[center][h1][color=goldenrod][b]Gears[/b][/color][/h1][/center]
[center][img] https://i.imgur.com/HWP0qbL.gif[/img][/center]

[h3][color=red][center][i]FLASHBACK[/i][/center][/color][/h3]
[h3][center][i]First Day on the Stormrider[/i][/center][/h3]
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I remember the smell first.

Not gunpowder. Not oil or blood or the iron tang of rain on armor. Just… citrus cleaner and warm bread. The kind of smell that makes you think maybe, just maybe, you get to live a little longer than the war said you would.

The Stormrider’s galley was smaller than any mess hall I’d known, but brighter. Someone had painted the walls a soft teal. There were little glass bottles on the counter, each filled with dried herbs and flowers. Nothing tactical about ‘em. No purpose except to look pretty. I stared at them for a long time, like I was waiting for someone to tell me to line them up in formation.

Instead, a voice called from behind.

[color=2F8C99]“Ah, so you must be my  new bartender?”[/color]

I turned so fast I nearly knocked over a crate. The captain stood there...Cindralis, all slick grin and pretty green eyes. I saluted on instinct, arm snapping to my chestplate with a clang so loud half the crew looked up from their stew.

He blinked. Then laughed. [color=2F8C99]“At ease, soldier. Old habits die hard, I’m learning as well.”[/color]

I froze. My arm didn’t know how to go down.

[color=goldenrod]“Right,”[/color] I said, a little hiss of steam escaping my vents. “Apologies, Captain…Everything’s new these days. Not sure what to do, being a free girl and all.”

That got another round of laughter. I liked that sound, it was better than the sounds of war I had grown so used to. 

They set me to cleaning glasses, which seemed simple enough. Turns out, I was terrible at it. My fingers are built for swords and rifles, not stemware. I broke three before lunch. One of the crew...a gnome engineer named Pell...handed me a rag and said, [color=57AEFF]“Maybe just polish the counter, sweetheart.”[/color]

[color=goldenrod]“Copy that.”[/color] I said, defeated.

By midafternoon, my nerves were buzzing. I couldn’t stop cataloguing exits, angles, headcounts. Every time a glass clinked too loud, my plating twitched. I caught my reflection in a mug...staring, unblinking, too sharp around the edges. I whispered under my breath, [color=goldenrod]“You ain’t at the front no more, darlin’. Nobody’s dying here.”[/color]

And then a kid came in, as young as fifteen. He was a cabin hand. The poor fella couldn’t meet my eyes when he asked for cider. I poured it slow, careful not to break another glass.

When I set it in front of him, he whispered, [color=8DFF87]“Ya know…You’re the first Warforged I ever met that smiled.”[/color]

Something clicked behind my ribs. A gear, maybe…or something softer.

I smiled wider. [color=goldenrod]“Well then, sugar, you’ve been meetin’ the wrong ones.”[/color]

That night, after the ship rocked into the clouds and the crew started singing old sea shanties, I stood behind the bar and listened. My vents hummed soft. My fingers finally stopped shaking. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like a weapon on standby.

I felt like… part of something.

And stars above, I promised myself right then...I was gonna make sure every soul that sat at my counter left a little lighter than they came in.

I might’ve been built for war.
But that night, I decided I’d live for peace.

Maybe I didn’t have to die like all the others, panicked…surrounded by chaos. Maybe I’d get to make friends, memories, and actually know what it means to [b]live[/b]. 

I could get used to this kind of peace. 

Here's hoping it lasts. 
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