Note: This is significantly more humorous than anything I've written for Animorphs beforehand. Marco is, and will mostly like remain to be, a very difficult character for me to write.
A request from Boris Yeltsin from several months before. Please enjoy!
It was going well. Which was saying something. Missions never went well. Never.
That things were going this well was a sure sign that something was about to go wrong. Very wrong.
Probably.
/Jake, stop it./ Rachel.
Jake frowned, but of course he couldn't respond. Thought-speak only worked when you were in morph.
He tugged at his collar instead. Too tight. Did they make tuxedos this way on purpose? It was like the manufacturers wanted to throttle their consumers or something.
/What is it that Prince Jake must stop?/ Ax wondered.
Rachel could have used private thought-speak to chastise him. Of course, she didn't.
/He's listing all the ways this mission could go wrong,/ Rachel snarked. /Which is, of course, when the mission will go wrong./
/This is true?/ Ax sounded alarmed.
Jake resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
This was the time when Marco would usually cut in with something witty. No wait. Mental correction: this was the time when Marco would cut in with something he thought was witty.
But Marco didn't cut in, because Marco was…
"Good news. Everything appears to be going according to plan. Bad news? Still no sign of the bogie."
Jake sighed. Marco didn't cut in because Marco was stage-whispering in his ear.
He opened his mouth to respond, and then he caught a whiff of what was in Marco's hand.
"Did you… Is that alcohol?" Jake tried to keep how aghast he felt out of his tone with minimal success. "Marco, you're underage!"
"Underage? Underage?! Jake, there is a very real possibility that I will die before the age of twenty-one." He raised the glass to his lips. "And I am not missing out on the finer things of life, Big Jake. Alcohol is one of them."
Jake made a move to pluck the wine glass from his hand, but Marco skillfully maneuvered himself out of the way. Placing a hand on Jake's shoulder, Marco steered him away from the largest portion of the crowd.
"Have you gone insane?" Jake hissed. It took real effort to keep his voice from being too audible. "If you get drunk on this mission, I swear I am going to kill you."
"Chill out." Marco grinned.
/Uh, Jake?/ Rachel's voice in his head. /What's going on? We completely lost sight of you./
Flies on the wall. Right.
"What's going on," Jake ground out, completely forgetting that he wasn't in morph and that they couldn't hear him, "is that Marco's being an idiot."
"Jake, you wound me."
"And jeopardizing the mission," he ground out.
A hand grabbed him by the shoulder, stopping him short.
He looked at Marco.
Marco looked at him.
He wasn't sure what his own face was saying, but he sure knew what Marco's was.
We're doomed.
Slowly, he turned to look at the hands owner.
Security. It just had to be security.
Suspicious eyes squinted at them from under bushy brows.
"What do you kids think you're doing?" He glared at Marco in particular. "I don't think you're old enough to drink, son."
"Oh." Marco grinned, like he was about to dazzle the man's socks off. "You didn't know? I'm with Mrs. Bourdeau." He took a slow and drawn-out sip from the glass. "Taste-testing, you know? She's always so paranoid someone might have…"
"You had to do it, didn't you?"
"How was I supposed to…"
"You just had to do it." Jake had no intention of letting Marco finish. "You just had to insult security, not mention Mrs. Bourdeau, and probably everybody else there as well!"
"Hey, I didn't hear you throwing out any genius ideas!"
"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot you were a genius."
"Ha ha. Very funny," Marco deadpanned. "So funny I forgot to laugh."
"You know what you also forgot? The mission!"
"..."
Jake gripped his hair.
Why me?