Chapter Text
“First couple days of deployment are always the shittiest.”
Nyx looks across the embers of the sputtering fire. He cocks his head in Libertus’s direction. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Yeah, why’s that?” reiterates Pelna.
He’s stretched out next to Nyx, balancing his weight on his forearms and flat calves. He swigs the pocket flask, before passing it over to Tredd. “Fresh air, clear skies. Get away from eating gymnasium mat for a couple weeks. I’m pretty okay with it. There’s worse assignments to be had, y’know.”
“Eating gymnasium mat, he says,” mutters Libertus darkly. “You SpecOps guys have no say in this. Actually, you have no say in anything. When’s the last time you stepped foot outside the shooting range, Pelna?”
Crowe rolls her eyes. She snatches the flask from Axis. “Sore about something, Lib?”
“In what way?” eggs on Luche.
Libertus scowls. “You’re all so-o hilarious. You specially, Lazarus.”
“Some credit you can claim for yourself,” says Luche magnanimously. He accepts the flask as it’s passed back to him from Crowe. “The Lucian government pays you for the privilege of having your face ground into a gymnasium mat every other day, and even relents to allow you to say it’s for the kingdom’s sake. It’s a blessing, but moreover it’s entirely self-afflicted, so you’re not alllowed to whinge about it in any sort of way.”
“O-ho,” affects Crowe, fat lazy cat-smirking, “Great. Good to know you’re no longer eligible to bitch about anything, then, Luche.”
Luche scowls. Libertus sniggers. Pelna snorts. The latter hands the flask over to Nyx. Nyx tears his gaze forcibly from where he swipes at the accumulated liquor-wetness shining on his lower lip with the back of his hand. He doesn’t think it’s so noticeable; it’s barely two seconds until he readily accepts the flask.
“Didn’t realize we’re actually on a grade school field trip,” he says eventually, not without difficulty, but as indifferently as he possibly knows how to make it.
It’s as poor an attempt to cover for himself as he’s ever come up with, but Tredd pipes up, quite good naturedly for being him, “Screw you, Nyx,” which is followed by Pelna exaggeratedly coughing, “Mature,” into the crook of his elbow. And Libertus is looking amidst them all and smirking, not particularly honing in on anyone.
“Alright, dicks back in your pants,” deadpans Crowe. She twists until she’s able to face Libertus. “Back to the original query: what’s got you bitching about being back in the field exactly, Ostium?”
“You mean except for the obvious part, which is being back in the field,” deadpans Libertus right back. He cleaves a stare sideways towards Pelna, who has opened his mouth, but isn’t quick enough to interrupt him: “Not everyone is as in tune with the trees and the creeks as Ramuh incarnate over here. Some of us have chronic back pain. Serious chronic back pain.”
“Tell us more about that memory foam mattress and Altissian cotton bedspreads you got, Libertus,” snarks Crowe. “All of which you absolutely are able to afford on your salary.”
“There’s a whole lot that’s making sense here,” says Nyx. He smirks at Libertus, whose expression is turning decidedly dark, nigh on-splitting down the middle with thunder.
“Now I understand what’s your selling point with the ladies. Note to everyone: if you’re not the proud owner of thousand-thread count sheets and a hyper-modern mattress, you’re never gonna be a sure bet at last call. Man, can’t believe I haven’t considered that before.”
“Nyx,” Libertus hisses dangerously. “I’ll come after you. Don’t think I won’t.”
“Sure, go ahead. It’ll be fun. I’d love to see you try to warp once that flask’s empty, buddy. Bonus points if you can even stagger after me.”
“You’re an unmitigated fucking asshole, you know that? Alright, you’ve got yourself a challenge. I’ll show you who’s going to warp—”
“Gentlemen! I think that’s enough!”
Crowe smiles at them both in turn, her lips twisted sharp. “Sorry. Misnomer, none of you are gentlemen. But still, don’t you think that’s quite alright as it is?”
Libertus, roused to standing up, and actually mid-step, rocks down on his heels again, his expression surly and caught out. He crouches slowly, and sits down slower. He glowers at Nyx all the while, wags a threatening finger. Nyx blows him an obnoxious kiss, which doesn’t at all help, but which is objectively hilarious.
“Alright. That’s out of the way. I’m sorry, but I just have to—you all think SpecOps get a free pass, or something? And what, that we’re somehow exempted from hand-to-hand combat? That we only do shooting, knifing, spying?” Pelna sounds vaguely offended, which is, as far as Nyx knows him, as ostentatiously wronged as he ever allows for himself to be. He squints meanly at the group, particularly daggered at Libertus, Crowe, and finally at Nyx, which Nyx feels personally is just plainly unfair.
“There’s no thinking involved,” says Crowe. She shrugs, as if it’s simply not up to her. “It’s been pretty much empirically proven.”
Libertus nods empathetically. “Freeloaders, is what you are.”
Pelna’s perennially kind gaze bulges with offence. “What? What do you mean empirically proven, I’ll show you empir—”
“Gods, shut up, all of you. Pelna: they mean fucking statistically, man.” Tredd cuts a wide, unimpressed sort of-glare around the crescent of the group. Well done, he shrugs and utters a semi-pained, ugh!, and waves the flask somewhat in front of himself. “Back to business? No quarrelling about tedious shit we already know? Hm, no? Alright then, anyone up? Freeloader?”
He screws the cork properly shut, and then unceremoniously chucks it at Pelna. “There we go. Have some hard earned liquor, my man. On the house, and everything.”
“Libertus got his face ground into a gymnasium mat for that one swig of booze,” says Crowe. She taps Pelna’s boot with the toe of her own. “You better be grateful.”
“I’ll grind your face in a gymnasium mat,” grits Libertus.
“Well, as much fun as anyone might find that, the only proven masochist around here is Nyx,” says Luche. “And before he objects: come on, man.” He turns from Nyx in order to slant a half-smirk at Libertus. “You should try your luck somewhere proven.”
“Oh, ha,” says Pelna. “That’s actually funny.”
“Glad it is. So happy you’re having fun, guys,” says Nyx. “It’s only at my expense. Whatever. Who’s counting, right?”
“Right?” parrots Pelna, amidst a blinding grin he’s levied straight at Nyx. Before Nyx can so much as think of a way to counteract that, he turns the same expression onto Libertus. “Hah, got to love the first days of deployment, huh, Lib?”
“Wow,” snips Libertus, at least a little genuinely hurt, even if mostly he’s laying it on thick for the audience of them all. “Collectively, but also individually: you all are actually the worst. By far the group of people to have ever graced this earth with their presence. Congratulations. I hope you’re happy.”
Tredd looks around the circle. “Right. So, are we going to drink to that, or what?”