Threid
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Post by Threid on Feb 25, 2010 18:22:53 GMT -5
Downtime wasn't something that Kyle enjoyed very often. But with his Gundam in repair and the Odessa operation on the horizon, he had little choice but to wait for orders. He was tired of studying, and puzzling over past battles. He needed more input, more practice. Or something else to do. It wasn't like he didn't have choices; the base was buzzing.
Orders were to stay "reasonably near" the camp. Some of the men were exercising this unexpected freedom to visit one of the nearby towns - something about a band, or beer. Or maybe bowling? All three? He couldn't remember.
Or, he could join the basketball game that was almost certainly being played on the makeshift court. He wasn't much good, but enjoyed it nonetheless.
Failing that, there was always the hangar. The mechanics would be glad of the extra help, and maybe he'd meet other pilots there too, for whom the pull of machinery was stronger than band, beer, bowling or basketball.
Kyle started walking, resolving to join the first group-with-a-plan he encountered. He didn't expect he'd be walking long.
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nualex21
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It'll work....Trust me.
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Post by nualex21 on Feb 25, 2010 23:51:30 GMT -5
The camp was moving steady around him but Bigby lay in the shad at the feet of his kneeling Desert GM. The days of fighting had left his reactive armor covered with dents and scorch marks, and his body felt just as bad as it looked. On the other had Garnett’s GM stood almost proudly next to his barley scratched, and he couldn’t figure out why. She was signed on as a mechanic but she set out in the GM during there last fight and behaved like most green pilots for the first few minutes , but by the end of things she was fighting just as well as the other Vets if not better. He just didn’t get it. There wasn’t much written in her dossier or the orders he’d received assigning him to her MS team, but he could tell something wasn’t normal.
Besides having to deal with the mind fuck that Garnett was quickly becoming, she had actually ordered him to wear a pleated khaki shirt, as per what he thought was an ideal threat, until the next engagement. All things considered the added freedom combined with a new found appreciation for a good breeze was making his downtime a rather enjoyable experience; despite the sarcastic cat calls and the attempts by the female crew members to look up his skirt whenever hey started to bend over. The phrase “Just returning the favor.” was getting old.
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Threid
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Tachiagare, GANDAMU!
Posts: 385
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Post by Threid on Feb 26, 2010 2:08:37 GMT -5
The hangar was nearly empty. Only a few mechanics poked around the more spectacularly-damaged mobile suits, playing Frankenstein with spare mobile suit pieces. They didn't look particularly happy to be working while others enjoyed time off. Kyle's glance played over the forest of machines, settling on a large man reclining beneath a Desert GM. He walked closer for a better look.
"Bigby, isn't it?" Kyle couldn't tell who was more surprised at his abrupt greeting: the mopey-looking, strangely-dressed test pilot, or himself. He hadn't meant to say it out loud. He also hadn't meant to stare fixedly at the skirt Bigby was wearing. Who am I to judge a man's fashion sense?
"I... I didn't know you were Celtic," Kyle started uncertainly. "Anyway, I'm Corporal Kyle Slater. You can just call me Kyle. Or Slater. Whatever's easier."
He swallowed once - Bigby hadn't responded yet - then continued, "Anyway, heard there's a basketball game going on outside the mess hall." Bigby certainly looked like he might be good at basketball. But just in case... "And I heard that a few guys are heading into town for some drinks. There may even be a band." Bigby sure looked like he could use a drink or two.
Trying to sound neither too hopeful nor too helpful, Kyle drawled, "Wanna come?"
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nualex21
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It'll work....Trust me.
Posts: 145
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Post by nualex21 on Feb 26, 2010 18:44:39 GMT -5
The sharp distinct sounds of metal bending to the will of man was something that Bigby enjoyed; but instead he found himself listening to what seemed to be the eager yapping of a puppy dressed like a fed pilot.
With a undeserved air of superiority Bigby picked himself up, stepped towards Slater and put a slightly menacing hand on his shoulder. “Yes, no I’m not; and I’ll call you whatever I want until you show me more personality than an overly excited Yorkie.
He took a few steps past Slater and wasn’t too interested in being around the him for to long, but the offer to have a few stiff drinks wasn’t something he was going to past up; not after the way things were going for him lately.
Heading off towards the motor pool he yelled to Slater,“Your buying my first couple shots. And just cause I’m in this skirt don’t go calling this a date."
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Threid
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Post by Threid on Feb 27, 2010 12:49:49 GMT -5
Bigby was definitely not in a polite mood, but Kyle was used to this sort of thing. Still... Yorkie?! I think I'm at least terrier material... He'd have to work on that. Bigby's comment necessitated a witty rejoinder from him; he did his best to think of something quickly, and...
"If you prettied up a bit more, you might not have to worry about buying drinks at all!" Yeah, I'll have to work on that too.
Kyle followed Bigby to the motor pool, at what he judged a safe distance. He wanted to a make a good first impression, and being seen with a man wearing a skirt didn't seem like the right way to go about making one. A couple of jeeps were already heading out, packed with people. Another idled impatiently; there were only two seats left.
Kyle looked around, confirming that he and Bigby were the only ones in the immediate area making their way toward the jeep. They were. Nothing against Bigby, but I hope it's a short ride to town. The driver grinned as Kyle trotted up to the jeep.
"Hop in. And keep your date close; no telling what could happen when the Fed's best are on the loose!" Great. Mission failed. Kyle slung himself in beside the skirt-wearing Bigby, fervently hoping that he'd meet someone else he recognized in town.
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nualex21
Junior Member
It'll work....Trust me.
Posts: 145
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Post by nualex21 on Feb 28, 2010 1:10:39 GMT -5
He’d never admit it but Slater’s attempt at a comeback showed that he wasn’t as much of a pushover as he seemed and that was enough to garner some respect. Since being given his GM at Jaburo and sent out into the world like a wandering stray, Bigby hadn’t had much interaction with the other pilots of the EFGF. It wasn’t that he needed it but he had actually gotten used to the comradery of his squad mates during training.
Bigby grinned and looked back at Slater who continued to keep his distance. The entire trip into town Bigby had argued with the driver over who would be more suited as the top in their relationship and he was pretty certain he’d pushed Slater’s comfort level to the max; so he decided to cut him a break.
“Hey, if you can manage to keep you hands to yourself what do you say we get a table and see if we can find some nice warm beds to sleep in around town.”
Bigby stepped up to the door of the bar a paused for a moment as a small group of soldiers stumbled out past him. One of them was to drunk to stand on his own and had to be shouldered out by two more who barely seemed any better off. It was a sad sight but one Bigby was hopping to recreate soon enough.
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Threid
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Post by Threid on Feb 28, 2010 15:22:43 GMT -5
Kyle didn't understand why Bigby kept giving him such a hard time on the ride to town; he was obviously the one who wore the pants. But after explaining this numerous times to his laughing companions, he lapsed into a red-faced silence.
Bigby made a request for a table and nice warm beds. Kyle couldn't tell whether he was joking or serious; surely Bigby realized how something like that would fly through the crew if it ever reached outside ears. One night in a bar with a man in a skirt was bad enough. Plus, if the rumors he'd heard about Bigby's bar behavior were true, he didn't want to play babysitter.
"Uh, thanks, but you're not really my type." Kyle said. It would work for a joke or a legitimate question.
Kyle ducked into the bar after Bigby, narrowly avoiding some very large, very drunk men stumbling out. The bar was packed. Kyle didn't think he'd ever be able to push his way through to a table. He quickly added, "...Not for the hotel, anyway. But a table would be nice." He followed Bigby's massive frame through the crowd. Just like Moses and the Red Sea.
On the way, he caught sight of an ad for the band. At first, he thought it was for a movie. "Streaming Strangers: Post-apocalyptic, sci-fi romantic comedy," he read wonderingly. Apparently, they'd be playing soon; all manner of instruments and sound equipment sat piled on the dirty stage. Kyle wasn't as excited as he'd expected to be.
He looked around the bar. It was his first time in a bar, if you didn't count the academy lounges. And I shouldn't. In the lounges, the patrons were always students, and they never got to rowdy or too drunk; it was, after all, against regulations. But here, there were young and grizzled alike, well-kept and dirty, groups and loners, soldiers and civilians - all mixed together like the devil's cocktail, served all at once to his raw senses. He tried not to faint.
Suddenly, Bigby stopped in front of a table. It wasn't empty, but it was empty enough to accommodating two more. Kyle didn't recognize anyone at the table; he thought about pulling out Bigby's chair for him, but decided against it. Just because they're not in uniform doesn't mean they're not Feds, or that someone else wouldn't notice. Then again, the bar was so packed that Bigby's lower-half had gone largely unnoticed.
Instead, he just asked, as chivalrously as he could manage, shouting over the din, "So, do you want me to pull your chair out for you?" He hoped he'd tuned his voice to carry just far enough to reach Bigby, and no farther.
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Threid
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Tachiagare, GANDAMU!
Posts: 385
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Post by Threid on Mar 3, 2010 21:14:25 GMT -5
The sun had just started to rise over the English Channel as Kyle walked out of the bar, Bigby on his shoulder. He was stumbling - not from the drink, but from the weighty GM Desert pilot hanging on his shoulder. It had been an interesting evening. He'd endured the mandatory 15 minutes of ribbing following their arrival, met some new pilots, ignored the band, and had, for the most part, avoided making a fool of himself.
Bigby groaned, and Kyle tensed, ready to duck away from the smashed pilot at a moment's notice; there was no way he was going to sacrifice the cleanliness of his uniform to keep the big man from falling down. The groaning and grumbling subsided, and Kyle resumed his staggering. He had tried to stop Bigby, but had judged it unwise to press the issue too hard with a 200-pound, slightly-drunk, slightly-petulant fellow pilot- especially after Kyle had made a joke about Bigby ordering the skirt steak.
Come to think of it, Bigby had never mentioned why he was wearing a skirt. Attention, maybe? But Bigby didn't look like the kind of person who'd want that kind of attention. Kyle decided that losing a bet was the only reason that made sense. In any case, it was too late to ask now; Bigby was far past the point of cogently answering questions.
A shuttle idled in the parking lot, and Kyle prayed that he'd be able to shove Bigby aboard, herd him to a seat, and shove his head out the window. He did not want to make amends to an angry driver for a vomiting, skirt-wearing companion. Truly, it has been a most interesting evening. And though he'd never admit as much to Bigby - or anyone else, for that matter - he had enjoyed himself.
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