Midnight Snack

Posted on Fri Feb 27th, 2026 @ 7:55pm by Commander Aaron Wander & Major (майо́р) Lyudmila "Mila" Sorokova

Mission: Echoes of the Fallen
Location: Mess Hall
Timeline: TBD
1639 words - 3.3 OF Standard Post Measure

Aaron rubbed his temples and sighed before blinking three times and opening the door to his room and stepped out into the hallway. It'd been a hell of a first trip through. Now though, he needed to decompress.

He walked along the marked corridors until he came to the general mess. There were a few chairs and tables near the back of the room and proper dining tables closer to the front where the galley window and trays were currently stacked.

A table next to the door held several stocked drink machines and some light snacks. He put a cup under the coffee machine and grabbed a blueberry cruller with a paper napkin before looking up and seeing he wasn't alone in the mess.

Mila Sorokova sat in the corner of the mess hall sitting at a table with her back against the wall. Her form was sprawled into the chair as if it belonged to her by right, body sunk deep into it, shoulders relaxed, spine curved in a loose, unapologetic slouch. One arm was outstretched, her forearm resting on the table in front of her, holding a mug and swirling it idly, while her other hand delicately balanced a lit Prima cigarette between her fingertips. Her legs were extended but not splayed — knees angled, boots planted comfortably apart, the posture unmistakably relaxed but also most assuredly not careless and on the table beside her sat a pint bottle of Russian-made vodka, cap off, the level clearly reduced - giving a distinct clue as to what was in her coffee mug.

She looked tired in a way that couldn’t be hidden by discipline. Not fragile, not worn down — just spent. With Russian efficiency, there had been no prep time before her reassignment. Her 'trip' to the true ass-end of the planet had been less than comfortable - the C130 had actually been the most comfortable portion of the trip. Then a brutal turnaround. Less than a day before stepping straight into her first real operational environment. No acclimation. No pause. So this — this moment — mattered. She had hoped to enjoy the silence, but it wasn't reasonable to presume that no one would intrude...it was a base and it never was truly asleep.

"If you want something to top off your coffee..." She said by way of greetings, motioning to the open pint on the table. Mila had been told to play well with others...

Aaron walked over and sat on the other side of the table. He took a sip of his coffee to bring down the level and then added a splash of the offered drink. "Cheers." He said as he raised his mug and took another sip. Strong, should have mixed it better.

"We didn't get much chance to talk aside from introductions during the deployment." Aaron began. "Welcome to the program." He kept his hands on each side of his mug, leaning forward slightly so that each inhale was laced with the aroma of coffee that had probably been burnt and then left to sit way too long.

He tried to casually gauge his compatriot as best he could. She came across as if relaxing were her job. Aaron took another sip from his coffee and gritted his teeth. "This coffee isn't good enough for the vodka."

Mila let out a soft chuckle, the sound low and genuinely amused, smoke curling past her lips as she exhaled.

“Your welcome is acknowledged...and I cannot speak for the coffee, here. I haven't tried it yet.” she said, tilting her mug and watching the clear liquid move within. Nodding toward the bottle with dry resignation, Mila continued. “But this is definitely shit vodka.”

She lifted the mug in a small, ironic toast and took a swallow anyway. “Airport shelf. Plastic cap. Regrets included,” she added, mouth quirking a little at the corner.

"Airport or not, this coffee is burnt." Aaron replied with his own toast and sip. Gritting his teeth at the taste. "You'd think for an international outfit someone would fork over the money for decent supplies."

He leaned back in his chair but not to the extent as Mila. He wasn't sure how anyone could look that relaxed and ready all at once anyway. He took another sip of coffee and allowed a silence to fall over them and just relax for a bit without words. He'd forgotten about his cruller so he picked it up and took a bite. It was too sweet and somehow too doughy. he put it back down and used a napkin to wipe a bit of frosting from his face and fingers.

After another sip of burnt coffee, Aaron spoke up. "Aside from questionable canteen services, what's your first impressions of the place?"

Mila studied Wander for a beat before answering with steady eyes, assessing without being obvious about it. She took a drag from her cigarette and tapped the ash neatly into a small bowl she appropriated from the closed buffet line - likely meant for fruit or the ubiquitous ranch dressing the Americans seemed to worship.

“One military shit-hole is just like another,” she answered. “Different flag. Different language. Same fluorescent lights, same burnt coffee, same industrial grey paint. This place just happens to be colder than most and buried at the bottom of the world.” Mila paused to take another swallow from her mug, took a sip, grimaced, then chased it with a drag from the cigarette. “The accommodations are cleaner, I’ll give them that, and I haven't seen any rats.” A beat. “So far.”

Aaron chuckled. "I don't think the rats are winterized enough to survive here. Might get a penguin if we leave the door open though."

He didn't smoke himself, but he knew plenty who did so he was used to the smell and the smoke. It certainly wasn't a hill he wanted to die on and it certainly wasn't his job to enforce the NO SMOKING sign that was conveniently placed so that he could see it just above her head. Aaron couldn't help but wonder if the Russian woman hadn't done that intentionally.

Aaron took another large drink from his coffee and let the silence hang for a long moment. He let his gaze wander around the empty Mess Hall and and settle on a fluorescent light that fluttered just a little. It wasn't even worth bringing up the maintenance at this point. Maybe if it got worse or annoyed someone else.

"I wonder if I can push enough to get some commercial coffee here at least." He put his finger against the handle of his mug and spun it around on the table. "Half surprised we don't have a Starbucks franchise here already."

Mila’s brow creased faintly at the word Starbucks—not suspicion, exactly, but the same look she might give a piece of unfamiliar equipment that someone had just implied was essential.

“Star…bucks,” she repeated, rolling it once in her mouth like a foreign caliber. She glanced briefly at the ceiling, as if the answer might be printed there alongside the flickering light. “I have heard the word. Somewhere. Airport, maybe. Or television.” A pause. "This 'Starbucks' sells coffee, yes?"

"American coffee chain." Aaron replied with a chuckle. "And they multiply like rabbits. I would just like something other than Regulation Coffee Number 512." He motioned to his mug as he mentioned the made up number. "Some things shouldn't be left to the lowest bidder."

"So did you request to come here?" He asked, changing the subject as he took another sip. "I was working in research and recovery before here and someone with a few more bars than I have decided I deserved a change of scenery."

Mila didn’t hesitate this time. No pause, no deflection. “No,” she said simply.

She took a drag from the cigarette, exhaled to the side, then glanced at him over the rim of her mug. “In the Russian military, no one requests to go anywhere. That is not how the system works. You are assigned. Reassigned. Redirected. Sometimes with notice. Sometimes without. Choice is not part of the vocabulary.” A brief, dry shrug followed. “If someone above you decides your skills are better used at the end of the world, then the decision is already logical. Asking for my opinion would only waste time. Besides, one underground facility is much like another...although this one does have far more interesting tasks than counting neutrinos."

Aaron nodded and gave a slight grin. "I think there was a band in the 80s called Counting Neutrinos. Don't think we'll be able to requestion their album either."

He took a long drink of coffee, finishing it and putting the empty cup back on the table in front of him before putting both hands around the luke-warm mug. "I haven't been here much longer than you have. But if there is something you'd like us to get ahold of here let me know and I'll bring it forward as well. Two voices are better than one."

Mila studied him for a second, then she broke out into a real smile. “If you truly want to be useful,” she said, lightly tapping the neck of the open pint with one finger, “see if you can get your hands on good vodka.”

She gave the bottle a critical look. “Not this tragedy. Real vodka."

Aaron returned the smile and put some of the vodka into his mug before raising it in a small toast. "Deal. For both our sakes." He took a swig and gulped down the burning liquid in one go before putting the mug back on the table, empty.


[OFF]



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Major Lyudmila 'Mila' Sorokova
SG1 Team Member

&

Commander Aaron Wander
SG2 Team Lead