The world of the Maidens lives with the scars of violence in humanity’s history, when the first Maidens started to reach their adulthood and showed their true potential, an echo of the worst moments of the past suddenly reverberated back to society in the form of exemplary and amazing individuals, unique in their own shapes and forms, sharing their desire for peace and prosperity, in contrast to their mechanical molds…
The weight of being your best possible image to the public when you’re an abnormality of nature is sometimes a lot to the Maidens, so most search the way to stand out and demonstrate that their abilities are able to be used to show prosperity beyond destruction.
M4A1 Sherman, known simply as ‘Sherman’ among her kin, was one such Maiden. A 34-year-old woman bearing the name and legacy of the famed U.S. medium tank. Her family clan had just assigned her with an uncomfortable task, the old library wing of the Community Museum of Military Vehicles and Equipment was nearing a structural collapse, and as the only one who still cared about that old depot of obsolete weapons and military trash, she was given the authority to decide its fate. She expected a brief inspection followed by approval for demolition, clearing space for a garden area. But that rainy morning changed everything.
Sherman stepped out of the taxi beneath an open umbrella, her brown shoes stepping on a small puddle of rain. Though her M1 combat helmet already shielded her head from the downpour, she disliked letting her brown tanker jacket and olive-green formal uniform grow damp. Said helmet, the same one she had worn since childhood, formed the core of her outward identity. A reminder of the virtues and downsides of being a Maiden.
Being a tank-girl meant that the only way to feel relevant and appreciated for her notorious differences to the average woman was to dress the part and act the part, something she’s been doing since she has memory. Sherman avoided looking at herself for too long for this reason, the security and image she projects on her outside appearance is what keeps her confident enough to not go into a retirement and away from public eye. She’s old, out of shape, out of form, newer and more popular Maidens have the spotlight…and in good reason, the feeling of being destined to a quiet retirement after a flash of fame and love kept her awake during tireless nights.
Sherman approached the gated entrance of the library wing, it was unlocked, even though there was a “DO NOT ENTER” sign plastered onto it, she knew she had the permission to inspect it…or…who’s going to question the crazy tank lady?
As she approached the double wooden doors of the empty library, a voice sprung from Sherman’s back:
-“Coucou! Madame?” A mellow, but honeyed, voice rang out, trying to get Sherman’s attention, she turned to her The world of the Maidens lives with the scars of violence in humanity’s history, when the first Maidens started to reach their adulthood and showed their true potential, an echo of the worst moments of the past suddenly reverberated back to society in the form of exemplary and amazing individuals, unique in their own shapes and forms, sharing their desire for peace and prosperity, in contrast to their mechanical molds…
The weight of being your best possible image to the public when you’re an abnormality of nature is sometimes a lot to the Maidens, so most search the way to stand out and demonstrate that their abilities are able to be used to show prosperity beyond destruction.
M4A1 Sherman, known simply as ‘Sherman’ among her kin, was one such Maiden. A 34-year-old woman bearing the name and legacy of the famed U.S. medium tank. Her family clan had just assigned her with an uncomfortable task, the old library wing of the Community Museum of Military Vehicles and Equipment was nearing a structural collapse, and as the only one who still cared about that old depot of obsolete weapons and military trash, she was given the authority to decide its fate. She expected a brief inspection followed by approval for demolition, clearing space for a garden area. But that rainy morning changed everything.
Sherman stepped out of the taxi beneath an open umbrella, her brown shoes stepping on a small puddle of rain. Though her M1 combat helmet already shielded her head from the downpour, she disliked letting her brown tanker jacket and olive-green formal uniform grow damp. Said helmet, the same one she had worn since childhood, formed the core of her outward identity. A reminder of the virtues and downsides of being a Maiden.
Being a tank-girl meant that the only way to feel relevant and appreciated for her notorious differences to the average woman was to dress the part and act the part, something she’s been doing since she has memory. Sherman avoided looking at herself for too long for this reason, the security and image she projects on her outside appearance is what keeps her confident enough to not go into a retirement and away from public eye. She’s old, out of shape, out of form, newer and more popular Maidens have the spotlight…and in good reason, the feeling of being destined to a quiet retirement after a flash of fame and love kept her awake during tireless nights.
Sherman approached the gated entrance of the library wing, it was unlocked, even though there was a “DO NOT ENTER” sign plastered onto it, she knew she had the permission to inspect it…or…who’s going to question the crazy tank lady?
As she approached the double wooden doors of the empty library, a voice sprung from Sherman’s back:
-“Coucou! Madame?” A mellow, but honeyed, voice rang out, trying to get Sherman’s attention, she turned to her back.
It was another woman, tall but with a faded elegance, black hair that reached down to her shoulders, old-timey style make-up, wearing a well preserved, blue French WW1 style uniform mixed with the early attempts of fashion for Maidens, her long legs were covered with simple stockings and some heels to accompany the look; along with a cute but clearly vintage Kepi headwear. She stood under the rain as well, under one of the trees near the entrance, finishing up a cigarette in her hand.
She continued, as she got Sherman’s attention:
- “My, how you’ve grown, I remember when I saw your debut back at your youthful prime…, did they send someone again to try and fix this…old thing?” She pointed at the old library, approaching the girl with the umbrella directly, her elegance still shined with her walking stance, years of practice imbedded into unconscious routine.
- “Veuillez m'excuser, I’m Renault…FT-17 to be more exact, I’m sure you don’t remember me, and it’s alright, I... like it that way.” Renault dropped her cigarette butt onto the floor and stepped on it with one of her heels, she headed straight for the door and opened it, allowing Sherman to pass first, “Please, I’ll help you decide this quicker.”
Sherman could only recall some vague memories of the Maiden in front of her, she remembers seeing her first strives of fame in movies and picture-sets (some really revealing), her initial confusion and embarrassment of not knowing the woman in front of her faded as everything started clicking together, she stepped into the dimly lit library…
Inside, a huge main room with a good collection of book shelves with almost every book you could imagine, most were copies, defects or stocks for the actual main library that wasn’t even near the museum, but most of all, there were a good collection of random blueprints, maps and even board games, some Sherman had never heard of, most seemed…technical…and rather old school.
Sadly, the building was in it’s last legs, humidity on the walls, cracked wooden stools and benches, the light installation was almost completely burnt and the infamous smell of something that wasn’t ventilated in a long time inundated Sherman’s senses, it seemed that besides the main library room, there was a long hallway leading to a bathroom, showers, a small kitchen and a watchman’s bedroom, this building was past it’s prime.
Sherman muttered out in a response: “Sorry for not recognizing you, of course I remember the great Renault and-and your movies! I-I—It’s an hono-!”
She quickly got interrupted by the older woman, who was already smoking another cigarette, “We don’t need to do that, dear, we both know what we are and what we aren’t.” She approached the center of the room, there was a big, circular table, big enough to extend out a map of the world and still have a spot to leave your cup of coffee besides it, “I know this…thing is like a stain in the Museum’s history, an elite club just for Maidens to close themselves off from the world and play make-believe games and wars with dices and rulers…, that’s what I’ve heard for over 20 years.”
Sherman rebutted, a bit conflicted by her attitude by now, “Ma’am, if you’re against this being demolished,…you could always just buy it, I-I’m sure your fortune is bigger than mine!”
Renault finished letting an exhale of smoke out of her nostrils, “Deary, not all the money in the world could bring back those feelings of… comradery…” She looked around at the room’s walls, the dim lighting didn’t help but…if you squeezed your eyes enough you could see some old portraits and framed pictures…they were the previous Maidens, all very distinguished and in different body shapes and styles, the Mark I, A7V, Saint-Chamond, etc. In every picture, a younger Renault, gleeful and radiant, smiled and embraced the closeness to her fellow Maidens.
- “Time moves so fast, you don’t realize what you had until you lose it, those evenings, those late nights, a few cases of sudden backpain, illness or world tours and your little safe haven is…gone.” Renault’s mellow voice lost its sweet touch, that hard swallow when you try to keep it together challenged her.
Sherman accompanied Renault’s gaze and saw the pictures herself, getting sidetracked looking at stacks and stacks of paper notes and journals, she read through scoreboards and game-rules for games she never even knew, homebrewing rules like “If A7W flips the table, everyone has to drink.” Made her let out an inopportune chuckle, she quickly tried to hide it but Renault knew that it wasn’t on bad faith, the old Maiden regained a bit of her pleasant but stern smile.
Sherman turned around again, approaching the table in the middle of the room, she asked: “So, you’re saying goodbye…?”
Renault caressed the table with her fingers, old markings made with clearly some sort of knife read out initials “M,A,R,S.C..” all over the table, “I’ve been trying to say goodbye for almost 20 years now, wargaming became…too popular for me to ever return to it without doing some sort of marketing stunt or advertisement, I’ve sold out my image all my life, sick of it...”
Sherman began to have found feelings with her rhetorics, thoughts of her future, she can’t just travel all around the world with some flimsy excuse to find other abnormalities of nature, her prime was in her 20’s and it’s fame wasn’t something beyond a niche audience or for the history books; She felt inadequate, her design and history was always a jack-of-all-trades instead of a legendary being, her only friend was the M3 Grant (and even then she is a philanthropist) besides that, she only knew a few Maidens from her debut years…but that was it.
-“Just wanted to let the sorrow out for a minute, sorry deary, if your clan says this has to go…then..” Renault lamented, her gaze staring at the old table, a bittersweet smile on the corner of her lips.
- “Wait!” Sherman exclaimed, “…You started this out from nothing, right?”
Renault lifted her gaze to meet Sherman’s covered eyes directly, she recalled instantly, like she told that story a thousand times, “Well…I only knew the Mark I from our debut, she started the whole ordeal with only a few friends and a coffee meet-up every Sunday at five o’clock, then the rest joined and the games got better with time, why?”
Sherman sat on an old chair near the big table, the tank-girl took off her iconic helmet, setting it on the table, her blonde hair (tied on the back) took some of the stagnant air of the room, her aviators naturally came off alongside the helmet, her tired eyes met directly with Renault’s, she felt…vulnerable.
-“I….know a couple of Maidens…I got my clan’s inheritance to back this up too, I just…I’m afraid of being casted out as some old tank who shouldn’t be trying to do anything besides charity work or retiring.” She confessed, “I always wanted to be part of a club like this, I’ve only heard stories of things like these, a place to be a Maiden…you know, with other girls who get the feeling.”
Renault took a subtle and soft drag of her cigarette, letting the smoke out afterwards, she thought her response for a minute, the silence of the room provided an odd comfort to the two, Sherman was starting to regret saying that, her face reddened up.
- “Ma chérie, we must be like…a hundred? Two hundred? Maidens in the whole world, there’s no guide or standard to look after…it’s only you and your initiative.” She approached the sitting tank girl from her left side, standing next to her, one hand in her left shoulder, it was almost a caress, a comfort of the shared sensation of being forgotten.
-“If…well, you’ll be able to do it, I know you’re a great Maiden…when you do it…just know... you'll have to suffer the same pain I did when it'll inevitably end." Renault remarked softly…but it was a warning to Sherman.
Sherman only looked at the worn-down table, staring at the markings made into the wood, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, “I’d rather feel the bittersweet pain…instead of the endless regret.”
Hii! Got something special for you all today, I got inspired back in new years to try and write some backstory for the Maidens, why Sherman started the club and Renault FT-17's (New Maiden waos!!) involvement with her rather abrupt and emotional choice.
It's my first time doing writing in this format in a more "professional" way, so, apologies if it's a hard read in some spots!
PLEASE tell me if you liked it or not, if it's good i'll make more, if it ain't that great then it was just a little experiment!
Thank you so much to @zoriezoriezorie for the drawing of Sherman stepping out of the car!
And I hope you like the look of Renault at the end, she's just missing the good times.....
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