Chapter Two
-- June 17; 0700 hrs; Messhall --
"SONOFABITCH!" was a very angry yell coming from a very short female agent.
The Standard Issue soldier, who had just delivered the message informing her to be ready to go by 0600 the next day, smirked behind his helmet at the fuming Freelancer. Everyone loved to see this one angry, as long all that rage was directed at someone other than themselves.
Louisiana glared at the messenger (contemplating whether or not to shoot him) before sighing in a defeated, yet conversational, voice, "Hey there Karma, long time, no see. Reginald sends his best" then walking over to the Training Floor 1 Observatory.
She hated that prick in charge.
Hated, despised, loathed, abhorred, reviled, detested!
He thought he was so fucking clever, didn't he!
Someone must have told him that she had been making fun of Washington, so he decided to have a little fun. Or it was Karma getting back at her for the Wyoming incident. Well, I'll show him! I'll show both of them!
The question was how? She could just throw the mission and let that red-colored paintball hit the mark. But that would condemn Project Freelancer to redaction and that just wasn't acceptable. Not only had she not accomplished what she'd meant to by joining, but she would probably also get beaten up in the hallways of the Mother of Invention. Which was also unacceptable.
A couple of her so-called colleagues were sparring with pugil sticks down below (the 'cute Brit in green armor' she'd mentioned the day before and her blue and pink friend) but, instead of watching, Louisiana bee-lined over to a diversely colored group in the corner. They were all engrossed in an arm-wrestling match between the Freelancer Grapes (as Louisiana had heard somebody refer to them).
If she wasn't going to fuck everyone over then she might as well make sure they succeeded. She'd spent the last few years lying through her teeth in a too-short dress so, at the very least, she knew she could help.
Washington (looking torn between terror and fascination), York (drinking coffee and making general sounds of encouragement toward the twins), and Connie (looking sly and sneaky and, she had to admit it, kinda cute) stood clustered around the brother and sister, all of whom were in civilian clothes.
Carolina and Maine were both fully armored (though with their helmets off), but while Maine stood away from the group and looked bored, Carolina was sneaking glances at the competition while she thought nobody was looking. It just wouldn't do for anyone to know that she had bet two-hundred bucks on North.
Louisiana looked over each male carefully, seeing as she wasn't in the mood to deal with Connie at the moment -bitter as she still was about a wager that had gone very wrong- and she was never in the mood to deal with Carolina (Rotten, paranoid bitch). Her best bet was York. She was on better terms with him than with most, and he would make her laugh. But, no, she didn't want any trouble from Cary.
Every time they spoke it seemed to piss her off. That girl had it bad for him but York was either a lot dumber, or a lot better at lying, than Louisiana gave him credit for.
Obviously, she wasn't going to ask Washington and she wasn't all that interested in South's doormat of a brother. She could ask her Standard Issue friend, Dan, but she doubted that he would make a good impression. Besides, she knew he wouldn't be able to keep a straight face if his life depended on it when he saw her in a dress.
Well, barring someone like Jersey Shore or Illannoying, there was logically only one person left to ask.
Louisiana sauntered over and said "... Hey, Maine! How's it going?" as nonchalantly as possible, trying for a friendly, charming smile. The others looked over at her, surprised that she was willingly attempting to socialize with anyone, let alone with the Boarders. Or the bad-tempered behemoth in white.
Maine was an imposing figure at just north of six-and-a-half feet with a deep, gravelly voice and serious temper problems to match, but his dark hair (though usually shaved) and honey-brown eyes didn't really leave anything worth objecting to.
Plus, he had fantastic bone structure. Louisiana just hoped she hadn't already offended him at some point. It was just so hard to remember these days who liked her and who didn't. Or rather, who hated her and who didn't.
He turned toward her, no expression on his face at all, before growling out, "...South is kicking North's ass."
She tried to keep her voice chipper, and just missed as she said, "Oh, so nothing new!" Now is the time for action! Louisiana thought to herself ...So act! "Hey, um, d'you gotta go on that stealth mission, too? The one where we're supposed to stop the fake Insurrectionists from painting the general an unflattering shade of red and wear civilian clothes and mingle and bring a fake date?" She babbled on uneasily, though trying really hard to hide it by fixing her gaze on the two-grapes-on-a-vine siblings.
Dear god! I'm almost stuttering, for fuck's sake! I must be really out of practice here. I gotta fix that...
Maine looked down (a long way down) at her, stared for several seconds, before he nodded a little slowly, if not a little suspiciously.
Her mouth went dry. Did he guess what her next question would be? Well, there was only one way to find out.
"Well... you know the poor bastards in tan and teal are going together-" Louisiana was sure that the vein in Carolina's temple was going to burst soon "-and I think Washington bribed Missi into going with him..." He kept staring and in her peripheral vision Louisiana could see the heads of Connie and Washington swivel around to stare as well.
"So... I was wondering if you-" she took a deep breath before plowing on "-would mind tagging along?"
She'd meant it as a statement, but he was just staring and not saying anything and staring as she talked and she could hear her voice get higher at the end of the sentence, making it sound like a question.
However, she was spared from his disconcerting gaze for a while longer because, when she finally forced out her reason for talking to them, they were all distracted by the sound of breaking ceramic, a pained yell, and a grisly pop.
Louisiana and Maine looked over to see what had happened.
York was dripping head-to-toe with hot coffee, staring at the two with a mixture of shock and horror, his cup having shattered in his hand when he heard Louisiana's request.
The agonized shout had come from the Dakotas. North, having been distracted by the astonishing development in front of him, lost concentration on the competition with his sister and when South's brutal strength no longer met any resistance... well, yet another trip to the infirmary was needed.
Though, the fact that it was a dislocated shoulder won Louisiana the Mother of Invention office pool as well as an additional pretty penny from Dan. She'd had fifty-to-one odds that North's next injury was caused by anyone but South.
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Louisiana helped a wincing North down the hall to get fixed up, under the disapproving eye of his borderline-feral sister, before heading back down to the training floor to find someone to spar with. Preferably Wyoming, seeing as she wasn't in the mood to beat someone to a bloody pulp then actually feel bad about it later.
As she ambled along the corridor, Louisiana heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Maine walking up.
He came to a stop, looked at her for a moment, then growled out "I don't have a suit."
She grinned in response, "I'll get something situated for you and leave it in your quarters. But, hey, look on the bright side! It is a good way to test your skills out of armor and in an environment that you're not comfortable with."
Maine shrugged, partly mollified by her encouragement and the idea that the mission was simply another challenge and not an intentionally cruel and unusual form of torture.
Louisiana gave him a friendly little punch on the shoulder as they started toward the training room again. "Don't worry about it, big guy. Everything will be fine. We should be done with the mission, back here, and out of that fucking formal-wear by ten, tomorrow night."
"SONOFABITCH!" was a very angry yell coming from a very short female agent.
The Standard Issue soldier, who had just delivered the message informing her to be ready to go by 0600 the next day, smirked behind his helmet at the fuming Freelancer. Everyone loved to see this one angry, as long all that rage was directed at someone other than themselves.
Louisiana glared at the messenger (contemplating whether or not to shoot him) before sighing in a defeated, yet conversational, voice, "Hey there Karma, long time, no see. Reginald sends his best" then walking over to the Training Floor 1 Observatory.
She hated that prick in charge.
Hated, despised, loathed, abhorred, reviled, detested!
He thought he was so fucking clever, didn't he!
Someone must have told him that she had been making fun of Washington, so he decided to have a little fun. Or it was Karma getting back at her for the Wyoming incident. Well, I'll show him! I'll show both of them!
The question was how? She could just throw the mission and let that red-colored paintball hit the mark. But that would condemn Project Freelancer to redaction and that just wasn't acceptable. Not only had she not accomplished what she'd meant to by joining, but she would probably also get beaten up in the hallways of the Mother of Invention. Which was also unacceptable.
A couple of her so-called colleagues were sparring with pugil sticks down below (the 'cute Brit in green armor' she'd mentioned the day before and her blue and pink friend) but, instead of watching, Louisiana bee-lined over to a diversely colored group in the corner. They were all engrossed in an arm-wrestling match between the Freelancer Grapes (as Louisiana had heard somebody refer to them).
If she wasn't going to fuck everyone over then she might as well make sure they succeeded. She'd spent the last few years lying through her teeth in a too-short dress so, at the very least, she knew she could help.
Washington (looking torn between terror and fascination), York (drinking coffee and making general sounds of encouragement toward the twins), and Connie (looking sly and sneaky and, she had to admit it, kinda cute) stood clustered around the brother and sister, all of whom were in civilian clothes.
Carolina and Maine were both fully armored (though with their helmets off), but while Maine stood away from the group and looked bored, Carolina was sneaking glances at the competition while she thought nobody was looking. It just wouldn't do for anyone to know that she had bet two-hundred bucks on North.
Louisiana looked over each male carefully, seeing as she wasn't in the mood to deal with Connie at the moment -bitter as she still was about a wager that had gone very wrong- and she was never in the mood to deal with Carolina (Rotten, paranoid bitch). Her best bet was York. She was on better terms with him than with most, and he would make her laugh. But, no, she didn't want any trouble from Cary.
Every time they spoke it seemed to piss her off. That girl had it bad for him but York was either a lot dumber, or a lot better at lying, than Louisiana gave him credit for.
Obviously, she wasn't going to ask Washington and she wasn't all that interested in South's doormat of a brother. She could ask her Standard Issue friend, Dan, but she doubted that he would make a good impression. Besides, she knew he wouldn't be able to keep a straight face if his life depended on it when he saw her in a dress.
Well, barring someone like Jersey Shore or Illannoying, there was logically only one person left to ask.
Louisiana sauntered over and said "... Hey, Maine! How's it going?" as nonchalantly as possible, trying for a friendly, charming smile. The others looked over at her, surprised that she was willingly attempting to socialize with anyone, let alone with the Boarders. Or the bad-tempered behemoth in white.
Maine was an imposing figure at just north of six-and-a-half feet with a deep, gravelly voice and serious temper problems to match, but his dark hair (though usually shaved) and honey-brown eyes didn't really leave anything worth objecting to.
Plus, he had fantastic bone structure. Louisiana just hoped she hadn't already offended him at some point. It was just so hard to remember these days who liked her and who didn't. Or rather, who hated her and who didn't.
He turned toward her, no expression on his face at all, before growling out, "...South is kicking North's ass."
She tried to keep her voice chipper, and just missed as she said, "Oh, so nothing new!" Now is the time for action! Louisiana thought to herself ...So act! "Hey, um, d'you gotta go on that stealth mission, too? The one where we're supposed to stop the fake Insurrectionists from painting the general an unflattering shade of red and wear civilian clothes and mingle and bring a fake date?" She babbled on uneasily, though trying really hard to hide it by fixing her gaze on the two-grapes-on-a-vine siblings.
Dear god! I'm almost stuttering, for fuck's sake! I must be really out of practice here. I gotta fix that...
Maine looked down (a long way down) at her, stared for several seconds, before he nodded a little slowly, if not a little suspiciously.
Her mouth went dry. Did he guess what her next question would be? Well, there was only one way to find out.
"Well... you know the poor bastards in tan and teal are going together-" Louisiana was sure that the vein in Carolina's temple was going to burst soon "-and I think Washington bribed Missi into going with him..." He kept staring and in her peripheral vision Louisiana could see the heads of Connie and Washington swivel around to stare as well.
"So... I was wondering if you-" she took a deep breath before plowing on "-would mind tagging along?"
She'd meant it as a statement, but he was just staring and not saying anything and staring as she talked and she could hear her voice get higher at the end of the sentence, making it sound like a question.
However, she was spared from his disconcerting gaze for a while longer because, when she finally forced out her reason for talking to them, they were all distracted by the sound of breaking ceramic, a pained yell, and a grisly pop.
Louisiana and Maine looked over to see what had happened.
York was dripping head-to-toe with hot coffee, staring at the two with a mixture of shock and horror, his cup having shattered in his hand when he heard Louisiana's request.
The agonized shout had come from the Dakotas. North, having been distracted by the astonishing development in front of him, lost concentration on the competition with his sister and when South's brutal strength no longer met any resistance... well, yet another trip to the infirmary was needed.
Though, the fact that it was a dislocated shoulder won Louisiana the Mother of Invention office pool as well as an additional pretty penny from Dan. She'd had fifty-to-one odds that North's next injury was caused by anyone but South.
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Louisiana helped a wincing North down the hall to get fixed up, under the disapproving eye of his borderline-feral sister, before heading back down to the training floor to find someone to spar with. Preferably Wyoming, seeing as she wasn't in the mood to beat someone to a bloody pulp then actually feel bad about it later.
As she ambled along the corridor, Louisiana heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Maine walking up.
He came to a stop, looked at her for a moment, then growled out "I don't have a suit."
She grinned in response, "I'll get something situated for you and leave it in your quarters. But, hey, look on the bright side! It is a good way to test your skills out of armor and in an environment that you're not comfortable with."
Maine shrugged, partly mollified by her encouragement and the idea that the mission was simply another challenge and not an intentionally cruel and unusual form of torture.
Louisiana gave him a friendly little punch on the shoulder as they started toward the training room again. "Don't worry about it, big guy. Everything will be fine. We should be done with the mission, back here, and out of that fucking formal-wear by ten, tomorrow night."