- Six: Birdbath -
(Halo (c) Microsoft Studios, Bungie & related creators; Red vs. Blue (c) the Rooster Teeth team. Text (c) L.Q. Coverdale.)
Night.
It's not something everyone likes. It can be a haven for criminals, a hiding place for the bogeyman; in the Great War, the sounds of battle in pitch-black darkness could be terrifying. It is something that, for centuries, has been made out as the bringer of misfortune. Sarge was no different from those who shared this opinion, his time with the ODSTs rife with horrible memories of the nighttime.
Tonight, however, he slept soundly, having come down with a cold and overworked himself fixing Red Base Apartments' electrical systems. One particular tenant found this a perfect opportunity to enjoy the dark instead of fearing it.
All was quiet in the darkness of Blood Gulch, save for a buzz reminiscent of cicadas. Simmons had to watch his step to avoid spooking any of the glowbuzzers - noisy, cricket-like insects that lit up like fireflies, and which had a tendency to hop and screech like mad if a nest was disturbed. Thanks to his sensitive hearing and sharp eyes, the saurian alien was able to avoid the bush-ridden patches, the night aglow with the full moon of the planet. Had it not been for some geographic quirks and the odd alien wildlife, one could swear the planet was Earth herself. Perhaps that was why a majority of the Burnsburnians were Earth refugees - if they looked past the fact that some of the local birds had teeth, they could swear they were still in America, or Scotland, or Australia, or wherever they might be from.
The silver light of the moon was reflected like a mirror in a nearby pond. Created from an incident in which the sprinklers had been left on, it glowed ethereally in the noisy night. Simmons approached it in only a pair of heart-patterned boxers, looking carefully to the left and then to the right. If Sarge was to find him out "after curfew", then it would be army drills and toilet duty for weeks to come. If Grif found him, then blackmail material and jokes about bird hygiene would follow. Simmons gave a small click, satisfied with seeing no one out and about.
Stopping by the shore, the Skirmisher stretched, taking a moment to admire the view. He enjoyed Blood Gulch looking more lush than usual; it felt...more familiar to him. From what Sarge had told him, Jackals and Skirmishers came from a very humid, very tropical planet, so maybe it was his instincts calling to him. Whatever the cause, it made the alien's eyes distant as he became lost in thought.
A quick shake of the head snapped Simmons out of it. He could admire the view later - this was, practically, a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Stretching out one long, lanky leg, Simmons daintily dipped his toe in the water, resisting the urge to squawk. It was a bit cold, but not too cold, and he'd get used to the temperature difference soon enough. With one more quick, careful glance, he slowly waded into the pond until the water rose to his knees.
He cooed. He clucked. He fanned his tail out like a peacock and dove his head underwater. His mane sparkled silvery in the moonlight as he threw water on his back and neck with his head. His claws grabbed at the water, handfuls thrown on his armpits and sides, scrubbing as if he was in Red Base's shower. If he had been alone in the valley, he would have broken out into off-key birdsong, like some parrot trying to impress its owner. The pond was just right for the scaly skin beneath his plumage, and he could have been there all night.
Eventually, Simmons found himself breathless and soaked to the bone. He wandered back to shore, fluffing up and shaking himself dry as best he could. Taking a moment to admire the rippling waters of the Gulch Pond just a bit longer, the Skirmisher - grinning a toothy grin - clucked once more. Stretching out his legs and arms one last time, he quickly began a light jog back towards Red Base, making sure to dodge and lift his legs over the glowbuzzer nests he had mentally mapped out.
