A/N: Filler! Yes sir this here story is nothin but a creamy chocolate filler until the next L4RAB is out. If you haven't read it yet, do so now. There is never a bad time for shameless self promotion. Just one other thing; unless I specifically state other wise, all RvB stories take place in Blood Gulch with Tex still alive.
Bungie and RT Own all but Des.
"Oh hell no." Yelled a very frantic and upset Tucker.
"Tucker, this is a completely fair chart." Explained a clearly annoyed Church
Recently, Church has been complaining about how little work the rest of us do around the base. I couldn't exactly blame him for it, the place was a pig stein. Their were moldy pizza boxes strewn through out the base. The Fridge has food in it since before the time jump. No one's taken a shower in over a weak after Sister failed to accomplish her ping pong trick. In short, the place went to hell and got kicked out for being too dirty.
But now Church has instituted a new 'Chore Chart'. It sounds like something out of a second grade class room. If one was to take a glance at the chart, one would think it was a relatively simple thing. There was a small spinner with a card holder on the arrow to show who would do what. It would spin around one of five chores; Cleaning, Cooking, Patrol, Weapons Maintenance, Caboose. Yes, begrudging as it is, I allowed Church to put my little brother up on his Chore Chart from hell. If you still cannot figure out why we are enraged at Church's gross misconduct, it is because of his card, or should I say, lack there off said card.
"I gotta agree with Tucker Church, this is bullshit." I say, voicing my concerns openly to the self proclaimed leader of blue team.
Giving an arrogant snort, the blue leader replies, "I don't care what you all think. This chart will help us keep the base in order. Have either of you seen the showers?"
This earned a great big shudder from everyone in the room. After getting over the horrifying mental image, I find another area of concern.
"Church, why are their only five spots when there are seven members on the team?" I ask.
"Oh I didn't tell you yet Des? Doc went on shore leave for a medical conference and Sister is spending some time with the reds." He explained. "Either way, there are more than enough people to do these task. If two people have to sit it out, that's fine."
"What do you mean sit out? You don't even have a card and I doubt you'd let Caboose any where near the weapons." Tucker argued. "Besides, what about Tex? How did you get her to go along with this little trick from the Third Reich?"
"Dude nice." I say, giving him a well deserved high five for the historical reference.
Church just gave a disgruntled sigh and continued trying to sell us this idea, "Look, it doesn't matter. Caboose will do work just not the weapons maintenance. As for Tex well, let's just say cameras never forget." He added slyly.
"Fine, just spin the damn wheel." Tucker said, giving up the good fight.
First up was Tucker. Church slid his card in and sent the wheel flying. It kept spinning for a whole minute since Church was wearing his armor. As it spun I stole a look at Tucker to find him following the arrow with all his might. It slowed down and headed for Weapon duty. Tucker looked like he was praying for god to move it just another inch so that it would end up on patrol duty. It seemed as though god answered his prays because just than, a rare gust of wind blew in and moved the spinner down just enough for it to land on Patrol duty.
"Yes, thank you God!" Tucker screamed enthusiastic.
"Well, congratulations Tucker." Said Church, feigning kindness, "Let's spin again."
"What, but I got my job?" Tucker argued.
"You did, but as you so kindly pointed out, I have no card so someone in going to have to do an extra shift." He explained, clearly enjoying picking on the poor black private. Tucker gave a defeated sigh and just let Church spin again. He hoped to get something easy again, like Caboose. Then all he'd have to do was bring him on patrol with him. While it wouldn't be as fun, it would be easy. Alas though, as it landed on Weapon maintenance again and there was no gust of wind to save him now. Next up was Tex who was currently in her room checking her weapons. She didn't trust the idiots of the canyon to handle her weapons so she did it herself. This time, it landed on Caboose.
Church smirked like a kid who just got the last ice cream cone from the ice cream truck, "Well, who want's to break the news to Tex?"
Caboose raised his hand up quicker than any of us thought possible. Church just nodded and away he went, giggling like a pre-pubescent school girl. With Caboose gone, Church decided to spin the wheel for Caboose so he didn't have to endure my little brothers giggling again. It spun around and landed on...Cleaning? Cleaning is one thing Caboose has never done on his own. Looks like Tex has her work cut out for her. All that was left was me and since their were no more chores, I got caught with Mess duty.
"Well Des, looks like your on kitchen tonight." Church said with a smugness that made me want to punch the arrogant asshole right in the face, "Since your cooking tonight, how about a nice roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans? Yeah, that sounds good." He kept talking as he walked off, still mumbling about the meal he had just proposed. I don't think he knows I have no idea how to cook. For all my skills and experience, I have never once made anything better than a bowl of cereal.
"Hey Tucker? Do you know where I can find a cook book?" I implored of the cyan private.
"Cook book? Dude, who do I look like Donut?" He asked, insulted.
"No, but that gives me an idea." I say as I dash out of the base and begin the short walk to Red base.
I see red base coming up. I just hope no one will attack me. I take one more step and a bullet hole appeared right at where my feet would have been if I continued walking. I hear the sound of a sniper rifle reloading and take the opportunity. I dash over to the lone rock near red base where Church said Caboose and Tucker were hiding during Tex's escape. As I'm running I hear more sharp cracks of the sniper rifle and just pray they don't hit me.
"Son of a Bitch!" I yell as I finally get up to the rock.
"Who ever you are, don't make me come down there!" A very familiar voice yelled.
"For god's sake Grif, it's ME!" I yell back to the orange clad soldier.
I stick my hands out to show him I'm unarmed. He gives me an all clear to let me know Sarge isn't around. After the whole O'malley fiasco, the Reds and Blues finally brokered a silent peace. When ever Sarge wasn't at red base, we were free to come over and hang out and do whatever. We still had to keep up appearances for Sarge though, so we sometimes staged battles and hurled insults at each other from time to time. We just made sure no one was hurt.
"Sorry about that dude, but you know." He apologized for the shooting.
"No problem, where's pretty in pink at? I need a favor." I explain.
"Sorry man, Sarge got so fed up with Donut's constant bitching about his pink armor that he took him to command to see if they could get a new set." He explained with regret laced in, "What did you need Donut for anyway?"
"Well, Church is making us do Chores and I got stuck with making dinner tonight." I tell him, "I was wondering if Donut had a cook book?"
"Are you kidding? The guys got like thirty books just for cupcakes." He said amazed I even needed to ask him, "Come on, I'll find you something."
He took me into the base which was still as plain as ever. Everything was red or a variation of red. We passed by the bathroom and I could've sworn I heard what sounded like Simmons sobbing and saying, "Why won't you love me?" We continued on to Donut's room. You could tell it was his on account of the hot pink name plate on the door with fake rhinestones embedded into the letters. Grif entered the emergency code and the door opened into what was possibly the gayest non-gay room you could imagine.
"Dear god." I say, amazed at the lack of masculinity in the room.
Grif walks over to the book case and starts to look through its contents, "Cakes, Brunch, Bistro, ah here it is." He presented me with a medium bound book with a turkey dinner on the front, "Thanksgiving Dinners, this should cover tonight."
"Thanks Grif." I said shaking his hand and taking the book from him.
We just walked around for a while and talked. Mostly about how stupid our commanders seem to be. After about an hour of talking, the bath room door opened and Simmons came out, helmet less with his eyes a very aggravated red. Grif poked some fun at him for the crying which elicited a strong string of verbal assaults at him. After that I thought it was time to go. I thanked Grif once again for letting me borrow Donut's book. As I was walking Back to base I decided to read a bit of the book. I saw multiple recipes for Chicken and finally decided on one.
"Cajun Roasted Chicken with Corn on the Cob and Mashed Potatoes. Yeah, that will be perfect." I said to myself as I headed back to blue base.
After returning to blue base, I got out all the mentioned ingredients and began the tedious prep work. I may not know how to cook, but at least I can use a knife. Come to think of it, a knife is a lot like a sword. Both can stab people, cut people, skin people...you get the idea. Right as I was finishing all the cutting of the potatoes, I heard the sound of what I could only guess was the bathroom sink exploding. Dropping the knife I had, I ran into the bathroom to find my younger brother and Tex with their eye brows blown off and Tex just barley restraining herself from ending the poor, blond haired privates life.
"Tex what the hell happened?" I asked, trying to divert her attention from Caboose.
"He mixed carbon and sulfur together while I was cleaning the tub and blew up the sink." She said gesturing towards the small porcelain pieces still attached to the base.
"Where did he get carbon and sulfur?"
"How the fuck should I know!" She yelled enraged.
"Dessmond, will my eye brows grow back?" Caboose asked as innocently as he could in Tex's presence.
"Yes Caboose." I told him now looking at Tex, "Tex, I have to go make dinner know. Promise me come six I will still have a brother."
She took a second to calm down and gave me a weak smile. She turned to Caboose and she said she was sorry for snapping at him and that she would help him clean it up. I couldn't help but smile. Even though Tex couldn't stand when Caboose fucked up, she did truly like him. He was so innocent that she found him to be a refreshing change from all the idiots in the canyon. I turned to leave only to run into Tucker.
"He man, hows it going." I ask causally.
"'Hows it going?' I just spent the last three hours cleaning all the weapons in this goddamn base only to find your stuff, which took another two hours. By the time I went out to patrol, it was over a 140 fucking degrees! So, you'll excuse me If I don't respond with, 'Fine.'" Tucker concluded his rant and stormed off to his room where Junior was no doubt waiting for him.
I make it back to the kitchen without anymore interruptions from the team. I find that all my stuff is as it was, which means Church didn't pick at it. I swear one day he's just going to fall over and die...again. I take a look at the book, "Once oven is preheated, coat chicken in light seasoning consisting of; Garlic, Paprika, Sage, Salt, Pepper, Crushed Red Pepper, and Flour." I take the flour out from the cup board and just decide to pour some on the chicken. I then add the other ingredients and gently rub the coating in. I look at the book again, "Bake chicken for twenty minutes on high 400 degrees." I stick the chicken in the already preheated oven and then turn to the pre-pealed corn.
I take another look at the book, "Grill corn for fifteen minutes, slowly rotating." Well, we don't have a grill here. Maybe I could just put them in with the chicken for a few minutes. Yeah, that will work. I open the oven to find the chicken going along nicely. I reach for the pan holding the deceased fowl, forgetting that the oven is 400 DEGREES. The second I touch it the first thing out of my mouth is, "SON OF A BITCH!" Unfortunately, in my wild burning sensation, I wasn't careful and hit my arm multiple times along the inner walls of the stove, earning more expletives spewed from my mouth. "SHIT! FUCK! MOTHER OF ALL FUCKS!"
Retrieving my now blistering arm from the offending appliance, I run to the med station to get some Aloe Vera. I almost break down the door in my frantic screaming. I'm amazed no one has come to investigate the disturbance. I yank open the cabinet with such force, the door breaks off. I continually pull vials and tubes out for nearly a minute, which when your arm felt like it was dipped in lava feels like ten hours, until I find the aloe. I pour some onto my arm and begin to scrub it in with a renewed vigor. It wasn't until later that I learned I should have read the bottle to make sure it wasn't exfoliating. I screamed even louder, if it was possible, at the small offenders on my skin. At this point, you think I would have stopped there but no. Now I go for the simplest of remedies, cold water. I turn the faucet on full blast and let it wash away the horrid gel. After fifteen minutes of water therapy, I remember the corn.
As I dash back to the kitchen, I trip over juniors soccer ball and land my head square on the metal table in the dinning room. As I hit the table, I swear I felt the bump on my head rise to a glorious welt. I wasn't unconscious thank god, but I was very dazed. I decided to sit down on the table and kick the ball away so as not to bother me again. After I did, I heard the distinctive screams of a falling Tucker, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I decide that my rest has been a long enough one and head back to the kitchen. I grab some oven mitts and check the corn and chicken. To my dismay, the corn is burnt to the darkest of black and the chicken is fairing no better. I grab the pan and just dump the whole thing into the garbage. After disposing of the wasted meal, I check to make sure the potatoes are still there. Since they are I take a quick look at the book, "Boil three cups of water, add potatoes, boil for ten minutes."
"I still have the potatoes." I thought, "I can still make something half way decent." I get a large pot out and pour the correct amount of water in and set it to a boil. Another ten minutes later, the water's boiling and I have put the potatoes in. I now just sit back and let the meal cook. I start to get a bit droopy and slip into a semi-sleeping trance. Right as I'm about to enter a deep, restful slumber I hear the distinctive sound of feet pattering on the base floor. I think nothing of it, that is, until the soccer ball comes flying at my head at forty miles an hour. It slams into my head with such speed, I fly from the chair I was sitting in to the boiling pot of water. At this point, not only have I realized Tucker will be confined to the med bay for at least a month, I have also given up on diner. So after I headed back to the med bay for a final water therapy session, I wrap my head in some soft, soothing bandages. I walk back out to the dinning room to find everyone ready for dinner. I simply sigh and walk back into the kitchen. Staring at the mess, I take one final look at the horrid chore chart that had caused me such misery. Taking it in my hands, I gave it a good rip, ensuring that no one else will have to suffer the tyranny that I went through.
"Well, dinner still needs to be made." I mumble to myself while looking at a box of mini wheat.
I walk out of the kitchen with a large silver tray with a matching cover over it. Everyone stares at it wide eyed. I delivered it in the same manner as a server in a fancy french restaurant would. As I lowered it onto the table, I noticed the platter wasn't the only thing they were staring at. My mass of bandages covering my face and left arm were also a grand sight to see. I ignore their stares and unveil their meal...Mini wheat with a banana.
"What the hell kind of dinner is this." Church asked.
"Yours." I deadpanned to him.
Everyone gave me a disapproving glare, but when I glared back at them with the unspoken threat of death, they softened up. Right as I was leaving, I heard Caboose, "Dessmond, can I have some orange juice?"
At least some one appreciates my work.