Editing Toyhammer (section)

=Omake: Valentine's Day=

Thought for the Day: Cherish your loved ones, for they do not last forever.

-Valentines Day; 02/14/10

-28 Belmont Street

I looked at the Council, the collection of leaders from the various races. The Imperials were easily one half of the Council, the Eldar, Tau and Orks making up the rest. So far, this was a daily – if not twice daily – affair in which I'd discuss things happening over a cup of coffee to ease my frayed nerves.

"Valentines?" The Imperial Council repeated, their many and varied accents twisting the word, turning it over and over on their tongues like a wine taster would swirl a fine vintage in their mouth; tasting it, feeling its texture as it rolled off their senses.

I nodded in response.

"Yep. Saint Valentine's Day."

"Another of your celebrations? Emperor's Protective, you Terrans have a way with holidays." Justicar Amadeus shook his helmet in disbelief, and rolled his helmet from palm to palm, looking thoughtfully to the axe-head like faceplate

"Oi, Big Boss! We'z gets ta bash ennyfink?"

"I doubt Gue'la would celebrate with... violence... never mind, I retract that comment, greenskin."

"Quite predictable, I presume." The Eldar councilors sighed, Zara especially.

"Just what did this Saint Valentine do to deserve an entire day dedicated to his praise?" Canoness Samisha pondered, just beside the Justicar. I sat still for a moment, and opened then closed my mouth a few times.

All I knew of Valentine's Day was of the patron saint of lovers.

"Hang on, lets just go get to the computer. Might as well do some research into this."

I picked up a tray, and placed it on the table. Everyone began to step on, and after they were all boarded and ready (to whit, seated) I picked up the tray and walked over into my study.

We were met by the sound of gunfire.

"c0gb01! Turn off the computer, I'm going on!" I shouted over the sound of CounterStrike, and to the answer of multiple dissatisfied Techpriests.

"Michael! Please, stop this intolerable racket!" Imperial Guardsman Sohm Vekt pulled off some ear protection, normally used by the hee-bee monkeys – Hellbreaker artillery crewmen – and pointed accusingly at the gathered techpriests. Behind him, the group of interpreters and lexiconographers of most of the races – Eldar, Tau and Human - were similarly protesting.

"But, we are doing the Great Omnissiah's work!"

"Well, then, you can tell that Omnissiah of yours to take a plasma cutter and turn it on after he's shoved it up your~"

"GUARDSMAN! Check yourself lest you blaspheme against the Emperor!" Roared Commissar Tomas, unholstering his las pistol. Sohm immediately blanched, and went for the departing Chimera. The others didn't know whether to laugh or run away.

"Look, you guys are burning bandwidth like crazy! There is a capacity, and you can't be on all day!"

"17 n07 b33 411 d41, m1kk3y!" [But it hasn't been all day, Michael!]

"... just... get off. Now."

There were a lot of scurrying, a few curses and a lot of apologies for the machines. The Techpriests followed their usual drill for clearing out of my room, and I pulled the chair across, and placed the platter of people on the table. Dismounting from the tray, all the Council again sat down to watch the massive screen.

My computer had been considerably changed by the arrival of the Techpriests. It ran faster, and had numerous attachments now: coolant lines (although from where they got the coolant, I don't know. I heard that the Wilsons next door had a radiator leak about four days ago, though.) ran from the computer's many caverns, and there was now a carefully constructed doorway for access into the Tower of Cogitators. As well as all that,there were numerous religious insigne on various surfaces, as well as a goddamned shrine crowning the top of the monitor.

I turned to the keyboard, and began tapping around on Wikipedia. "He was ancient Roman, if I'm not mistaken... we're talking about a rather long time ago..." I scrolled down the page a little. Ah, 'Saint Valentine'...

Numerous early Christian martyrs were named Valentine.

I just about Bowed in Frustration.

"Dammit, there's more than one Valentine!"

There was some very amused faces that just as quickly disappeared as I turned to face them.

"Well, mon-keigh... I find it rather confusing that you do not know the purpose of such celebrations..." Farseer Zara purred. Yes, literally purred. "... and yet you say that a large portion of this world observes such holy days without knowing their origins?"

"They've become lost with a lot of commercialism nowdays." I answered, drumming my fingers thoughtfully on the table. "People get caught in with the entertainment value of the holiday, not the religious. They get to have fun, to laugh and play. In fact, I think more than a few people owe their lives to Valentines day..." If you know what I mean.

"How interesting..." Samisha said, mostly to herself. Thankfully, my Tooth-of-Blue was hooked up to their vox-frequencies, so I could actually hear them when they wanted more... delicate expressions.

Her armored fingers tapped her chin thoughtfully, and then turned to the Justicar to ask him about this new Saint. The conversation between them went into a vaguely religious debate about whether this Valentine should be recognized and if so, how should he be recognized.

With that going on, General Ulrich Faust moved past Commissar Tomas, who respectfully stepped back as he tucked away his canteen of recaf. Tapping his comm bead, the rotund General looked up at me.

"So... Michael... just how is this 'Valentine's Day' celebrated?"

Now that was an easy question.

Sohm was pouring over notes. The homo sapiens titanicus species was certainly fascinating for a lexiconographer. They generated so much information! On this single planet alone, there were no less than four scripts that were used by a large majority of the population.

"... h-here. Take it."

Cadian Guardsman/Pressganged Interpreter Sohm Vekt blinked at the small, simply embellished box being offered to him. It was the plain white of freshly constructed uniwrap, a versatile material used for packaging throughout the Imperium. It was adorned with a simple flower-like seal of wax where the strips of fabric binding held the lid in place.

Meliya's face was rather more red than usual, he observed as he looked at the box. Sohm was unsure about this, he looked up at Meliya, who couldn't meet his face. They had always had an awkward

"Uh..."

He reached out and took the box from the Sister's hands, and looked at her rather curiously. She was – despite the medical regulators built into powered armor – visibly sweating and her face was flushed red. Sohm stepped forward and pressed the back of his palm against her forehead, testing the temperature of her face.

"Hmm... a little hot. Are you feeling alrig~ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! LET GO! LET GO!"

The box clattered to the floor as Sohm's arm was twisted about behind his back to breaking point. The sudden motion had also dislodged a half-dozen of his dataslates, sending them skidding across the ground as he struggled for purchase. He was again reminded of the fact that while Meliya appeared as a rather shy and almost timid woman, she was a fully trained and capable Sister of Battle, among the most faithful of the Emperor's servants.

The ring of cool metal that he felt on the back of his neck suddenly registered – a bolt pistol. Sohm was very, very still as he half-turned to face Meliya's out-of-breath face.

"C-can you let go now, please? I've lost feeling to my fingers... look, we've got that Tau lexicon to submit tomorrow, and if I can't write then what use am I to the Emperor?"

A sigh came out behind him, and he felt Meliya shift her weight slightly.

There was a sudden sense of relief as he felt the almost bone-crushing grip loosen.

There was a thud as Meliya and her powered armor hit the ground. The bolt pistol she had been carrying with her fell to the ground. Sohm turned around in alarm as he saw her collapsed form.

"Meliya!"

"The Gue'la celebrate their bonds? Of trust and mutual respect? My my, that is interesting..." Shas'vre Korst'yuan'du'oc (Death From Above) mused at the report made by Shas'El Firestrike. There was a beep as the recently dubbed 'Pringles' buzzed by, its utility attachments already working away at the seals of his XV-25 Stealthsuit.

He turned to his brothers and sisters in arms, who were carefully maintaining their equipment. They were bonded by the Tau ceremony of Ta'lissera. The ceremony of communion and of eternal bonds. Smiling slightly to himself, the Tau Stealthsuit team leader looked on to the figures standing around him.

"How so very unlike what the Ethereals have so far seen, Korst'yuan'du'oc." Shas'ui B'korst'ka (Guider of the Deadly Strike) was their marksman, a steady shot even with her normally close-ranged burst cannon. She was cool headed and calculating, and always the first to fire. She held the helmet of her stealthsuit in her hand, a microtool in the other as she worked at the pins holding a panel in place.

"Its almost as if they could feel compassion."

"Talking about compassion, I think today would be a good day for me to tell you a little secret." Shas'vre Korst smiled, reaching into the box of personal belongings. The other three members of his team looked on intently, all tense in anticipation.

Out came a plainly decorated ceramic flask – usually used for storing liquors.

The veteran Tau Fire Warriors exchanged looks, and began to chuckle softly amongst each other.

"That Vior'la Stealthsuit team we joined last Tau'cyr? Well, this is thanks for saving their hides from that Chaos Rhino that nearly flattened them."

Soon enough, the tension unwound as Shas'ui B'korst'ka's hand shot out to try and grab the flask. Another minute later, the team had relaxed and were passing around the flask of Ky'husa, a hot spirit known to humans as 'Lava liquor'.

Shas'ui M'yen Ma'caor (Unforseen Spider) picked up the flask and gulped down a sip. The lukewarm liquid burned as it slipped down her throat. The Shas'ui was the team's ambush specialist, and Shas'vre Korst would usually trust her instincts when they had to lay up and wait to ambush an unwitting target.

"Well, the Vior'la certainly know how to make their Ky'husa." She purred contentedly, snug inside of her Stealthsuit.

"Aye, and I'll wager that this will be the last time we'll be able to enjoy ourselves like this for a long time..." Shas'ui M'yen sighed.

The others nodded, sombre and thoughtful. Shas'vre Korst pulled out their bonding knife, the instrument of war that marked their communion. "But when that time passes, we'll go and have some fun. Agreed?"

One by one, the Tau Stealthsuit pilots touched the blade that had drawn blood from all four of them, remembering its hot touch when they had agreed to be one.

"Aye."

"A celebration of shared feelings." Justicar Amadeus mused, mostly to himself, re-playing the combat recording of Michael's latest talk of Earth culture. He archived it, and prepared to send it to the Librarian Vasili. The man would surely enjoy picking apart the recording. He looked up as he felt the tread of powered armor through his boots.

"Ah, Canoness Samisha." The Grey Knight Justicar bowed his head in greeting to his peer, and the black armored Sister of Battle did likewise.

"Justicar Amadeus." Was her clipped reply. That was all they needed, really.

The Grey Knight Space Marine and the Sister of Our Martyred Lady had worked together for a long while now, nearly four decades in the Padris Crusades, and had constantly been in the thick of the action while leading their respective brothers and sisters in arms against the enemies of the Emperor.

His shining silver armor was a nice contrast to her darkly colored armor as they walked along on the journey back to their fellows. As the two plodded past the Tau outpost, Justicar Amadeus turned to face Canoness Samisha.

"So, Samisha, what do you think of this? Such celebrations are no doubt... honorable and noteworthy, but I want to hear your thoughts on this."

The woman smiled as she idly stroked the stone rosarius wrapped around her left arm. It fitted snugly into a series of depressions on her gauntlet, so that it would be as much a part of her armor as her armor was a part of her. She looked up at Amadeus, and chuckled.

"Such celebrations are at their worst a vain attempt for traders to peddle their goods to idealists, but at their best... its a beautiful concept. To pride yourself in your relationships, to honor your loved ones... those that aren't there and those that are. It celebrates what humanity has above all others."

"I agree, Samisha."

The two veteran servants of the Ordo Malleus and the God-Emperor shared a wry smile, their pauldrons sparking as they scraped against each other. The Justicar was more than willing to simply idle like this, never quite enjoying the company of a fellow human outside of his Chapter quite as much as he enjoyed the company of Canoness Samisha. Turning to her, words began to form in his mouth.

"Canoness..."

"JUSTICAR! JUSTICAR!" It was the strangled, near-panic cry of one of his men – Brother Timmae – and it was soon followed by the dakka dakka dakka of Silverite's twin bolters. Of course, that didn't last long until a roaring Ork stopped the firing. A series of crunches and another dakka followed. The Ork's voice was next heard whimpering for mercy.

Justicar Amadeus gnashed his teeth. Near heretical he may be, but Silverite was not a coward nor incompetent.

"What is it, Brother Timmae?"

There was a double-burping sound as the Grey Knight discharged his double barreled Storm Bolter.

"The Orks, Justicar! They're 'celebrating' this holiday! Those greenskins are charging up the stairs..." There was the sound of howling horrors as a Grey Knight sent a torrent of psychic energy roaring towards the Ork lines. There was a shift in battle-lines, and now the cries of the Adepta Sororitas and the pulsing 'clink-schaww' of Tau railguns joined the din of battle. "The Sisters of Battle and the Tau are holding well alongside us, but we need aid! Send for the Governor!"

In the background, above the cacophony of Ork weapons, one bellowed out above the others.

"SHARE DA LUV! SHARE DA LUUUUUURVE! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

"Holy Emperor, what was that!"

"Got it!"

"... BROTHER SILVERITE, STOP JUGGLING THOSE GROTLINGS AND GET BACK TO FIGHTING!"

Justicar Amadeus turned to Canoness Samisha, and was surprised to see her gone and already running at full sprint towards the Ork incursion. The Justicar himself caught up to her about halfway.

"Back into it, I suppose." Justicar Amadeus grimly intoned.

Samisha nodded in reply, and the Justicar smiled.

Their knuckles met as they accelerated into a charge, joining the fray with their bolt-weapons blazing.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!"

"You're awfully cheerful today, Ishabeth." Commissar Tomas looked up from the dataslate he was furiously tapping away at, trying to work through the numerous requisitioning forms and reports. Of course she was happy, it was literally in the air. The usual scent of parchment and grease had been utterly eradicated by the smell of Yprean Amora flowers, despite none being around. Ishabeth was a psyker, after all, and her secondary ability to trick the senses with her imagination would have gotten her shot, were it not for her usefulness as a battle-psyker.

"Hmm?" It seemed, however, that the airheaded Ishabeth was also completely oblivious to that particular facet of her powers. She was practically dancing around on her staff as she sat on the edge of the green cushion. It was an improvised job made from materials provided by Michael, and normally served as the Commissar's couch, although more often than not, it would be his bed for the night – there just wasn't any real reason to trudge back to the officer's hab-block and crash into his bed there, no matter how similar the two surfaces were.

"I said, you seem awfully cheerful today."

"Oh... I am?"

"It is most disconcerting, Ishabeth."

"Hmm... I have been Wandering lately, and... well, things are just so cheerful in the neighborhood around us... I just can't help it." She gave a small 'squee' and crashed back down onto the couch/bed/surface.

Tomas lowered his cup of recaf, and looked at her for a moment.

Wandering was her personal term for another of her abilities, this time a consciously activated power. The psyker could remove her senses from her body, and then 'latch on' to the senses of another being some distance away. This was a most useful method of gathering reliable information before a battle, as she had become used to seeing through the eyes of a creature close by to a traitor commander's battle plans.

Ishabeth stirred, her hand rubbing her shoulder as her face scrunched up into a mask of pain.

However, there were risks, so that power was used sparingly when faced against certain foes, such as Chaos. There were such times when other psykers had fallen prey to the Warp, and Tomas had been forced to execute them. He quietly touched the laspistol at his right hip. If he were forced to... would he be able to shoot her?

Why was he even thinking that? Of course he would... right?

The airheaded witch gasped as she bolted upright, and Tomas jerked upright.

"What's wrong?"

"... nothing. There's a woman out in that direction... bit into a chocolate..." Ishabeth giggled as she did. "Turns out there's a gold ring in it."

"I... see..." Grabbing his thermo-conservative flask, the Commissar shook it for a second before opening the cap and gulping down some more of the 'coffee' that he enjoyed so much, and poured himself another cup for good measure. He was getting flustered. The Commissar's cap was removed and placed on the back of his chair.

Ishabeth peered at him from underneath her hood, and her lips curved into a soft smile. Tomas felt his cheeks darken to red, and busied himself with his work. He turned half-away from her, wondering what the sweet, milky taste in his mouth was. Of course a byproduct of Ishabeth's abilities, he still was confused to its name.

"You know... that 'chocolate' confectionary tasted good..." She murmured, as if only to herself. Tomas felt her arms curl around his neck, and her hair whisper against his ear.

He turned around, and saw her dancing away from him, her light build skipping over the plasteel floor.

She giggled, and crashed back onto the makeshift couch.

Tomas steadied his racing heart, and sighed.

Huh. Psykers. Never would understand them.

"Ugh..." I hefted Big Red VI, and tossed it in the pile of spent fire extinguishers. Good grief, it was a good thing Vincent's friend was a pyrotechnician, and so could get these things for cheap.

Goddamn Orks.

Trudging across the room, I dressed into my sleepwear – boxers and a shirt - and promptly fell into bed. Tired as I was, sleep wrapped its embrace about me as soon as my eyes shut.

A hand, soft and limber, stroked my cheek. I looked up to see a black-haired girl peering down at me.

"... Michael?"

It was Young-Zara, an aspect of her personality. She was dressed in simple Terran clothes – a change from her usual Greco-Roman toga. And the skimpy Santa costume. It was an oversized jersey – to the point where it almost became a dress – and what looked like a skirt that reached her knees. The fabric that made up the jersey, however, was a lot lighter, like smoke. It wrapped around her and hung off her slim body, and I'll be damned if I wasn't tempted by the shapes presented to me.

Eldar were such beautiful creatures, so long as they kept their mouths shut. At the stage where they didn't, the universe's most ancient (still breathing) race became nearly the most annoying... well, you know, right?

I lifted myself upright.

"Yah! You again!" I scrambled up to my feet, expecting Undeserved and Disproportionate Retribution to suddenly arrive. I didn't quite know why that was, though.

Tears welled up on the avatar of Zara's every insecurity and worry. She was soon crying. I sighed, not quite knowing what to do. Yoza's own inner child wasn't quite as sensitive, but explained to me the concept: Every Eldar had multiple personality disorder (which explained a lot) and usually specialized them to some end. Warrior aspects, craftsman aspects, and aspects such as these, where they poured all their emotions and worries so that the others could focus and not suffer from such trivial things.

Of course, any competent leader had a lot of worries to get rid of.

"N-no! I don't mean it like that!" I hurriedly scrambled to my feet as Young-Zara began to cry. "Its just that... well... your other selves... are kinda bitc– protective! Protective... of you... you know... 'cause you're a part of them... 'nd you're... ah... more sensitive?"

She sniffled, and nodded her understanding. Shuffling forward, she wrapped herself in my arms and clung to my shirt. Awkwardly, I stroked her hair until she brought herself back to sniffling and steadying her breath.

Peering up at me, she hiccuped. "Th-thanks for that, mon-keigh..."

Hugging me close, I felt her nose trace the line of my collarbone, finding that snug little nook where someone could always find comfort.

I tried to smile as I brushed tear-soaked hair out of her eyes… dammit, why couldn't normal Zara be this heart-wrenchingly cute?

"Because, mon-keigh, I usually have to lead an army."

Oh shit.