He counted the treasures in the lacquered case a fourth time: seventeen.

Sixteen memos to write, then. As he sat, he took up the pen again, felt it tremble in his right hand. It had been years, but he was glad for the opportunity to write again. Sixteen memos would see his hand cramping long before he was finished, though. He used the first page to remember how letters felt to the fingers and wrist, and how he liked to stretch the daggers of his T's or the spikes of his H's when he wrote. He remembered, however slowly, the grandeur he forced into his capitals. His handwriting was more like cutting the page than writing on it.

Satisfied that he still remembered his words, Faustite turned the page over and started on a template. He didn't need fanciness. Nothing gushing, either; most agents likely wouldn't bother with the writing. These weren't notes to be kept in a desk drawer or mounted on a wall. Simple gratitude to avoid detracting from the main message. Thus, he had a template.

Each officer whose name made it into the report would receive a letter. Each letter was largely the same as the last, though he couldn't help himself from deviating — some actions had piqued his interest, and he liked to remind people that he was paying attention. One by one, he wrote his way through each memo, signed and sealed, until he had a pile of sixteen.

Then came the more interesting part. The ashen General stood, collected the pile of notes, tucked the box under an arm, and left for the Barracks.

First, he stopped by Cybele's room. He gave a knock with the back of his hand, heard no answer, and invited himself in. The place was still sparse, as if no one lived in it — and, he supposed, no one really did. Faustite left the note in the center of her bed, withdrew a medal from the case, and placed it atop the note; he was back out again without lingering.

Then he went to the kitchen, where a swarm of rat youma pantomimed the affairs of actual rats. He crouched, box leveraged on his knees, and he glared down at him until they took heed of his presence.

"You little assholes are going to do me a favor," he muttered threateningly. A couple squeaked, but most looked at him, dumbfounded. That was fine, he supposed; he didn't need them to be smart — only quick. "Line up."

After the General gestured where, each of the false rats lined up and waited. Their bodies heaved with fake breaths, their beady eyes anticipatory.

"You," he started, and withdrew a note and a medal. He pinned the note to the youma using the medal's backing, and the rat youma squeaked bitterly. "Quit complaining. Go find Scheelite." It scampered off, and if the rest were brighter, they would know what fate awaited them. To Faustite's benefit, not one of them guessed that they, too, would be stabbed with a medal and sent to find an officer. He repeated his instructions fourteen times, until there was only one letter and one medal. But there were a few more rat youma.

"The rest of you, go away." He pointed at the lot and banished them with a wave of his hand. They scurried their way back into pipes and sinks and cupboards. It gave him hope that, if there was a path to these officers, they would find it. Now he just had to return the box.

Quote:
Soldier,

This letter comes with accolades from General-King Axinite and Queen Laurelite. The enclosed medal recognizes your valor in our draining operation that targeted the Farnsworth. Let it serve as testament to your abilities.

Together we worked as a team to bring home critical amounts of energy and starseeds. Each of you formed a unique and integral component in that team. Remember this success.

Wear it proudly.

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General Faustite


Demy-Stardust
Epsilon, Scheelite
guine
Jet, Taenite. Kamacite gets a personal delivery.
LittleLilyKitty
Cora, Turquoise
sunshine alouette
Cymophane, Aquamarine
Sleet Tempest Snape
Benitoite, Miyamoto
ssbrosb
Chambersite, Eveite
noir songbird
Mirzam, Cleeia
stari_maga
Cybele, but… You know.


If you participated in Operation Firepit II with your Negaverse character and do not see your name, you can still claim for the medal by linking your post!