Author's Note: Heya! This is a combination of two microfics I wrote spontaneously, the first part as a silly joke on the title, that sort of developed into a full story, Ch. 02 on here is a proper short story and a proper hardcore one too, so if you like this you should LOVE that <3
CW: combat drugs and a failed suicide mission.
---
The defeated Cavalier was kneeling in the damp grasses, warmed by the fires of her smoking bit of Cavalry, 3rd Mechanised Yeoman of the Lord Blackford's 4th Foot. Now the severed limb of flesh that wouldn't yet die. Don't they remember they lost 50 years ago?
She twisted her bound-up wrists, wrapped in the torn cabling of her own cockpit, from which she'd been tossed only a few moments ago. The
Bitch
who'd done it loomed over. "Lookin' a little faint there, Empire. Ya need water? I prefer my takes properly
wetted."
"Ahh, no--
no Sir.
I'm-- okay, Sir," the Cavalier choked.
"Ya sure?" The Bitch bowed low, pressed their cheek against the Cavalier's own from over her shoulder. "You put up a dozen hells of a fight."
"Sorry Sir,"
she muttered quickly and faintly, terrified of causing offence.
The Bitch blessed her with a hollow sympathy, "Why're you apologising? It was good! Ya just might be worth something."
To whom,
was all the Cavalier could think. Maybe if it was a Defector Tribunal -- she was young, unbloodied -- but if it was
them.
The Bitch glanced back at the wreck, which still crackled with munition cook-off. The acrid stench of unfired phosphate. "But ya seem pretty nervous without your shell, why's that?"
Did the Bitch have to draw this out? The Cavalier
knew
what they did, and was being forced to admit it. "Uhh-- um,
Sir.
Just that-- just that you're--"
"The Bitch Devourer,
I know." They tugged a knife through the Cavalier's hairband, pulled a hand through loose coils of ginger and slowly
squeezed.
"Am I scaring you, Empire?"
She shuddered, falling forward only to be caught and gently raised back.
"Sir-- Ahh-- No--
I mean...
YES.
SIR. Just that everyone says--"
"--What do they say?"
"Everyone says-- that you
eat
the girls you capture, Sir." Her eyes shut tight, like she couldn't be hurt by what she couldn't see. The Bitch pulled her head back and
breathed
on her neck, and laughed. It was slow, and savouring.
Cavaliers barely knew who they were killing down here, didn't care -- rank-and-file believing anything when they found themselves losing and command nobility refusing to learn why.
They knelt down. Of all the rumours to get twisted in transmission,
this
was their favourite, always an emphasis on the
wrong
word.
"Oh.
Oh, I do." They pressed a knee deep, spreading the Cavalier apart, taking her struggling hands up for a kiss. "Very,
very
particular parts."
She squealed, terrified. But the Devourer knew -- as always -- the bitch would be squealing a different kind later.
---
Another smouldering heap of scrap -- spinal armature broken over a dead nation's border wall. The Devourer dragged a laser cutter across the hatch, over the weld that had sealed it shut, because the ennobled cunts had sent her back in a
One-Shot.
It was
easy
to recruit the poor fucker stuck in one of these --
if
you got them out in time. They dropped perpendicular into her lap, grabbed the injector cord messily stapled into her skull, pressed her revolver they'd
borrowed
last time to it, and--
BLAM.
The Devourer wiped their lips. It was
not
the kind of milky, white spurt they preferred. And even a drop was fucking dangerous.
They tore the head-mounted display off, she was repeating herself endlessly,
"Fuck fuck fuck. No surrender. Fuck. Won't surrender. Fffuck. No-- no..."
Her pupils were blooming at the overdose. It was supposed to kill her but right now was just fucking her brains out harder than they had. They hauled the limp Cavalier out -- sheltered from the rain under her Cavalry's worthless, sheet-metal armour.
"No, no... I--
Fuck."
The Cavalier's eyes kept darting to their own -- a dim but obvious recognition. And not scared,
but annoyed. "Fuck, fffuck, fuck-fuck-fuck."
The Devourer tore at a sleeve and turned the inside of her elbow up, searching for a hosepipe to stab into. "You cussing me out, Empire?
Keep doing it."
(Combat Stabiliser -- or Moll, or
Cavalier Chocolate
if you were an asshole. They pump you with 5mg, you focus; make it 20mg, you agree; make it 50mg, you
obey.
)
"You fucking cunt bitch."
She had four times that at minimum, she couldn't help but comply with the Devourer's vulgar command.
