The Merc With the Mouth

((It’s been a long.. looong time since I’ve written anything solo and I feel hellishly rusty. Hopefully this isn’t too bad.))

My muse is asleep, hooked up to a machine. Your muse goes to wake them up, but blacks out. When your muse wakes up, they find themselves inside my muse’s mind, as my muse’s memories fold out before them. No one in my muse’s memories can see or hear your muse, but mine. Whenever my muse tries to talk to yours, the conversation is through telepathy, so as not to disturb the memory. 

Jim Butcher, Blood Rites

“Oh yeah? Hrm. Well hopefully no one finds ya. Ya ain’t gone dis long by makin’ mistake and somethin’ tells me dat you make sure you cover all of your steps.” His weight shifted again and he brought the other arm up to rest along the back of the couch. Slouching a bit he tilted his head.

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The limo should not have been in any way surprising. It was a deep dark purple, trimmed with silver accents that gave it a classy look and screamed the Admins name. The driver parked, and then left the vehicle to tell Johnny his ride was here. Mama didn't disappoint, nothing but a five star evening from here.

manyamann answered:

The driver didn’t need to go too far. Like he had mentioned, he stood out in front of the barracks, all cleaned and spiffed up in a charcoal gray suit with a deep purple tie and vest beneath his suit’s jacket–he had a feeling she’d be wearing a similar color. He even shaved despite the fact that it made him look a little younger. Sometimes it sucked having a babyface when he was a grown ass man.

Heading up to the limo with the driver he gave a low and impressed whistle. Talk about driving in style. He gave a nod of thanks to the man when the door was opened up and slid inside to sit down. “Dis is nice, real nice…”

“Heck yeah. I can’t rememba’ the last time I took a drive in a limo.” Unconsciously unbuttoning his suit’s jacket, keeping the fine thread from being pulled, he settled back in the seat across from her, respectfully giving her space. This wasn’t a date, after all. He was just filling in for someone else. Unfortunate, that.

“Yeah? Well, glad to be of service, boss. Ain’t like I do much else outside of the battlefield, yanno? I like bein’ useful.” Once he had taken in his surroundings he looked over at her and, for a moment, he was unable to hide the warmth of his smile.

“An’ might I add that you’re lookin’ astonishingly beautiful.” Sure, not a date, but he did warn her that he would flirt now and then just to get a smile out of her. He already had a real good feeling that anything more would be barking up the wrong tree.

He shook his head resolutely. He wasn’t going to let anyone touch his baby BBQ. It was his thing. And the Scout deserved to stretch his legs. If the squirt was anything like the one on his team, he would have needed it. Plus, while they were eating, Johnny could relate all that he found out about the camp. It would save time tomorrow trying to find good places to fish, or boat or hunt. 

He carefully rested the grilling tray on top of the rest of the contraption and let out a soft chuckle at the saying. “’M with ya there, mate.” Although rather than saying it would have tasted like a tire, the Australian would have said it tasted like shit. Then again, that was the preferred description by any Aussie of something that tasted awful. Either that, or fuck. 

“If ya wanna be helpful, ya can go fetch the coal.” He looked around himself, mainly at the van, trying to remember where he stashed it. He tossed the towel on the BBQ, crossed his arms, and frowned to himself. It should have been in the compartment where he had taken the BBQ out but he hadn’t found it in there earlier otherwise he would have pulled it out at the same time. “… Moight be under another one of them side compartments…” he said a little doubtfully. Crap he hadn’t gone and forgotten the coal had he? If he had, buying some more wouldn’t be too much trouble.

At the suggestion of having him do something as well, the Scout practically hopped up. It wasn’t that he minded being idle, even he enjoyed those moments where he could sit around and read or just enjoy the cool air of the night with a beer in his hand. He just didn’t want to have the Sniper doing all of the work. That’d be pretty unfair, in his opinion.

“I’ll check!” Crossing over to the compartment that the barbeque came from, he crouched down and dipped his head beneath the risen panel to take a closer look. There was a bottle of lighter fluid, some other tools and utensils needed to cook with, but he didn’t catch sight of a bag of coal. Dusting off his hands, he shifted over to the next panel and lifted it to search within that compartment as well.

“I was thinkin’ about the huntin’ thing; if you’re still wantin’ to go sometime.” There was no telling if the Sniper would want to spend a few more days out and about with him and he hated to assume. “When’s the best season? I’m guessin’ it all depends on what we’re gonna be huntin’ huh? Not sure what the laws are around heah concernin’ dat.. Ah ha!” Triumphantly lifting a bag he crossed to the other with a frown.

“Ah. I understand now.” Mercy said with a nod, not minding that her small confusion for her assumption had not been taken too much in the negative, continuing to roll the bandages through her fingers into tight little bundles and replacing them one by one into a container. Glancing back at him from over her shoulder, she flashed a tiny smile to what may seem the comment of her looks– But it was more so the addition that he knew of her companion.

“Vhell I don’t mind helping give you a leetle vhith strength tests, Scout. Although I play violin, I suppose the same instances can be said for guitar.” She glanced down to his aforementioned hand, seeing the missing digit and somehow managing to suppress the rush of mental pistons that began to power off violently, wondering if he had ever thought about…. Mechanical augmentation.

Her masked thoughts subsided as she finished up the bandage work, turning around to lean herself against the counter, her hands nestling either sides of her hips against the work top.

“I imagine they might be quite rare, rock crystals? Certainly out here…”

“Dunno. Ain’t neva played the violin. Guessin’ it would be almost the same. Got dat finger control goin’ on.” Rubbing at his fingers again he looked up at her, noticing her focused attention on his hand. Believing that she might think it was hurting, he curled and uncurled the fingers before setting them idly upon his lap. They ached a bit, but not enough to cause any real issues. Besides, there were other things to worry about at this time. Like getting back to normal.

He chuckled with a shake of his head quite sure that she was humoring him. He had yet to find anyone that was genuinely interested in that guilty pleasure of a collection he had. “Yeah… yeah they’d be pretty rare around heah. Unless theah’s some kinda cave system goin’ on below. There was at this one base I was at some time ago but-tah… yeah. Wasn’t very safe. Nearly broke my neck goin’ down theah.” It was definitely a good thing he told someone where he was.

He glanced briefly to the time before hopping off of the examination table and tugged at his pants, ensuring that they would stay upon his hips. As he spoke he unbuckled his belt enough to tighten it securely around his narrow frame. He was definitely a stick at this age. “I’m shoah ya got bettah things to do than entertain me. I should head off and find one of the engies. Mebbe they can fix this crap.” If not, then he just might run face first into a Soldier’s rocket or something.

Aggression.

The Sniper eyed the bottle of beer the Scout left for him as he read through the ingredients on the spice bottle. He took off the cap and took a curious sniff, immediately sneezing a moment later as the pepper tickled his sinuses. Luckily he managed to sneeze down onto his shirt rather than onto the steak. Although, once he stuck it on the barbie that would have killed the germs. Still, Darren had a feeling Johnny probably wouldn’t have appreciated his dinner being sneezed on at some point.

He carefully put the spice bottle down so he wouldn’t sneeze again. He took a swig of the beer and then returned to the preparing. He brushed olive oil both sides of the steaks, then put them on a plate for now. He quickly washed his hands under the tap, dried them with a paper towel, and went to get his small barbeque from the side storage of the van. No way was he just going to use a frying pan on the first night.

As he hopped down the steps, he noticed Johnny wasn’t around. Hopefully the yakker hadn’t gotten himself in any trouble. He went to the side of the van, pulled up the storage door and took out the barbeque, closing the door afterwards. It had been a while since he had used it so he took it back inside the van to clean up nicely. 

He had almost done towelling the parts of the barbeque dry when Johnny returned. He let out a grunt at the question. “Not bad.” But he hadn’t even started grilling yet. “How’d ya loike yer steak by the way? Rare, med or well done?”

“Oh, jeeze man ya could’ve had me do that for ya.” He frowned deeply as he looked over the recently watched grill. One thing he hated was feeling like he was useless. He could have been helping out with that rather than wandering around listlessly to stay out of the Sniper’s hair. Moving from the camper’s doorway, he hopped down and crossed over to where the other was, and leaned a shoulder against the side of the vehicle.

“I like mine pretty rare. Used to say ‘if it ain’t mooin’ I don’t want it.’” Taking a drink he brought the bottle down and nudged its bottom toward the grill. “Medium rare’s fine. Anything more than dat an’ it just tastes like tire.” Nodding lightly, he lifted his free hand and rubbed his hand over his head, rustling his own hair before it was fixed with the push of his fingers. “I’ve always heard dat it’s moah healthy if it’s red, anyway. Get all dat protein and whateva.”