Getting to know you, subchapter six: Demolitions
Big foot, the loch ness monster, and a one legged Irish Latina; what do they all have in common? That's it, their commonality. The female demolitions was a lone wolf, only one of her type, and had had difficulties connecting with people because of it.
And, because of this difficulty, when she saw most of her team heading toward various rooms of the base she did her best to head in exactly the opposite direction. Now she and her prosthetic leg were two staircases down, and wandering along a dusty basement hall where her only company was a few spiders.
Or so she had thought. Then she heard the singing.
" Mai son David,
Yer son David,
Bloody shame it is." The lyrics were slurred, off beat, and interrupted by various hiccups. She recognized the song. Dad would come home singing it whenever he'd been out drinking with Scotsmen. My son David, she thought it was called. Sad tune, lamenting how a bunch of people died for freedom. She hummed the next couple bars, and promptly heard the drunken singing stop.
" Heuw's aout there?" A gutteral, masculine voice called. He had a scottish accent.
" Nobudy." She replied.
" Well, wud this 'noebody' like a dreink?"
Hell, she could never turn down a drink. Her father had been a boozer, her grandfather had been a boozer, her brothers were boozers, at this point it was practically a tradition. A door creaked open a little further down the hall and light spilled out. The female demolitionist meandered over, and saw what was inside.
There was a desk made out of various empty crates in a small room, surrounded by crates full of bottles of various kinds. Huddled over the desk, sucking on a flask, was an enormous black man missing an eye. He squinted his eyes at her.
" So," He hiccuped " Yer the wun Heuw's supposed ta be me, or some shit?" He was very, very drunk.
" I don' think so. We 'ave the same pruffession, an' ai can tell jus' bai lukin' at yue that's about awl."
" An eirish woman?" He giggled. " Maight as well have made me inta' a sheep."
" Why, so ya could fuck me? Typical scott."
" Oi, now thas' goen too far."
" Don' compare me to loivestock then." The scotsman made a noncommittal gesture, and then offered her the flask. She accepted, taking a long draught. Promptly she gasped in horror.
" Wha' is this pig swill yur drinkin'?"
" Pig swill?! Tha's traditional DeGroot whiskey, ai'll have yue know."
" Scotts should stick to thair beer. Whiskey makin' belongs to the oirish."
They traded insults like this for several minutes. She would bash the scots, he would mock the irish. After going through several more bottles of scottish whiskey they moved onto race, several slurs coming up against mexicans and the female was delighted to bring up her grandparents were, in fact, Peruvian. Once each other's grandparents had been called whores and cowards, and an entire crate of whiskey later, it seemed the demolitionists were grudging friends.
" Well, if yue *hic* can drink leik a scott… yer awlright in mai book. Tavish *hic* Finnegan DeGroot... at yer service." Tavish was slumped over the desk. The female answered him from the crate she was leaning up against from the floor.
" Aoife Ruiz."
" Eva? Tha's not a very eirish name *hic*" Aoife burst into giggles.
" Iss' not EVA is', AOIFE. Like.. if one a' those londoners treis to say ayefort. Thei leave off the 'rt' and make some weird ef noise at the end instea'." Another fit of giggles.
" 'sa pretty name." The demoman mumbled before passing out.
" Tavish is no' so bad either." Aoife whispered.