Work Text:
"Schell."
The mangled body of the footsoldier lay sprawled across the snow. Its remaining leg protruded from its shattered hip at a contrived angle that made it difficult to look at without subconciously pulling a muscle. Even though the blood couldn't be seen through the bright red skintight armor, the stains it left on the snow seemed to glow in the burning cold of the night air. I sniffled a bit. My nose was runny. I wondered what was for dinner that night. Maybe soup. I love soup.
"SCHELL!"
"Oh fu-sorr-uh, yeah, yeah I'm, I'm here, wassup?"
Lauriet sighed.
"I asked you a question, can you even hear me?"
"I can now, sir."
Lauriet emitted a constrained grunt, the kind of noise you make when the rest of your brain is semi successfuly trying to hold you back from calcining someone.
"Wonderful. Can you please return to the task at hand?"
"Yessir!"
I grabbed the nearby sack in one hand and the lone leg of the body in the other, attempting to unite the two in holy matrimony of convenient corpse carrying. The body, however, seemed to be siding with its disapproving father, and increasingly became bent on refusing the bag's hand, despite my emphatic attempts to coerce it to the alter. Apparently I was still hungover from the bachelor's party, because after twenty minutes of attempts Lauriet just grabbed the body and yelled at me to go find the other leg. I smiled to myself under my mask. I'd been so productive that day. I woke up exactly an hour and a half after breakfast, four whole minutes sooner than my PB. And now I was actually trying to work on something I was told to do? Whaaaaaat? I'm so amazing.
With that in mind, I promptly forgot about the other leg and made my way back into the hideout for dinner.