âHeyyyy! So, weâre at the pig racesâŠ. And youâŠ. ARE NOT. Are you FUCKING kidding me?ââ
Overheard at the state fair (via beeawolf)
#PROMPT PROMPT PROMPT#please just take twenty minutes to imagine carolina saying this#youâll need all twenty minutes#iâll wait (viastopfrickinteam-killing)
YOUâRE WELCOME. Includes Red Team South and Red Team Carolina
Carolina stares around at the crowd. Everything from cut-off jeans to full armor is spattered in mud, the fairground made a slippery pit from last nightsâ storm. A few people look over their shoulders and take a step back when Carolinaâs visor lands on their face. She takes a step back from Grif and Simmons, both leaning against the fence and bickering about â okay, Carolina doesnât keep track anymore. Definitely not after she hears Simmons say âCows canât fucking do that!â
âSouth. Whatâs your location?â Carolina scans the crowd again, but sheâs pretty sure she couldnât miss lavender and green.
âIâm standing in a goddamn pit,â South says helpfully.
Carolina rolls her eyes. âWeâre at the pig races. And you are?â
South snorts. âNot fucking there, thatâs for damn sure.â
Carolina strides off toward the striped canopies, pitched haphazard and tilting. She growls, âAre you FUCKING kidding me?â
She ignores Sarge calling after her âYouâre gonna miss the best part!â
Southâs helmet is lying next to her on a splintering picnic table, warped even worse from the damp. South is curled, glaring, over a huge plastic cup.
âSeriously?â Carolina says. âThis whole ridiculous trip was supposed to be team bonding.â
âTeam.â South rolls her eyes and takes a gulp of her drink. She grimaces. âRight.â
âDonât be a shit.â Carolina slides in next to her. âItâs a goddamn pig race. Itâs fun.â It is going to be fun, whether South decides to get on board or not.
South just shrugs and takes another drink. She pauses, then hands the cup over to Carolina. Conciliatory gestures arenât really Southâs thing, so she should probably encourage it. Carolina pries off her helmet.
The fairground reeks. Rusty deep fryer fumes, stale booze, motor oil, body odor, and livestock shit all hit Carolina like a hammer.
South smirks. Carolina meets her eyes and takes a sip of the drink. Itâs warm, but not half as terrible as she was expecting.
âThey gave you the good stuff,â she says.
Southâs smirk grows predatory. It makes Carolina blink for a second, and South says âIâm a scary bitch.â
âSure,â Carolina says. The corner of her mouth quirks up, and Souths eyes follow it.
Carolina hands the drink back. âBring it with you,â she says, and tucker her helmet under her arm. âLet get back to the race track.â
South fiddles with the cup instead of getting her ass off the bench. Carolina slaps her on the shoulder. South shrugs her off and says, âThe pigs look so fuckinâ sad. Running around in a circle.â She traces a finger around the edge of her cup. âNowhere to goddamn go.â
Carolina swallows. She somehow doesnât think it would help to remind South that the pigs are just going to be killed for bacon later.
âAre you two getting shitfaced without us?â Grif has his hands on his hips and is glaring between Carolina and South. âYouâre gonna miss the best part of the fair. Also, what the fuck, totally not cool. Shit, you made me walk all the fucking way over here!â His voice is rising in pitch. South is definitely biting her tongue, and her shoulders are starting to shake.
âIts fifty goddamn yards,â Carolina says.
âOh my god, I knew I felt like I was gonna pass out. You should definitely give me that.â He points at Southâs drink.
âSuck it up,â South says. She pushes up from the table and drains the cup in one long draw. She throws it to Grif, who kind of swats it out the the air and shrieks a little bit.
âFine.â South picks up her helmet and throws her free arm around Carolinaâs shoulders. âLetâs go watch some livestock run in circles for our amusement.â
âYou shouldnât talk about Grif and Simmons like that,â Carolina says.
South laughs, and Grif bitches for the rest of the day.