Inktober 2019 01 Poisonous

a/n: H.B. needs to keep his post-mission reports shorter, while Phog may need to expand. Maybe not.

Swears, because Vandham.

All the good things belong to Monolith Soft. Not sure whose Cross that is.

Vandham glared at the three BLADEs lined up in a neat row on the other side of his desk. "What I have in front of me is garbage," he said, clearly keeping his voice to a lower growl with effort.

"I thought my report was quite comprehensive," sniffed H.B.

Vandahm looked at the glimmering text boxes floating on his desk surface. "Those too. Your team's reports, all four of them, they're just proof of the first thing. Garbage!" His voice had risen to a roar, and he'd leapt to his feet, pounding the desk so hard that the screens had winked out. He paused, patted the table top gently, and the pale blue squares popped cheerfully back into existence. He looked from soldier to soldier. "You get sent on a milk run, clearing ictuses plus re-tuning a probe, and you come back two teammates down and hand in … this … this garbage as an explanation."

"The details are all…"

"H.B., boy, your report is 30 goddamned pages long. I'll walk to Oblivia and punch those scorpions myself rather than wade through that mess."

"I would be happy to prepare a review for you," offered H.B.

"That's what the first report is supposed to be, dumbass. A review! But you had to write me a novel first thing. The Mimeosome Maintenance Center team was thinking of strapping you to the gurney to keep you immobile while they removed the bullets."

"My shoulder is fine now, thank you for asking," said H.B. with a noticeable trace of sulk.

"I didn't ask." Vandham swiveled his glare to the next subject, Cross. "You! Your report consisted of a 15% off coupon at Barista Court."

The rookie nodded.

"Real cute. The day they make me pay my tab is the day after the Nopon take over NLA," Vandham said with exasperation.

His eyes finally landed on the third member, a tall young man with a mop of blonde hair. Vandham sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I'm sorry about Frye, son. The MMC says he'll be fine in a week." Vandham careful arranged a twinkling splinter of text with a square fingertip. "Your brother's report is gibberish, no surprise there, considering. But yours…." He sighed again. "It's, what, all of two lines?"

"They're good lines." Phog's voice was earnest and strangely free from intimidation. He reached over the desk, startling the others, and spun the smallest text box towards himself. He leaned over to read it, silently, then looked up at the Commander. "I think I covered everything that wouldn't be in the medical reports or the battle stats."

Vandham stared at him with astonishment for a split second, then shouted, "Get the hell out of my office. All of you!"

After they had left, Vandham reviewed the last slip of a report, then snorted. "I guess he did, at that."

"Actually," said H.B., pushing up his glasses," I believe the word you were thinking of was 'venomous.'"
 "Phog, bro, hand me my gun."

A/n: First day of Inktober, I wrote two lines and declared the story complete. Then I went and slapped more story before them, but I'm not convinced I did it any favors.

Next up: Tranquil. No idea, but if it isn't Lake Ciel, where could it be? Unless I slap more story onto this one...

ps: Drop me a suggestion and see what happens, she says with some trepidation.