it's raining.

    “That sounds an awful lot like work--       except ya’ know, the boring kind o’ work.”

“First of all, doesn’t look like you’re sitting much less on bed rest, Hoss.” Jessica chirps back, running her rag along her rifle again. It got nasty from the last OP, sand and dirt clogging up all the delicate parts and pieces. And no machine runs with dirt stuck in their gears. Jessica raises the barrel, now safely twisted off, making sure it’s clean down the metal tube as well. “Secondly, if you’re bored you can help me.” Not satisfied, Jessica reaches for another tool and looks up at Alistair. “Thirdly, you look like you punched a lorry again. You really got to stop trying to punch them as they’re coming at you, Alistair.”

    If he were a lesser man, he’d take offense to some part of that, probably. As it is, Alistair turns in his seat swallowing past the agony (get over it) to face Jess with something of a childish pout. His knee isn’t working right no more, old wound acting up something fierce after the boot he’d taken to the back of it with a crack. “Helpin’ isn’t no fun,” he responds eloquently and slides off the bed to hop and skip right on over to the adjacent seat from his friend “But I can keep ya’ company all the same.” He says with his best grin, all pearly whites despite the bruises.

Returning the man’s contempt, Holly straightened the edges of the fine stack of papers in front of her, tapping them against the light-wooded desk with a gentle tap against the flat surface. Though faint, she felt the sound’s prominence in what was a heavy atmosphere.

    Over a mouthful of granola and dried fruit he observes the young woman across from him, he does remember the file that had been passed to him but he really hadn’t bothered looking into it any one bit. Maybe he was being childish, taking such a lack of interest in such an important candidate process but he didn’t even like most of his coworkers at the best of times—sure he could get along with them just fine and dandy but he would really rather be doing much of anything else. Shaking his granola bar at her he shifted in the seat “Don’t matter what ya’ are kid,” he starts around the mouthful before he swallows “Only matters what ya’ can an’ are willin’ to do.”

     “But tea is gross---”

“I would hardly call the work I’m doing here ‘sitting around’, sir,” Holly remarked from her rolly chair.

    Alistair didn’t count himself a scowling man, he had much more important things to do than go about scowling at his peers. But, if he was going to be condemned to this infernal hell that was ‘forced sick leave’ or whatever it was that had been scrawled on the paper slapped into his hand from his last return--then he was going to scowl like it was going out of business. So he did. Scowled. At her. Who was she again? One of the gremlins? Probably. “What do ya’ even do here?” he drawls by way of reply, dropping down without a lick of grace into the vacant  chair--ignoring the jarring pain of tender ribs and reached into his jacket for something to pick at. 

    “Is that....permission fer me not to sit around? I mean, not that I’m waitin’ fer it or anythin’ but I ‘pose it’s nice to hear I ain’t the only one not into this whole...sick days thing. Nice.”

“Do people do that? Do people not like me? I mean, they tell me to be nice and shit, I try my best. What does it mean, those clear sort of rivers, brov? I can go anywhere if they have the tap opened, just say when and where, I’ll be there… unless someone would end up needing my assistance… God they never focus on the plan B. Yeah, because that’s my fault that my mother happens to wear the crown.”

    “Eh, my experience with governments and royals is that, no, not everyone likes ya’. Strange right? Makes ya’ more...easier to relate to fer us commoners. It’s to say that....I don’t frequent....upstanding locations? I go to places probably best left alone by the royal types. Or, the sort ya’ really shouldn’t....be seen in fer press? I don’t know how that works. But if ya’ want to ever get a drink somewhere I’m yer man. My mother wore a crown sometimes I’m told, cost extra rubles but some men were into that sort o’ thing.” 

“Excuse me, Alistair, I’m just… I just don’t want to disrespect you, that’s all. I just feel like gossiping since first thing I saw back home was The Sun writing all sorts of crap about woman I don’t know who allegedly was ma girlfriend. I mean, I just got back from Afghanistan. You see, sometimes I would love to be a warhound as well, but since I’m a precious cargo and a little crappy at all that spy stuff nobody let’s me in field. Yeah I agree we need some fresh blood in here, can it just not be my brother?”

   “Fuck it, it’ll take more than what ya’ got to say to kick my respect in the groin. Course, I still like ya’ and whatever ya’ choose to think o’ me is yer own business. Until I don’t like ya’ anyway. But fer royalty ya ain’t half bad. Not nearly as borin’ as I expected. Well I’d invite ya’ out fer drinks but I don’t tend to swim in the clean sort o’ rivers if ya’ get my drift. I think it’s more bout havin’ a face that’s easily recognized...sorry to say ya’ done screwed the pooch on that one.  I went the extra mile, what can I say.”