Greetings, all. Ayane458 here, filling in for our usual publisher Nickenny. My sincerest apologies if this is later than it should be -living on the other side of the world sort of leaves me unable to publish at the exact usual time, but I hope it's close enough.
...Anyway, happy Easter from down here and I hope you enjoy this lovely chapter, written by Maple from the always amusing Agent York's perspective.
Chapter Nineteen – One (Crate) for the Team
Agent New York
Written by Maple Alycia Hood
"Childhood is not from birth to a certain age, and at a certain age the child is grown, and puts away childish things. Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies."– Edna St. Vincent Millay
Things had long since become quiet, but the aftermath of both the mission and the fight between Alaska and Florida had yet to finish. Not everybody was in a good mood, York noted, as he passed various Freelancers in the hall on his way to the rec room, where his fellow winning teammates awaited. He made sure to give Penn some room as he headed in the opposite direction, helmet on so his expression wasn't visible to the outside world. No doubt he was still mad about losing, but it was also a good idea to not get on this guy's bad side.
The first time they'd seen him fight was still clear in the tan armoured Freelancer's mind.
Alaska was leaning against the door frame, staring at the floor and muttering to someone called 'Moi'. York had learned that it was best not to ask. Hey, a man's private business was his private business. He wasn't that inquisitive. Nevertheless, he did mutter a polite 'excuse me' as he passed the other man, squeezing his arms together in order to fit through the gap. Well, to fit himself, and the large crate of alcohol, through the gap.
Thud. The crate was lifted down onto the table, catching the attention of his comrades. Virginia, with her helmet discarded to the side, raised an eyebrow at the offerings that had been presented before them. "Beer?" she asked simply.
"What else for the winning team?" York answered with a smirk. There was a soft snort from his left, and he glanced to see a helmetless Carolina leaning up against the observation window that looked down on one of the many training decks. She raised her head to give him a dangerous look. Yep, she was still upset about losing. Losing the mission and losing her Number One spot. Things weren't going too well for him anymore.
"You know that's against protocol, right?" she deadpanned, shaking her head. York opened his mouth to respond.
"How did you even get it onboard?" Massa piped up before he could speak, a soft pop indicating that she'd used the nearby bottle opener to open one of the many bottles of booze. York turned back with his winning smirk to answer that remark instead.
"Sometimes it just takes a bit of knowing who works around here and getting onto their good side."
"In other words, he sweet talked some poor guy into getting it over here." 479er added with a soft chuckle as she snatched a bottle for herself, grabbing the bottle opener and popping off the cap. York gave an innocent look, both hands raised in a surrender position, before he looked towards the uncertain Florida nearby.
"C'mon, man," he tried, motioning with his head towards the crate. "Just one? I mean, you kicked ass without us even expecting it! You gotta give yourself some credit."
"Weeeell, I guess just one wouldn't hurt-" Florida agreed slowly, his hand moving to grab one of the bottles, but he was promptly interrupted by a smack to the back from Wyoming. York had rarely seen the British man without his helmet; he sported a large black moustache and neat black hair. Stereotypically British, alright.
He wondered what the man would do if the pride and joy on his upper lip were to be accidentally shaved off in the middle of the night. With no evidence to trace, of course.
"Not bad with the training fight, chap," he congratulated, taking a bottle and swiping the bottle opener from 479er's open hand, which just seconds before had just been trying to put it back on the table. Needless to say, the pilot didn't look particularly impressed, shooting a glare at 343-R when he sniggered.
"Oh, thanks! I gave it my best, at least," the dark blue armored Freelancer answered cheerily. Wyoming gave a brief nod, opening his own bottle and taking a drink before heading out of the room. At least he'd had the courtesy to leave the bottle opener.
"Perhaps even soon you shall have the opportunity to face me. Then we'll see what happens." He chuckled on his way out, causing pretty much everyone in the room to shake their heads, except for Florida who was far too cheerful from the comment, and Carolina, who simply growled softly to herself and left the room.
"She's just a bundle of fun, isn't she?" Virginia muttered, leaning back in a chair of her own after placing her own bottle on the table and grabbing a nearby book, settling back to do some reading. York didn't really hear her, staring off after the redhead.
A part of him did feel somewhat guilty; it was clear that she was just trying to impress the Director. Well, they all were, but she seemed to take a lot of this to heart. Dedication was good, but this seemed a little extreme, even for a specialist soldier. But whatever, that was her decision. She'd have her reasons.
"So, that's one mission done." His attention turned back to Massa, whose own gaze was on him with a small smirk. "Any idea what we're doing next, oh fearless Number One?"
York couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head. "I don't even know what that means," he admitted, glancing out of the observation window at the board on the other side. "Number One. The scoreboard seems like some kind of way of splitting us apart, don't you think? I mean, how can we work as a team if we're constantly competing?"
"I can see your point." Florida replied, leaning back and following the tan armored man's gaze to the bright blue light ahead of them. "But you hear the Director before; it's not to start a war, right? Maybe it's just there so we know how to improve. So we can take advice off of each other. It could be a positive thing."
York sure hoped so, otherwise this Project would fall down before it had even learnt to stand.
