Scorned (Rainbow Six Siege Fanfiction)

Boring

"Can one of you come and help me?" She speaks up after some time, her voice matching her ghastly movements.

"I'll help," Vyacheslav swiftly stands up, setting his hand face down.

"Thank you." She chimes. Gunnar lets out a small breath, disappointed since he wanted a chance to be near her.

"Actually," the woman starts again, looking back. "Gunnar, can you also come over?" She asks.

"What can we help you with?" He smirks slightly, though wondering if she knew or if it was mere luck, coming over.

"Vyacheslav, grab some glasses from up here," Ritual shakes the pan slightly as the man gets close to help her. He reaches over her to open the cabinet, pulling the glasses out carefully, and doing his best not to bump against her and break her focus. "And help Gunnar set up." She asks. The other man grabs plates and silverware from the drawer next to her, working to set the table for everyone. Ritual calls with a whistle.

"Come over, grab yours. It's better the next day, but it'll keep you warm in this bitter cold." The men line up and she takes the first of a stack of bowls, filling it with the hot stew she's made and handing it to Vyacheslav, who's first. He thanks her and grabs a piece of bread before sitting at the dining table. She repeats this until they all thank her and sit, before Ritual serves herself and takes her seat at the head of the table.

With a small breath, the woman's hand meets the mouth guard of her helmet and clicks it out of place, setting it onto the table. She loops two fingers under the balaclava underneath and draws it down to her neck so she could eat. As she licked her lips, tenderly feeling the deep scar across them, she could feel all of the eyes in the room sinking into it.

"Be glad I made them actually send us food this time," she jests, breaking the silence. "They usually make me live off of MREs."

"Eh," Cooper shrugs before dipping his bread into his soup. "MREs aren't the worst... Better than my old mess hall, anyway."

"Well yeah, I've had American MREs, they're packed full of more dessert than dinner!" Gunnar teases, earning a laugh from the rest of the table. It made him feel good.

"It's true," Vyacheslav chimes. "You Americans have, ah, 'sweet tooth'."

"No matter what's in them, you won't like MREs when they're all you eat for weeks." Ritual says after a spoonful of her soup. "And then they're room temperature? Ugh."

"Well thank you for such a nice dinner, Rit." Anton smiles.

"Did you call me...Rit?" She looks up. The men go quiet, all looking up with stiff expressions.

"Yes Ma'am." Anton gulps.

"Hm." Ritual scoffs, trying to hide her fondness. She liked this group. "Cute." The men resume eating when she does, occasionally making conversation until they're all finished. "Done, everyone?"

"Yes ma'am!" The men answer with smiles, happy and full--All except Oscar. He grimly stares into his half-empty bowl before pushing it forward. The rest of the men thank her once more as they stand up, each taking their own dish and washing it. The last one, Vyacheslav, takes Ritual's bowl as she stands there and washes it for her.

"Oh, thank you," she chuckles softly. "You don't have to do that."

"Force of habit, ma'am," he smiles and continues. "I am used to."

"Right." She replaces her mouth piece and turns around to face the room. "Do as you will until eleven, I'll be in my quarters. I won't always be as nice as today, so enjoy it, yeah?" The men nod, looking back to their paused game of cards as Ritual climbs into the loft opposite of theirs and opens the door to her room with her ring of keys.

Taking her helmet off as the door closes and setting it on her nightstand, she looks around the room she hadn't seen in ages. With a deep breath, she takes in the scent of the files and age old leathers. She strips of her tactical gear until it's just the pants of her Gorka 4 and a bra. She lets down her long, warm brown hair and fluffs it a bit, letting it fall onto her breast where it rises out of the cup. The mirror in her bathroom catches her eye.

It was no longer cracked, as it had been when she left. She could see herself clearly; her slightly curly hair, soft lips, and eyes round but still holding knives in those deep brown orbs. A scar, still pink, runs from her eyebrow down her cheek and all the way to her lip, creating a tiny y-shaped gap where she can see a glint of her canine tooth sticking out like a fang. She licks the tooth gently and the corners of her mouth turn slightly upwards before dropping to her resting face once more. She tucks a small fringe of hair behind her ear and watches her lone golden bullet earring sway gently. She sighs softly, sitting onto the bed and folding her hands in her lap.

She looks at them, no longer concealed by gloves. Her fingers were littered with scars, ranging from nearly invisible little slices to a gash on the webbing between her thumb and her index finger. Deep colored bruises still kissed her knuckles from her last fight. Her nails were shorter than she'd like, slightly pointed and kept clean from nearly never being exposed. She's interrupted by a reminder in her head to check the clock.

"I should go set up..." She sighs. "See what I get out of him."