A/N: So, this my first attempt at a true humor mutli-chap featuring the Blood Gulch characters. Much thanks to L. Quinn C. for the plot bunny that inspired all this, and UnnaturalKetchupTaco for giving this the once over.
Obviously, South would go by her civilian name, Cassandra Howard, so I hope that doesn't confuse y'all.
And for those who are wondering where Donut and Caboose are, don't worry- they will show up.
Feedback is much appreciated~
"Agent South Dakota."
The Councilor's voice washed over her, pulling her out of her mental list of possible protocol infractions. There was no other reason for her to be called in alone, was there?
"We have a mission for you."
"Howard! Git your kiester down here!"
South rolled her eyes from her position atop Red base. Granted, there wasn't very much to see. She had only been at this outpost- Blood Gulch- for three weeks and already the rocky landscape was making her lose her mind. Either way, she was not a 'little lady'. No matter how many times her gruff CO insisted.
"Fuck you! I'm not a little lady!"
"What was that?"
South sighed. "Fuck you, I'm not a little lady, sir."
"That's better. Now git down here!"
She did as she was told, noting with some surprise that she was the last one to respond to Sarge's summons. The Spartan in maroon- South paused for a moment trying to recall his name; she had tried her best to block out all this shit- stared up at the red Sergeant with what could be best described as sycophantic reverence.
She sighed once again, out of pure irritation. Surely Command hadn't sent her all the out to this godforsaken canyon merely to watch over bumbling CO, his ass kissing second in command and the laziest solider she had ever met?
As per usual, the Councilor had been vague on her duties and before she could blink she was outfitted with armor the shade of a blood orange and dropped unceremoniously atop Red base.
But what was unusual about today in comparison to the others was that the orange solider, Grif, had arrived before her.
Almost as soon as she had arrived she had been introduced to him as "that lousy Grif character" by Sarge who promptly informed her that it was her duty to make sure he was there when needed, preferably by giving him a "strong boot in the kiester".
She was also informed that she was the only one able to do this job, as "none of us real soldiers can be expected to waste their time on a turd", which had made her want to kick her CO in certain areas. It had taken all her self control not to as she was pretty sure it wasn't in her mission objectives to antagonize the other Spartans, who had no idea of her true purpose on Blood Gulch.
Now Grif leaned up against the concrete wall inside the base, not even bothering to hide his boredom. In fact, if South lifted his visor she would bet her life that he was asleep yet again.
I suppose some things never change.
However, Sarge took care of that problem by knocking Grif on the helmet with his shotgun.
"Rise and shine, dirtbag."
"Fuck! My freakin' head…" Grif rose to his feet unsteadily.
"As I was saying."
Sarge's voice took on a quality of puffed up importance, reminding South of odd birds she had seen when she was younger- short and squawking with ridiculous floppy hairs on the top of their heads, desperate for some sort of attention; an animal Napoleon Complex.
She laughed at this mental image and Sarge ceased speaking, clearing his throat.
"Is there something you'd like to share, little lady? Something more interesting than my plans for the destruction of the Blues?"
"They are scintillating sir," the maroon solider said.
"Thank you, Simmons! Uh, I think."
Simmons. I should really remember that.
"Kiss ass." Grif threw the usual taunt at Simmons and South noticed him wince slightly, as if Grif's words had…hurt him?
"Can it, Grif!" Sarge returned to speaking about his nonsensical strategies, a dreamy quality in his voice as he did so.
South felt her eyelids get heavier at this new tone in Sarge's voice- it was no wonder Grif spent so much of his time sleeping, considering he had been here for far longer.
She didn't realize she had completely drifted off until Sarge reloaded his shotgun, charging out of the base, "To victory!"
"Hey, Rookie!"
The cobalt blue solider lowered his sniper rifle and growled with impatience, "Rookie, get your ass over here!"
The cerulean blue solider did not appear, and Church sighed in irritation- annoyed, but not annoyed enough to get off his lazy ass and find him.
That was what the chain of command was for.
"Tucker!"
"What?"
The Aqua clad Spartan clambered up to the top of the base, wincing as he did so.
"Where the hell is the Rookie?"
"Downstairs, I think." Tucker shrugged his shoulders.
"Tell him to get his lazy ass up here."
Church ignored the fact that he was lazier than the Rookie ever would be.
"You mean you called me all the way up here," Tucker risked a glance at the dizzying canyon floor below them and attempted to swallow his nausea, "To tell me to tell the rookie to get up here?"
"Yeah, pretty much. Now go get him!"
"Asshole."
Tucker muttered under his breath before scurrying back down to a lower (and much safer) height.
A few minutes later the cerulean blue soldier's helmet was visible as he hauled himself up to the roof.
"As your commanding officer you show up when I call for you. Understand?"
"You're not my CO."
"What? I'm a Captain. Last time I checked, you're still Private Finn."
"Your Captain died and you never got a promotion."
"I…um…shut up, Rookie and make me a goddamn sandwich while you're at it."
"Make your own sandwich."
Church cocked his sniper rifle in what he hoped was a threatening manner.
Finn laughed. "I might be scared if you actually managed to hit anything but the wall. Or the pillars. Or the rocks over by the cliffs…"
The first shot ran out, hitting a pillar about two feet to the right of Finn.
"Fuck!"
A second shot barely grazed the Spartan's helmet by mere millimeters.
"Lucky shot," he scoffed.
But lucky shot or no, Finn decided that maybe it was in his best interests to retreat. Though he'd be damned if he made Church a sandwich. It would be more fun to make a BLT and eat it in front of the irate cobalt blue solider, but Finn wasn't willing to push his luck that far.
"Attention Blue team. Prepare for your impotent destruction!"
"Imminent, sir."
"Yes, yes. That."
"Oh, great, these idiots," Finn muttered and Church looked just as thrilled.
"Jesus. Tucker, get up here!"
"What now?" Tucker whined as he climbed back up to the roof.
"Oh. Them again? Didn't we kick their asses last week?"
"If by 'kicked their asses' you mean I shot the maroon one in the foot and you ran like a pussy, then yes, Tucker, we kicked their asses last week."
"I hate you, Church."
"Right back atcha, dickwad."
Church pointed his gun at the teleporter, "Now get in there and cut them off before they get to Base."
"Nope." Tucker looked at the teleporter and back at Church, "You know how I feel about green, glowing things."
"Yeah, I do. And I don't care. Now go!"
"Make the Rookie do it."
"Nah, I hate you more than the Rookie, even if he won't make me a sandwich."
"What are you gonna do? Shoot me?" Tucker eyed the sniper rifle enviously, "You know, I could do much better with that thing."
"I wouldn't provoke him," Finn warned. "He almost shot me today. For once."
"Point taken." Tucker stepped into the teleporter, "I fuckin' hate you guys…"
"Fuckin' A!"
Tucker howled as he stepped out of the teleporter. Just as he had expected- his armor was overheated, and coated in black slimy…stuff. Just like the rocks he had thrown in there before.
"You so owe me, Church," he muttered as he ran spindly legged towards the approaching Reds.
"Ow, ow, ow, fuckin' ow…"
Simmons peered through the scope of the sniper rifle.
"Uh, sir…"
"What, Simmons? Has Grif gotten shot in the face? Can I finally break out that bottle of Chardonnay I have under the refrigerator?"
"Wait, what?"
"I'm fine." Grif sighed.
"Damnit, Grif, can you at least get shot and killed like a proper solider?"
"Did Sarge just call me a proper solider? Am I tripping on stale Funyuns again?"
"Shut up," Simmons snapped, "We've got a special ops guy headed our way."
"What? Those dastardly Blues…"
South considered pointing out that the black armored solider was definitely not a 'special ops guy'. In fact, it looked like this idiot was pigeon toed. Or just pissed his pants. Either way, it would be more entertaining to watch her fellow team members making complete idiots of themselves.
Sarge attempted to pull the trigger of his shotgun but the weapon merely made a shuddering sound as though it were puking, no bullets coming out.
"What?!"
The gruff CO growled and turned to Simmons, "Simmons, give me the sniper rifle."
"Yes, sir." Simmons handed over the gun and Sarge pulled the trigger.
The same vomiting sound and nothing else.
"Howard, gimme yours."
"…Fine."
With great reluctance she handed over her machine gun, which Sarge promptly attempted to fire.
But once again, there was nothing.
"God damnit Grif, what have you done this time?" Sarge emptied the bullet cartridge and inspected the ammunition. "These are rubber bullets, numbnuts!"
"Uh…my bad?"
"You bet your ass it is!" With the "special ops" guy looming forward- his own gun at the ready- Sarge sighed heavily, clearing his throat.
"Attention Blue Team! We are here to negotiate your surrender!"
"Jesus." South shook her head. She knew the Reds were complete dumbasses but this took the cake. But with no bullets, there wasn't much she could do but play along.
"What the fuck?" Church turned to Finn, who shrugged his shoulders.
"I have no idea."
"Surrender? What are you giving us this time?" Church called out across the canyon, and Tucker winced. So he had gone through the teleporter for nothing.
Yeah, Church was definitely making this one up to him.
Still, there was one redeeming factor: the Red team had a chick. A new chick.
"We want the chick," Tucker said to Sarge, holding the gun aloft. Not that he knew how to use said gun. But what Sarge didn't know wouldn't kill him.
"Oh fuck no." South made a mental note to slip arsenic into Grif's double stuff Oreos when she got back to base. If he hadn't messed up the ammunition…
"Oh fuck yes." The aqua solider could barely believe his luck.
It's about time I got a little action around here…
She couldn't fucking believe this was happening, and there wasn't a goddamn thing she could do about it. Except kick the Aqua one in the balls, which she had already done. Twice.
She considered running away, but there was no way out of this godforsaken canyon, so it would have been pointless.
She had underestimated him, however. No matter how many times she threatened him he refused to give up.
She vaguely wondered if that was how he managed to get all those girls he was currently bragging about. Annoy them until they couldn't take it anymore?
"Is there a mirror in your pants? 'Cause I can see myself in them."
"Shut the fuck up." She hit him over the head with her gun. Defective bullets or not, this made an excellent alternative.
In fact, she continued to do so until they reached Blue base.
Maybe if she hit him hard enough he would fall into a coma.
Hey, it could happen.
Sadly, it did not, and the Aqua solider called up to his comrades, "Church! I got her!"
"Bring her in," the cobalt blue Spartan called from the roof, promptly disappearing from sight.
"Ow. Ow. Fucking ow."
South grinned beneath her helmet. He was starting to sound more dazed and began to slur his words.
Success.
He stumbled into the base, "The world is all spinney…and I'd like to spin with you. Bow chicka bow wow."
"…That didn't even make sense."
But he didn't hear her, mumbling something unintelligible before falling to the ground in a heap.
"What the fuck did you do to him, you bitch?" The cobalt blue solider leaned by the Aqua one's side, pulling him into a separate room. "Jeez…"
She noticed the tenderness underneath his anger and smiled to herself. The cobalt blue one certainly cared about his friend…
"Rookie, guard her, will ya?"
The cerulean solider nodded, tying South's hands behind her back and removing her helmet.
"Get your fucking hands offa me!" She wiggled, trying to break free. But damn him, he tied the knots so tight she couldn't budge an inch.
That was when he removed his own helmet, and she heard herself lose her breath.
"Wash?"