Piano keys were her childhood, but the grasp of a pistol was her reality. Polish SOE Agent, Natia Filipska, has lurked among the rubble and the shadows of her occupied-Warsaw for years, ever since the war started and ripped her from the life that ha...
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"Redemption is something you have to fight for in a very personal, down-dirty way. Some of our characters lose that, some stray from that, and some regain it."
― Joss Whedon
｡↷ ✧*̥₊˚‧☆ﾐ
Mourmelon-le-Grand, France
February 26th, 1945
2000
The barracks they had left on the night of December 17th, 1944 were indifferent to the current appearance of them on Feburary 26th, 1945. Practically ransacked, a majority of things that had once been there missing entirely, discarded pillows and blankets strewn around the place, suitcases once tightly locked with valuables inside opened and ran through. The cots had been shoved around as if it had been in some sort of rush or hurry, frantic and unorganized chaos all at once.
The members of the barrack that Natia had been with last year all stood at the entrance way, numbly quiet, staring forward with a sort of faded expression, tired and droopy eyes, and sighs left their lips each and every time they looked upon another part of the room ripped in multiple directions.
Natia stood still for a moment, looking from underneath the helmet settled upon her head at the sight. She barely remembered the night they had all been told they had to go into Bastogne, the Ardennes, to go and fight towards the unknown, unsuspectingly. The fear that had consumed her at the mere thought of having to go to that frozen forest again, relive the memories and the guilt of both the men she had previously served with and of Solomon.
Natia watched as men began to move forwards to where their cots had been, picking up things off of the ground or going in search of missing things they had owned. Natia barely owned anything of her own - a majority of it was in Poland, with the dismissed Underground, probably buried and lost for good - the rest of it had been lost when the war had started and a part of her died. All she had was what she had on her, and the uniform provided by the US Army that had hung on a clip despite her only wearing it two and three times.
Natia slowly moved towards where the cot had been, her dark brown eyes slowly moving over where the blanket was, shoved to the edge of the bed and the pillow that lay sideways on the ground, the cover half pulled back along with it.
The nightstand had everything that had been on it, and it wasn't much, swiped onto the ground - the cup from George where he kept a constant refill of water, broken into shards, a few books that the men had been passing around to read that had actually been quite joyful to read in a few spare moments of free time, had been shoved onto the ground, damaged covers and bent pages, and the few sheets of paper and pencils were discarded of, the lead smeared on the beige paper and no longer usable.
Natia stood as if she were frozen there, simply staring at the mess in front of her. Natia slowly pulled the radio off of her slightly aching back and let it slide onto the ground, propped up against the bed beside her, and let her Thompson fall into place right beside it. Natia turned herself and lowered herself onto the cushioned edge of the bed and stared forward, barely recognizing the men around her, cleaning up their spaces, or asserting some sort of account or order, making tallies of which men were missing what and so on.
