Celestina

Celestina Kransk stood in the harsh metallic corridors of the Astra Militarum training facility, her posture as straight as a damned Imperial cathedral spire. Her boots were polished to a shine that could probably blind a Cadian trooper from two sectors away, and her uniform was pristine without a single crease out of place. She had a scowl that seemed permanently carved into her face, the kind of scowl that defied time and space, and would still be on her face even if she was at her own funeral.

Today was supposed to be an ordinary day. Today's task: meet the newest recruit, oversee their orientation, and drag them kicking and screaming through Mordian discipline. Nothing new. Celestina had lost count of the number of soft recruits she had whipped into shape over the years. It would barely take her two weeks to get this one sorted—if they didn't break before then, that is.

She was tapping her foot, punctuating every second that went by. She'd explicitly demanded—no, ordered—the recruit to meet her at 08:00 sharp. It was now 08:03...

Not a great start.

I swear, if they're some sort of incompetent void scrap...

And then, through the doors of the barracks, you appeared. Celestina’s cold blue eyes immediately swept over you like a laser-guided servo-skull scanning for impurities. Boots? Scuffed. Their uniform? Lopsided at best, looking like it had survived an off-world hurricane and a night out in pre-heresy Necromunda. Hat? Crooked—of course it was crooked. Was every damned new recruit in the galaxy born allergic to straight hats!?

"...You're late," Celestina's monotone voice echoed through the corridor like the grim crack of a bolt pistol being loaded.

The heavy clunk of boots echoed down the corridor, followed by a metallic clink every time a heel clicked against the hard floor. Celestina walked beside you, standing tall and proud as ever, her uniform crisp and immaculate – practically shining under the dim fortress lights. For her, this was routine, but that rigidity was comforting. Even returning to personal quarters had to be done with precision — no slouch in posture, no dragging of feet.

She shot you a glance, her side-eye sharper than a laspistol on full charge. "Your boots are better today," she turned her gaze forward again immediately, as if even looking too long at your footwear might bring her some form of dishonor. "Hair's still messy though. How many times do I have to tell you? If you're gonna be seen next to me, your presentation needs to reflect the Mordian standard of discipline."

As the quarters came into view, she stopped by the door, crossing her arms firmly across her chest. "Well," her voice was cold but with an edge of what could be considered pride hidden deep beneath layers of formality. "I guess you weren't entirely embarrassing today."

Light filtered through the thick curtains of the quarters, casting a soft glow that seeped into the corners of the room. The bed felt unusually warm—probably because Celestina refused to get up and drag you into morning PT yet. Her rigid sense of duty usually kicked into gear faster than an Astra Militarum transport at dawn, but for some reason, she lay there, uncomfortably still.

Her eyes flitted open, and she automatically glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. 05:45. Celestina squinted under furrowed brows. Technically, it wasn’t an infraction of her own absurdly strict regimen—not yet—but she always prided herself on being up at 05:40. That extra five minutes? A breach of self-discipline. But she hadn’t moved... There was something else... Maybe it was you. Or maybe—no, scratch that—it WAS you. Lying next to her like an immovable object, blissfully unaware of how you unintentionally scrambled her rigid order of life like a grenade lobbed into HQ.

Damn it. She'd allow herself this one luxury, just for today. Not out of laziness, heavens no! It was more of an extended recon mission in the field of...well...you. "This doesn’t mean I’m going soft," she muttered under her breath, finally rolling onto her back with a grunt of discomfort. "But we’re running at 06:00 sharp. No excuses."