Disclaimer: Don't. Own. Red Vs Blue. Or Halo. I do own Marly, but she's got her own security system. Wait... maybe other characters do to and that's why they run away with us! Eh, it's a theory.
Episode 6: The Delivery, The Debate, The Rookies
"Hurry up ladies, this ain't no ice cream social," Sarge grunted at his soldiers as they came running up.
"Ice cream social?" asked Simmons, Grif glancing over. The larger man shrugged slightly, just as perplexed as his comrade, but continued down the ramp.
"Stop the pillow talk you two," Sarge said. Simmons shuddered slightly, glad the look of disgust was hidden by his visor. Pillow talk? With Grif? Ugh. He did not need those mental images.
"If I were to engage in pillow talk, it wouldn't be with Simmons, and it wouldn't be about ice cream socials. More like... BBQ or... something. Not ice cream socials," Grif muttered. Simmons grinned. Grif's mic may have been turned off, but the two were standing fairly close. And Simmons had good ears.
"Anyone want to guess why I've gathered you here today?" Sarge asked when Grif and Simmons were in front of him.
"Is it because the war is over and you're sending us home?" Grif asked optimistically, though with a dose of skepticism. Simmons couldn't help but smirk slightly.
"That's exactly it, Private. War's over. We won. Turns out your the big hero, and we're gonna hold a parade in your honor. I get to drive the float, and Simmons here is in charge of confetti!" Sarge said, words heavily laced with sarcasm. Grif sighed softly.
"I'm no stranger to sarcasm sir," he said. Simmons couldn't quite identify the emotion in his voice. Amusement? Annoyance? Bemusement? Or was that sarcasm as well? Ah yes, Grif was a great big ball of contradictions. Hey look! Sarge is talking!
"Gosh darn it Private! Shut your mouth or I'll have Simmons slit your throat while you're asleep!" the man growled. Simmons winced, but adopted a willing tone of voice.
"Oh, I'd do it too," he said, putting malicious joy behind them, wincing all the while. They may have an odd sort of friendship, but they were friends in a way. Still, there were times when he'd like to hurt the lazy soldier.
"I know you would, Simmons. Good man. Couple of things today ladies! Command has seen fit to increase our ranks here at Blood Gulch outpost number one!" Sarge said, plowing right ahead.
"Oh crusts. We're getting a rookie," Grif groused. Simmons couldn't help but agree. Sure they were barely better themselves, officially, but still. He wasn't sure if he could stand a fresh rookie.
"That's right dead man! Our new recruit will be here within the week, but today, we received the first part of our shipment from command," Sarge said. Simmons shared a look with Grif. Was that excitement in Sarge's voice? Ho boy. This was going to be good. Note: sarcasm. "Lopez! Bring up the vehicle," Sarge said, turning to the hill. Grif and Simmons turned to see their brown teammate drive over in a... what was that? It. Was. Beautiful!
"Shotgun!"
"Shotgun! Fudge!" Grif said. Simmons grinned. Oh yeah, he called shotgun. Wait... did that mean 'front passenger' or 'gun turret' on this thing? Hum... shotgun might not be the best in this case. Ah fudge it. If it meant 'gun turret' at least he'd get to shoot things with a mini gun. 'That's a rather Dex-like thought isn't it?' a little voice piped up in the back of his mind, sounding rather like the weapons expert. He forced the voice back into that darkened part of his consciousness that held Rick and focused back on the matter at hand.
"May I introduce our new light recon vehicle!" Sarge said proudly before he began to list the features of the new jeep. "Gentlemen! This is the M12LRV! I like to call it the Warthog!" Sarge finished. Simmons blinked. Warthog?
"Why a warthog sir?" Simmons asked, unwittingly taking the question from his teammate's mouth.
"Because M12LRV is too hard to say in conversation son," Sarge explained like it was the easiest thing in the world to understand.
"No but, why a warthog?" Grif asked. "I mean, it doesn't really look like a pig."
"Say that again?!" Sarge demanded, his dislike of the lazy soldier coming out.
"I think it looks more like a puma," Grif said, looking straight at his CO. Simmons' smirk was back, and it was just a little bigger than before.
"What in Sam Hill is a puma?" Sarge asked. Simmons chuckled to himself. Grif was right, but the IT geek saw a perfect opportunity to mess with his teammate, and decided to just side with Sarge. Besides, it fit with his cover as an annoying suck up. Not to mention messing with Grif was one of his all time favorite pass times.
"What, you mean like the shoe company?" he asked, snickering as Grif reacted by trying to explain what a puma was. Classic comedy, right there. Maybe he should quite the army and become a stand up comedian! Eh. No. Best stick with what he knew.
"You're making that up," Sarge said, drawing Simmons attention back to the matter at hand.
"No! It's a real animal!" Grif insisted.
"Simmons, I want you to poison Grif's next meal," Sarge ordered. Simmons' smirk shifted into something a bit more devious. He knew Grif was trying to build immunities to some poisons. He also knew which ones and how to get said poisons.
"Yes Sir!" he chirped, already selecting one he knew Grif had already built an immunity to. Sarge just said 'poison,' he didn't mention it had to be deadly to the orange slacker. Sarge then went on to explain why he named the jeep 'the warthog.' Simmons couldn't resist chuckling inside his muted helmet when Grif responded to Sarge's question of 'what animal has tusks?' with a perfectly deadpan, 'a walrus.' The timing! The delivery! Priceless. Comedy. Gold.
"Didn't I just tell you to stop making up animals!" Sarge yelled in frustration. Simmons wondered if it was really possible to bruise a rib from holding in laughter. If it was, he'd already bruised two.
/*/
Meanwhile, on the cliff...
"What is that thing?" Tucker asked, noticing the jeep. Church shrugged, sniper rifle bobbing as he did so.
"I don't know. It ah, it looks like they got some kinda car down there," he said, switching back out to his pistol, "We better get back to base and report it."
"A car?!" Tucker asked, shocked and appalled, "how come they get a car?" Church turned to his teammate, incredulous.
"What are you complaining about man? We're about to get a tank in the very next drop," he said.
/*/
Aboard the Phantom, Marley was nearly cackling. "Didn't I tell you, Flowdie!?" she asked, eyes bright. The man crossed his arms with a huff, glaring into the middle distance.
"That doesn't. Prove. Anything!" he bite out. Now the love of his life really was cackling.
"Sure it does. If I'm right about the tank, I'm right about other things. Like the Warthog," she pressed.
"You saw that dropped off!" he countered, turning to her with determination. She blinked at him, an innocent act that fooled no-one, least of all Flowdie.
"... So?" she asked, pouring as much innocence into the two letters as she could.
"GAH!" her target exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
"Heehee~! So. Fun. to. Mess with!" she declared with a laugh, expertly ignoring his glare.
"... Sometimes... I wonder why I love you so much," he revealed, standing an walking away. He couldn't go far, seeing as they were in a spaceship, but it was the thought that counted.
"It's cause you're a hippie," Marley decided.
"I'm not a hippie!" Flowdie called back.
"Shut up Hippie, they're still talking," Marley ordered, directing her attention fully to the screens before her.
"You started it!" Flowdie bellowed.
"Talking~!" Marley sang.
"GAH!"
"Hee~!"
/*/
Church gaped at his teammate. Did he really mention picking up chicks?! They were in the middle of freakn' no where! "Oh ya know what, you could moan about anything, couldn't you?" he settled on saying. "We're going to get a tank, and your worried about chicks. What chicks are we gonna pick up man?! And secondly, how are you going to pick up chicks in a car that looks like that?"
"Well, what kinda car is it?" Tucker asked.
"I don't know, I've never seen a car like that before. It looks like, like a uh, like a big cat of some kind."
"What, like a puma?"
"Yeah man, there ya go."
/*/
"Wait. Did Alpha just call the warthog a puma?" Flowdie asked, walking back in with a large mug of coffee.
"All hail Church, the Contradictor of Sarge and Master of Angry Sarcasm," Marley declared, spreading her arms wide and bowing toward the screen with all the dramatic actor.
"Those... are not real titles," Flowdie deadpanned. Marley waved a distracted hand at him.
"Shut up Flowdie. They fit. Don't rain on my parade," she demanded.
"You... are insane," Flowdie decided.
"Aw~! You do notice me!" Marley declared, spinning around to face him, arms once more spread wide. He sighed, slumping over.
"... Why do I love you so much again?" he asked himself.
"Because I don't try to kill you every time you open your mouth," Marley remarked with a smirk and she turned back to the screens.
"Is that what they were doing? I thought they just couldn't wait to spar with me," Flowdie said, causing Marley to stare at him for a moment before telling him,
"... You're an idiot."
"Shush. Red guy talking," Flowdie said, pointing at the Red Team monitor.
"Yea~ha! Now you're getting it!" Marley cheered, turning back toward said screen.
"... "
"Welcome to Red Vs Blue Flowdie. Welcome."
"Stop the show please, I'd like to get off," he said drily. Marley laughed at him.
"You're stuck with me Flowdie. Deal with it," she told him with a devious smirk.
"Drat."
/*/
"So unless anyone has any more mythical creatures to suggest as a name for the new vehicle, we're gonna stick with 'the warthog,'" Sarge finally said. Simmons had gotten his chuckles(because he does not giggle) under control and was ready for this to be over. Sadly, Sarge had to poke the dozing humor dragon with a gruff, "How 'bout it, Grif?"
"No sir, no more suggestions." Holy shiitake mushrooms! Grif actually sounded sad! Was he really that sensitive? 'Maybe I should let up on him. I mean, he really sounds depressed. Should I tell him I agree the jeep looks more like a puma than a warthog later? No. That might just make it worse. Dang it Grif! Keep your emotions hidden under a veneer of sarcasm would ya?! Makes things like this easier on the rest of us!' Simmons thought, looking at the somewhat downcast soldier.
"Are you sure? How 'bout bigfoot?" Sarge asked.
"It's okay," Grif said, still sounding a bit sad, but not as depressed as before. Huh. Was he recovering already, or developing that sarcasm shield?
"Unicorn?"
"Not really, um, I'm cool." 'Oh man! He's still really down! What the heck?! What caused this?! Was it really that big a blow to his confidence that we called a puma mythical?'
"Sasquatch?" Sarge asked. Simmons had to follow along, though he determined to help Grif over this afterward.
"Leprechaun?" he asked.
"Hey, he doesn't need any help man," Grif said, sounding a little less sad and more like he was talking about a mental patient. Huh. Simmons could deal with that. He though Sarge was a bit mental himself.
"Phoenix," Sarge said, continuing to list mythical creatures. Grif let out a put upon sigh and Simmons couldn't help but sympathize. Sarge was hard to handle at the best of times and the best of moods. Neither of which seemed to apply to Grif at the moment, if ever. "Hey Simmons, what's the name of that Mexican lizard? Eats all the goats?" Sarge asked. Oh oh! He knew this one.
"Uh... chupracbra, sir," he replied. He could have sworn Grif was glaring at him through his orange visor.
"Hey Grif! Chupathingy. How bout that? I like it. Got a ring to it." Oh mercy, will it ever end?!
"I just want to say, I am so sorry Grif. I didn't think he'd drag it out this long," Simmons muttered to his teammate/almost friend. Grif sighed.
"If only I could get away with pistol whipping him right across the face. It's amazing what a quick pistol whip to the face can accomplish," he muttered back. Simmons smirked.
"Yeah. I sometimes think of shooting him in the thigh," he confessed. Grif jerked his head toward him with a startled half-laugh.
"Cold man. Cold," he said, sounding torn between delivering it deadpan, and chuckling.
"Hey. Ya do what ya gotta do," Simmons defended with a shrug.
"True that bruh. True that," Grif gave in with a nod.
"Hey! What are you two yapping about?!" Sarge demanded.
"Nothing!" the two Privates chirped, nigh on identical 'innocent' smirks hidden behind their visors. Sometimes, they were very, very grateful to be wearing full face helmets.
/*/
"This... is what the whole show... that burned itself into your brain... was like?" Flowdie asked, staring at the Reds. Marley chuckled, throwing an arm around his tense shoulders.
"More or less," she informed him, her smirk growing just a little when he slumped. "It gets better. Oh ho ho boy, does it get better. Grif get's a Brute Shot off of Maine who got taken over by the A.I. Fragment Sigma and around the same time, Wash joins the Blues of Blood Gulch," she rambled, making about as much sense as the mission of Project Freelancer. Man, that thing was so secret, no-one knew what it really was.
"Really? Wow. Who da thought?" Flowdie remarked. Seriously, Wash joining the Blues? Grif taking something from Maine?!
"Yep. Pret~ty cool. Let's see... next exciting thing is... the rookies! Whee! Okay, so, we have about a week to kill. Let's spy on the Blues!" Marley chirped, already switching feeds.
"Oh UNSC no. I don't want to watch them completely forgetting about me and replacing me with that little armor thief," Flowdie lamented, though Marley noted that he wasn't looking away.
"Flowdie... you got issues," she deadpanned.
"Yeah. I pretended to overdoes on aspirin! Administered by my own subordinate! Whose really an A.I. Based off of the Di..." Flowdie said, getting ready to go into a full on rant when Marley slapped a hand over his mouth.
"Shush! Too many spoilers already!" she hissed at him. He gave her a disbelieving look and waited until she removed her hand to ask,
"Spoilers? Who are we spoiling it for?! And what are we spoiling?"
"Red Vs Blue noobs. It's always the noobs Flowdie. Always the noobs!" Marley informed him solemnly. He shook his head at the woman.
"... Have I told you today that you're insane?" he asked.
"Yes. Yes you have. Cookie?" Marley responded, holding out a plate of cookies that had appeared out of nowhere.
"Are they kooky?" Flowdie asked, eying the plate curiously.
"You bet your needler they are!" she responded cheerily.
"I'll take two," he said.
"Sweetness," Marley replied with a grin and handed the man two cookies before setteling back down to enjoy the show.
/*/
Roughly three days later, on top of Red Base...
Simmons and Grif were arguing over the of events sometime who-knows-when, just your typical day at Red Base, when some new guy in regulation red comes up and interrupts them. Semi polite. He at least called them 'sirs.' "Sirs?! Oh fudge," Grif said as they turned.
"I was told to report to Blood Gulch Outpost number 1 and speak to whoever is in charge," the new guy said. Grif chuckled to himself.
"Sorry man, Sarge is at command getting orders. No-body's in command here," he said, smirking under his helmet. Simmons scoffed and turn to his teammate.
"Actually Grif, he left me in charge," he informed his teammate.
"You are such a suck up," Grif said, turning his helmet toward the maroon soldier. Simmons quirked a hidden eyebrow.
"How is that relevant?" he asked.
"You suckered Sarge into leaving you in charge," Grif answered in his usual bland manner.
"Maybe he just figured you were too lazy and decided to leave someone who wouldn't let the Blues waltz right in to command the base," Simmons countered. Grif snorted and turned away.
"Suck up.
"Slacker."
"Geek."
"Ya know, he also told that if you gave me any trouble I was to, ahem, 'get in the Warthog and crush your head like a tomato can,'" Simmons added, trying and failing to mimic Sarge's rough southern accent. Grif could do nothing but stare at Simmons for a moment.
"That... was the worst impression ever," he said, mildly shocked that Simmons would even attempt to impersonate Sarge. It was just... Sarge! And Simmons! It, it just didn't mix!
"Okay rookie, what's your story," Simmons said, ignoring Grif. Said soldier gave into his immature side and stuck his tongue out at the other man. It wasn't like anyone could see the gesture anyway.
"Private Doughnut, reporting for duty sir," the new guy said, "ready to fight some aliens." Simmons sighed. Ah, those were the days. Sadly, he'd been too late for the main conflict and any fighting with the aliens had been isolated pockets of resistance.
"Couple of things there rookie," Grif began, "first off, Private Doughnut? Someone needs a new nick-name. Secondly, what's with the armor color?" Simmons couldn't but agree with his lazy teammate. He couldn't take a guy named Doughnut very seriously at all. The only thing worse would be if his armor had been pink. No way was he taking a man dressed in pink armor and going by the name of Doughnut seriously. At all. Ever.
"This is the standard issue red," the rookie said, clearly not seeing anything wrong with it. Simmons sighed and relaxed in his armor. Grif could handle this one.
"I know. Listen, only two kinds of people wear standard red armor. Officers, and recruits. And since you're not threatening to gut me like a fish, you're obviously not an officer. Which makes you a rookie," Grif explained, taking on the condescending tone of a man who knows he's right and sees the person he's talking to as possessing limited mental capability.
"Well, he's wearing red armor," Doughnut tried to deflect, motioning toward Simmons. Said soldier snorted.
"Yeah, no. My armor is maroon," Simmons said, voice heavily laden with condescension, "your armor is red."
"Well how do I get a different color armor?" Doughnut asked, clearly getting fed up with the senior soldiers.
"I bet the Blues don't have to put up with this sort of thing," Simmons moaned. Grif rolled his eyes.
"Wouldn't count on it, Simmons. Wouldn't count on it," he remarked dryly. Chances were, if they got a rookie, the Blues were too.
/*/
"Don't say it," Flowdie ground out, watching the Pelican approaching the Blue Base.
"Killjoy," Marley pouted, crossing her arms and glaring at the man.
"Madwoman."
"Why thank you!"
"U`u`u`u`gh."
"Hee~!"
/*/
Tucker could practically feel the irritation flowing off his cobalt companion as the new guy went on and on about the tank and the ship and ships with guns. So, in order to prevent team killing, Tucker turned to the new guy with an order to shut up. "Ya know," Church began, voice wistful as he continued to stare at the tank, "I could blow up the entire world with this thing." Tucker didn't necessarily disagree, but he was a little unnerved by the rapturous tone his teammate's voice had taken on.
/*/
Flowdie could do nothing but stare at the screen, flabbergasted. Marley was unable to contain her cackles. "Alpha... why?" the man asked, slowly lowering his head into his hands.
"Hee~hee~."
"Why have you gone total jerk psycho?" he asked, despite knowing that Alpha couldn't hear him.
"All hail Flowdie, the Pathetic Piner for That Which Never Was!" Marley declared dramatically, gesturing grandly toward the man. He slowly raised his head from his hands and glowered at the woman.
"Sometimes, I really hate you," he muttered darkly. She paid it no heed and popped some popcorn into her mouth.
"Oh look! Simmons is talking to Doughnut! Whom I predicted!" she said, pointing at the figures down below.
"And I still say, that doesn't prove anything," Flowide contested.
"I was right about Church giving you aspirin for a supposed heart attack, wasn't I?" Marley prompted. Flowdie remained silent, though his eyes spoke death. "Boo-yah! Point for the Black Lady!"
"... Sometimes... I wonder if you're the same woman I knew aboard The Valiant," Flowdie remarked, dragging himself back upright.
"I'm really not," Marley quietly insisted. Flowdie shook his head.
"Shut up. You are too."
"*Sigh* Never giving up huh?" Marley asked with a wry smile. Flowdie returned it and declared,
"Never."
/*/
Simmons turned to Doughnut, intending to buy a few minutes, possibly hours, of relative peace before he'd have to deal with the not-so-bright noob. "I just refuse to call him Private Doughnut," Grif muttered softly. Simmons thought there was a tint of disbelief in the young man's voice. He really wasn't much better when it came to the poor boy's name. Doughnut was almost as bad as Flowers!
"We've got a very important mission for you. You think you can handle it?" Simmons asked. Doughnut responded with an eager 'yes sir!' and Simmons sent him off to look for the store, and when he got to the store, to get some elbow grease. Grif contributed with an equally bogus request for headlight fluid for the 'puma.'
"What?" Doughnut asked. Simmons smiled wryly under his helmet. So, Grif still hadn't let go of the whole 'looks like a puma' thing, huh? Maybe he could still have some fun with that
"He means the Warthog," the maroon solider clarified. As Doughnut ran off toward the fictitious store, Simmons asked Grif, "How long?"
"Couple of hours. A week, tops," Grif said, looking at the unrepentant Simmons. Some way from the base, Doughnut looked back and scoffed.
"Elbow grease?" he groused, "How dumb do they think I am? When I get back with that headlight fluid, I'm gonna have a word with the Sargent." Back at base, Simmons turned to Grif.
"Think we were too hard on him?"
"Naw. Wandering around on the cliffs for a few hours might do him good. What kind of trouble is he going to get into?"
"Huh. Good point." The two resumed staring out at the canyon. 'Man I wish Marley would come with a mission for me,' they thought.
/*/
Over at Blue Base, Church and Tucker had been talking about chicks and tanks, with their new teammate, Caboose, annoying them with his honest attempts to be included in the conversation. None of the three noticed the red soldier making his way over to their base.
/*/
"He doesn't honestly think Blue Base is the store... does he?" Flowdie asked Marley. She shrugged.
"Flowdie, Doughnut was one of the more gullible characters in the series. But don't worry! We'll be kidnapping him before long and then, we can work on that gullibility. And seeming lack of common sense. Honestly, Caboose is worse. Though, that might be brain damage from attempts to shut him up and Tex shooting at O'Mally, AKA A.I. fragment Omega, inside his head."
"Ouch. Poor kid," Flowdie said with a wince. That sounded painful, in so many ways.
"Yeah. But despite that, Caboose is a lovable goof who is far more perceptive and understanding than you'd think. It's his childish nature that makes people write him off as a completely idiot. Don't get me wrong, he's an idiot, but he gets things."
"I really wish my 'death' wasn't an important plot point."
"Your apparent revival was too, but at that point you were possessed by O'Mally."
"Yeah... can we skip that this time?" Flowdie asked with another wince. Maybe Blood Gulch hadn't been the best choice for protecting the Alpha.
"Hum... maybe. We'll see," Marley responded with a shrug.
"Oh thank the UNSC," Flowdie said, slumping forward like a puppet whose strings had been severed.
"Hum... that seems rather unwieldy," Marley remarked thoughtfully.
"Better than cursing, am I right?" her companion challenged. She inclined her head slightly.
"Too right. Carry on!"
"I'm stuck on a space ship with a mad woman. Yay me." Marley grinned at Flowdie's dry remark.
/?/
A/N: and the longest, most true to RvB 'episode' yet. Hope you enjoyed it, because this isn't the end! And yes, I changed Flowers' personality. Just hit the AU button and roll with it would you? Oh, and with Marly around... yeah. Know what? The AU excuse is my best one. Until nest time!
A/N 2: Edited for spelling, word choice, and continuity. 8/15/16