"If there's one thing I know, it's everything."
–Rayne Summers, Least I Could Do-
Boy Talk With Eliwood and Hector
(Part 7)
"…Wooooowwwwwwwwwww…this is just silly…"
"…I'm…so-fuggin-baked.…it's actually ridiculous…"
"How much did we fucking smoke today?"
"Not that much actually. This is just really good weed. Props to Matthew; he wasn't fucking around."
It's late in the afternoon back at camp. Eliwood is now slumped against the headboard of his lordly bed—eyes glazed over, head tilted back—reveling in the magical sensations of ordinary, mundane things. In one hand he holds a plucked blade of grass, which he rubs between his fingers until it becomes green paste. He enjoys this immensely for reasons he can not explain. In his other hand he holds a big fat fatty of a blunt—freshly rolled—primed and ready to fuck someone's day up with three and a half grams of dank, skunky, Arcadian Koosh. No one in the tent has the balls to light this monster. Matthew is content reclining on a disgustingly cute plush cushion that use to belong to Serra (It's his now. He stole it.). The noob Wil—previously passed out dick-faced on Eliwood's couch—has been carried back to his own tent and laid to rest, leaving said couch open for Geitz and Dart to chill and banter. The tent-room scene has since mellowed out considerably.
"No, seriously dude. How much did we smoke today?" Matthew repeats the question. "I actually want to know how much bud I have left."
"Bag's kicked," Eliwood reported, shaking Matthew's satchel of stolen drugs upside down to prove the point. "Used the last three nuggs' to roll the fatty. This right here man," Eliwood baton-twirled his massive blunt with great showmanship. "This is what we're working with."
"Oh my god…that thing is enourmous…"
"We still have so much weed…incredible…"
"You're not smoking that now are you?" Matthew asked skeptically.
"Naw man, I'm feeling pretty good right now," Eliwood stretched his arms and yawned a lazy stoner's yawn. "Let's save this one for when Hector gets back. You know the big lug's gonna need a hit to get his mellow going after a day out in the field."
"That works," Matthew nodded. "Mark should be marching 'im back into camp within the hour."
"…Assuming everything went according to plan."
"This is Mark we're talking about. Everything that kid does go according to plan."
"Pffttt…not even close," Matthew scoffed. "I can sniff out bullshit a mile away. It's practically my profession, and let me tell you, Mark's as full of it as they come.
"How so?""
"Like, all the time, he takes credit for shit that just has absolutely nothing to do with him. Whatever happens, however fucked up and out of hand our battles get, he'll just say it's all part of some brilliant plan he devised ahead of time. Even when he has no idea what the fuck is going on, and I think that's bullshit."
"Huh…I never even noticed."
"Really?" Matthew was honestly amazed no one else had picked up on it yet. "Where the fuck have you been?"
"You know Hector, I really shouldn't be mad at you," Mark reflected "I knew you were going to bolt and I put you on the frontline anyway, to confuse the enemy. It was all part of my brilliant, brilliant strategy."
"Uh-uh, no way. No fucking way you're taking credit for this one."
"Come on, we just beat the leader of the Four Fangs and punched through to the Shrine of Seals without a single causality. Admit it Hector. That was some damn fine planning on my part."
"You didn't PLAN any of that." Hector shouted. "Shit son, you wanted to TANK him like a god damn raid boss!"
"Did I really? Or is that just what I wanted you to think while I executed my master stroke?"
"Your 'master stroke'…what the…is anyone else listening to this!?" Hector bellowed loud enough to get the entire column's attention. "Does ANYONE else hear the complete and utter nonsense coming out of this kid's mouth!?"
"We hear him." Kent rode by the bickering duo with Lyn draped around him, tagging along for a free ride on his mount. "We just don't really care anymore."
"We've been listening to the same retarded shit since we left Sacae," Lyn elaborated. "You can't argue with him when he gets like this. He's just going to talk out of his ass and go on and on about how he predicts and prepares for everything. Watch."
"What indignity is this; you doubt my instincts?" Mark huffed. "Did I not just predict—correctly I might add—that the Great Gheb would show up at the Shrine of Seals and level the field with his boner powers? Did I not provoke his attack with Hector's display of hypermasculinity, bringing the wrath of the Boner King upon our enemies while marking our team as off limits with a phallic signal from Vaida? Tell me that wasn't fucking brilliant!"
"Okay…ONE: you had no godly idea anyone other than the Black Fang was going to be at that position. "That fat guy just showed up out of nowhere and started blowing shit up with his dick. You didn't KNOW that was going to happen. You were scratching your head screaming 'WTF!?' with everyone else. Bullshit that was your planning!"
"I feigned surprise, just like I did when Nergal summoned the dragon. I predicted that too, remember?"
"Yeah," Lyn snickered. "I remember. You predicted it AFTER it happened. That doesn't count."
"TWO: you never ordered me to provoke an attack. And you bitched me the fuck out when I actually did provoke an attack; everyone in this army heard you. So whatever I did, I clearly did it in violation of your orders and you clearly didn't plan for it to happen."
"The attack order was never given, because I knew you were going to attack anyway. My genius is such that I was able to predict your behavior. As for my reaction, it was a necessary façade employed so as not to undermine the chain-of-command."
"Sir, you have to admit, that does seem pretty farfetched." Kent being the well-mannered knight has to be polite even when he's insulting someone. I haven't heard a story that dubious since Sain claimed success using 'So, do you take it up the ass?' as a pick-up line."
"Oh come on, you too Kent? What is this; Lets-All-Shit-On-Mark-Day?"
"THREE: If you really have gotten to the point where your 'master plan' calls for one of your soldiers to be repeatedly smacked in the face with an oversized stunt-cock while the rest of us watch, there is something so fucking wrong with you and that brilliant mind of yours that I don't see how it could possibly be fit for duty, and you seriously need to get the fuck out of the war-gaming business until you get your shit together. Seriously man, that is fucked up!"
"I…don't really have a good explanation for that one," Mark admitted "But I'm still right. About everything. I planned that attack down to the very last detail, and everything that happened on that battlefield was the result of my genius. You here that!?" Mark shouted defiantly to no one in particular. "Everything! I know all! Nothing happened that wasn't part of my perfect plan!"
"Really now…" the stealthy figure that had been shadowing Mark for the past 10 minutes spoke for the first time all day. "You planned that entire thing? Including the part where Nino had to cry herself to sleep after watching the maniac with the sword fetish rape a dead man's skull?"
"Ohh Shit! Hey Jaffar…"
"Answer the question scum-bag. Was that or was that not your idea?"
"Oh no, No-no-no-no-no! That was not part of the game-plan at all."
"Everything that happens is part of your game-plan. You just got finished saying that 2 seconds ago. "
"Yeaaaahhhhh…about that," Mark gulped. "Wow…this is awkward."
"…"
"…"
"…"
"My bad?" Mark offered meekly.
"Not gonna fly," Jaffar drew his daggers. "You're a dead man."
"Ummm…Lyn? There's a dangerous man pointing some wicked looking knives at my throat. You maybe wanna…I don't know…do something about it?" Mark ordered with a burlesque blend of alarm and sarcasm.
"You did say you planned every last detail," Lyn smirked. "Those were your exact words, right Mark?"
"Well now maybe I exaggerated just a little. I mean I can't know everything that's going on. Sometimes a few minor details slip through the cracks, right?" Mark laughed nervously.
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…Right?"
"…"
"…"
"…"
"Hmph…" Jaffar sheathed his weapons, but continued to stare daggers at the tactician. "Don't let it happen again."
One smoke-bomb later, the assassin was gone.
"Woowww…" Hector marveled once the assassin was gone. "You REALLY are a pussy. Skinny bastard pulls a knife on you and you fold like a paper towel. Try that shit on me and watch what happens. Son-of-a-bitch points a knife at me; I'll punch him the fuck out and stomp his ass.
"Can it numb-nuts," the aforementioned pussy grumbled. "Jaffar's a fucking pro. You can't touch him and you know it. As for YOU," Mark glared angrily at Lyn, "What the fuck was that about you useless cunt?"
"Excuse me!?"
"Bitch, you heard me!" Mark scolded. "An assassin threatens me at knife point and you sit there smirking? What the fuck!? YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE MY GOD-DAMN BODYGUARD!"
"Guard yourself, you're so fucking brilliant," Lyn answered with insulting sarcasm. "How about next time you just straight up tell the truth. You know, don't make up stupid shit; avoid these awkward situations altogether."
"I was telling the truth!" Mark protested. "I planned everything!"
"And no we're back to this shit again," Hector rolled his eyes. "You know what Lyn, I think Jaffar actually had the right idea. Make like you're gonna cut him whenever he starts in with his nonsense; see if that doesn't get his ass back in line."
"You two clowns don't get to put me in line, Mark scoffed. "I'll remind you, I'm your superior officer."
"And I'll remind YOU, I pay your salary," Hector barked. "Now shut the fuck up and get us back to camp already. I need to buy some drugs."