Drinking with Virgil might have been the dumbest thing that the Rookie had done in a while. Three beers in, he is still trying to decide. Not that he had much confidence when it started with, “Hah, I thought you had a face, Rook!” and led to, “Hey, you have any idea how long Whorehay’s dick is?”
“I think it’s pronounced ‘George’,” Rookie had replied, heading for another bottle and avoiding the question entirely. He so did not want to think about one of his superior’s members today. Or ever. Unless it was their idea.
Either way, three beers in and he’s finally started talking about Helljumpers, ignoring the fact that he couldn’t for the life of him pronounce ‘SOIEV’ right now. “Drop pods, hurtling out of the fuckin’ sky. And you’re in one. And your squad’s in them, too. Sometimes they just… crash or burn up. Blip off the radar.” Rookie was not bothered by it in the slightest; fact of life, right there. “Or you get lost, lost track of your squad. Which sucks. Guess I’ve lost them permanently, now.” He gives the bottle a glare, deciding the beer is at fault for this. “You too, eh, Virg? Fucking space-time… wormholes.”
Virgil shrugs. “Fuck them. Less people bitching at us. Bottom’s up, Rook.”
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Drinking with Virgil might have been the dumbest thing that the Rookie had done in a while. Three beers in, he is still trying to decide. Not that he had much confidence when it started with, “Hah, I thought you had a face, Rook!” and led to, “Hey, you have any idea how long Whorehay’s dick is?”
“I think it’s pronounced ‘George’,” Rookie had replied, heading for another bottle and avoiding the question entirely. He so did not want to think about one of his superior’s members today. Or ever. Unless it was their idea.
Either way, three beers in and he’s finally started talking about Helljumpers, ignoring the fact that he couldn’t for the life of him pronounce ‘SOIEV’ right now. “Drop pods, hurtling out of the fuckin’ sky. And you’re in one. And your squad’s in them, too. Sometimes they just… crash or burn up. Blip off the radar.” Rookie was not bothered by it in the slightest; fact of life, right there. “Or you get lost, lost track of your squad. Which sucks. Guess I’ve lost them permanently, now.” He gives the bottle a glare, deciding the beer is at fault for this. “You too, eh, Virg? Fucking space-time… wormholes.”
Virgil shrugs. “Fuck them. Less people bitching at us. Bottom’s up, Rook.”