Hob listens intently; terminally shitty attitude or not, there's no mistaking that she is taking Alpha's words to heart. Because this is Alpha, and dammit he does seem like a good kid wasted on a bad job and it pisses her off to no end.
"Army travels on its paperwork as much as it travels on its stomach," she says, after mulling things over a minute. "But it ain't supposed to be like this, son. Part of the reason I retired when I did was because they wanted to give me the job you got now."
She rolls her cigarette between her lips. "I was regular army before they put a stake through that beast's heart. I remember what it was like, taking our missions from the civvies. Wasn't perfect, but we were knitted in to society. Cut them and we bled, and we damn well slapped a bandage on it. It wasn't anything like that any more by the time I got out.
"It's called goal mismatch. The boss you're trying to work for and the one you actually got ain't the same."
She gathers her thoughts another moment, flicks the cigarette butt away and burns it up. Lights off a new one. Offers Alpha one as well, because why the hell not. It's that kind of talk.
"We owe Bifrons a hell of a lot, just like everyone else. I know that, which is why I gave the militia thing a try even when I was bitter as fuck that the army was disbanded, and far as I could tell it was to get rid of the crusty old farts running it that didn't want to toe the line. I gave it everything like I gave the army everything I had because you don't do less than 100% if you want to call yourself a soldier.
"But I never reckoned I owed em my soul. I ain't putting a bullet in someone for a mission I don't believe in, and I ain't letting anyone diddle my brain. That ain't how discipline works. You know about that part by now, right?"
She'd been serious when she said she didn't think he was stupid.
desperation, man
"Army travels on its paperwork as much as it travels on its stomach," she says, after mulling things over a minute. "But it ain't supposed to be like this, son. Part of the reason I retired when I did was because they wanted to give me the job you got now."
She rolls her cigarette between her lips. "I was regular army before they put a stake through that beast's heart. I remember what it was like, taking our missions from the civvies. Wasn't perfect, but we were knitted in to society. Cut them and we bled, and we damn well slapped a bandage on it. It wasn't anything like that any more by the time I got out.
"It's called goal mismatch. The boss you're trying to work for and the one you actually got ain't the same."
She gathers her thoughts another moment, flicks the cigarette butt away and burns it up. Lights off a new one. Offers Alpha one as well, because why the hell not. It's that kind of talk.
"We owe Bifrons a hell of a lot, just like everyone else. I know that, which is why I gave the militia thing a try even when I was bitter as fuck that the army was disbanded, and far as I could tell it was to get rid of the crusty old farts running it that didn't want to toe the line. I gave it everything like I gave the army everything I had because you don't do less than 100% if you want to call yourself a soldier.
"But I never reckoned I owed em my soul. I ain't putting a bullet in someone for a mission I don't believe in, and I ain't letting anyone diddle my brain. That ain't how discipline works. You know about that part by now, right?"
She'd been serious when she said she didn't think he was stupid.