goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

"Come on Barbie let's go party!" He calls back over his shoulder while they warble the appropriate reply, starting up the next verse on their own.

It's beautiful.

"Well I was gonna do Sir Mixalot's "Baby got Back" but then there was an argument over doing that OR Anaconda and this way no one's offended." He shrugs, turning around to jog through the next curve backward. "WHAT ARE WE MADE OF?"

"PLASTIC!"

"WHAT IS LIFE?"

"FANTASTIC!"

Back around to face forward and he's- he shouldn't be smiling THIS much but it feels good. Having a squad again.

Wash slows down a little to watch the sight of the entire squad of rebels singing Barbie Girl. And seeming to enjoy it. York's enthusiasm is infectious enough to make even drills enjoyable, he guesses? Or maybe they just like doing something that seems more military than whatever Wash could teach them.

He speeds up to catch York again, ignores some of the staring he gets, and forgets the rumours that will probably be circulating later about him and York.

"What's next? Weight lifting to Queen songs?"

"Weapon assembly drills, targeting drills, hand to hand drills- these kids aren't military. They need bootcamp. What the hell were you teaching them, they didn't know any of the stuff I asked them about earlier." He jogs to the side and slows down, letting the formation pass so he could keep pace with the stragglers. "Come on Jensen. Last lap, you got this."

The young LT gives a nod and a huff, pushing to meet the rest of kids. And they are that- kids.

"Seriously Wash. You were doing a shit job at the teaching part of this. Has it been that long since you've been in basic?"

He bristles at that, no matter how gentle the rebuke. He hadn't been trying to make them into a fighting force, is the real answer. But maybe that's only part of it. "Yeah, it has been," he says sharply. "You had a squad before Freelancer, you were a soldier. I wasn't for very long before I got picked up by the Project." He was a Freelancer and he's been a merc for longer than he ever was a soldier.

"That explains...a lot. Maine had a squad before- pretty sure the twins did too. Connie had part of a tour under her belt- I think you might've been the only one that didn't do a long stint in the military beforehand." Going right from basic without any real experience in the field with a proper unit to the mess that was PFL? "...looking back you did really well for someone without that experience."

"I told you. I don't even know why I got chosen for the Project." In his darker moments, Wash is pretty sure it's because he was inexperienced and easier to try to make him what they wanted. Well, it had kind of worked. "I didn't do good enough."

"You kept up." He shrugs. "We went through three Rookies before you came in and got the state name. Three. They couldn't fit."

He doesn't want to know what happened to them. If they burnt out or died or went insane. Probably the first, maybe the second. People didn't start going crazy until Wash was already there.

"You're doing a good job with them. I know Kimball will be grateful."

"Yeah well- they got a reason to fight. They just need someone to give them the right tools." They come up the last bend and he calls a halt, stepping away from Wash to take each soldier aside and give them homework. Things they can work on, things they can help each other with. One at a time till he's gotten through the lot. "Now hit the showers. We start bright and early tomorrow morning."

They stumble, shuffle, or stride off with a wave- Bitters is gonna need more cardio work before they're through but- hey. He's trying.

"...speaking of. Where are the showers? I kinda need one."

He's not sure how York has even done this. The way he talks to them, the way they react... it's impressive, Wash will give him that. Unfortunately, it's exactly what they don't need. It just makes it more and more clear that there's no way that York will come around to their way of thinking. He'd been pissed enough that Wash was being paid in alien tech. The rest of it? Yeah, that's going to go down like a lead balloon.

"Let me show you. I could probably use one myself."

"Are they individual or group showers because- uh." He peers after the group and looks back to Wash. "Telling them that i've survived a lot of shit and having them see it for themselves is kind of. Two different things, there."

"There's individual stalls. A couple anyway out by medical. They're usually free." He has to agree though. He rarely removes even his armour in sight of the rebels. The rest of it he has too many scars he doesn't want to show off and get questioned about, no matter how well meaning.

"To medical, then." For all that he gave wash shit for not getting close- there are some lines that need to be drawn. He doesn't even think about what it might look like for him to go shower with Wash. Doesn't register at all, for once. "Then bed. I am- really fuck'n beat."

"For once not for actual medical treatment." They'd all spent their fair share of time in the med bay. York losing the eye had been one of the worst.

"Got a bunk for you out of the way too. Figured you might want a bit of privacy rather than sharing with a bunch of the kids." It had been one of Wash's conditions when he'd come. There's an old store room that suits him fine now it's emptied out.

"Thanks. I appreciate it." The walk isn't as far as he thought it be. All in all the compound isn't that big and that's- distressing. A handful of kids against what's probably a lot of armed men. He's gonna have to run some quiet recon tomorrow, after he wraps up drills. See what they're working with. It's stupidly easy to slip back into this mentality. Target, objective, mission parameters.

Tweaking needs to happen, though. Make sure things run well.

"Gonna have to run some recon, I think. Check out the enemy, see what we're up against. Right now they need to hole up and work on their skills as a unit."

The medical building isn't huge. Nothing is really. Their numbers keep dwindling no matter how hard they fight. Sometimes Wash thinks they've horribly miscalculated and the Feds will win anyway leaving them with more of a mess than they'd started with.

"We can do that. Check out some of the outposts nearby, see what we can figure out. I can tell you what I know but things change quickly."

"Sounds like a plan." As soon as they're near the showers he starts popping seals and detaching bits of armor, stacking it up off to the side till he's down to the undersuit. Peeling that second skin off is a bit of a bitch- it moves and grows with you but he's not as lean as he was during the project. Lotta heavy lifting and long runs carrying everything he owned bulked out his shoulders.

All down his back, shrapnel scars. Two starbursts near his left shoulder, thick and angry- exit wounds from Reggie's last hello. The rest is a crisscross of burns and bruises, close calls. Situations where he truly had been more lucky than he'd been good. But he's still got an eye and still got his hands. It's all he needs in the long run.

Suit shucked he steps into the spray, sighing under the water. "Sweet baby jesus you have hot water."

Wash removes his armour more slowly, more reluctant than York to reveal himself even to someone who knew him this well. He can't help but look when York has stripped off and he can see the scars. Enough of them new that he knows they're from after the Project. They're the marks of a life hard lived and hard won when he should have had someone there to watch his six, make up for his blind spot.

"Yeah, we do. There's a whole load of geothermal in this place. They tapped into it. Smart of them."

He peels off his own undersuit once York is in the shower and steps into his own, letting the hot water sluice away the aches and grime of the day. He's got his own scars, knives and gunshots. Mercenary work wasn't safe. And the weird pattern of electric lines down from the AI port in his neck, a spidery pattern. Epsilon's attempt to burn itself out.

Fifteen minutes. He'll give himself fifteen minutes to soak and scrub, wash his hair and let himself slough off everything that kept him from feeling human. Little by little his muscles unclench and it's all him. Relaxed and loose and easy. He shuts off his water at the ten minute mark and grabs a towel from his bag, tucking it around his hips while he wanders over to the nearest mirror for a quick shave.

Even with having been here a while, the showers are always a thing that he enjoys. He takes his time over this one. works out the tightness in his muscles, the knots that always kink up his back. There's a sprain in his leg from a bad landing a while back that's still twinging if he stands on it wrong but the water eases that too.

Eventually he emerges, hair plastered to his forehead, and steps out, starting to dry himself off and trying not to feel bothered that York is there to see him in such a state.

He finishes the last of his shaving by the time Wash slips out and- "Jesus fucking christ, David."

It slips out. It shouldn't- surviving everything they've been through? You're gonna be marked up. But Wash is- David is- cut up more than he'd expected. More than he thought possible.

it's concerning. This is him, concerned.

It's the use of his own name that really catches him, as rarely used as it is. It barely feels like it belongs to him at all. He's Wash now. Has been for years. He grabs a towel, starts to dry off, giving York a blank look.

"What? Did I scare you? Thought you'd be more on your guard."

"What the hell." He shouldn't. There's personal space and PTSD and reflexes and habits and reactions but the sheer mess of David's skin has him stepping forward, fingers slipping out to glide along the line of- a graze? A knifewound? What the hell.

He'd spent the least amount of time in Medical during the project and yeah, he'd thought the kid was dead. But this?

"What the hell happened to you?"

He flinches when York approaches him, hand outstretched, that wariness back in his eyes although he doesn't step back or try to stop York. The touch of fingers against his skin makes him shiver.

He shrugs, forces a smile. "What? It's not that surprising is it? We've both been through the wringer." He turns away so that he can stop seeing that look on York's face. Taylor's face, but his back is no better than his front even without Epsilon's scar.

"No- I was. You got- you were never in medical all that long. There was Epsilon and then they got you off the ship." THis wasn't from the Crash. Wasn't from the project. This was more recent than that.

"The war's over. It's been over-" Seeing his back just gives him more scars to stare at, more skin to compare to his last memory of David, awkward and trying to hide it, back in the showers on the MOI. Handful of knicks that anyone gets in their lives but not- not this.

Nothing like this.

"What happened? Where did you- how did you-" He cuts himself off, teeth clikcing together. "...I should've kept looking."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject