If he hasn’t said it a million times before--Liquid balled his hands, tightly--he might as well have said it now.
The commander’s fingers ached from the strain of clenching, but the pain goes ignored in favor of storming into Psycho Mantis’ office. Any look thrown at him was dismissed as he strode to the front of the desk.
Immediately, the hard wood was met with him slamming his fists unforgivingly down onto papers, bunching them up where digits were still curled. The anger that coursed through his veins was, admittedly, a bit much. However, the man couldn’t help but feel the aggressive emotion take hold of his mind whenever Mantis decided to skip a meal.
And, it wasn’t just one day.
It was several.. An entire week, to be exact, went by without seeing the man consume something. Such negligence was infuriating to the blond, and he would be damned to be labelled as an inferior commander, who couldn’t keep his men full, because a certain someone thought it better to starve.
“Mantis.”
Liquid growled. Voice low. Still patient.
“Can you tell me; why is it that every single member of FOXHOUND can manage to remember to at least have an MRE except for you?”
He leaned forward over the desk as if to help emphasize the severity of his anger, while his fists uncurled. Hands rested flat and fingers spread out over the crumbled papers. They were probably important. He’ll apologize (maybe) once the other man eats.