Okay, you guys win. Another victory for democracy, I guess. Let me know what you think, as always! Sorry the first bit is so short.
~::~
They're strolling through the streets of Los Angeles when Cougar, in the middle of a one-way conversation with Jensen about the merits and faults of Mickey Rourke, suddenly stops dead in his tracks. He has a tendency to disappear without anyone realizing, so it takes a few moments for the other Losers to notice his absence.
"Coug?" Jensen turns to see his friend standing stock-still, hands at his sides, eyes locked on something at the side of the road. One by one, they turn to look at whatever it is that's caught their sniper's attention.
"What is it? All I see is a taco truck." Pooch glances around.
"You, uhh... you want a taco, buddy?" Clay asks slowly. "I think I got a couple bucks in my pocket-"
"No es posible," Cougar breathes.
"What?" Jensen leans in, cupping a hand around his ear. "I didn't catch that."
The Spaniard doesn't bother answering; he takes off at a run, sprinting toward the battered, silver truck that bears a huge painted skull and the words Luz's Tacos.
"What the hell?" Aisha comments as they watch him.
Suddenly Jensen gasps. "Ohh, no way. No way in hell."
"What? What? Will one of you please explain?" Clay snaps, frustrated and confused.
The hacker doesn't answer, but takes off after his friend.
Pooch throws his hands up in exasperation. "Anybody got any clue what they're freakin' out about?"
"Nope." The colonel scratches the back of his neck. "Maybe that particular cart does really good tacos?"
"I hate mystery. Let's go," Aisha sets off toward the silver trailer, the other following because they have nothing better to do at the moment.
There's a line of people in front of the truck, milling about and having to shout to have their orders heard. Cougar is attempting to weave through the crowd, slinking past people and ducking under arms. Jensen just wades through the masses, using his bulk and height to get by. From the truck comes a hoarse female voice, barking out people's orders and Spanish curses.
Jensen breaks through first, pulling up dead as he locks sights on the woman. She is Hispanic, about fifty, still strikingly beautiful and wearing an eyepatch. She is missing an arm, and her skin is marred by a dozen small scars.
"Holy shit," Jensen says, and she glances at him, frowning. Something moves behind her inside the truck, making the blonde realize that that's not a refrigerator behind her; it's a man. A man with greying black hair and tattoos, chopping cilantro with what looks like a...
"Holy shit," he says again, and then Cougar appears at his side, gaping up at the couple in the trailer.
"Are you going to stand there staring, pendejo, or are you going to order-" The woman halts mid-sentence as her eye lands on Cougar. Her hand flies to her mouth. "Carlos."
The man behind her turns sharply, and Jensen actually takes a step back at the raw intensity in his eyes as he looks at the sniper. The crowd around them has faded, and the curious shouts of the other Losers are just background noise as Cougar lifts his hat, clears his throat, and whispers,
"Hola, mamรก. Hola, padre."