Chapter Text
When Jonny found his way back to the Aurora after yet another refreshing stint in prison, he was mostly preoccupied with deciding which part of Ashes’s body he would put a bullet in for leaving him there. The chest was a classic, but the kneecaps were also a good option. Why not both? He’d never been a man of moderation. Of course, he wasn’t really that mad, but it was the principle of the thing. Not like they wouldn’t heal soon enough, and besides a nice firefight was the best welcoming party he could imagine. In the end, he didn’t even get that. When he boarded the ship, there was someone new inside.
“Why, Greetings, Chap! Don’t You Look Like You’ve Been In The Wars!”
On second thought, it might be more accurate to call it something new, because whatever this was, it certainly wasn’t human - even less than the rest of the crew. At least, not anymore; Johnny couldn’t speak as to whether or not there was a real brain under the wood. It looked to be a very well made antique automaton, with intricately articulated wooden limbs and a painted-on soldier’s uniform, save for a vest and a hat that seemed removable. By the faint whirring noise it made as it saluted, there was old-school clockwork inside. The thing looked not unlike an oversized and remarkably intricate nutcracker toy. It would have been cute if it wasn’t so fucking creepy.
“Who or what the fuck are you?” Normally, his pistol would already have been pointed at the intruder, but the sight of this giant doll was just so unexpected it was throwing him off his rhythm.
“Toy Soldier 45, At Your Service!”
It saluted again, and did not stop smiling. The way its jaw was made, Jonny thought it probably couldn’t stop smiling, and instantly wanted to punch the creepy grin to splinters just to see what would happen. Not one to disobey any single one of his most violent impulses, he was about to try just that when someone smacked him over the head.
“Don’t break it yet, I’ve just gotten it,” Nastya scolded, having just entered the room with Ivy in tow.
“Why did you get it?” he asked, flipping her the bird as way of greeting.
“It sings better than you,” she stated, returning the gesture.
“Voice of an angel,” Ivy added. “And very polite, too.”
“It- You replaced me? With some- some pile of firewood centuries out of fashion?” he protested, more hurt than he was willing to let on. “Where’d you even find that thing? A junkyard?”
“An antique shop, actually,” Nastya explained “They said they found it in a ruined battlefield, wearing a Red colonel uniform.”
Now his interest was piqued. He turned back to the thing and examined it more carefully. It did look like it had weathered a few storms and been repaired as many times. Looking closer, he noticed that its left arm was a mechanical prosthetic rather than wood, though it had been painted to match.
“You fought alongside the Rosies?” he asked.
“Indeed! A Jolly Lot Of Brass-Necked Lasses, They Were!”
“Right. Nastya, did you bring a royalist onto our board, because those guys are amongst the most pathetic idiots I’ve ever had the pleasure to murder,” he grumbled.
“Oh, it doesn’t actually care about sides,” she waved derisively.
“Quite! I Heard The Old King Was One Dastardly Chap, And Hairy At The Heel Too!” it chirped. “But Those Uniforms! Weren’t They Just Striking?”
“... Guess I’ve heard stupider reasons to take up arms,” he conceded. “Well then! Let’s hear the angel sing, shall we?”
He unholstered his pistol and aimed it straight at the automaton’s head, for emphasis. Ivy rolled her eyes in mild disapproval, but it didn’t give any indication of giving a shit about the threat, which Jonny found very annoying. It did however start singing, a war ballad about the very troupes of clones that had apparently been its sisters in arms.
The voice was high, pure, and yes, angelic. There was an interesting mechanical tremolo to it, as if the clicking of the gears inside was shaking the voicebox ever so slightly on the long notes.
“Hm. I suppose we could use a soprano,” he conceded when it was done.
“Brilliant!” it cheered. “I’m Happy To Be Of Use!”
And of course, it was still fucking smiling.
“Welcome to the crew!” he said, before unloading his six-shot into its chest, which seemed to do little to dampen its spirit. He decided to get a drink.