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Cloasse · by **Cloasse** on Sun Oct 11, 2009 5:09 pm

This diary is to be used on a daily basis by Romanae Retna to aid Dr Fillip in examining and identifying any problems that may have arisen due to one specific incident ~~or a series of similar incidents~~. This diary is not to be removed from the Legion Intensive Care Unit, and if found should be returned to the specified location.

Day One

I don't want to do this. It was your run-of-the-mill interrogation and torture, and the only difference was that it lasted three months instead of three hours. There is nothing wrong with me, psychologically, at least. There are obviously still physical problems, but those will be fixed within a month. Three weeks if I can push the physical therapy.

I want out of here.

Cloasse · by **Cloasse** on Sun Oct 11, 2009 5:39 pm

Day Two

I'm told that this time I actually have to talk about my feelings about being caught. To a book.

Well, here I go.

I hate that I got caught. I hate that every time my friends come in to see me, they're looking down on me, and not just because I'm in a bed. They used to assume I was the strongest and smartest because I was their leader, and now after one mistake, one detrimental slip-up, they've all reverted to their first opinions of me: that I'm just a little girl.

Once I'm out of this bed, I'm leaving Legion. I'm going to have my service allocated to some other realm for a change of scenery, to get Scotland out of my mind, and Killin out of my head.

That is if it turns out there really isn't something wrong with me. The doctors aren't certain - they think this is the kind of 'incident' that could throw someone into something called dysthymia. Some form of performance-altering, mild-depression.

Dr Fillips also tells me that I can skip this diary-writing, if I really want to. That it would only put my psyche evaluation back two months, one of which I don't even need to be here for.

But it gives me something to do. When you're just lying in a bed, because there's nothing you can do to actually motivate yourself to get out and stand up past the pain, then writing down your feelings in some cheap notebook doesn't seem all that tedious.

But I still want out of here.

Cloasse · by **Cloasse** on Sun Oct 11, 2009 5:59 pm

Day Three

We have decided to change it to weekly entries. That isn't to say I shouldn't write more, as Dr Fillip reminded me over and over during my ten minute appointment, but he says that it will be all he needs.

Today, I'm supposed to summarize and explain my emotions about one day in Killin. Dr Fillips suggested the day I got apprehended, and since I figure that keeping him happy and just doing as he says will get me out of here quicker, I'm going to do that.

I had got up at roughly half past four in the morning, I think, and decided to just go for it. I had been planning for roughly a month. I had managed to get past any security, and to the mark's room with considerable ease - which, looking back on it, should have sent alarm bells ringing in my head - only to find it empty. Just as I was away to turn back to check that I hadn't missed a turn, I was met with the business end of a gun.

You can imagine how my hoplophobia flared up at that point, and I froze. My equipment was stripped and confiscated, I got taken to some room that I still have no idea as to where exactly it was, and then the usual 'nice' questioning began and ended with the back of my neck getting sliced open. Nice of them to stitch me up when I was unconscious.

That's all I want to remember.

Cloasse · by **Cloasse** on Mon Oct 12, 2009 1:15 am

Day Ten

This is so impossible. Physical therapy is going brilliantly - I can barely tell which of my legs it is that still has a limp, and my back and shoulders feel fine. Dr Fillips, however, is holding me up. I'm not 'emotionally' stable - I never bloody was! No one ever is, not when they're in the bloody army.

Anyway, Dad came to see me today. He apologized for not being able to help me, gave me a row for getting caught in the first place and then yelled at me for ignoring him.

He still is yelling at me, in fact. It's not my fault I'd rather write in this stupid book than listen to him go on and on about how a life in the army really isn't what I want. Like he knows. He was the one who enrolled me in the academy anyway.

Mavo came by to see me. He was just like everyone else - Iante and Tommy, as well as James, both just awkwardly shuffled about whilst trying to make poor conversation. Mavo at least managed to talk about something interesting. I felt a little sorry for Tommy after Mavo had left; he really doesn't know when to stop barbing Melissa. One day, she's gonna kick him so far up the arse he'll be feeling it for months instead of laughing about it the next day.

That's supposed to be my job - kicking him up the arse, that is.

Cloasse · by **Cloasse** on Mon Oct 12, 2009 1:09 pm

Day Fifteen

Ten more days. Just ten more days.

They're transferring me to a multi-versal conjunction. Sounds nice, I suppose.

Mavo's going to a battle site - looking for survivors, I think. I don't want him to go; the entire report reeks of an ambush. But Mavo won't listen, he's far too stubborn to do that.

Still... just ten more days.

I don't know what I'm doing there - at this new place. It's not in Scotland, as far as I'm aware, and Tommy says that he overheard Dad saying it was a forced holiday more than a resituation. It doesn't matter. The physiotherapist tells me I won't be able to fight or move like I used to. Not anything like I used to, apparently - I tried one of the beginner assault courses at the academy... my time was worse than it was when I was in my first year.

How pathetic is that?

Cloasse · by **Cloasse** on Thu Oct 15, 2009 10:27 am

Day Thirty-One

I got out today - six days late. Dr Fillips only just decided that I was capable of looking after myself. I had to promise that I'd fill out this God-damned diary, however. And he's going to be checking, when I go in for (compulsory) appointments. Thankfully, I only have one before I leave next week to go to wherever it is they're sending me.

So, here goes.

Killin.

It was what you call a 'torture facility' - a place specifically made for Prisoners of War and other unlucky buggers that got caught by whoever the folk worked for.

I, being such a lucky person, was tasked with murdering one of the guys that ran the place. Obviously it didn't work, and I got caught.

They had rooms for individual methods of torture - physical tortures like flogging, drowning, sensory deprivation and overloads, as well as psychological tortures like baiting, mock execution - it wasn't pleasant, to say the least. It was everything they warned you about in the academy, everything they said that they had never done, but you knew they had. 'They', of course, being my superiors, my teachers.

Lying bastards - they knew what it felt like to put someone through that, but they couldn't possibly have had any idea how it felt to go through it alone.

I do get nightmares. I'd be worried if I didn't get them - I'm not some form of heartless, mindless super-soldier. I'm barely even a soldier anymore: I still can't complete the training course with my average time yet, although I'm on the advanced one now.

Regardless, when it takes an extra half an hour to complete a three-hour course that should be simple for someone like me,.. it doesn't help.

I leave Scotland in one day.

Cloasse · by **Cloasse** on Thu Oct 15, 2009 2:11 pm

Romanae's writing, unlike the usual smooth cursive, is shaky and jittery on this page, and it is obvious that she started and stopped several times throughout the short entry.

The rest of the page is taken up by a folded letter that has been sellotaped to the paper.

Day Thirty-Nine

Arrived in new area - went to an establishment called 'Gambit's Bar' as it seems to be a meeting area for the various verses; thought it might be interesting.

Letter arrived from home today, dated six days ago.

I was right.

Mavo got caught in the ambush. He's dead.

Cloasse · by **Cloasse** on Tue Oct 27, 2009 1:16 pm

Day Forty-Three

I met quite a few interesting people at the bar: one a general of what I am certain is a Saudi Arabian army; one some definitely loopy bloke with a God-complex and a very, very big sword.

They're both quite cute - not in the whole 'oh, my Lord, he's adorable,' kinda cute; cheeky cute. The General, he's really... tall. And Doryn is the most fun alcoholic I've ever met. He definitely is an alcoholic too, he downs whisky like it's water.

Regardless, Tommy sent me a letter today. Not much in it, the usual moaning about Iante having nightmares around September-time again, James being a slave-driver when I'm not there, and for some reason asking if I know how Melissa is. Which is weird. He and Melissa get on like Benji and Danny. They either ignore each other or need to shoot at one another, and, more often than not, it's the girl that wins. Benji, of course, sort of is a girl... since he's the youngest. Not that he has girl parts, even though Iante insists on it sometimes.

Da put a little post script in too, just saying that he was fine and hoped I was enjoying my new 'station'. He said Mavo's funeral was beautiful - for a funeral, that is. Lots of crying, everyone wondering where I was... There's a rumor going around that I'm a widower, but that obviously isn't true.

Definitely not true.

Cloasse · by **Cloasse** on Sat Mar 13, 2010 10:07 am

Day Forty-Four

I think I'm lost, but I can't stop now. There's nothing left for me at Legion, maybe my Da and my friends at most, but what I wanted to live for isn't there any more. All I have from him is an inscribed sword.

I'm desperate for a solution. Sure, attaching myself to these new people I've met seems like a good idea, but it really isn't. Not unless they're as special as I'm tricking myself into thinking they are. Except I'm certain that he is as special as I think he is. As special as I want him to be.

I was exorcised.

Who am I kidding? Demonic teeth has always been my thing; I assumed it was just some odd defect, but apparently I was actually part demon. There's a new scar. Forehead, centre. The phrase 'between the eyes' has never been so literal. It hurt, holy shit did it hurt. It should have hurt. The shock was more painful than the actual shot. Demons apparently do that. They numb the pain so they can push the body further and harder than it would be under normal circumstances. They don't care if the host dies. If it does, they just go right back to where they came from.

It's gone now. The exorcist was more than happy to make sure I was dead, too - if it hadn't been for him, I'm pretty sure I'd have been dumped in a ditch and left to rot amongst the grasses by now.

Dad would never have known what happened, Iante and Tommy would've been beside themselves... That they hadn't been here to save me, to help me.

What they don't realize is that I still need them now. I'll assure them everything is alright, I'll tell them that I've never been better, but real friends would see that I'm losing this internal argument with myself. I still hurt. I still miss Mavo.

I still wish that I'd died those few months ago.

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