#red-vs-red

Tucker glares at Caboose, the only one of them who actually knows the van’s owner, but Caboose is too busy marveling at the windshield wipers to answer.

“Hey, what’s wrong with purple? Personally—“ Doc, in his bright purple windbreaker and three(3) travel suitcases, never gets to finish his opinion.

“Son, if you think that vehicle is anything other than confederate-blood-red, you’ve gotta be even more impaired than Grif!”

“Oh, shotgun, by the way.”

“Mother fucker.”

Church desperately wishes Grif hadn’t eaten all the popcorn already as he chimes:

“Looks kinda bluish to me, but whatever.”

Sarge gets one eardrum-bursting syllable out before the freelancers—ie, the two who have been literally bribed to go on this trip—have had enough.

“Can we please just get in the fucking car?”

“Seconded.”

“Well, only if you two can slip in the back-“

“-Donut-“

“-because I have dibs on being in the middle. What?”

“Bow chicka bow wow.”

“Like a Donut sandwich!”

Kai slings an arm over Donut’s shoulders, to both Grif and Tucker’s obvious distress. “Hey, I like this guy!”

“Sis, no, he’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, and a girly idiot too! You’d be better off with a manly idiot. Like López!”

<“You’re all morons. And the car is fucking brown.”>

“Aw, he’s charming! Love you too, buddy.”