- Four: Modern-Day Bootleggers (Pt. II) -
(Halo (c) Microsoft Studios, Bungie & related creators; Red vs. Blue (c) the Rooster Teeth team. Text (c) L.Q. Coverdale. Content includes mentions of death, violence and some inappropriate language.)
Carrie Caboose was an odd bird - at least, in the eyes of Simmons.
For one, she would break out into fits of mumbling for no apparent reason, especially when thinking over something important. Her shoulders were something she liked touching; her right shoulder was favoured in particular. She even had a name for that shoulder - "Psy", if Simmons remembered correctly - and he had witnessed an entire conversation with it on the subject of abnormal psychology. The Skirmisher vividly remembered being whacked in the head with a wooden spoon after asking why Mrs. Caboose did that.
Despite this, Sarge seemed quite tolerant of her ... quirkiness, despite having little patience for it in his own men. He laughed at her nonsensical jokes, tipped his helmet to Psy, asked how "the two maroons in her head" were doing, and almost always did business with her. Carrie Caboose, out of the entire population of Burnsburnia, had some of the best supply connections in that entire part of the galaxy. The goods, however, were not always of legal definition.
"All right you morons," snapped Sarge, "keep your suits muted. I'm goin' to do the negotiating, and if you know what's good for you, you'll shut your pie holes while I'm at it. This lady's a toooough cookie, and the last thing I need you two doing is throwing some sort of s!&^ at her."
"Wait, a girl?" asked Grif. "Huh. Never thought you'd be the type to have a chick - OW!"
"Can it, jack*&%!" snapped Simmons, bringing the butt of his gun away from Grif's side. "No smart-talking to the Sarge!"
"Excellent work Simmons," said Sarge. "Pain is a most effective way of dealing with insubordination; feel free to beat the ever-loving tenders out of the rookie if need be. This is important to the survival of Blood Gulch!"
"Yes sir," Simmons chirped, causing Grif to shoot a glare at the Skirmisher.
Knock knock knock knock knock.
"It's open!" came a singsong voice in reply. Turning off his mute function, Sarge stepped into the cabin first, his helmet removed with a loud hiss. He smoothed back his grey hair, his wrinkled face in a polite smile as he nodded in greeting. Simmons and Grif followed en suite, remaining in the doorway as Sarge approached the blond woman.
"How do you do, Mrs. Caboose?" said Sarge.
"Oh, perfectly wonderfully, Mr. Sarge!" Mrs. Caboose replied sweetly. "The birds are tweeting, I made a cake, and Michael made me a muffin! How glorious, hm?"
Sarge chuckled good-naturedly. "Ah, muffins. The boy always did have a fondness for the bran variety. Business before conversation, though - do you have what I want?"
"Yes, most certainly!" said Mrs. Caboose. "Lavernius just picked up the shipment from across town a couple of days ago. Such trouble we had to go through, too; silly UNSC, getting their ships lost. Little old Burnsburnia isn't too much of a place of trouble, hm? They really have no need to be snooping around here!"
Simmons suddenly felt nervous. If Sarge was feeling the same, he wasn't showing it. Instead, he nodded, saying, "Right, right. UNSC always was a bit on the paranoid side, but I guess you can't blame them. We only just fought off the d*=& Covies, so they'll probably be doing the odd sweep. You know ... just in case they're missing something important."
It was Mrs. Caboose's turn to feel nervous, and the emotion flashed briefly across her face. However, she quickly regained her composure, although she sounded a bit stiff as she said, "Well then, shall we?" She then turned, motioning for the trio to follow her to a back room. There, they would go through another door, hidden in the back of a closet ...
"HOLY F*-(#%+# HELL!"
"Not so loud!" snapped Mrs. Caboose as Grif laid his eyes on the sight before him. There, in what couldn't be bigger than twelve feet by twelve feet, was the largest collection of rifles, ammunition, medical supplies and military rations that Grif had ever seen. There were even Covenant weapons, of all things, taking up three rows of shelves on the cellar's far wall. He continued to gawk at the numerous shelves as Simmons and Sarge walked by him, the former rolling his eyes in disbelief.
He's a former soldier, for God's sake ... don't the UNSC ships keep themselves well-stocked?
"The experimental Spartan Laser v2," said Mrs. Caboose, unlocking a padlock that kept the aforementioned weapon tightly bound to the wall. She then turned to face Sarge again. "One of hell of a kickback, but with a new stun setting. It's also been adjusted to create beams of varying sizes; one little zap to the back of the head is good for a (somewhat) stealthy kill."
Sarge whistled appreciatively. "My my my, Carrie ... you've outdone yourself this time. How much?"
"First thing's first, Sarge," said Carrie, hands on her hips. "Your next payment is due on my ship."
"Huh?" asked Sarge. "What payment?"
"Oh don't play dumb with me!" snapped Mrs. Caboose, her sugar-sweet demeanour suddenly one of spit and vinegar. "I gave you that d*#)-{$ ship for lease. Phyllis is my A.I. - "
"Actually, she's called Sheila now - "
" - Fine. Sheila. Sheila is my A.I., and I went through one hell of an a*^-load of bull to acquire her. You've been mooching off of that ship long enough - where's my money?"
Sarge stepped back at the woman's glare, as well as the pistol now in his face. Simmons stiffened, readying his weapon, and Grif nearly jumped back into a barrel of year-old dinner rations. Coolly, Sarge replied, "Carrie, put down the gun. Don't do something you'll regret."
"Regret? HA! That's all bulls/*#, Sarge," said Mrs. Caboose, giving a tiny giggle. Her eyes were suddenly wide, and her smile belonged in a horror movie. "I regret nothing. I've blown apart guts and spines, snapped necks with my bare hands, and beat an Elite to death with its own skull - "
"Isn't that impossible?" asked Grif through the private channel. Simmons ignored him once again.
" - And I don't need you in my way. I've got thirteen children, my oldest is dimwitted as all hell, and I've got a baby under my wing that could screw off at any time. To the UNSC. So, why again should I relax?"
Lavernius swore quietly under his breath. With Michaela and Michelle - two of Caboose's younger sisters, second and third oldest respectively - in tow, the trio combed the fields behind the Cabooses' house. Michael had wandered off - yet again - and if Mrs. Caboose found her head count was missing one, she would had Lavernius's skin. The African-American sometimes regretted living with her; for all her kindness (and delicious cooking, oh yes), she had ... a bit of a temper. Although she didn't talk about it much, she had served in the war with the Covenant, and it had not gone well for her.
"MICHAEL!" yelled Michelle, using her impressive set of lungs to cause an echo across the landscape. It was no wonder she was a good singer. "MICHAEL, WHERE ARE YOU? MIIIIIICHAAAAAAAAEEEELLLLL!"
"OI! DIPSTICK!" yelled Michaela, her voice deep and booming like thunder. She wasn't the most feminine of girls, and at first glance, you'd think she was a boy with an outrageously good shave. "MICHAEL, GET BACK HERE! MOM'S GOING TO GROUND YOU AGAIN!"
"MICHAEL! MICHAEL, GET OVER HERE! SERIOUSLY DUDE, THIS IS NOT FUNNY! YOUR MOM'S GOING TO BE TICKED!" yelled Lavernius. His impatience was ever growing; if he didn't get back soon enough, then little Mica would probably climb onto the roof again. Then, it would be a screaming contest between her and the African-American, as she always made a scene when she was in trouble. Then Mickey, another sister, would side with her "ultra-super partner-in-crime", and the both of them would scream, sniffle and sob. Why did they have to be seven and eight respectively? Couldn't they be like their older sisters - quieter, more accepting of Lavernius, and quite willing to distract Michael with something shiny if need be?
"MICHAEL J. CABOOSE!"
"Ow, Vern!" said Michelle, wincing away from Lavernius on that last yell. "That hurt! And Mom said I was loud!"
"Michaela, shut up," said Lavernius. "I'll d*&# well yell if I want to, f*&^ it! If you haven't noticed, we have a problem!"
"I'M Michaela!" snapped the one actually named such. "Quit mixing me up with the girl who likes ribbons and unicorns!"
"Hey, there's nothing wrong with enjoying The Adventures of Princess Pinkymane once in a while!" Michelle snapped back. "At least I can tell what gender I am in the morning, he-she!"
"HEY!" barked Lavernius, just barely managing to keep Michaela from pouncing on her younger sister. Shoving the angered tomboy back, he snapped, "Michelle, don't call your sister a he-she! Michaela, quit making jabs about liking unicorns. If Caboose is in trouble, he's more than willing to come to you. He usually just flips me of in ... that ... odd way of his."
"You're the one who dunked him in the toilet," said both girls at once.
"Yeah, he was scared of using the bathroom itself for a month! You told him the bathtub would get him next!" snapped Michaela. "You know how bad a person smells when they refuse to shower at least once a week?"
Lavernius scowled at the pair. Sighing, he said, "Okay, one - I had some major, major issues. I just happened to vent on Caboose. Second, he deserved it - he kept putting mustard in my shoes. Do you know how much I paid for those? Those were a vintage pair I got from Earth! Earth! You can't find Earth-made goods out here very often! Those were a collectible!"
"I said the same about my Pinkymane: Limited Edition piggybank," said Michelle, crossing her arms and pouting. "And you broke it."
"Hey, I thought it was garbage," said Lavernius. "Besides, that thing was about to fall apart anyways. You can only glue something so many times before the coins start sticking to the inside."
"You mean like how you stuck with that squid-head back on Tango Five?" laughed Michaela. Lavernius immediately lunged forward with his fist, catching the tomboy by surprise. It was to be expected, though; the little alien ... thing ... that Lavernius had somehow become stuck with was a sore nerve for the young man. He had treated the grub like it was his kid and everything - when the UNSC became involved ... Lavernius hadn't talked much about it. In fact, he hadn't talked about much of his life before living with the Cabooses in Burnsburnia. All the Caboose children knew was that Mrs. Tucker and Carrie Caboose had been friends once upon a time.
"You take that back, you dirty b^$*#!" snarled Lavernius. Again he went at Michaela with another swing. "Don't make me hurt you, I know how!"
"Oh, did wittle Verny get mad?" cooed Michaela. She easily dodged his next blow. "What, does the wittle Earth boy miss his wittle pet maggot?"
"Don't you dare talk about Junior like that!" snapped Lavernius. He managed to graze the second-oldest Caboose's nose this time. "He's not a maggot! This isn't the war anymore, Michaela!"
"And why should I be so quick to excuse what the squiddies did?" snapped Michaela. "You didn't get caught in the middle of a glassing, d%$-)^!"
"Oh, we are not starting that again!" snapped Lavernius. "You sound like some chick out of a book, who gives a stupid excuse for being a b*$&( when the plot calls for a stupid explanation for - "
BOOM!
Out of reflex, the entire group dove for the ground, covering their heads like they did for emergency drills during the war. Far-away shouts could be heard from the Caboose house, mostly high-pitched and feminine and no doubt the other girls'. Lavernius and the others bolted back up, each spinning around to face where the house was. All three of them were white with fright and surprise.
"Oh no ... " murmured Lavernius.
"Michael ... " said Michelle.
The trio took off towards the house.
- To Be Continued -
