Apriltober 2022 06 Twaddle

a/n: Slice of life as Nagi, Vandham, and Elma debrief after an morning meeting.

Swearing, because Vandham. No editing, because me.

All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.

"Even for you, that was uncalled for." Nagi had pulled his friend and co-worker aside after a particularly combative morning meeting.

Vandham was flexing his fists and trying to settle himself. "He gets my goat like a freaking chupacabra."

"I was afraid you would flip a table. Literally."

Elma had followed them into the corridor. "Lin made cinnamon rolls this morning. We could move this discussion to the lounge." She glanced back at the door to check that no other participants had left the conference room.

One cup of coffee and several sugar-glazed rolls later, Vandham had calmed down significantly. "Yeah, yeah, I'll shoot a polite apology memo at him."

"Let me proofread it first," Elma said, looking over the rim of her mug of tea.

"Hell, you can write it for me. It won't mean anything except that I don't want to keep fighting. But, dammit, I hate it when he shoots me down before I finish laying out a project idea. A project which, by the way, is not bullshit."

"I agree," said Nagi, gravely. "I believe Chausson called it 'twaddle'."

"It isn't twaddle, or malarky, or any of those mealy-mouthed phrases I'm trying to remember to use!" Vandham said hotly. He looked at the deliberately calm faces of his audience. Elma's mouth twitched slightly, but Nagi's scar looked carved in stone. Vandham let out a gust of hot air and replaced it with a swig of coffee. "Ha, ha. You're right. I'm taking the bait too easily."

Elma said, gently, "I think you need a break."

Nagi nodded. "If I were still your commanding officer, I'd order you to take a vacation."

Vandham tugged at his mustache. "It's not like I can hop a plane to Cancun. There isn't any Cancun."

"You could still get outside the city," Elma offered.

"I can't play tourist in an area that still mostly a combat zone."

Nagi said, with a hint of smugness, "The teams have always been particularly happy to let me add my small efforts."

This time Vandham's laugh was born from humor. "Ha! Your small efforts make enemy bases in Sylvalum call for their moms."

"I'm sure you would also be appreciated."

"Nah, I'm not that guy. I fix stuff. I don't wreck it." There was a trace of admiration in Vandham's voice, but also of acceptance.

"Then a stay-cation, perhaps," Elma continued.

"I hate that. I feel cooped up, not to mention bored. Only so many times I can re-watch the Godfather trilogy. Last time I took a weekend off, I started reprogramming my little cleaning robot, and wasn't that a mistake."

Elma and Nagi looked at him with surprise. "Surely, that wasn't too difficult?"

"It's Ma-non made, and it almost reached Ganglion-levels of disaster when I modified the defense protocols by mistake. I was sweating by the end. I still need to keep my closet locked."

Elma and Nagi shared a glance of concern. "To keep it from running amok?" Elma asked after a pause.

"Nah, don't worry. I got that bit fixed back to normal. No, it downloaded data on Earth customs for professional life, including expectations for business attire. Little bugger started adding sleeves to my shirts."

a/n: And that is why Vandham spent the next 72 hours on the Ma-non ship, carrying Pfeffen's tool box while the little Ma-non randomly fixed stuff.

Next up: If you have a prompt, sling it at me and see what happens. Otherwise: Smoothie.