milliways_bar | (no subject)

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For a soldier in wartime - especially an officer - a certain amount of moral ambiguity comes with the territory. There are times when you can't do the right thing because the only options available to you are wrong things, and the best you can do is pick the lesser of two evils. Shepard accepted that a long time ago.

Well, she thought she did. Today's one of those days when she has her doubts.

She's sitting on the couch by the fireplace with Bubba the Space Hamster on her lap, feeding him bits of alfalfa.

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For someone whose entire experience with rodents has been either 'oooh, stew meat' or 'AUGH, MY FACE', Bubba is always worth a look. Ellen was about to find a table and sit when she caught sight of the little fellow and veered towards the fire, breakfast in hand. (For her dog, Bubba is too small to be worth bothering; Dogmeat merely flops in a convenient spot nearby.)

Bubba freezes in mid-chew when he sees Dogmeat: that gets Shepard's attention. Fortunately, the dog doesn't indicate that it sees the hamster as a toy or a snack, or even an object of particular interest. Bubba relaxes and finishes his alfalfa stalk. Shepard offers him another one.

"Sorry about that," says Ellen, shoulders involuntarily hunching. "I can send him away if you'd rather. He likes being outside as much as being in here."

"I don't mind," Shepard says, "as long as he leaves Bubba alone." Which he seems to be doing.

"He's got most of the chasing-things that he does out of his system for the day," Ellen says. "I don't think he'll go after anything furry unless it attacks me first."

Not that she's implying Bubba would. It's just something you have to put out there when you're talking about Dogmeat. Disclosure is a generally wise policy.

Shepard nods. "Well, Bubba's a pacifist, so I don't think we have anything to worry about," she says.

"Oh good," says Ellen, and then, "Hello, Bubba."

There's no reason not to be polite. And anyway, Ellen's never been entirely clear on the concept of 'pet'; she still thinks of Dogmeat as an inconveniently non-verbal person.

"Um. It's been a while, I think. How have you been?"

Shepard answers "Okay," which is an honest anwer provided that she averages out her experiences over the past several months. "How about you?"

"All right," says Ellen, wiggling one hand in midair. "It's been busy. I've been in the field a while."

She's not sure how long, compared to here. Probably doesn't matter much, though.

"So does 'busy' mean a lot of action then?"

"Mostly," Ellen admits. "That and walking across half the Capital Wasteland. But mostly it's been mutant lizards, and Enclave soldiers, and trying to get into and out of a pre-War ruin alive."

"Thaaaat sounds kind of like my typical week. Even the mutant lizards." Varren aren't mutant lizards as such, but they're vicious lizards with big damn teeth.

"My sympathies," says Ellen, shaking her head ruefully. "I wouldn't wish this on anyone. You get used to it eventually, right?"

Shepard decides she has to be honest. "Some people do, and some people don't," she says. "How long have you been out there fighting? Not just while formally attached to a unit - I mean everything before that, too."

Ellen has to start counting on her fingers for that. Eventually she shakes her head. "I'm sorry. This place has thrown my time keeping off something awful," she says. "Back home it's only been from August to... I think it's January now? I don't know. But between home and here it's been a lot longer, so there's been time in between the different things I've had to fight and learn about and do."

"So that's six-months-plus of being in intense combat situations, after eighteen years of relative piece and no formal military training," Shepard says. "Since you're still alive and emotionally stable, then yes, you'll probably get used to it." As much as one can, anyway.

Ellen nods. "That's about what I thought," she says. Her mouth twitches. "So much for the GOAT exams. Although I guess they couldn't really test for something like this, anyway."

Shepard blinks. "I hope 'goat' is an acronym."

"Generalized Occupational Aptitude Test," Ellen says. "Everyone in Vault 101 had to take it when we turned sixteen, and then we were mostly shifted into on-the-job training instead of Mr. Brotch's classroom. I got sent to Reverend Avellone to become the next Vault chaplain."

"Fancy that," Shepard says. "But I bet those tests don't account for you going out of context - out of the Vault, that is."

"Not really, no," Ellen says. "The whole thing was basically designed with the assumption that no one would ever leave."

"On the other hand... Knight-Captain Colvin said if I'm interested, once Paladin Tristan no longer needs me under his command, the Brotherhood sort of has chaplains of its own. It's different training, obviously, but."

"Wait, what? Paladins and Knight-Captains?" What kind of outfit is this, anyway?

"It's- um." Ellen thinks for a minute. "Um. Okay. How much have I told you about the Brotherhood of Steel? I mean, anything? I've forgotten..."

"I think you told me that their mission is to gather any advanced technology left over from before the War," Shepard says. "The ones near you are actually interested in protecting civilians."

Ellen nods. "Well," she says, "originally, their first ancestors were part of the United States Army that survived the War. They survived because they'd found out about something terrible they were guarding, and they mutinied instead of putting up with it, and the War happened while they and their families were waiting for the War Department to come after them." She shrugs a little. "I don't know how they got to use all the knightly titles. It's not in the Citadel records. I think their first leader decided to keep order by keeping things military but wanted to break with the old system after everything they'd done."