Send me “Don’t chase the rabbit” and your muse will be shown a random memory from my muse’s past. || Accepting
The clock on the break room wall ticked a sharp, quiet staccato, keeping a beat that was just out of synch with the drills in the courtyard. A small rubber ball was tossed up and down, up and down. He couldn’t decide which cadence to match. Calloused hands, spattered with scars, clapped together over the toy, stopping it in its tracks. Braig frowned, cast an irritated glare towards the open window. All that excess noise was getting annoying; couldn’t a man zone out in peace? He let his right hand fall to the table, still curled around the ball, as his left tore a hole in the fabric of space.
He needed an easier way to conceptualise that.
He rifted his hand across the room, squinting as he tried to get the latch undone.
“Why do you do this?” Moss asked, not looking up from his crossword.
“‘Cause I don’t wanna get up.” Braig replied, sitting upright in his chair and furrowing his brow in concentration.
“So, you pull this?” Moss asked, letting his paper fall to the coffee table with a thwack.
“I don’t have to get up.” Braig said. He grinned, both at the huffy eye-roll Moss gave, and in triumph at how close he was to getting the window closed. Moss had just stood up to get a drink from the kitchenette; Braig had just gotten the window loose.
“At ease!” A deep voice bellowed, and both men jolted to attention. Moss nearly tripped over himself; Braig knocked over his chair, and yanked his arm back through the h— The rift, so quickly that the window slammed shut. Their startled silence was broken by raucous laughing.
“Oh, man, you guys- Your faces!” It was stammered out between breathless guffaws.
“Jones, Miller, Schulz,” Moss said flatly, as Braig huffed and looked around for the bouncy ball he had dropped.
“Abioye’s here, too,” Miller said, once he’d stood up from his doubled-over fit of mirth. He reached through the small huddle of men, ushering someone a good few years younger than the rest of them.
“Right, right. New guy.” Braig said, bending down just a bit to scour the floor. Moss huffed, and returned to finding a kitchen.
“Yes, sir.” The cadet said, offering a sharp salute before Jones swatted his hand down.
“Don’t do that here, kid. This is the break room. You know, where we relax? And, you know, inside.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “B’sides, Ellery here’s pretty bad at remembering the rules. You don’t mind if the kid takes a load off, do ya?”
“You’re a dick, Jones.” Braig said, looking up from his search. (He did feel a little vindicated when Miller and Schulz suppressed snorts of laughter). “Nice mage-gloves, by the way.” Jones scowled, pulled his hands out of his pockets, and instead crossed his arms.
“Anyway,” Braig continued, turning his attention to the young cadet. Dark eyes looked up at him nervously; Braig couldn’t help but attempt a smile. “Captain Ellery. That guy over there, the one who looks like he’s plotting our murders, that’s Major Moss. What’s your MOS, kid?”
“He’s eleven bang-bang,” Schultz cut in, nudging Jones with his shoulder.
“–But, I’m hoping to be a recon specialist, one day!” Clearly, Aboiye wasn’t quite green enough to be ignorant of the ‘bang-bang’ thing. Poor kid.
“Oh, yeah?” Braig said, crossing his arms loosely. over his chest. (The clock continued to tick its steady pace.) Aboiye nodded; Braig smirked. “Well, who knows?” He turned, waving one hand in the air as he returned to his shift. “Stick around here long enough, maybe you’ll make something of yourself.”
“Might turn out better than you.” Moss mused from over the rim of his coffee mug. Miller snickered.
“As if.” Braig replied, straightening up. “Nobody’s better than me. That’s why I’m still here.” Moss scoffed, taking a long swallow from his mug.
“Not because of your stunning good looks?” He asked, arching a brow as he strolled towards the door.
“That helps,” Braig grinned, glancing over his shoulder as Moss left before crouching down to search the floor.
“What’re you doing?” Shultz asked, as Jones righted and sat in Braig’s chair.
“Dropped a ball,” Braig replied, looking under the Nap Couch and squinting at the darkness. Where in the world could it have gone? He frowned, glanced towards the window, like that could help. The sun streamed in brightly, illuminating dust motes as they swirled in some phantom breeze. The drills must still be ongoing - he could still hear them marching.
It came from the same general direction, sure, but a bit off to the side…
Whatever. He shrugged, went back to searching under the couch for his lost toy. Had to while the hours away, somehow, and Aels and Dil were both on door duty–
“OW, sonuva—!” Braig yelped, rubbing at the back of his head. He’d probably have a goose-egg there, next morning; He was half-tempted to give the couch a kick. He eased back a safe distance, turned,
“Care to finish that sentence, Captain?”
Eadric’s face was cold and impassive, but Braig could feel the disapproval radiating through the air. Behind him, Sampson stood in a sharp parade rest, and, at the General’s other side, Grieg was tossing Braig’s missing ball up and down in one hand.
You bet I would, Braig thought, narrowing his eyes at the stolen toy before returning his gaze to his father’s.
“No, sir.” He said, in a spontaneous moment of good judgement. He straightened slowly, took a few steps forwards to stand in line with the rest of the men - Jones, Miller, Schultz, and Aboiye. He wished he’d just left with Moss when he’d had the chance.
“Very good.” Eadric said. He maintained eye contact for a few seconds longer before turning and walking slowly down the line of guards, his cane adding a sharp punctuation to every other step. Braig kept his eyes forwards. In his peripheries, he could see Grieg still tossing the ball up and down, up and down, up and down, before tucking it into his pocket. Braig suppressed a groan; That’d be a pain to get back. He may as well be better off picking up a new one from the dollar store.
A crisp whoosh nearly made him flinch. Fortunately enough for him, he was able to keep his composure. Even more fortunate was that he was not on the receiving end of the good General’s ire, If Braig had cared to look beside him, he would have seen Jones fearing for his life, the tip of the cane hovering right over his shoulder, less than an inch from his neck.
“… Tie back your hair, Lieutenant.” Eadric said coolly. “This is the Royal Guard, not your parents’ basement. Have some respect.” He flicked a few strands of auburn hair off of Jones’ shoulder, then set his cane back on the ground.
“Yes, sir,” replied Jones. Eadric paid him no mind before moving on.
“Something funny, Lieutenant?” Grieg piped from the other end of the line.
“No, sir!” Miller said, straightening his shoulders.
“Just that happy to see us, huh?” Braig could hear Greig’s hand slap against Miller’s shoulder from where he stood. “Can’t keep the smile off your face?” Eadric paused, glancing over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir!” Miller replied. Braig had to swallow a cringe, and he knew he wasn’t the only one. There wasn’t a right answer to that question. That was still the wrong one.
“Aw, well, look at Lieutenant Sunshine, over here!” Grieg drawled, stepping back. Eadric turned, but otherwise said nothing. Grieg continued on. “Front-leaning rest.” Miller did as instructed; Grieg crouched down to be at his height.
“You know the song ‘Happy and You Know It’, Sunshine?” He asked. The grin on his face was audible.
“Yes, sir.” Miller replied. He sounded less happy.
“Well, guess what you’re going to serenade us with while the General finishes his inspection?” Grieg sounded very pleased with himself. “Start pushing.”
“Grieg.” Eadric cut in. Miller paused mid-push-up; Grieg’s amusement faltered only slightly as he turned to face his superior officer. “Get on his back. I imagine he’s lighthearted enough that it won’t be a challenge, otherwise.”
“Yes, sir!” Grieg said, delighted. He planted his boot firmly between Miller’s shoulder-blades, waiting for him to go down before stepping up fully. Miller grunted in discomfort.
“Funny, that doesn’t sound like music!” Grieg commented. “We don’t need to turn on the jukebox, do we?”
“No, sir.” Miller mumbled, and a quiet, off-key version of the song wafted through the break room. None of them were tempted to laugh. Eadric continued on his way. He paused at Schultz, but said nothing; Aboiye managed much the same fate, only with a quiet snort. The type that meant he’d been identified as fresh meat, but was lucky enough that the lions weren’t quite hungry for his blood. Eadric paused in front of Braig, looked him over, and frowned at the ground. Braig fought to avoid rolling his eyes.
“I can’t see my reflection in your boots, Captain.” Eadric said, fixing Braig with a detached stare.
You’ve gotta be kidding me.
“No, sir?” Braig asked, keeping his expression as neutral as he could.
“Why is that?” Eadric asked. (He was much better at this whole ‘emotionless’ thing.)
Oh, powers. He’s serious.
“Fix it, Captain.” Eadric’s tone was sharp, and he gestured over to the supply closet, to the side of the room. Braig gave a short salute, walked over to the cabinet– Straightened his posture and fixed his gait when the sound of a cane striking the floor echoed through the room, temporarily silencing Miller’s song (until Grieg cleared his throat). Braig decided this wasn’t worth getting reamed out, again. He pulled a small jar of black polish out of the closet, and a rag smeared with the same, then knelt where he was to shine his boots.
“In line, Captain.” Eadric said. Braig avoided saying a number of things. He stood up, returned to his position in line, and knelt down once again. It was silent, except for Miller’s increasingly pained singing, and the occasional squeak of the rag against the leather of Braig’s boots, and, of course, the ticking of the clock. He could feel Eadric’s eyes on him, and Sampson’s. Grieg’s, too, when Miller’s push-ups brought him over the heads of the others. After a few minutes, Braig paused, polish in one hand, rag in the other.
“Permission to recover, sir?” He said, noting that he could, in fact, see his own distaste sulking back to him from his footwear.
“Granted.” Eadric said, and Braig stood. After a second of silence, Eadric looked at him again, blue eyes meeting brown.
“It will have to do.” He said, cast once more glance don the line, then turned to leave. Sampson moved to follow him, and Grieg hopped off of Miller’s back.
“On your feet, Sunshine.” He said, and, before Miller could get too appreciative, “and I want a reprise of that when you’re on your patrols. Gotta raise morale somehow, right?” He chuckled; Miller only let out a soft ‘yes, sir’ as he worked to regulate his breathing.
“As you were, gentlemen.” Eadric said as he stepped through the door.
“Stand easy,” Sampson echoed, following him. Grieg brought up the rear, fishing the bouncy ball out of his pocket and examining it as the trio vanished down the hall. Braig groaned, even as the five men let their postures slump.
“Who was that?” Aboiye asked, glancing up to Miller, then to Jones, then Braig, in turn. Braig opened his mouth to reply.
“That was ‘Daddy’.” Schultz announced, plopping himself on a chair with a grin.
“Shut up, Schultz!” Jones snapped, once again speaking before Braig could; In this case, though, he was rewarded with an appreciative nod from the sharpshooter, right as a sudden gravity well yanked Schultz’ chair out from under him.
“I’ll see you guys later.” Braig grinned, feeling a bit better, already.
“Where’re you going?” Miller asked, from where he was helping Schultz back to his feet.
“I’m going to see if I can get my ball back.”
