Editing Commissar Techpriestess love story (section)

=== Chapter 22 ===
“Goodnight, my sweet Octavia, Omnissiah bless and keep you, sweet dreams, sleep well,” Rogal whispered into her hair. A mechadendrite reached up and stroked his face, as its owner rolled, lifting her head to kiss the commissar on a stubbled cheek,
“Goodnight, my commissar, Emprah guard you as you rest, Omnissiah munus efficacius ad te tuta et,” The petite priestess replied, snuggling close, her mechadendrites splayed possessively over the commissars chest. Octavia closed her eyes, her fleshbrain sleepy but content with the nights adventure. Slowly her cognitor began her sleep cycle, shutting down the various parts of her mind and body, and she smiled, her commissar was with her. The Emprah was on earth, and all was right in her world. She felt Rogal's strong heart beating, his slow breathing a lullaby, as she snuggled down, drifting gently off to sleep.
Meanwhile, at one of the more popular clubs in the entertainment district, Caelistis and Tiberius’s nefarious scheme to woo and seduce Elsa the barmaid, continued. The fact that the slender priestess had already convinced the leggy brunette to wear a collar and leash, explains how well the scheme was progressing. Tiberius grinned, maybe the Emprah wasn’t as disappointed in him as he had thought.

Octavia’s eyes powered on, opening to slits in the morning light. She stretched out, her mechadendrites gently sliding over her lovers chest as he still slept. She rolled over, folding her arms on his chest, looking at the chiselled jaw, covered in stubble, the thin hairless line of a jagged scar now apparent on his cheek. Her fleshbrain lazily wondered the story behind it, her cognitor busy with her morning wake up process. The huge commissar opened an eye, looking back at her, a smile spreading across his face, a massive hand scratching at his chest.
“Good morning,” He mumbled happily, moving a hand to stroke gently down her spine. His fingers played over the recessed ports where her mechadendrites plugged into her lower back, sending shivers through her cyber mantle. She smiled sleepily back at him,
“Good morning, Sir,” she said, giggling girlishly and burying her face in her arms. The broad chest beneath her bounced, as Rogal laughed. She looked at him from behind her mechanical arms, her emerald eyes bright, “It is your title, Sir.” She continued, onyx arms hiding the smile on her lips, “As a member of his imperial highnesses Commissariat, you are to be addressed as either sir or commissar, as dictated by-“
“The Commissarial Edict, article sixteen, clause ninety. I know, I know,” The commissar said, throwing an arm over his face. Octavia giggled, again, a mechadendrite gently tracing a complex pattern over the commissar’s broad chest. The pair lay there, snuggled together, daylight streaming from the skylight in the ceiling, the faint sounds of the mornings bustle in the background. Octavia hummed a Mechanicus hymn happily to herself, the day had started wonderfully. She traced a mechadendrite over the hairless line on her lovers face,
“How did you get this scar, Rogal?”
The commissar lifted his arm from his eyes, lifting his head to look at the petite priestess.

“You remember how I said I was there, when Tiberius did what he did to earn his honorifica?” Rogal said quietly, lying back onto his pillow. Octavia nodded, pulling herself up further on her lover’s chest, “Yes?”
“Well, I got that scar then. It’s why when I smile, it’s all lopsided.” He said, a tone of finality in his voice.
“So you won’t tell me how you got it?” Octavia pleaded, “Please Rogal?”
The huge commissar shook his head, “Not now, not today. It’s not a nice story. I will tell you one day, I promise, but please, don’t ask about it till then.”
Octavia was taken aback by the sadness in her lover’s voice, so she snuggled closer to him, her slim arms wrapping around his barrelled chest.
“You’ve seen some terrible things, haven’t you?” she whispered, a mechadendrite stroking at the commissars dark hair. He nodded, “Such is the life of a commissar. We are the thin black thread that helps hold the line. We see what the guardsman fears, and we face it with them, lending them our strength so that they may overcome that fear”.
Octavia hugged her man tightly, “You’re a good man, Rogal Hephaestus.”
“I try.”
The huge commissar sat up, his blanket falling to his waist, his broad shoulders rippling in the morning light. Octavia sat in his lap, as he put his arms around her, returning the hug.
“What time is it?” He asked, before burying his face in her neck, nuzzling gently at the soft skin and cool electoos.
“Ten in the morning, local time. The mess would still be serving breakfast, if your hungry,” The petite priestess said, running a hand through the commissars hair, before ruffling it affectionately. Rogal’s stomach growled in agreement, and the commissar grinned, “Yes, I’m hungry. Shall we?”

Octavia nodded happily, standing up on the commissars bed, her petite frame backed by the bright light from the skylight, her mechadendrites splayed out behind her like wings. Rogal smiled, she really was a saint, at least to him. The petite priestess stepped down from the bed gracefully, landing on her augmented toes without a sound. She picked up her skirt and began reattaching it, her nimble fingers working quickly.
“Praise be to the Omnissiah, he who cares for the great machine, who powers the great machine, who fabricates its parts,” She sang quietly, “May we come to know you in your infinite complexity, may you come to love us in our elegant simplicity”.
She looked up at Rogal, stretching his arms as he made his way to the bathroom. She smiled as she heard the Commissar’s morning start up procedure, and thanked the Omnissiah she no longer needed to resort to such primitive methods. Her body was hyper efficient, and she only needed to change a filter once a week. Her cognitor smiled proudly, finally able to point out a fact where her mechanical augments were superior to the weak fleshy needs of the commissar. Her fleshbrain shrugged, not caring in the slightest, happy with the image of rippling muscles it had taken moments before. The sound of Rogal shaving filled the tent, as Octavia straightened her skirt and top, pulling straps snug and generally making herself presentable. The commissar returned to the main living area, grabbing his uniform from the foot locker and pulling his shirt over his head. Dexterous fingers did up small buttons, before he pulled on his socks, and then his trousers. His boots were pulled on next, before he paused, looking around the tent.
“Have you seen where my sash got to?” He asked, moving towards the table. Octavia shrugged, her eyes scanning the room for the crimson fabric.

“Found it,” Rogal said, grabbing the red sash from the seat of the chair. He wrapped it around his waist, and then again, before tying it off with an elegant knot. His sword and pistol belt went on next, followed by his jacket. Octavia threw her cloak around her shoulders, mechadendrites pulling the hood up, as the commissar picked up his hat from the table. Tucking it under his arm, he grabbed Octavia’s hand with his own, and pulled her towards the door. He stopped just shy of the tent flap, leaning down to kiss is petite lover,
“Sorry I didn’t do that earlier,” he whispered as he pulled away
“Better late than never,” the red robed disciple of the Omnissiah replied, smiling sweetly. The pair stepped out from the tent and into the morning bustle of the base. Rogal looked around, confusion crossing his face,
“It’s rather busy today,” he said, as he lead Octavia towards the mess, “Very busy, strangely so,”
Octavia’s eyes scanned the crowd, density was up, guardsmen were in full gear, and a strange excitement seemed to dance in the bases noospheric umbrella.
“Maybe there’s a drill on?” Octavia offered, her cognitor deciding this was the most logical reason for the current situation. Rogal shrugged, “I hope so, seems odd I wasn’t warned though,”
“Inquisitorial matter, maybe?” Octavia tired again, her mind praying she was wrong. The commissar shook his head, “I would have heard about that.”
The pair arrived at the mess, Rogal grabbing them a both trays as they entered the queue. They shuffled along with the rest of the line, Rogal piling his plate with hot food, Octavia opting for a more balanced menu. They had made their way to their favourite table, and were about to start eating, when Tiberius ran up, slamming his hands on the table.
“Orders just came in,” He said excitedly, “This is it, the final push.”

Rogal nodded grimly. He had expected this, but not so soon. He knew the orks had been pushed back to the huge crippled warship they had arrived on, which now acted as their final bastion. The navy couldn’t just shoot it from orbit, to do so would detonate the plasma cores, blowing a crater three times the size of the ship into the planet, throwing thousands of tonnes of irradiated fallout into the air. The only option was to go in there and tear the greenskins from their hole. Rogal knew this, and he hated it. He looked at his longtime friend, and let out a sigh,
“Let me guess,” the huge commissar said, leaning back in his chair, “They want us to dig in around them, bunkers and trenches five rows deep, under heavy fire from both sides.”
Tiberius grinned, a strangely honest gesture, “Traitors be damned they do, isn’t it exciting?”
Rogal shrugged, “If you say so, old friend.”
“Oh, I say so. Do you know if the Capitan has organised his entourage yet? Does he still need a voxman?”
Rogal shrugged again, “No idea, Tiber. I only just found out about the push. Give me half an hour, my slate will be packed with information for you.” He said, before taking a bite from his meal. Octavia sat quietly, poking at her cereal. Considering the night he had just lived, Tiberius was amazingly energetic, throwing himself away from the table, “I’m going to find out, Vox me if you hear anything,” he called over his shoulder as he bounded off. The massive commissar let out a sigh, poking at a slice of meat with his fork. Octavia gently stroked his arm with a mechadendrite,
“The Imperium needs you,” she said quietly, her fleshbrain in shock, her cognitor pointing out that this was an inevitability.

He nodded, looking at his petite red robed love, “I know.”
Octavia’s cognitor took over, her fleshbrain collapsed into its metaphysical couch, sobbing.
“Just, come back alive,” she said, her emerald eyes piercing,
Rogal nodded again, gently taking her hand, “I will. I promise.”
A siren blasted across the base, before a polite cough was heard.
“ATTENTION ALL SOLDIERS OF THE IMPERIUM. TODAY, AS ORDERED BY HIS LORDSHIP, GENERAL SHCTATTERSBURG,” Tiberius’s voice boomed across, “WE ARE TO MOBILISE TO RID THIS PLANET OF THE GREENSKIN MENACE ONCE AND FOR ALL. ALL UNITS ARE HEREBY PLACED ON FULL MOBILISATION ALERT. I REPEAT, ALL UNITS ARE NOW ON FULL MOBILISATION ALERT.”
The mess exploded into chatter and activity, guardsmen began wolfing down their meals. Rogal stood, before leaning over to his lover.
“I have to go, you know that. I promise you, by Him on Earth as my witness, I’m coming back alive.”
He kissed her roughly, before striding away into the bustle of the mess, leaving the red robed priestess alone with her thoughts. Inside her head, her fleshbrain wailed in sadness, her body folding its arms and burying her face in them, her mechadendrites limp. Octavia felt an arm around her shoulders, and she looked up from under her hood, her vision blurry with tears. Caelistis hugged her, wiping away her friends tear with a mechadendrite. The pair sat there for a while, before the taller techpriestess spoke,
“Come on, we need to do our part. Their more likely to come back if we give them the best chance of survival,” She said quietly, to reassure Octavia and to reassure herself.
The petite priestess nodded, wiping her eyes with the corner of her sleeve, “By his grace, the Omnissiah brings them home again,”
“Exactly,”