Title: Lessons in Slang
Author: Nostalgiemalaak
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for violent situations, unbetaed
Characters: Wufei POV, Quatre, Duo
Summary: very short piece that goes along with my 'Peace'Arc.
When I woke for the third time that night I knew that unlike the first two times it wasn't from the biting cold. The only thing I could be thankful for was that it wasn't the sound of gunfire that dragged me from sleep either. Instead it sounded like the two boys who were supposed to be on watch didn't know when to keep their mouths shut.
Resigning myself to the fact that I would get no more sleep that night I crept forward to the edge of camp. The dark trees clustered around my foxhole soon gave ground to ragged scrub brush and dead wood that looked like something unpleasantly large had mauled it. I cursed inwardly as the brittle, dirty snow beneath my feet crackled loudly and gave way under my boots. Judging by how much noise the two ahead of me were making I doubt they would hear me though.
As I approached their defensive pit, dug to be as unnoticeable as possible to the base down below us, they stopped talking and turned to face me. It must have been the expression on my face but upon seeing me they both looked contrite. The two mumbled quick apologies for waking me but I waved them off as I crouched down beside them.
"What were you talking about," I asked at length. I tried to be as blasé about asking as possible. I had a reputation to keep up, after all.
The braided one, Maxwell, gave a snort and playfully punched his partner in the arm.
"Quatre here just told me that tomorrow we're really going to have to, and I quote, 'book it out of here'," he laughed.
"So?"
"So? So who uses 'book it' anymore? It's lame. I was just trying to update his vocab." Maxwell punctuated this last remark with a snuffling swipe across his nose with the sleeve of his jacket.
"Oh? Well then I'm afraid you'll have to help me out as well." I idly picked at the mud and ice encrusted on my boot and waited for a response.
Quatre spoke up at this point, "Well, let's see, there's 'to split, bounce, bizounce, bail, smash out, skidaddle,' and my personal favorite, 'peace out.'"
Despite the blonde's enthusiasm for his newly acquired words the perplexed expression and scrunched up brows showed him to still be in a state of confusion as to why his first suggestion had been so wrong.
"You forgot 'vamoose,'" the American said, poking Quatre in the shoulder.
"Vamoose? Like the hair stuff? And stop that!"
"Will you two-"
The sharp crack of a gunshot halted any further discussion. The gun which had been slung over my shoulder was instantly in my hands, its solid weight comforting and real in the unnaturally quiet night. The other two, weapons in hand, were turned to face the base below.
"Think it was directed at us?" Came a breathy whisper.
"With all the noise you two were making, I'm not surprised," I hissed back.
"So what's the plan?"
"I say you two absquatulate and before I murk the both of you," I growled.
Two dumbfounded expressions turned to peer at me. It was all I could do not to roll my eyes.
"Get out of here before I beat the shit out of you," I said with a smirk.
The two slithered out of the hole and left me to watch the base. That gun shot had been too close for my liking. Most likely we would have to book it out of here. And soon.