Barracks Banter
@tupdidtherightthing voted for Wolfpack boys so here are some good boys hanging out, thanks for waiting for it! NB: osik = shit, osik'jorhaai = shit-talking (a frequent occurrence with this lot), capture the bonnet = capture the flag, but with helmets instead of flags, pel'verd = cat, di'kut = idiot, sheb/shebs = ass/asses
Eclipse scowled, leaning back against the door of their barracks and crossing his arms. “Absolutely not.”
“Eclipse,” Parsec sighed as he cleaned his gun, “just kriffing do it.”
“Not after those arsewipes-”
“It’s capture the bonnet, mate. It’s not high stakes,” Plasma pointed out as he ran his fingers through his own hair. “And we’re all doing it together.”
“Capture the bonnet against Pel'verd is not what I would qualify as a good time.”
“No,” Parsec said dryly, “you’re more inclined to challenge their Captain to a sparring match for shits and gigs.”
“It was not shits and gigs,” Ecplise snapped heatedly. “He dissed the commander.”
“It was osik’jorhaai,” Plasma shrugged. “Wolffe was doing it right back.”
“It’s what rivalries are about,” Parsec agreed. He and Plasma exchanged looks as Eclipse huffed again.
“You know,” Plasma told him, “if you feel like picking a fight you can always ask one of us to spar.” The odd-eyed brother didn’t respond at first, before he heaved a sigh.
“It isn’t the same,” he muttered, effectively admitting to picking a fight without saying so.
“Oh?” Plasma raised an eyebrow and looked back at him in the mirror. “What do you mean?”
“I like you lot. But I know how you fight. He’d have been new.”
“Yes, but you still shouldn’t pick a fight with a Captain, di'kut.”
Eclipse rolled his eyes. “No. I should play capture the bonnet with him instead. Obviously.”
Plasma rolled his eyes right back. “What I mean is, if you ask him to spar he would probably say yes.”
“That means asking a Cat for a favour,” his brother refused sullenly. “I will not bring myself so low.”
“Kriffing hells.” Parsec stood, walked over, and whacked Eclipse lightly upside the head, before returning to the bed and beginning to put his rifle back together. “You really want to pick a fight, vod? Go find the baby. He could use the training.” Eclipse swatted him away.
“I’m not fighting Orbit, he’s busy, and I know his moves too.”
“We have a shipload of visitors, Eclipse. Go ask one of them to spar. And try not to do it by insulting their outfit,” Plasma sighed. “If you need a referee, comm me.”
Eclipse huffed and pushed himself away from the wall. “Fine. But don’t start capture the bonnet without me.” Despite his protests, he wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to wipe the floor with their rivals.
“Don’t end up in medical before the game starts,” Parsec shrugged. Eclipse grabbed his helmet and pulled it on before heading out of the room. As his footsteps receded, Plasma sighed. Again.
“Do you think he’s actually going to challenge Ink?”
Parsec leaned back against the wall, and it was a while before he answered. “Only if Ink is the first Cat he finds. I doubt he’d try the Commander, but he’d definitely try the gunner. Or the ordinance specialist.”
“Rahn?” Plasma liked her, though he didn’t know her well.
“She’d wipe the floor with him.” He sounded so sure of himself that Plasma had to laugh.
“What makes you say that?”
“Word is she’s one of the few that can put Feedback on his ass in the whole company.”
“Damn. Who’d she grow up with? Must’ve been a roughhousing squad.”
Parsec shrugged. “Dunno. But she’s teaching their shiny how to swordfight, too.”
Plasma smiled wryly at his batcher in the mirror before picking up his eyeliner. “And how do you know so much about the goings-on in the 212th Pel'verd Company?” Parsec simply smiled back and tapped the side of his nose.
“I have my sources.”
“Hmm.”
“Just like you.”
“And what are you implying, exactly?” Plasma grinned, waggling the eyeliner pencil at him before returning to the task at hand. Parsec chuckled.
“I don’t recall hair products being standard regulations. And I know for a fact that eyeliner is brought in by Toreesh.” Plasma, just having finished the wing, spun around to stare hard at his brother.
“I never told you my supplier’s name.”
Parsec rolled his eyes. “She brings in half the non-reg osik in the GAR. How do you think the 501st gets theirs? Skywalker?” He snorted in derision at the idea.
Plasma hummed and narrowed his eyes at Parsec. “…and what do you get, then, vod?”
Parsec shot his batcher a butter-won’t-melt-in-my-mouth expression. “Whyever would you suspect me of purchasing contraband?”
He was absolutely giving his brother a hard time; Eclipse, who dyed a section of his hair silver-white to match his mismatched eyes, certainly didn’t get the bleach and colouring from the regular supplies. Most of the non-reg things brought in were not actually expressly forbidden. They were just difficult to acquire for the clones. Qadla Toreesh, one of the trade contractors employed by the Grand Army, was also one of the clones’ most reliable sources for off-the-regs supplies. Parsec knew of some interesting details involving her and the Commander of Pel'verd, as well, from the rumour machine, but some things were off-limits. Besides, he didn’t want to jeopardize his own connections.
Plasma folded his arms. “You talk shit about my hair gel.”
Parsec clicked the last piece of the rifle into place and set it aside. “I don’t understand your insinuation, brother mine.”
“Clearly you have your own that you like better.”
Parsec scoffed and gestured to his buzzcut. “What hair gel, exactly, would I be using, pray tell?”
He shrugged. “There’s something you-” Plasma stopped. Squinted. “It’s beard oil, isn’t it.”
Parsec gaped. “How in the hells–”
“I knew you had a scented thing, I just couldn’t figure out what.” He grinned and turned to put his kit away. “Rahn and Feedback wear lipstick, Ink has eyeliner, Kix got blue tattoo ink for Hardcase from who knows where, and Kohs gets special chocolate. You’re not the only one with sources.”
Parsec opened and closed his mouth. “…This is why you’re the officer, isn’t it.”
“You may be our specialist and sniper, ner vod,” Plasma chuckled, “but I do still know a thing or two.”
The makeup was easy enough to surmise because they wore it. He knew who Torrent’s contraband negotiator was and Hardcase was the only member of that company with blue tattoos. And he had seen the Cat company sergeant sharing chocolate with their shiny. But Parsec was the one who actually worked the channels, Plasma simply noticed things others missed. It was the reason he was their officer, and why he was usually the first one to pick up on when Eclipse was about to start a fight, or Orbit was anxious and trying to hide it. His batcher he knew well enough to read like a book, and could tell better than any of them when it would be a restless night for him—as well as what ‘non-reg osik’ he was most likely to acquire. The brother in question was currently shaking his head in acquiescence.
“You win this round, vod. Your eyeliner is beskar sharp, by the way.”
Plasma preened. “Thank you.”
“I take it that was the idea.”
“Oh, yes.” Plasma grinned. “Ink thinks he does a better wing than I do.”
Parsec smiled slightly. “And you mean to prove him wrong?”
Plasma shrugged. “I mean to kick his shebs at capture the bonnet.” Parsec raised an eyebrow at him, and he chuckled. “And have better eyeliner while doing it.”
“That’s my vod. And they call you the squad sweetheart.”
“I am!” Parsec laughed at his brother’s squawked indignation.
“You do give the best hugs, I’ll give you that.”
“Aww, thank you, Par'ika.” Plasma reached over to give him a hug, and his brother swatted his hands away, laughing harder.
“Don’t call me that!”
“What’s wrong with ‘little victory’?”
Parsec paused. “Wait, is that what it means?”
“More or less. Also ‘little Parsec.’”
He hummed in consideration. “All right, it can stay. But not around the others. I have to maintain some semblance of-”
“Gruff sniper?”
“Commanding respect, kriff off.”
Plasma rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, all right. Now come here. Hug time.”
Parsec grumbled, but moved over and wrapped his arms around his batcher, then patted him on the back.
“Let’s kick their shebs, shall we?”
“Ink will weep before my wings.”
“Indeed he will.”
Plasma pulled back and stood. “Call Eclipse, he said he didn’t want to miss it. I’ll meet you there?”
“Find the baby while you’re at it.”
“You know, he’s not really a shiny at this point.”
Parsec shrugged a shoulder as he got his Comm. “Orbit’s the youngest, isn’t he? So, baby.”
“Does he know you still call him that?”
“I have no idea.”
Plasma laughed. “What’s the betting it’s the commanders’ helmets we play with?”
Parsec made a mock-thoughtful face. “Well. In my specialist opinion, given prior occurrences and known information plus character profiles, et cetera et cetera… Three to one.” His batcher grinned.
“And the odds of the commanders brawling?”
“Oh, much better.” Parsec matched him grin for grin. Despite their rather different usual temperaments, Feedback and Wolffe were close brothers, which meant the competition was much more entertaining and intense when played out by that pair. “Cat and dog, it’s a rivalry for the ages.”
