“Heyyyy! So, we’re at the pig races…. And you…. ARE NOT. Are you FUCKING kidding me?”—
Overheard at the state fair (via beeawolf)
#PROMPT PROMPT PROMPT#please just take twenty minutes to imagine carolina saying this#you’ll need all twenty minutes#i’ll wait (viastopfrickinteam-killing)
YOU’RE WELCOME. Includes Red Team South and Red Team Carolina
Carolina stares around at the crowd. Everything from cut-off jeans to full armor is spattered in mud, the fairground made a slippery pit from last nights’ storm. A few people look over their shoulders and take a step back when Carolina’s visor lands on their face. She takes a step back from Grif and Simmons, both leaning against the fence and bickering about – okay, Carolina doesn’t keep track anymore. Definitely not after she hears Simmons say “Cows can’t fucking do that!”
“South. What’s your location?” Carolina scans the crowd again, but she’s pretty sure she couldn’t miss lavender and green.
“I’m standing in a goddamn pit,” South says helpfully.
Carolina rolls her eyes. “We’re at the pig races. And you are?”
South snorts. “Not fucking there, that’s for damn sure.”
Carolina strides off toward the striped canopies, pitched haphazard and tilting. She growls, “Are you FUCKING kidding me?”
She ignores Sarge calling after her “You’re gonna miss the best part!”
South’s helmet is lying next to her on a splintering picnic table, warped even worse from the damp. South is curled, glaring, over a huge plastic cup.
“Seriously?” Carolina says. “This whole ridiculous trip was supposed to be team bonding.”
“Team.” South rolls her eyes and takes a gulp of her drink. She grimaces. “Right.”
“Don’t be a shit.” Carolina slides in next to her. “It’s a goddamn pig race. It’s fun.” It is going to be fun, whether South decides to get on board or not.
South just shrugs and takes another drink. She pauses, then hands the cup over to Carolina. Conciliatory gestures aren’t really South’s thing, so she should probably encourage it. Carolina pries off her helmet.
The fairground reeks. Rusty deep fryer fumes, stale booze, motor oil, body odor, and livestock shit all hit Carolina like a hammer.
South smirks. Carolina meets her eyes and takes a sip of the drink. It’s warm, but not half as terrible as she was expecting.
“They gave you the good stuff,” she says.
South’s smirk grows predatory. It makes Carolina blink for a second, and South says “I’m a scary bitch.”
“Sure,” Carolina says. The corner of her mouth quirks up, and Souths eyes follow it.
Carolina hands the drink back. “Bring it with you,” she says, and tucker her helmet under her arm. “Let get back to the race track.”
South fiddles with the cup instead of getting her ass off the bench. Carolina slaps her on the shoulder. South shrugs her off and says, “The pigs look so fuckin’ sad. Running around in a circle.” She traces a finger around the edge of her cup. “Nowhere to goddamn go.”
Carolina swallows. She somehow doesn’t think it would help to remind South that the pigs are just going to be killed for bacon later.
“Are you two getting shitfaced without us?” Grif has his hands on his hips and is glaring between Carolina and South. “You’re gonna miss the best part of the fair. Also, what the fuck, totally not cool. Shit, you made me walk all the fucking way over here!” His voice is rising in pitch. South is definitely biting her tongue, and her shoulders are starting to shake.
“Its fifty goddamn yards,” Carolina says.
“Oh my god, I knew I felt like I was gonna pass out. You should definitely give me that.” He points at South’s drink.
“Suck it up,” South says. She pushes up from the table and drains the cup in one long draw. She throws it to Grif, who kind of swats it out the the air and shrieks a little bit.
“Fine.” South picks up her helmet and throws her free arm around Carolina’s shoulders. “Let’s go watch some livestock run in circles for our amusement.”
“You shouldn’t talk about Grif and Simmons like that,” Carolina says.
South laughs, and Grif bitches for the rest of the day.
