A/N: Should I be more consistent? Yes. Should I stop mucking about on modded Skyrim? Also yes. Fuck this goddamn flu.
Paradox Effect
Summary: Dying sucked. Dying and being killed by the same teammate again? That sucked even more. Dying and being thrown back into Blood Gulch as a girl? That REALLY sucked. Now, Leona Church will have to deal with Tucker's perverted looks, Caboose's stupidity, and worst of all, Tex's laughter…
*Chapter 37*
Wyoming had managed to convince the Reds that he was going out for a late afternoon stroll to get them off his back for a bit. He really didn't want them tagging along and ruining this opportunity.
He had made up his mind. He really, really, did not want to kill York. Sure they had their disagreements and York had beaten the shit out of him a few times, but he didn't hate him. In his eyes, he was a decent fellow and didn't deserve to die. The Director was an asshole, simple as that.
The only problem was the Director, being the asshole he was, was not going to let Wyoming off the hook that easily. So, he had to come up with a cunning plan to not only fool the bastard, but let York live out his fantasy of sleeping with two women at once.
A plan that was foolproof in almost every way.
Sometimes, his genius literally knew no bounds. It had a physical presence; it was still there while he was off at the pub mucking about.
He kept his rifle on his back in case York wanted nothing to do with his brilliant plan and things turned ugly. The white armored Freelancer descended the cliffs leading to the Blue Base, hoping to the gods that neither Tex nor that irritable blue haired bitch would greet him with a tank. Or a rocket launcher. Being on the receiving end of that woman's punch caused enough damage.
Wyoming sighed as Blue Base drew nearer and he could make out the shape of York lounging around on the very top of the base. He was armed, but then again everyone in this goddamn canyon was armed to some degree. Between the Reds being idiots and Tex being…well, Tex, he sure as hell wasn't going to walk around without some sort of weapon on his person at all times.
"Oi, York! You got a moment, old chap?" Wyoming called.
The tan armored Freelancer immediately grabbed his shotgun and jumped down to meet him, no doubt glaring furiously at him. "You better have a good goddamn reason for me to not blow your head off right now, you bastard."
Wyoming looked at the shotgun currently being pointed at his crotch and sighed, putting his hands up to show he meant no harm. 'Fuck my life.' "York, old chap, I didn't come here to kill you. I'm here to negotiate."
"I'm listening. For now." York pumped his weapon of choice with malicious intent.
"Fake your death to the Director and neither of us has to deal with the Director's rubbish. I hate this bloody canyon and just want to go home." He really wasn't lying, either; every day he spent in Blood Gulch, the more he realized he was becoming an alcoholic just to tolerate the Reds. He must have drunk at least four bottles of whiskey in the past five days.
"Seems…somewhat fair, I'll give you that," York conceded, lowering his weapon. "Do you have a plan? The Director isn't stupid, as much as we like to think he is."
"Your armor ought to be enough. Just strip down and let me put a bullet in it to make it convincing," Wyoming suggested.
"Dude, what the actual fuck?"
"Oh come on, we're both adults here. We shared a bloody shower how many times?"
"…you have got to be fucking kidding me."
"What? It's worked before."
York looked like he was tempted to walk off into the sunset to live out the rest of his days in a cave. "…I cannot believe you suggested this."
"Oh just get it over with and get out of the damn way of my helmet camera." Wyoming rolled his eyes.
York let out an annoyed grumble about being nude for the second time in the span of thirty minutes but stripped down anyway, moving to the side once he was done. Wyoming plucked his rifle to shoot the armor in the chest to make it convincing before giving the Director a call.
"Hello, Director? Agent Wyoming reporting in. Agent New York is KIA; repeat, Agent New York is KIA. Over and out." His moustache quivered. This was too easy.
"Send proof," the Director ordered icily.
Wyoming switched on his helmet cam to show York's armor and he heard the Director sigh in exasperation. "He's naked right next to you isn't he?"
"Fuck, I told you that wouldn't work." York groaned.
"Oh shut it. It was a creative plan," Wyoming snapped.
The Director didn't even bother telling the British man that he was next on the 'must kill' list. He just hung up the call. Fuck.
Wyoming sighed and looked over at York, taking his helmet off. "Have I ever told you how much I hate that arrogant bastard, Charlie?"
"Many times, Reg. Many times." York patted his body in an attempt to look for a cigar. "You don't happen to have a cigar on you, do ya?"
"I've got two, mate." Wyoming chuckled and tossed him one along with his lighter. "Knicked it from Red Base. So…what do we do now? If he wasn't before, he's really cross now."
"Fuck him. What's the worst he could do, throw another Freelancer at us?" York rolled his eyes, not bothering to get dressed until he lit his cigar. "They'll either not bother coming out or just turn on the Director themselves."
Hmm. Maybe they could work this out to their advantage if they played their cards right…
Leona let out a yawn and poked her head out of the base to see if York wanted to join her in drinking some of the beer they had left over. "Hey, York!"
She stopped dead when she saw that jackass Wyoming talking with York, who was once again completely stripped down for reasons she didn't want to know. She could hear bits of their conversation over the sound of her brain fragmenting; something about the Director being a fucking asshole and York laughing with him. "Nope…not today."
Leona turned around and went back inside, tilting her beer bottle back to chug the entire thing. She was way too sober to deal with this shit today.
While drinking on her way back, she bumped into Tex, the blonde curious to the commotion outside. "Leona? What's up?"
The self appointed captain of Blue Team pinched her brow and gestured outside. "Take a look and tell me what exactly you see."
Tex shrugged and looked outside before turning back. "Oh, York's naked and Wyoming's bitching about the Director being a dick? Shit, this was like a normal Tuesday back on the MOI."
"…it's fucking Saturday."
"I stand by what I said."
Leona groaned and went to the fridge to grab about five more beers. One for York and the rest for her. She would need it to get through this. "I don't get paid enough for this. Can I demand a pay raise? I think I'm eligible for being wounded in action, right?"
"Sorry, but I don't think that's how it works." Tex laughed at her groan of despair. "Suck it up, Blue Tits."
"Oh don't you start." Leona glared at her and stomped outside to see just what the fuck York was doing conversing with someone she knocked out like a month ago. "York! What the fuck!? I thought this asshole wanted you dead!"
"Oi, I never said I wanted to," Wyoming objected.
"Shut the fuck up, asshole," Leona hissed. "York, why are you naked? AGAIN!?"
"He had a plan to try and fool the Director," York admitted meekly, accepting the beer thrown at him. "Spoiler: it didn't work."
"That's not surprising." Leona scoffed. "Our plans never work. How the fuck did it take you this long to figure that out?"
"I kind of worked it out when Caboose blew your original body up." York smirked as he fitted his armor back on. "I just wanted a chance to laugh at Wyoming again."
"Anyway…" Wyoming cleared his throat. "Let's not get bogged down about who blew up who. How the ruddy hell do you lot get anything done if all you do is stand around and talk?"
"We don't. It's part of our charm. Learn the system, Agent Wario."
"I beg your pardon!?"
"You heard me. Gonna cry about it?" Leona smirked and York howled with laughter.
Wyoming sighed and seemingly resigned himself to his fate. "I don't hate my life anymore. I hate the Director's more. If it weren't for him, I'd be home with a nice cup of tea."
"Oh boo hoo. At least you aren't dealing with anywhere near as much bullshit as me on a daily basis." The blue haired woman rolled her eyes and chugged her second beer down. Two down, two to go. She was going to try and get plastered. Wow she was an alcoholic. Just what had this canyon done to her?
Oh, it made her into an asshole. Surrounded by other assholes. Lovely.
"Dear God." Wyoming groaned in despair. "How do you deal with this? Just drink yourself into a stupor?"
"Yeah, pretty much. Just don't let Church gamble; he has a terrible poker face." Leona smirked.
"Fuck off Leona."
'Prove me wrong.' When silence answered her, it was hard to look pleased without being smug. 'That's what I thought.'
Still. Could be worse.
A/N: Do I plan on offing Wyoming? Not like canon. I feel like he's one who needs a little more exploration as a character. He is fun to write when he's being a troll or just an asshole.
-Classiest#8332