When Mr Clicketty Cane, plays a silly game, all the kids in the street, they like to do the same.
…
Wash your Face in Orange Juice
"HOLY CRAP! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT MUSIC?" Church's all too familiar voice echoed throughout the Canyon along with the booming of a song consisting of a high pitched voice and a piano in the background.
Simmons shot up in his bed, his hand reaching over to his bedside table and searching desperately for his glasses. He knocked over several things in the process until his fingers came across their familiar shape, victoriously snatching them up.
He pushed them onto his nose and pulled back his maroon covers. Hopping off his bed, he donned his maroon dressing gown and slippers and stalked out of the room.
Emerging in the red-painted hall, he made a bee-line for the kitchen to find his dishevelled team (minus Grif, who could sleep through anything) already there and awake.
"Simmons! What in hell is that music? It's messin' with my mornin' ritual!" an already dressed Sarge yelled from the tiny kitchen table where his shotgun and a jar of polish sat on the cheap plastic before him.
"I don't know, Sarge. I just got up," Simmons yelled in return.
"What, Simmons? I didn't hear you over the sound of that damn piano," Sarge shouted, trying to drown out the song with his own yelling.
"I said… you know what? Never mind. This is going to get old quick," Simmons yelled, sitting down in his seat at the table.
"WHAT?"
"I said, never mind."
He mumbled to himself as Donut placed a cup of coffee in front of him, picking it up immediately and taking a gulp.
Only to spit it back out again.
"What the-?" he managed to gasp, the brew dripping down his chin and onto his dressing gown.
"Donut! Why is this coffee cold?"
"Ha ha! Because I told him to make it cold, to trick you! April Fools, Simmons," Sarge shouted, sounding victorious.
Simmons blinked. "April Fools was three months ago, Sarge."
"So? I still got you, Simmons. Good job, Donut."
"Gee thanks, Sarge. I always enjoy pulling a good-natured prank. I read somewhere that pranks can bring people together in tough times. Is it true, Simmons?" Donut said from his place in front of the kettle.
Simmons's reply was his best death-glare, perfected over the years of working with Grif. But not even a threat of death by staring could disturb the pink Private. He merely turned back to the kettle and started making some "real" coffee.
Simmons knew exactly why Sarge and Donut were giving him the "cold coffee" treatment. It had been a week since his return from the Blue Team. One week since he had cleaned all the blue off his armour, but he still got the feeling that it hadn't been forgotten by his team-mates.
Grif kept throwing him dirty looks, which wasn't actually that unusual. What was unusual was that Grif didn't usually care about that sort of thing.
Sarge kept grumbling under his breath about 'No good traitors' and was keeping a close eye on him.
Donut kept trying to make Simmons have a deep heart-to-heart chat about where his loyalties lay. The pink armoured soldier was annoying at the best of times, but if Donut cornered him one more time about "changes of heart", then he would really need to find somewhere to hide another body.
And it wasn't as if his turning to the Blue team had been real or anything. Yeah, at first he had been angry. Who wouldn't be? His own team hadn't believed him.
And that tank hadn't helped at all.
"Oh my god. Is the music getting louder?" a sleepy sounding Grif complained, stumbling into the kitchen in an old stained nightshirt. "Where is it even coming from?"
"When I went up there before, it sounded like it was coming from Blue Base," Donut said conversationally, still fiddling with the coffee.
"I knew it! Those dirty Blues are tryin' to defeat us by making us deaf! Ear-stabbing traitors," Sarge announced to the room at large.
"That doesn't even make any sense, Sarge. Why would the Blues want to make us deaf?" Simmons said, frowning in confusion.
"Shame on you, Simmons. With us incapacitated, the Blues could easily swoop in and slaughter us like pigs! Quick men. Activate emergency protocol 42. Pack up your bags and head for the hills, ladies. But first we need someone to stay behind and call us back when the coast is clear," Sarge stopped his speech, looking between the three other men for a volunteer.
Here's the part where Sarge makes Grif do it, Grif complains but ends up doing the stupid thing anyway, Simmons thought, sighing internally.
"Why thank-you for volunteering, Simmons."
"Me? What about Grif?" he said, confused, as Donut placed several cups of real coffee on the table.
"Grif will have already heroically sacrificed himself in the base's last defence. Keep up, Simmons," Sarge said, downing an entire cup of coffee in one.
'Oh. Right," Simmons said, picking up his own cup and swirling around the brown muck inside. Grif mumbled as he sat down opposite to Simmons and Donut set another cup down in front of Sarge.
"What was that, Simmons?"
Simmons groaned.
They sat for several minutes in an uncomfortable silence, broken only by loud slurps as Sarge downed several more cups of coffee sips and the continuous booming of the piano in the background.
Finishing off his fifth cup, Sarge got to his feet, "OK, men. You know the drill. Emergency Protocol 42. Gather your gear and get ready to move-"
He was cut off by several bangs that echoed throughout the base.
"Oi! Reds! Open the door, we have to talk to you."
...
Wash your Face in Orange Juice is an Aussie kids song. I remember singing it in Music at Primary School when I was there. It's an awesome song, but if you watch the music video the guy who sings it look really freaky.
T'was originally meant to be for The Red vs Blue Review Crew writing challenge, but I backed out after things got complicated and started running out of time. Now it's all for fun. :)