#paintballau

echoofautumn on AO3

Chapter 2

Summary:

Red is at home on the paintball field, and Lance chokes on an energy drink.

It was another 30 minutes before the first player arrived. Lance had moved to laying across the counter on his back and was watching the sun set, while Matt was finishing his work on the circuit box for the night game's lighting system. As always, it was the beat-up red pickup truck that arrived before anyone else. The driver’s side door opened, and one of their regular players stepped out.

Lance remembered the first time they had shown up at The Empire just over a year ago.

It was a Saturday like any other. Lance was working the shack when someone had approached him nervously. “Um,” Lance looked up from the rental he was cleaning to see a young guy, about his age, wearing a faded red t-shirt and with a black sports bandanna covering his mouth and nose to protect from the dust. Lance made a mental note to buy one, because that would be great to have during the dust storm season. “Yo. Can I help you?” The newcomer had a black worn-out gear bag hoisted over his shoulder, and he shifted its weight uncomfortably as he stood in front of Lance. "Can I-? We can use our own gear here, right?" Lance chuckled. "Yeah dude. As long as your BPS is within regulation, you're good to go." The guy made a move to walk away, but turned back around. “Can I get some paint from y’all?” “Twenty bucks a box.” He grumbled something about paint being cheaper in Texas as he dug a wadded up $20 out of his pocket, and Lance had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing as he grabbed a box of red paint from the back. “Rentals shoot white paint, and we usually only stock that and orange. But you’re in luck. We just got a few boxes of other colors yesterday.” Lance grinned. “You’re gonna match your paint, Red.” ‘Red’ scowled.

When the next game was being set-up, Lance observed the newbie with interest. The guy had on red and black paintballing pants, but wasn’t wearing a jersey. Red was hovering near the other players wearing a standard black face mask, a waist pack holding pods filled with extra paintballs, and holding his gun in his left hand. Matt was standing in front of the gate explaining the rules of Speedball to the inexperienced players. “Once again: if you get hit, you’re out. No exceptions.” The teams were split up and they headed onto the field. Lance grabbed a Monster drink out of the mini-fridge in the shack, before walking over to the fence of the range. The whistle blew, and the game was afoot. Immediately, the range filled with the sounds of paintball guns firing. The majority of players stayed behind their designated bases, but a few of the more experienced players started advancing and taking cover behind small bunkers and shelters. It took Lance only a moment to find Red. Red was tearing across the field, alternating between ducking and dodging around obstacles to protect from enemy fire, and standing his ground to fire at the opposing team. He fired at two kids from a long distance but didn’t even pause to see if the shots had landed. They did. Lance was stunned. This could not be the same person who had approached him nervously just ten minutes before. This was someone entirely different. Red was at home on the paintball field. Lance took a drink of his Monster and almost spit it out when Red passed the right fifty. Even Lance didn’t attempt to pass the centerline until the majority of the other team was eliminated. But now, almost the entire team was still playing. Red flanked a small bunker and lit up three players hiding there. He sprinted toward a wall and ーLance actually spit out his Monster this timeー dove into a forward roll to get behind it. Lance had never seen someone attempt a roll in person. Even in tournaments he’d watched, only a handful of times had he seen one of the pros pull-off a successful roll. As Lance was gawking at him, Red was crouching behind the wall and refilling his gun with the paint from one of the pods on his harness. He shoved the now empty pod back into his belt and was back in the game. Red was moving forward quickly. The opposing team was suffering heavy losses, while their own was only missing three or four players.  As the game started to come to a close, he shot the last four players on the opposing team. The whistle blew. Red exited the range behind the other players, and Lance had to return to the shack to assist the rentals. It took a while, but once Lance helped everyone in the line, he went over to talk to Red, who was leaning over a work table digging through his gear bag. “Nice moves out there, Red.” Red jumped slightly before looking over his shoulder with a scowl. “Don’t call me that.” Lance smirked. “Well I can’t call you Blue, now can I?” Red’s refocused back on the table. “And why’s that?” Lance gasped dramatically. “Because that’s my name!” Red rolled his eyes. “Also, look at yourself.” Red turned around and leaned against the table. “Alright, I’ll humour you. What does my appearance have to do with you calling me ‘Red’?” Lance started counting off on his fingers. “First off, you’re wearing a red shirt. Secondly, your bag is black and red. Third,--” Red cut him off. “Okay, okay I get it.” Lance grinned. “But seriously, I’ve never seen someone play like that. I’ll admit, it was impressive.” “Not really. I wasn’t trying that hard.” Red shrugged. “That might’ve been the easiest game I’ve played in a long time. It was more of a warm-up than anything else.” “No way.”

Lance recalled how he had teased Red until the prep for the next game started, and proceeded to do so between every game for the rest of the day.

"Blue? Hey, Blue!" Lance was snapped out of his reverie by Red yelling. He opened his eyes to Red leaning over his face. Lance jolted upright, slamming his forehead into Red's in the process. "¡CARAJO!" "FUCK!" The two reeled from the shock; Lance falling back onto the counter and Red staggering backwards a few steps with the weight of his gear bag. They both held their foreheads in pain. Matt's laughter could be heard from the range. "NICE GOING, BLUE!" Lance let out a screech and bolted upright, yelling at Math. "SHUT UP, ¡CABEZA DE PINGA!"

Immediately, Lance leaned forward and groaned. "Bad idea. Very bad idea. Díos ayudarme." Red set his bag on the counter and adjusted his black bandanna before turning back and glaring at Lance. "Ya think?!?" Lance's eyes narrowed. "This is your fault anyway." Lance slid off the counter to face Red. "Wha-how?!" "Well, if you weren't in my face like that, it wouldn't have happened!" "It wouldn't've happened if your head wasn't up your ass!" Lance poked Red in the chest with his finger. "This is coming from the one who shops at Hot Topic!" "Yeah? So?" "So, Mr. Edge Lord, quit being so emo and step up your game." Red threw his hands up. "This has nothing at all to do with our original argument. Jesus Christ you have ADHD." "Tell me something I don't know! I'm sor-ry that I can't afford my Ritalin on a college student's income!" "And how do you think I'm do–" A loud car horn blared through the air, interrupting Red. Lance and Red spun to face the main gates, where a large olive green Hummer was just pulling thorough. A girl was leaning out the passenger side window, waving at them with both hands.

Notes:

BPS - Balls per second. A measure of rate of fire.

¡Carajo! - in this context it's "fuck!" Cabeza de pinga - dickhead Díos ayudarme - God help me

echoofautumn on AO3

Leap Frog  Summary:

A story of two college students and their journey from the deserts of Arizona to a place they had only dreamed of.

Leap Frog - A tactic used by two or more players who alternately move and provide cover fire for each other.

Chapter 1

Notes:

Any non self-explanatory paintball terms will be defined in the end notes.

The whistle sounded across the field. The hot Arizona sun beat down on the range, raising the current temperature to above 95° Fahrenheit. Of course, that was fairly low for the normal temperatures in July.

Lance stretched his arms over his head. As the players headed off range, Lance started to sweep the field.

Another day at The Empire paintball range; another day of being shot at. But being a ref, that was part of his job. He had to deal with annoying kids blindfiring their guns, and hitting their own teammates more often than the opposing team. Speaking of which… Lance sighed.

“Come on kid, let’s go.” He ushered a sniffling boy off the field and delivered him to his mother before heading to the ‘Base of Operations’, as Coran referred to it. Everyone else just called it the shack.

Even with all the whining Lance put up with during the day, he had to admit that not everyone at the range was completely obnoxious.

“Hey, Blue!” Lance grinned at the friendly face leaning against the counter of the shack.

“Hunk! Hey there buddy chum pal friend-,” Hunk groaned.

“Lance.”

“Okay, okay. What are you doing here?” Lance leaned against the counter of the shack.

“I come to your place of work to bring you a warm, home cooked meal, and I’m greeted with a meme? And not even a good one at that.”

Lance feigned offence, and held his hand over his heart.

“You dare insult my memes?”

A small voice piped in from behind Hunk.

“C’mon Lance. You know how stale that Undertale meme is. Don’t even try to defend it.”

Hunk moved to the side to reveal Pidge, who was laying across the counter playing on their Nintendo DS.

"Is that a wild Pidgey I hear?"

Lance's co-worker Matt walked through a door at the back of the shack, wiping his dirty hands on a paint stained towel. He stuck the cloth in a pocket of his dark cargo pants and opened his arms to his younger sibling.

"Matt!" Lance didn't have time to register that Pidge had moved, but suddenly she was crashing into her older brother and hugging him in a crushing embrace.

Matt laughed and ruffled Pidge's hair.

"Still wearing those glasses, I see."

"Yes, Matt. I am hipster now," Pidge deadpanned.

"The day you become hipster will be the day I'm enslaved in an alien war camp."

Lance clapped his hands.

"Alright, that's enough emotion for one day."

Matt patted Pidge on the head once more before ducking under the counter. Pidge was struggling to climb back onto the counter.

"Alright Lance. I'll cover the field after the lunch break if you take shack duty for the afternoon."

"Done." Lance pulled off the ref jersey he was wearing and tossed it to Matt. Matt tugged it on over his black tank top before grabbing his mask and heading toward the gates leading onto the field.

Lance jumped over the counter and sat on the stool behind it, spinning around once before turning back to Hunk and grinning.

"So, Hunky-Monkey... Where's this lunch you promised me?"

Hunk nodded to the smallest and saltiest member of their trio.

"Pidge has it."

Pidge huffed and stretched across the counter to retrieve their favorite backpack from where it was leaning against the wall. The backpack itself was just a regular black Jansport one, but it was covered in space themed iron-on's. It also was used in almost all of Lance's crazy schemes that, had they been caught, would have certainly gotten them in trouble with the law.

"Here." Pidge slid the tupperware container and a plastic spoon across the counter and Lance grabbed it eagerly.

"Oh sweet baby Jesús," Lance opened the still warm container of Hunk's homemade Mac'n'Cheese and inhaled its cheesy goodness.

Lance took a big bite and groaned. He swallowed his food and sighed.

"Ay Dios mío," Lance pointed the spoon at the container. "Está delicioso. Muchas gracias Hunk. Me encantalo." Lance took another big bite.

"Lance, watch what language you're speaking." Pidge didn't even look up from their DS.

"Hmm? ¿Qué- oh shit, sorry," Lance smiled sheepishly. "Hunk, this is amazing. Thanks dude."

Hunk laughed.

"No problemo, mi amigo."

Lance rolled his eyes and took another bite.

As 4 o'clock rolled around, the kids and players there for the midday rush began to leave. The Empire was officially closed at 5 pm. At least, that was the case for the general public.

Pidge and Hunk had left around 1:30, so for the rest of the afternoon Lance busied himself with the mindless routine of cleaning the rental paintball markers that had been used.

Lance was just locking up the guns in the shack’s back room when a white Jeep pulled into the parking lot.

“¡Oye! Matt!”

Matt turned from the circuit box by the range and upon seeing the car pulling up, he closed it and started walking toward the small white building behind the shack.

“Want me to grab your marker?”

“Yeah, dude. That’d be rad.”

The white 2003 Jeep Wrangler parked behind the shack, and after a moment the drivers side door opened.

“Lance, son!” As Coran approached the “Base”, Matt walked in carrying their gear bags.

“Hey Coran,” Matt hoisted the large bags onto the counter. Lance leaned over and pulled the blue one towards himself.

Coran checked his watch.

“It’s 5:52. Alright, my boys. I’ll be doing paperwork until almost 7, but I’ll make sure to put on my stripes for tonight’s game.” Coran headed towards the small white management only building they used for paperwork and the less “dirty” parts of running a paintball range.

Lance unzipped his bag, carefully taking out a small silver case and setting it aside before pulling out his paintball gear. Matt was doing the same; putting on his purple and black jersey as Lance tugged his own blue one on.

Notes:

95° Fahrenheit = 35° Celsius that Undertale meme

the translation of what Lance says is, "Oh my God. This is delicious. Thank you so much Hunk. I love it."