“I am too. And I seriously don’t want to hear it.”
“Why the hankering Christ not?”
You lean against your cot, fold your arms behind your head and cross your legs, “Because you don’t have ideas, English. You have extemporaneous bouts of pure idiotic thought that either leads to you nearly being killed, or me having to dedicate my time to saving your ass. And, premium as that ass may be, I ain’t in the mood for nursin’ your shredded ego.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s never happened.”
“I can have AR give you the exact figures.”
“None of that mathematic rigmarole even matters to me,” he says, inspecting a spider web in the corner of the tent. He loses interest quickly and sits on the cot next to you, knees brushing against yours, “Way I see it, we’re only going to be able to succeed at infiltrating their base if someone cuts around the fields while the enemy is distracted.”
“No.”
“But—”
“Fuck no.”
“Dirk!”
“Fuck’s sake,” you sit up and rub at your eyes underneath your shades. You swear your life was a lot more stress free when English was just the hot, vaguely stupid kid behind the computer screen, instead of your roguishly brave but mostly stupid choice-as-fuck boyfriend, “there’s a reason why we’re not attacking from head-on. Their frontlines are filled to the fuckin’ saddle with nothing but overpowered juggalos and seadwellers that make Eridan look like less of an asshole. Just stay put and follow the General’s orders.”
“Since when did you like following orders?” he scoffs. Wind rustles the tent and it’s raining a second later. You look forward to slippery trails and the weakened defenses that tomorrow will bring.
“My sagacity doesn’t extend to all topics, English, as hard as that may be to believe. I have no plans to question someone who clearly knows better than I do.”
“Yet,” he smirks at you. The fucker knows you too well for his own good. You lay back down.
“Whatever.”
“Oh come on, Strider! If intel’s what you want then you’ve got to quit playing by the straight and narrow! That’s how all the best heroes do it! They ride in on pure instinct, guns blazing and throwing caution to the wind! And everything works out alright in the end.”
One day you’ll give up trying to convince Jake that movies aren’t real, “Life doesn’t work that way. Idiots die.”
“Do idiots with sidekicks die?”
You establish a pointed silence before your deadpanned, “Sidekick.”
He laughs loud enough to wake up the entire camp. You cringe. The last thing you need is Vantas sticking his sickle down your throat, yelling about the noise as he drips sopor onto your front.
“We make a crackin’ team, Strider,” and his breath is in your ear. You hadn’t registered he’d moved this close. He hikes your shirt up to your armpits as you cock an eyebrow.
His finger touches your rib, “If the General is leading the troops to attack their base from these highlands,” his finger moves up your ribs, “the Highbloods will crank out their forces from these two directions,” two fingers now, one moving down the center of your chest, the other at the top, “and that leaves them weak and wide open over here,” he’s touching your other rib, “So if we approach the rascals by travelling through the fields,” down your other rib, down, down, down, swirls around your belly button, dips lower, fingers your hair, goddamn it English, back up to the other rib, oh Jake’s still talking, “they’ll be so fucking distracted they won’t be able to tell their heads from their horns! Giving us the perfect opportunity to initiate the most dastardly sneak attack they’ve ever seen!”
You grab a handful of his hair and kiss him hard.
Tomorrow’s not going to be your day.
You and Jake wake up early, forgo your uniforms, pack up your bags and prepare Maplehoof for your impromptu foray into the world of wild guesses and dumb fuckin’ luck. Captor’s already in uniform wiping mud off his shoes. He assesses the situation incorrectly and throws you a look.
“I swear to fucking god if you two are planning on running away—”
“Relax, Captor. Just takin’ my girl here out for a run.”
TT: It seems he’s in an arguing mood today. Good for the Highbloods, bad for you.
You snap the reigns and Maplehoof runs.
Jake hasn’t stopped smiling since last night. He hums and blathers on behind you for the entire duration of the journey. Even when you stop by a lake to wash your face and brush Maplehoof’s mane he comes up with fifty fatuous metaphors for how beautiful the sun’s rays will look when they reflect off his medal of honor. You’re relentless in your sarcastic replies but he knows that you’re full of horseshit.
It’s late afternoon when you get there; the ground is splattered with purple and blue. Jake pulls out his pistols.
“Great blooming fuck, it’s been a day for retreating.”
“Looks like it,” you mutter. Reaching up, you press a button on the side of your shades and zoom in on the Highbloods’ base. They’re still fighting but they’re weak; the high sun is having a debilitating effect (you imagine how your own trolls are doing and think of Vantas in a giant parka). Nevertheless the sun’s going to set in a few hours and your troops will have wisely retreated by then. If you want to have an effect here you’ll have to do something now.
“Dirk, look.”
You close your window and see scum of the universe Equius Fuckin’ Zahhak kneeling in the grass. Blood’s pouring out of an arm wound and there’s a bag of archery supplies slung over his shoulder. A troll’s laying on the ground beneath him—still breathing, higher up than he is, soaking the ground with indigo—and Zahhak reaches into his bag, removes a towel and dabs it on the troll’s face. His equipment falls over with the motion, broken arrows tumbling everywhere.
Another troll runs over towards Zahhak. A seadweller.
“Got my back, Strider?” and then Jake’s off, firing his guns and shouting ridiculously.
“Bang bang, crack crack! You can’t defend yourself from my pistols!”
Zahhak jumps up and dodges laboriously, but it’s easy. He keeps his balance on sturdy legs and moves in a way that reeks of someone who was at the top of his self defense class. Jake grunts in frustration and Zahhak tries his opening.
You flashstep in front of Jake before his punch can hit, effectively blocking it with Lil’ Cal.
“Ah, so the old boy’s in the mood for some fisticuffs? Move aside, Dirk.”
You’re ignoring this as you flash left, right, and fill Zahhak with a face full of puppet ass. Jake wants to protest but he’s distracted by the seadweller, so you’re free to kick Zahhak’s ass in peace. He’s annoyed but his balance is kept. You flash into view with Cal slung around your shoulders and your katana in your hand.
If he recognizes you he doesn’t say anything. He throws a sweeping kick that you dodge, a high punch that misses, and you know that he’s going to block his face so you slice his chest and leave a pretty gash. His fighting style is stiff and predictable so you throw down your sword. With a quick application of punches to various pressure points, you’ve got him down on his knees and finally down on the ground.
You look over at Jake and he’s covered in violet blood. He swallows loud enough for you to hear.
“I should…loot the body or somesuch. He might be carrying treasure or an important doohickey,” he mumbles. No matter how much he boasts Jake will never get used to seeing a dead body.
And that won’t do him no good.
You drag Zahhak away and remind Jake to shoot his injured indigo blooded friend before you leave.
Maplehoof’s great but she’s not great enough to carry you, Jake, and the mammoth of muscle and sweat-saturated testosterone that is Equius Zahhak. Instead you keep the captive on her back as you trudge back to camp at a pace that makes Jake gnash his teeth.
“Do you think we’ll get back in time? They wouldn’t leave without us, right?”
“I doubt it matters much. Especially if the Highbloods have advanced.”
“But you damn well saw what I did back there! There’s no way they’ve managed to pull a fast one on our forces!”
You snort, “These are the Highbloods we’re talking about, Jake. Not some middle school baseball cap gang. You shouldn’t underestimate them.”
“Yeah okay, Dirk. I forgot you know everything.”
You lick his cheek, “Damn straight.”
He laughs and pushes you away but he’s still bothered. You sigh, “They won’t leave without us. At this rate we should make it back in less than two days. If they are gone, then we’ll find a way to help, I promise.”
You get a kiss for your consideration and Zahhak accidentally tumbles off Maplehoof’s back.
It’s nighttime. You stop by a small lake, unroll your cot and start a fire. Jake collapses on his stomach and falls asleep easily and your eyes flicker over to Zahhak. He’s slumped against a tree and his breaths are coming too quickly for natural slumber. You flashstep and suddenly you’re standing in front of him.
His eyes remain closed. Oh you’re not playing this game.
“So,” you say, trying not to rouse Jake, “Pretendin’ to be asleep so you can run away when we’re conked out?”
Silent still. You grab his hair and yank.
“Don’t be a coward, Zahhak.”
His eyes open. He sneers at you and your blood boils, “Are you truly operating under the notion that I wouldn’t kill you as soon as I have the chance?”
You keep his eyes. His hair is greasy and it feels gross beneath your fingers but you don’t let go, “Do you remember me?”
“You thought I wouldn’t?”
You smirk, “I’d suspected those robots on the field were yours. I had hoped that, even though you’re a twisted piece of shit, you wouldn’t have joined the Highbloods.”
“Extremely sorry to disappoint.”
He reaches up and gently—fucking gently—takes the hand that you have lodged in his hair. One by one he unworks the fingers before slowly—what the fuck—lowering it. You let him remove it about halfway before you shake him off and punch him.
Blood spills out of his mouth and you think he lost another tooth. He gathers himself and rubs his jaw.
“And I assume those machines were yours? The ones with the ludicrous hats emblazoned on the front?”
“Fuck yes.”
“They’re ridiculous and ineffectual.”
“They destroyed the robots of your inferior design.”
“My robotics are and always will be superior to yours, this I believe strongly.”
“Of course you do.”
He glares, “I order you to stop talking to me.”
You send a kick to the side of his head and he groans, eyes popping. He’s always been a bit of a powerhouse but you’ve always been a bit of a badass so injuring Zahhak isn’t a problem for you. Reaching over, you grab his knees and lean in so you’re right in his face.
“Maybe you don’t remember me as well as you thought. Because if you did you’d know that you can’t order me to do nothin’.”
He spits blood in your face and you punch him until he falls unconscious but you’re not stupid.
You caught the way he shivered beneath your hands.
You wake up early and Jake is eager to go. He drags you around and throws all your stuff on top of Maplehoof and you groan and complain because goddamn it you’re a man who doesn’t like his morning rituals to be disrupted.
You leave. Jake’s riding Maplehoof and Zahhak’s in front of you with your sword at his back. Jake tries to pester him into revealing inside information about the Highbloods but he stays silent.
You don’t push him and you don’t help Jake and you’re worried about why.
FILL: TEAM BRO<3GRANDPA
---------------
“I’ve got an idea.”
“Nope. Don’t even,” you respond.
“I’m serious.”
“I am too. And I seriously don’t want to hear it.”
“Why the hankering Christ not?”
You lean against your cot, fold your arms behind your head and cross your legs, “Because you don’t have ideas, English. You have extemporaneous bouts of pure idiotic thought that either leads to you nearly being killed, or me having to dedicate my time to saving your ass. And, premium as that ass may be, I ain’t in the mood for nursin’ your shredded ego.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s never happened.”
“I can have AR give you the exact figures.”
“None of that mathematic rigmarole even matters to me,” he says, inspecting a spider web in the corner of the tent. He loses interest quickly and sits on the cot next to you, knees brushing against yours, “Way I see it, we’re only going to be able to succeed at infiltrating their base if someone cuts around the fields while the enemy is distracted.”
“No.”
“But—”
“Fuck no.”
“Dirk!”
“Fuck’s sake,” you sit up and rub at your eyes underneath your shades. You swear your life was a lot more stress free when English was just the hot, vaguely stupid kid behind the computer screen, instead of your roguishly brave but mostly stupid choice-as-fuck boyfriend, “there’s a reason why we’re not attacking from head-on. Their frontlines are filled to the fuckin’ saddle with nothing but overpowered juggalos and seadwellers that make Eridan look like less of an asshole. Just stay put and follow the General’s orders.”
“Since when did you like following orders?” he scoffs. Wind rustles the tent and it’s raining a second later. You look forward to slippery trails and the weakened defenses that tomorrow will bring.
“My sagacity doesn’t extend to all topics, English, as hard as that may be to believe. I have no plans to question someone who clearly knows better than I do.”
“Yet,” he smirks at you. The fucker knows you too well for his own good. You lay back down.
“Whatever.”
“Oh come on, Strider! If intel’s what you want then you’ve got to quit playing by the straight and narrow! That’s how all the best heroes do it! They ride in on pure instinct, guns blazing and throwing caution to the wind! And everything works out alright in the end.”
One day you’ll give up trying to convince Jake that movies aren’t real, “Life doesn’t work that way. Idiots die.”
“Do idiots with sidekicks die?”
You establish a pointed silence before your deadpanned, “Sidekick.”
He laughs loud enough to wake up the entire camp. You cringe. The last thing you need is Vantas sticking his sickle down your throat, yelling about the noise as he drips sopor onto your front.
“We make a crackin’ team, Strider,” and his breath is in your ear. You hadn’t registered he’d moved this close. He hikes your shirt up to your armpits as you cock an eyebrow.
His finger touches your rib, “If the General is leading the troops to attack their base from these highlands,” his finger moves up your ribs, “the Highbloods will crank out their forces from these two directions,” two fingers now, one moving down the center of your chest, the other at the top, “and that leaves them weak and wide open over here,” he’s touching your other rib, “So if we approach the rascals by travelling through the fields,” down your other rib, down, down, down, swirls around your belly button, dips lower, fingers your hair, goddamn it English, back up to the other rib, oh Jake’s still talking, “they’ll be so fucking distracted they won’t be able to tell their heads from their horns! Giving us the perfect opportunity to initiate the most dastardly sneak attack they’ve ever seen!”
You grab a handful of his hair and kiss him hard.
Tomorrow’s not going to be your day.
You and Jake wake up early, forgo your uniforms, pack up your bags and prepare Maplehoof for your impromptu foray into the world of wild guesses and dumb fuckin’ luck. Captor’s already in uniform wiping mud off his shoes. He assesses the situation incorrectly and throws you a look.
“I swear to fucking god if you two are planning on running away—”
“Relax, Captor. Just takin’ my girl here out for a run.”
TT: It seems he’s in an arguing mood today. Good for the Highbloods, bad for you.
You snap the reigns and Maplehoof runs.
Jake hasn’t stopped smiling since last night. He hums and blathers on behind you for the entire duration of the journey. Even when you stop by a lake to wash your face and brush Maplehoof’s mane he comes up with fifty fatuous metaphors for how beautiful the sun’s rays will look when they reflect off his medal of honor. You’re relentless in your sarcastic replies but he knows that you’re full of horseshit.
It’s late afternoon when you get there; the ground is splattered with purple and blue. Jake pulls out his pistols.
“Great blooming fuck, it’s been a day for retreating.”
“Looks like it,” you mutter. Reaching up, you press a button on the side of your shades and zoom in on the Highbloods’ base. They’re still fighting but they’re weak; the high sun is having a debilitating effect (you imagine how your own trolls are doing and think of Vantas in a giant parka). Nevertheless the sun’s going to set in a few hours and your troops will have wisely retreated by then. If you want to have an effect here you’ll have to do something now.
“Dirk, look.”
You close your window and see scum of the universe Equius Fuckin’ Zahhak kneeling in the grass. Blood’s pouring out of an arm wound and there’s a bag of archery supplies slung over his shoulder. A troll’s laying on the ground beneath him—still breathing, higher up than he is, soaking the ground with indigo—and Zahhak reaches into his bag, removes a towel and dabs it on the troll’s face. His equipment falls over with the motion, broken arrows tumbling everywhere.
Another troll runs over towards Zahhak. A seadweller.
“Got my back, Strider?” and then Jake’s off, firing his guns and shouting ridiculously.
“Bang bang, crack crack! You can’t defend yourself from my pistols!”
Zahhak jumps up and dodges laboriously, but it’s easy. He keeps his balance on sturdy legs and moves in a way that reeks of someone who was at the top of his self defense class. Jake grunts in frustration and Zahhak tries his opening.
You flashstep in front of Jake before his punch can hit, effectively blocking it with Lil’ Cal.
“Ah, so the old boy’s in the mood for some fisticuffs? Move aside, Dirk.”
You’re ignoring this as you flash left, right, and fill Zahhak with a face full of puppet ass. Jake wants to protest but he’s distracted by the seadweller, so you’re free to kick Zahhak’s ass in peace. He’s annoyed but his balance is kept. You flash into view with Cal slung around your shoulders and your katana in your hand.
If he recognizes you he doesn’t say anything. He throws a sweeping kick that you dodge, a high punch that misses, and you know that he’s going to block his face so you slice his chest and leave a pretty gash. His fighting style is stiff and predictable so you throw down your sword. With a quick application of punches to various pressure points, you’ve got him down on his knees and finally down on the ground.
You look over at Jake and he’s covered in violet blood. He swallows loud enough for you to hear.
“I should…loot the body or somesuch. He might be carrying treasure or an important doohickey,” he mumbles. No matter how much he boasts Jake will never get used to seeing a dead body.
And that won’t do him no good.
You drag Zahhak away and remind Jake to shoot his injured indigo blooded friend before you leave.
Maplehoof’s great but she’s not great enough to carry you, Jake, and the mammoth of muscle and sweat-saturated testosterone that is Equius Zahhak. Instead you keep the captive on her back as you trudge back to camp at a pace that makes Jake gnash his teeth.
“Do you think we’ll get back in time? They wouldn’t leave without us, right?”
“I doubt it matters much. Especially if the Highbloods have advanced.”
“But you damn well saw what I did back there! There’s no way they’ve managed to pull a fast one on our forces!”
You snort, “These are the Highbloods we’re talking about, Jake. Not some middle school baseball cap gang. You shouldn’t underestimate them.”
“Yeah okay, Dirk. I forgot you know everything.”
You lick his cheek, “Damn straight.”
He laughs and pushes you away but he’s still bothered. You sigh, “They won’t leave without us. At this rate we should make it back in less than two days. If they are gone, then we’ll find a way to help, I promise.”
You get a kiss for your consideration and Zahhak accidentally tumbles off Maplehoof’s back.
It’s nighttime. You stop by a small lake, unroll your cot and start a fire. Jake collapses on his stomach and falls asleep easily and your eyes flicker over to Zahhak. He’s slumped against a tree and his breaths are coming too quickly for natural slumber. You flashstep and suddenly you’re standing in front of him.
His eyes remain closed. Oh you’re not playing this game.
“So,” you say, trying not to rouse Jake, “Pretendin’ to be asleep so you can run away when we’re conked out?”
Silent still. You grab his hair and yank.
“Don’t be a coward, Zahhak.”
His eyes open. He sneers at you and your blood boils, “Are you truly operating under the notion that I wouldn’t kill you as soon as I have the chance?”
You keep his eyes. His hair is greasy and it feels gross beneath your fingers but you don’t let go, “Do you remember me?”
“You thought I wouldn’t?”
You smirk, “I’d suspected those robots on the field were yours. I had hoped that, even though you’re a twisted piece of shit, you wouldn’t have joined the Highbloods.”
“Extremely sorry to disappoint.”
He reaches up and gently—fucking gently—takes the hand that you have lodged in his hair. One by one he unworks the fingers before slowly—what the fuck—lowering it. You let him remove it about halfway before you shake him off and punch him.
Blood spills out of his mouth and you think he lost another tooth. He gathers himself and rubs his jaw.
“And I assume those machines were yours? The ones with the ludicrous hats emblazoned on the front?”
“Fuck yes.”
“They’re ridiculous and ineffectual.”
“They destroyed the robots of your inferior design.”
“My robotics are and always will be superior to yours, this I believe strongly.”
“Of course you do.”
He glares, “I order you to stop talking to me.”
You send a kick to the side of his head and he groans, eyes popping. He’s always been a bit of a powerhouse but you’ve always been a bit of a badass so injuring Zahhak isn’t a problem for you. Reaching over, you grab his knees and lean in so you’re right in his face.
“Maybe you don’t remember me as well as you thought. Because if you did you’d know that you can’t order me to do nothin’.”
He spits blood in your face and you punch him until he falls unconscious but you’re not stupid.
You caught the way he shivered beneath your hands.
You wake up early and Jake is eager to go. He drags you around and throws all your stuff on top of Maplehoof and you groan and complain because goddamn it you’re a man who doesn’t like his morning rituals to be disrupted.
You leave. Jake’s riding Maplehoof and Zahhak’s in front of you with your sword at his back. Jake tries to pester him into revealing inside information about the Highbloods but he stays silent.
You don’t push him and you don’t help Jake and you’re worried about why.