Fluff Week Prompt! Felix and Locus became Freelancers instead of mercs
Since there’s a lot I could do with this prompt, and I want to see them interact with the other Freelancers in different scenarios, so I’m going to do a series of vignettes, instead of one long fic ;)
As for their Freelancer codenames, I’ve made Felix “Agent California” and Locus “Agent New Jersey”
York, Carolina, and North sat in the mess hall, idley chatting and catching up on the latest Freelander news. North and York had been away on a mission for a while, and the Project had a few new agents on the roster. North glanced up from his meal as a new face walked into the mess hall to get in line for food.
North gestured with his head. “Who’s that?”
Carolina cast a cursory glance at the line and then back to North. “That is Agent California. Hand-to-hand and melee expert…” she trailed off, her nose scrunching uncharacteristically.
York picked up on her distaste. “He’s got a very… punchable face,” he observed while chewing a bite of food. Carolina cast a sideways glance at him. Maine joined the group, grunting in agreement with York.  taking the seat on the other side of Carolina
“Yeah,” North agreed, “I noticed that, too.”
Carolina’s mouth curved into a wry grin. “Just wait till he opens his mouth,” she warned.
Another new face entered to join Agent California in line. He was much larger than in comparison to the slim man before him.
“And him?” York asked, turning his gaze to Carolina.
“Agent Jersey. Sniper, tactician,” she shrugged. “He doesn’t say much, unlike his friend.”
York leaned forward. “Jesus, he’s almost as big as Maine…”
Maine glared at York in silence before taking a bite of his meal.
York held his hands up. “Hey, I said almost, big guy. If you were to go up against him in a fight, my money’s still on you.”
“Anything else you can tell us about the new guys?” North asked, steering the conversation back.
Carolina took a bite of an apple. “They served in the Great War, and have been partners ever since. They don’t seem to be on particularly friendly terms, but they work well enough with each other that the Counselor recruited them together.” She sighed. “You want more information than that, you’ll just have to ask them,” she added with a sly smile.
Given her previous statement about Agent California, York shook his head. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said, leaving it at that.
The training room rang with footsteps as the two circled each other, guards up, waiting for the other to make the first move. One calculating each move the other made, connecting patterns he could exploit in the sparr; the other calmly waited, sure his opponent would attack first.
Agent California grew impatient with the other’s seeming reluctance to engage and threw the first punch. He lunged forward, fist cutting upward as he aimed for the other’s chin. Agent Washington countered, catching California’s arm and twisting it behind his back and pushing him away. California stumbled forward, quickly turning on his heel back to face Washington so he didn’t leave his back open to attack.
Jersey watched with detached interest from the observation deck as the two sparred. California landed a few blows, Washington landed less, but kept getting up nonetheless. He was getting tired, though, Jersey noticed. He was broader, and his armor heavier than California’s. Washington’s movement had slowed enough to give the advantage to his opponent.
California twisted, leg kicking upward as he spun to kick his opponent in the head. Washington barely dodged the move, leaning backward and nearly losing his balance. He spun to avoid another attack, but this time wasn’t as quick as his slimmer opponent. California’s leg swept under Washington’s feet, knocking him down with a laugh. “You’re getting too slow, Wash,” Jersey heard his partner say.
Washington made a frustrated noise as he rolled back to his feet, hand drawing a knife from his boot holster. Jersey sat forward as the fluorescent light glinted off the knife. His eyes narrowed. That wasn’t a sparring knife. His gaze shifted between Washington and California, lip pressed into a thin line. Washington wasn’t malicious, and wasn’t really known for cheating while sparring; that was more California’s style. The idiot probably just forgot to switch out his real knife for a sparring one. Jersey sat back in his seat, waiting to see how this played out before deciding if this was going to be a problem.
Washington’s arm flew out as he rose, expertly flinging the knife at California’s chest, realising too late that it was a real knife he’d thrown instead of the practice one. It hit California in the right shoulder with a sickening thud, sending him flying backward.
“Shit!” Washington swore under his breath. Jersey, from the observation deck, calmly radioed for medics, meeting them at the training room in less than a minute. Jersey attempted to help California to his feet as he painfully lifted his helmet off in order to pointedly grimace at Washington, who stared back sheepishly.
“I swear, I didn’t mean-” the younger Freelancer started, but was interrupted by California as the medics loaded him up onto a stretcher.
“You know what? This is the third fucking time you’ve stabbed me, Wash!” He pointed to the knife lodged in him for emphasis. “You aren’t getting this knife back,” he called out as the medics carted him away. “It’s mine now!”
Jersey stared at the havoc left behind them. Behind his helmet, he cast a cold glare at his partner, on whom much of the blame could be placed. “We were supposed to go in undetected,” he scolded, annoyed. “What is the point of going rogue if you keep letting your need to be the center of attention dictate-”
California waved him off. “Would you relax? We accomplished what we set out to. Enough of the Freelancers have defected that no one will know it was us, specifically.”
Jersey stared, unconvinced. “I don’t like drawing this much of this kind of attention to us,” he stated gruffly. “It will catch up to us, eventually.”
California razzed at his partner, walking away from the carnage. “You worry too much. Plus, I made sure no one would be able to trace this hit back to us.” Narrowing his eyes at that last comment, Jersey dropped the subject, knowing it was a moot point to continue this line of discussion. “Come on, we should put some distance between this place and us.
“On that, we agree,” Jersey muttered. At least it wasn’t a mess that would draw immediate attention…
They weaved the streets, their prior target a few blocks behind them. Jersey stopped dead in his tracks as an explosion erupted. Anger pulsed through him. “You planted a bomb?” he said through his teeth.
California paused, glancing back, his posture smug. “I told you, I made sure they wouldn’t be able to trace it back to us.”
“We wouldn’t have had to cover our tracks with an explosive device if you had stuck to the plan,” Jersey said pointedly.
“I was made! What else was I supposed to do?” California defended himself, knowing full well it was his fault.
Jersey stepped forward, jabbing his partner’s chest with the tip of his rifle. “You wouldn’t have been made if you had kept your mouth shut.”
California opened his mouth to counter, but was interrupted by the sound of sirens heading toward the explosion site. Instead, he pushed Jersey’s rifle away from him. “Maybe we should continue this argument when we’re not running away from the crime scene?” he suggested, turning to continue on at a running pace. Jersey could practically see the shit-eating grin in his partner’s body language.
“I hate you,” he muttered under his breath as he moved to follow.
“Okay, okay, reasonable,” California chimed back in between breaths. “But have you considered that I’m awesome?”
“No.” There was a long pause before he heard Jersey correct himself. “No, you’re not awesome.”
California laughed. “Too late. Fucked it up.”
