text;

[bloodbathing]

[ "Augusta" is the name attached to this TAB. The picture is of curved white metal with a stripe of dark orange — leg armor, for any who may recognize it. ]

UNSC. Marines. RT-636.

[ In order: the military Maine knows, the branch he's in, and the hull classification symbol for the Mother of Invention.

[ North insisted on gathering intel while keeping a low profile. Maine's only interest is in returning to their mission. This is the result of compromise. ]

Comments

[notyourrookie]

[The nudge does manage to shove him over but he sits back up and hands the bottle over.]

Gonna have a fucking hangover tomorrow.

[bloodbathing]

[ To that, Maine shrugs. ]

Fuck the future.

[ And he drinks to that. A lot. ]

[notyourrookie]

[He huffs a laugh at that, and follows suit when Maine has finished swigging from the bottle. They are definitely going to finish it aren't they?]

[bloodbathing]

[ Most definitely.

[ It takes a whole lot to get Maine completely drunk, but his head is light and fuzzy, and there's a pleasant tingling in his limbs. He relaxes back on the bed, keeping himself propped upright with his elbows. When it's not his turn to drink, he asks, ]

Like it here?

[notyourrookie]

[He drags the back of his hand against his mouth to give himself a little more time to think about that one.]

No-one's tried to kill me yet.

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine hums in agreement and glances down at the hole in his bodysuit. Little to the right, and that shot probably would've hit his heart. He can survive a hell of a lot, but that? Unlikely. He's guessing it hit a lung instead. Not that there's any way to check: his arrival healed the wound entirely. All that's left is a scar. ]

No war.

[ Which is honestly pretty hard for him to imagine, but here they are. ]

Weird.

[ The fuck do civilians even do? ]

[notyourrookie]

[Wash gives a nod. That is fucking weird. He doesn't know how to live without a war; it's been going on for his entire life.[

Dunno what I'm supposed to fucking do here.

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine lifts his shoulders in a shrug. He was all of a year old when the war started. He's never known life without it; never thought of life after it. ]

Garden?

[ It's no more ridiculous than anything else. ]

[notyourrookie]

[Wash snorts.]

I don't know the first thing about gardening.

[bloodbathing]

[ Very seriously: ]

Water plants.

[ ... And then he cracks a little smile. He doesn't know a damn thing, either. He can pick up an alien weapon, pose with it, and wield the thing like he's been using it for years, but he's never had so much as a cactus.

[ At least he's got company in not knowing what the fuck to do with himself. ]

[notyourrookie]

[Wash gives him a dry look.]

Thank you. I'm sure they'll be giving you your own gardening show on TV any day now.

[bloodbathing]

[ His smile grows to a grin. ]

"Big Green."

[ So maybe he's a little drunk. ]

[notyourrookie]

Big Green Giant!

[Wash laughs softly, listing a little to one sides. Been a long time since he laughed like this.]

[bloodbathing]

[ That laughter is infectious. Maine flops onto his back and joins in, his usually quiet rumble made louder with drink. This? This is good. This feels normal. Even leaning to one side, Wash looks better. It's good. ]

[notyourrookie]

[He can't help listing to one side. The room itself is sort of fuzzy and spinny now, but in a pleasant way. He ends up gasping for breath before he finally drags himself back upright.]

s'good to see you again, Maine.

[bloodbathing]

[ And there's the strangeness again. No time at all has passed for Maine. For Wash, it's been years.

[ The big man's smile wanes a little, and he just ... knocks his leg against Wash's. "Right here." Then he gestures for the bottle.

[ If there's anything left, he's finishing it off. ]

[notyourrookie]

[So many years. And not long at all. But the Meta wasn't Maine, just something wearing his skin.

Wash bumps his leg back against Maine's and then hands over the bottle.]

We are gonna be wrecked tomorrow.

[bloodbathing]

Mmmm ... hmmmm.

[ That pleased hum of agreement comes as Maine takes the bottle, brings it to his lips, and finishes it off in one biiiig gulp.

[ What can he say? Maine's a fucking monster at keg stands. He probably could've finished a brand new bottle in one swig. ]

[notyourrookie]

[Wash laughs at the sound of satisfaction. He leans his head back against the wall.]

You gonna stay here tonight?

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine huffs and raises an eyebrow. "Not moving." Except that his brow then creases as he remembers, oh, he should probably make sure Carolina doesn't try tracking him down, or something. That wouldn't be good.

[ Another huff — "fuckin' gravity" — as he puuushes himself upright. He leans over and fumbles in his discarded armor until he finds his TAB.

[ Cue a moment of just. Squinting at it. ]

Carolina's....

[ He trails off, trying to find the right words. Didn't really mean to start talking in the first place. Alcohol does that sometimes. He sends off one word ("Wash's"), tosses the TAB back onto his armor, and returns to his flopped-back position on Wash's bed. (If the poor thing protests, Maine ignores it.) ]

Civvies.

[ It's the best word he can think of to explain how strange she seemed. Not just older. Wash is older, too, and he's clearly been through hell. But Maine can deal with a jaded rookie; war does that shit to people. He doesn't know how to deal with a ... mellow Carolina. A Carolina who came to him in civilian clothes with nothing but a gun on her hip. A Carolina who responded with discomfort when he asked a question.

[ Broad shoulders shrug the thoughts away. No point dwelling on them. ]

Glad you're here.

[ More than he usually says. Good ol' liquor. ]