Churning (Augustus Cole - 33 yrs?)
Ever since he was little, Cole had gotten motion sick. His mama would always give him some medicine for long car rides that would be on bumpy roads and he'd take some medicine with him when he had to fly places for thrashball games when he got older. If he didn't, he usually ended up vomiting.
"It'sa good thing I don't get sick b'cause of runnin'," Cole would tell his mama on the phone, "or I wouldn't be doin' this."
But now that the only transportation were tumbling Raven's, Cole was having trouble keeping his stomach from rolling with the helicopter. He had no medicine and, in retrospect, he wished he'd thanked his mama for the medicine in the first place or he'd damn well be miserable.
Cole peeked out of the open bay and cringed that the tossing landscape. So far, he hadn't thrown up on a Raven, but he wasn't sure how long that was going to be.
As soon as the Raven landed, Cole jumped out and went down on his hands and knees so that the world wasn't spinning with motion sickness. Baird and Jan Rojas hopped out of the Raven after him. Baird's boots came into his line of sight, almost right in front of his nose.
"Jesus, Cole," Baird said, getting his I'm-about-to-be-a-dick voice ready, "these theatrics every time we go places by Raven really need to stop."
"Baird, I'm not feeling so-"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. It's not like you've thrown up."
"Baird..."
"Hey, Cole Train, you okay?" At least Rojas was concerned.
"And another thing!" Baird continued.
"Damon, baby, I'm about to..." Cole's stomach did one final backflip and he vomited right on Baird's boots. The rations didn't look so good normally, and they certainly didn't look any better covering Baird's boots.
But Baird's expression was priceless. Rojas found it just as funny. Even though Cole's stomach was threatening a repeat performance, he couldn't help but laugh at Baird's face.
"Baird, baby, you should see your face!"
(Baird made sure to stand further away the next trip.)
