Leap Frog Chapter 2
echoofautumn on AO3
Chapter 2
Summary:
Red is at home on the paintball field, and Lance chokes on an energy drink.
It was another 30 minutes before the first player arrived. Lance had moved to laying across the counter on his back and was watching the sun set, while Matt was finishing his work on the circuit box for the night game's lighting system. As always, it was the beat-up red pickup truck that arrived before anyone else. The driver’s side door opened, and one of their regular players stepped out.
Lance remembered the first time they had shown up at The Empire just over a year ago.
It was a Saturday like any other. Lance was working the shack when someone had approached him nervously. “Um,” Lance looked up from the rental he was cleaning to see a young guy, about his age, wearing a faded red t-shirt and with a black sports bandanna covering his mouth and nose to protect from the dust. Lance made a mental note to buy one, because that would be great to have during the dust storm season. “Yo. Can I help you?” The newcomer had a black worn-out gear bag hoisted over his shoulder, and he shifted its weight uncomfortably as he stood in front of Lance. "Can I-? We can use our own gear here, right?" Lance chuckled. "Yeah dude. As long as your BPS is within regulation, you're good to go." The guy made a move to walk away, but turned back around. “Can I get some paint from y’all?” “Twenty bucks a box.” He grumbled something about paint being cheaper in Texas as he dug a wadded up $20 out of his pocket, and Lance had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing as he grabbed a box of red paint from the back. “Rentals shoot white paint, and we usually only stock that and orange. But you’re in luck. We just got a few boxes of other colors yesterday.” Lance grinned. “You’re gonna match your paint, Red.” ‘Red’ scowled.
When the next game was being set-up, Lance observed the newbie with interest. The guy had on red and black paintballing pants, but wasn’t wearing a jersey. Red was hovering near the other players wearing a standard black face mask, a waist pack holding pods filled with extra paintballs, and holding his gun in his left hand. Matt was standing in front of the gate explaining the rules of Speedball to the inexperienced players. “Once again: if you get hit, you’re out. No exceptions.” The teams were split up and they headed onto the field. Lance grabbed a Monster drink out of the mini-fridge in the shack, before walking over to the fence of the range. The whistle blew, and the game was afoot. Immediately, the range filled with the sounds of paintball guns firing. The majority of players stayed behind their designated bases, but a few of the more experienced players started advancing and taking cover behind small bunkers and shelters. It took Lance only a moment to find Red. Red was tearing across the field, alternating between ducking and dodging around obstacles to protect from enemy fire, and standing his ground to fire at the opposing team. He fired at two kids from a long distance but didn’t even pause to see if the shots had landed. They did. Lance was stunned. This could not be the same person who had approached him nervously just ten minutes before. This was someone entirely different. Red was at home on the paintball field. Lance took a drink of his Monster and almost spit it out when Red passed the right fifty. Even Lance didn’t attempt to pass the centerline until the majority of the other team was eliminated. But now, almost the entire team was still playing. Red flanked a small bunker and lit up three players hiding there. He sprinted toward a wall and ーLance actually spit out his Monster this timeー dove into a forward roll to get behind it. Lance had never seen someone attempt a roll in person. Even in tournaments he’d watched, only a handful of times had he seen one of the pros pull-off a successful roll. As Lance was gawking at him, Red was crouching behind the wall and refilling his gun with the paint from one of the pods on his harness. He shoved the now empty pod back into his belt and was back in the game. Red was moving forward quickly. The opposing team was suffering heavy losses, while their own was only missing three or four players. As the game started to come to a close, he shot the last four players on the opposing team. The whistle blew. Red exited the range behind the other players, and Lance had to return to the shack to assist the rentals. It took a while, but once Lance helped everyone in the line, he went over to talk to Red, who was leaning over a work table digging through his gear bag. “Nice moves out there, Red.” Red jumped slightly before looking over his shoulder with a scowl. “Don’t call me that.” Lance smirked. “Well I can’t call you Blue, now can I?” Red’s refocused back on the table. “And why’s that?” Lance gasped dramatically. “Because that’s my name!” Red rolled his eyes. “Also, look at yourself.” Red turned around and leaned against the table. “Alright, I’ll humour you. What does my appearance have to do with you calling me ‘Red’?” Lance started counting off on his fingers. “First off, you’re wearing a red shirt. Secondly, your bag is black and red. Third,--” Red cut him off. “Okay, okay I get it.” Lance grinned. “But seriously, I’ve never seen someone play like that. I’ll admit, it was impressive.” “Not really. I wasn’t trying that hard.” Red shrugged. “That might’ve been the easiest game I’ve played in a long time. It was more of a warm-up than anything else.” “No way.”
Lance recalled how he had teased Red until the prep for the next game started, and proceeded to do so between every game for the rest of the day.
"Blue? Hey, Blue!" Lance was snapped out of his reverie by Red yelling. He opened his eyes to Red leaning over his face. Lance jolted upright, slamming his forehead into Red's in the process. "¡CARAJO!" "FUCK!" The two reeled from the shock; Lance falling back onto the counter and Red staggering backwards a few steps with the weight of his gear bag. They both held their foreheads in pain. Matt's laughter could be heard from the range. "NICE GOING, BLUE!" Lance let out a screech and bolted upright, yelling at Math. "SHUT UP, ¡CABEZA DE PINGA!"
Immediately, Lance leaned forward and groaned. "Bad idea. Very bad idea. Díos ayudarme." Red set his bag on the counter and adjusted his black bandanna before turning back and glaring at Lance. "Ya think?!?" Lance's eyes narrowed. "This is your fault anyway." Lance slid off the counter to face Red. "Wha-how?!" "Well, if you weren't in my face like that, it wouldn't have happened!" "It wouldn't've happened if your head wasn't up your ass!" Lance poked Red in the chest with his finger. "This is coming from the one who shops at Hot Topic!" "Yeah? So?" "So, Mr. Edge Lord, quit being so emo and step up your game." Red threw his hands up. "This has nothing at all to do with our original argument. Jesus Christ you have ADHD." "Tell me something I don't know! I'm sor-ry that I can't afford my Ritalin on a college student's income!" "And how do you think I'm do–" A loud car horn blared through the air, interrupting Red. Lance and Red spun to face the main gates, where a large olive green Hummer was just pulling thorough. A girl was leaning out the passenger side window, waving at them with both hands.
Notes:
BPS - Balls per second. A measure of rate of fire.
¡Carajo! - in this context it's "fuck!" Cabeza de pinga - dickhead Díos ayudarme - God help me
Who do y'all think the mystery girl is? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)