7: Detour

"Ah, verga! Ya gonna knock out a tooth before I even qualify for the fight!"

"Then keep up your guard, baboso! You got ya head in the clouds again?" Carlos let another jab fly, which Robin successfully nudged to the side this time. "That's better! Remember, takes less energy to deflect, and even less energy to just move out the way," Carlos instructed even as he tossed a one-two combination.

Robin grunted, shifting to let the first slide past his ribs before trapping the second under his arm while swinging his free fist in for a swift haymaker. Carlos ducked to avoid the counter, then twisted to free his wrist while circling around to Robin's back.

Robin's eyes flicked over a shoulder even as his thoughts slipped back to her fingers, and how soft they'd been gripped around his --

"Shit-fuck!" he yelped as he failed to avoid a quick thrust into his side, eyes bulging as his body bent unnaturally. "You grumpy bitch!" he complained, twisting around to face Carlos's bemused expression while rubbing at his kidney. "Now I'mma end up pissin' blood again..."

"You got that cute little thing from the bodega on ya mind, don't ya?" Carlos accused, even as the corners of his muzzle turned up slightly. They traded another quick flurry of blows as Robin scowled, then overcompensated with an uppercut that contained more embarrassed frustration than precision. Carlos rocked to one side before smoothly looping an arm around Robin's waist and using his loss of balance to fling him to the mat.

Robin wheezed as he slammed onto his back, his arms and legs following suit with matching thumps. He groaned and stared at the dim lights above while Carlos leaned over him with a half-smile. "Yeah you are, pendejo."

"I didn't say I wasn't," Robin mumbled before accepting his friend's hand so he could be yanked back to his paws. "It ain't nothin' serious, papi," he added sarcastically, rubbing at the back of his head and then squaring up once more.

"I'm sure it ain't," Carlos retorted, mirroring Robin's stance as his tail swayed steadily. "I'm all about having fun, ain't tellin' you not to sleep around." He gave Robin a knowing smirk while tossing a few sharp jabs. "Just tellin' you to watch out for the ones who turn every lunch break into a handjob."

Robin flushed hot under his fur, babbling an inane response before quickly fending off the punches to attempt a wild overhead blow. "Ay! I...I was only five minutes late comin' back last time!"

Carlos laughed boisterously while parrying the strike and aiming a counter-jab to Robin's gut. "And I covered for ya with the bossmang like I always do!"

Robin huffed but focused the sheepish emotions into a quick-witted response through his body, absorbing Carlos's punch while relaxing his core to dissipate the blow. He twisted to the side and spotted Carlos's ribs under his extended arm, laying a trio of punches and landing the first two before shifting his attention when Carlos dropped his arm to instead sling a jab toward his cheek. Carlos barely managed to block it, though Robin saw he was slightly off-balance and pounced.

He rained a hail of jabs and hooks across Carlos's upper body and head, managing to score a few hits while driving his mentor backward until his back was against the ropes. Carlos laughed despite the bloody nostril, thrusting a fist upward to yield with a proud glint in his eyes. "Hell yeah!" he exclaimed as Robin squinted up at him and then relaxed with a small smile of his own, reaching up to slam his knuckles against his friend's. "That's how you do it, hermanito!"

Robin grumbled even as he bounced his shoulders a few times in confidence. "So all I gotta do is get my opponent to embarrass me??" he scoffed before flinching as the shuffle of a tarp made him look curiously to the side.

Carlos wiped the blood from his muzzle and grinned, tossing a light punch into Robin's shoulder. "Nah, all you gotta do is learn to do something with all those emotions. Use 'em to your advantage, don't let your enemy take that power from ya."

Robin grunted his understanding while glancing over a shoulder at the sound of muffled chatter. "I guess as long as my 'enemy' wants to make fun of my sex life, I'll be fine," he muttered.

His friend laughed again, though it sounded tinny. Robin glanced back at Carlos to see the older chupa's grin flickering through motes of dust. "I'm just sayin', gato. Anyone that anxious to get ya in the sack usually got problems of their own." Robin rolled his eyes but forced himself to listen to the gruff words of his oddly-translucent mentor. "It ain't your job to fix 'em, and it ain't your job to make 'em worse." He peered down at the hand that clapped against his shoulder, frowning at the way the deep crimson fur flecked away like ash. "We got enough shit goin' on, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah. No jodas..."

"Hey, um...Castro?"

"No jodas, old man..."

"Er...Robin?"

Robin opened his eyes as hard-packed dirt tumbled down over Carlos's features. He grit his teeth and clenched his claws into the cot before a hesitant shuffle of paws caused his head to whip around.

"Whaddya need?" he spat out, eyes flat as they adjusted to the amber light trickling past the tarp to illuminate the figure leaning into his doorway.

The silhouette flinched slightly before offering an awkward wave as a bulky male figure slowly came into focus. "Uh. Hey. Samael asked me to see if you were awake."

Robin sucked on his teeth before sitting up with an absent grunt. He glanced down at himself and remembered why there was still a pale stain on his undershirt, then lifted his eyes again to see the violet-furred male offer a tiny smile. "Looks like, uh. Looks like you and Samael have already worked together."

Robin only smirked as he shoved himself off the cot and stretched his arms over his head while examining the other chupa a bit more closely. Big dude, a little taller than most. No mane, either -- "Yeah, me 'n Shorty did the whole suck 'n fuck tour already. You one of his cousins he practiced deep-throating back in the day?"

Baldy blanched and then chuckled sheepishly while rubbing at his chest. "Oh, uh. No, no, we're not related. It, uh. It runs in my family." He jerked a thumb up to his head, then twisted to one side as he gestured to the end of his short tail, bereft of any sort of tuft. "Both ends." He smiled and took a step forward while holding out his hand. "I'm Aslan."

Robin regarded his outstretched hand before moving to stride past him. "And I'm hungry. We got time to grab a bite?"

"Oh, uh..." Aslan danced in an awkward circle, nearly losing his balance as he half-reached after Robin. "W-wait!" Robin lifted an eyebrow while glancing back over a shoulder. "Sammy said to bring your armor!" Robin tilted his head somewhat and Aslan sprouted another timid smile. "I think you guys are going out."

"I remember looking at the transfer papers and thinking 'Dang, this is so clear and well-written...there's no way a Blue commander wrote this request', and I gave her this look...and she just must have known." Aslan smiled wistfully while Robin glanced from his tender expression back to his own armor, rubbing at a bloodstain with a scowl. He hadn't noticed how messy things had gotten in the darkness of the incident on the train. "She took a huge chance telling me she was with the Movement, but I, um. I was so desperate to do something better with my life. I was making guns that kids were using to kill each other for this stupid war, and...I didn't want that anymore..."

Robin grunted while adjusting his waist harness -- the midget must have dented that shit during one of his flying tackles, it felt tight around his hips. "You know where me and Shorty are supposed to be going? Thought Nelly said he couldn't drive no cars after the bullshit he pulled recruiting me."

Aslan tilted his head a bit, doing a better than expected job of masking his hurt expression at being so bluntly ignored. "Uh. Oh, you mean Nelson? I dunno about that, we're so remote out here that you kind of have to take a vehicle for any mission we run, but I'm pretty sure this is a legitimate job and not, um. And not a Sammy Special."

A wrinkle creased Robin's muzzle. "Confused why she's having him train me if he's such a pain in the ass."

Aslan's smile grew a bit more. "We all have our specialties. I worked with him a little when I first came on-board, too. It's hard to find anyone else who passes on the, erm, rebel spirit so easily. He's not so bad when you get used to his, ah. Energy."

Robin eyed the soft-spoken chupa and then released an entertained snort. "Bet he had a field day fuckin' a big cabron like you, climbed you like a jungle gym."

Aslan blinked and then laughed, rubbing the nape of his neck as his tail swished sheepishly. "Oh, I'm, ah. I'm not into guys. He did make me the offer, but was very sweet after I let him know."

"Shorty knows restraint, first shock of the day," Robin muttered as they moved toward the mess hall. "So the teacher's your girl, then? You guys fuck on top of her forgery or is little man the only one who recruits with his ass?"

Aslan gave an even more uncomfortable chuckle, though his voice contained a strain of surprise. "We didn't, um. No. But...you were listening?"

Robin looked at him again and shrugged. "Don't gotta care to pay attention, pendejo."

He wasn't sure he liked the long, thoughtful gaze Aslan laid upon him. Aslan smiled again after a few seconds and nodded once. "I suppose that's true. Thank you for the chat, Robin." He reached out to grasp Robin's shoulder before the ex-soldier could pull away. "I help maintain weapons and equipment for the base, so. If you need anything, please come find me. And it'd be nice to talk again, too."

Robin shifted his weight to release himself from Aslan's grip. "Yeah. Sure thing."

Aslan dropped his hand but continued the gentle smile as he rubbed along his own arm. "I gotta go and help unpack some new supplies. You can get to the garage okay from here? That's where Samael said he'd be."

Robin turned to head for the dinky pantry, lifting a hand to wave dismissively over a shoulder. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Ah, um. Okay. See you around!"

Another idle grunt as Robin listened to the hesitant retreat of Aslan's footsteps. Shorty was right about everyone here being chatty. Though if everyone else did all the talking, it meant Robin didn't have to. Sounded like a positive to him.

"Good mornin', hon! Ooh, looks like you got yerself a nice breakfast!"

Robin blinked before glancing at the half-eaten yogurt in his hand. "Yeah. Real gourmet shit."

Samael laughed, as frustratingly undeterred as ever. "Aw, I shouldnt'a let you sleep in! Mr. Jonas makes a real mean scrambled egg if ya get there 'fore 1800..."

Robin emitted a sound of vague comprehension while spooning another bit of yogurt into his maw. "So what's the job, Shorty? I thought you ain't allowed to fuck with no wheels?"

Samael flicked a playful grin his way. "Mama cain't stay mad at me too long...well." He paused and scratched at his chin. "A'right, she can, but she'll put that aside when there's work to do! We gotta team out securin' one'a the safe-houses we picked up in a recent deal. Mama wants us to give 'em a hand since local militia's been a li'l hot lately." He wagged his eyebrows. "We ain't s'posed to leave fer another period or so, buuuut I figured we could get an early start an' make a li'l side-trip over to the Red depot in Kestral City!"

Another frown as Robin tossed the yogurt onto a nearby table, his eyes boring into Samael's. "We gettin' back on that train so I can beat ya ass again?"

Samael winked. "C'mon, now, we both got our asses beat," he chided before throwing his arms wide. "I had one of our radio folks do some pokin' around, 'n we found out yer old platoon -- an' all their things -- got picked up 'n delivered to K-City fer debriefing! So...we're gonna go pick up yer stuff!"

Robin's frown deepened. "I didn't say shit about that. I travel light, anyway. Don't need it."

It was a chance to finally, forcibly, separate himself from the last remnants of the past.

Samael produced a warm smile while moving toward a pile of Red armor, presumably in his size. "Aw, c'mon, hon. This is yer home, now. An' I ain't doubtin' that you could replace most'a yer stuff, but." He trailed off and touched a finger to his chest again, his eyes distant. "But I'm sure you got a few things that belong to you 'n you alone."

There was no way Samael could know about the worn, folded photograph. And yet...

"I told you, gatito," Robin said evenly. "I don't need any of that shit."

Samael met his eyes and Robin cursed himself for not looking away faster, losing himself momentarily in the endless blue gaze that seemed to curl around him tighter than any desperate embrace. "Well. It'll still be a good opportunity to show ya some of the kindsa things we do. An' I think --"

"Ah, there you guys are!"

They both turned as Y'vonne strolled into the expansive room, waving a small sheaf of papers in one hand. "Got the base transfer sheets done for you two."

Samael brightened, tugging the collar of the underarmor he'd squeezed over his upper body while lifting the chest harness from the set of armor. "Perfect timin'! I was just tellin' Robin how this job's gonna be a great example of the sneaky stuff we do!"

"Uh huh." Y'vonne peered between the two before gesturing at Samael with the paperwork. "You know, on the subject of 'sneaky'...I didn't see this mission on today's duty roster." Robin glanced over to see Samael sport a mischievous grin while he slipped the chest piece over his head and tightened it around his barrel-like torso. "I wanted to make sure I didn't miss anything from your directions. But strangely enough, no details to be found." She placed her free hand on a hip while raising an eyebrow at Samael. "Care to explain?"

"A'right, now..." Samael began with a disarming smile as he shamelessly yanked down his shorts so he could step into a pair of tight black underarmor. His tail jangled brightly and even Y'vonne seemed to be temporarily distracted by the pendulum of his tuft. "Mah new friend here got recruited real sudden. So sudden he ain't had nothin' but his armor an' that fine ass when he accepted my offer."

"It is a fine ass," Y'vonne offered with a small smile in Robin's direction before she folded her arms and focused once more on Samael as he stepped into the bottom half of the armor to pull it over his trunk-like legs. "Waiting for the pitch, Samael."

Samael chuckled and wiggled his waist a few times to settle the harness around his broad hips, his eyes lighting upon Robin once more. "I wanted to get him his stuff back."

"Even if I said I didn't care about getting it back," Robin added in a flat tone.

Samael squirmed on the spot briefly and then glanced back toward Y'vonne with a lame smile. "Even if he said he ain't care 'bout gettin' it back," he echoed softly.

She glowered at Samael for several seconds, tapping her toes slowly. But eventually a smile slipped into place as she sighed and stepped forward with the papers outstretched. "Maybe next time ask someone if they want your sweet Sampian hospitality before you plan an off-the-books job for them."

Samael beamed and gratefully accepted the paperwork as Robin grit his teeth and clung to his numbness. "I don't want it," he muttered. "Waste of fuckin' time."

Y'vonne looked up at him and then offered a thin but polite smile. "Too bad, buster. I already did the legwork, you two aren't wasting this good forgery." Samael smiled as well and nodded at Robin several times while he continued to fasten the smaller piece of armor to his limbs. "Besides, Samael's right. It's good training to show you what else we do. Not all our jobs are full of shoot-outs and fist-fights."

"Then why the hell am I here?" Robin asked mildly.

She gave a different smile and tilted her head before gazing at Samael for a moment. "Because you're more than shoot-outs and fist-fights," she replied while bringing her eyes back to Robin.

Robin snorted. "Whatever ya say, chica."

Y'vonne hardly seemed put off by his demeanor, merely resting her hands on her hips once more as she tipped her head toward Samael. "You two better get going, because if you fuck up and get to the actual gig late...Nelson's gonna kick all our asses."

"An' she'll use Robin's legs to do it," Samael added with a grin before he gave her a thumbs up and tucked the paperwork into a supply pouch. "Thanks again, ma'am! We'll catch up when we get back!"

"Please do, once Silverman reams you out for your little side-trip," she chortled. "And, Robin --" Robin glanced up from continuing to poke at his dented armor. "You should go see Aslan later, too. He can get that cleaned up and re-fitted for you."

He pursed his muzzle and then offered a flimsy smile. "Sure thing, teach. If ya want a threesome, you just gotta ask." She gave him a less than amused expression before waving at them both and turning to leave the garage.

"You gonna keep bein' mean to everyone 'round here?" Samael inquired while tightening the last armor piece around his shin. "It don't cost nothin' to just smile 'n nod sometimes!"

"It don't cost nothin' to get you on my dick, if that'll shut ya up," Robin shot back with a smirk, clenching a fist in anticipation of the snarl.

But Samael only smiled a bit and tipped his head to one side. "Well, suppose I cain't argue that," he admitted. His expression cheered a moment later, however, as he slapped his palms together. "But I think we're ready! We're gonna be takin' a bike -- hope you don't mind ridin' on the back, unless you know how to handle a big girl like that?" He pointed toward a massive motorcycle parked behind a few rusting pickup trucks and the jeep they'd arrived in.

Robin eyed the two-wheeled vehicle. "I don't mind being the bitch, long as you know what the fuck you're doing."

Samael found another grin, and Robin didn't appreciate the way he felt his own muzzle turn slightly upward at the sight. "Aw hell, I'm always down fer the ol' switcharoo, I'll treat ya real nice," he proclaimed before winking and trotting toward the bike. "C'mon, then."

He followed Samael, watching the stumpy rebel push the motorcycle forward under his own strength before parading a loose circle around it to ostensibly check it over. Robin approached and then raised a hand with a grunt as he reached back to grasp into his tail. "Ah wait. Just a sec, Shorty." Samael turned toward him curiously as Robin moved the end of his tail around to his front, then gripped into his 'tuft' to yank it off.

It was worth watching the redneck's jaw drop. Robin smirked and snapped the dark red bandanna a few times while giving Samael a quizzical look. "All that time ya spent watchin' my ass, cabron...you never noticed?"

Samael mouthed a few silent, stupid words before sputtering: "I...I ain't never seen...I ain't expected...hell, it ain't even the same color as yer mane!"

Robin barked out a short laugh as he busied himself with retying the cloth around the bare stump at the end of his tail. "Actually, it's what I used to clean the rest of your jizz off my hand once ya left," he stated plainly, earning another awkward babble of sounds from Samael that he ignored while tightening the bandanna. "Anyway, the red helps hide any blood stains on it, too. Don't gotta clean it as much."

By the time he'd looked back up, Samael had regained most of his composure, even though he continued to stare at the end of Robin's tail for several seconds. His eyes eventually shifted back up to meet Robin's own, a delicate frown cresting his maw. "Did...did it happen...same time as..." He trailed off, though his intention was obvious as his gaze slid down to the gleaming prosthetics.

Robin strode forward channeling the spirit of a bored steamroller, swinging a leg over the back end of the motorcycle while gazing expectantly at his companion. "Let's roll, gatito."

Samael's crestfallen expression debuted a sequel, and Robin offered only a blank expression as he waited for the smaller male to finally sigh, nod and then sling himself over the front of the seat. "Hold on tight back there. We gotta bust ass to keep our schedule."

Robin didn't bother reminding Samael that the 'schedule' was only an issue because of this bullshit side-mission he insisted on running. It'd be more fun to bring it up later when the shit inevitably hit the fan.

"So you gotta take that shit out every time you go undercover?" Robin muttered against the side of Samael's head while they rolled toward the front entrance to the Red depot. "Why bother wearing it, then?"

Samael's smile quirked into place as he rolled an eye back toward Robin. "Small price to pay fer bein' able to show off who I am," he called back.

Robin frowned, leaning back as they slowed to approach the guard leaning out of the small shack ahead. No point trying to understand Shorty's logic. With any luck, little man would fuck up and give Robin something to punch.

They'd stopped at a service station a few klicks from the depot so that Samael could remove his crimson piercings and run through the plan. Robin had given it as much attention as he did most things, but considering the fact that Samael's borrowed Red armor sported a specialist's insignia, it meant he was technically a ranking soldier. Which meant he'd do most of the talking, which meant Robin could continue to not give a shit.

The motorcycle grumbled when Samael kicked it into neutral, letting it coast to a stop a meter or so from the Red soldier holding out a lazy hand. The guard was taller than Robin, though his build was almost gaunt considering the way his armor hung off his slender frame. The rifle on his back provided most of Skinny's threat as he looked over their vehicle before peering down at them both. "Nice bike," he commented before nodding to Samael. "What's your business here?"

Samael smiled invitingly and tossed out a bright salute that was returned with half the gusto. "Hey there, friend! Specialist Holmes, bringin' along the very handsome Private Castro!" He slung a thumb over his shoulder as his choice of words encouraged the guard to lean away slightly. "Li'l guy here was part of the escort mission that came o'er from Blarganthia! I got papers fer his transfer over to Allbane, an' we swung by to pick up the Private's privates!"

The guard blanched and stared speechlessly for a few seconds before Samael cheerfully corrected himself: "I mean, his private possessions!"

Robin's flat expression remained that way even as Skinny gawked at him, perhaps hoping he was less...intense than the specialist. "You...er. You're...one of Bristol's boys, then?"

"Fuck if I know," Robin replied as he scratched at his throat. "Think that was his name? Or was he the one who got his face shot off..."

The guard grimaced and shifted his gaze back to Samael. "The survivors from that mission got hauled here by convoy. Why wasn't he with them?"

Samael shrugged and slid a hand into a supply pouch, ostensibly to fetch the paperwork. Robin's adrenaline surged in anticipation of Skinny's reaction...only to blink when he realized the guy was oddly relaxed despite the growing coincidences. "Poor Private Castro got hucked off the ol' train by one'a them hoopster bitches," he drawled while producing the folded forgery. "Got a ride on the back of a fruit truck headed fer market, then I got assigned to pick 'im up 'n bring him to our outpost!"

Skinny frowned and accepted the papers, opening them to skim the first page before making a face. "Ugh. We just finished logging everyone from Bristol's platoon. Goddammit...I gotta go update the manifest..."

He turned to head for the guard shack, only for Samael to call out: "How 'bout you let us handle the paperwork with Command?" Skinny turned around to give him a wary look. "You c'n jus' mark up on yer li'l sheet there that the good private got transferred out 'fore he ever got here!"

The guard glanced down at the transfer papers for a moment and then cocked a brow. "You'd do that for me?"

"That ain't all I'd do fer you, hon!" Samael sang out as he propped his head up with an elbow on the handlebars. Skinny hardly had time to be flustered before the stocky rebel continued smoothly: "But fer sure, we got ourselves a real good li'l paper-pusher back at base, we c'n handle that fer y'all!"

Shorty spat game fast enough that Robin almost forgot he was an inbred idiot. It was a shame how boring this shit was, though.

"Or just fuck off and let us through," Robin uttered. "No one gives a fuck about those details, we're all just numbers on a page to them, puta..."

The guard flinched and immediately fired him a sour expression. But Samael reacted far more calmly as he glanced over his shoulder with a short laugh. His eyes carried a note of concern, but Robin didn't think it was in regards to this side-trip getting fucked over. "Wut was that, Private?" 'Holmes' barked out.

Robin wasn't one to flinch after all the times he'd been chewed out by superiors, but Samael's sudden shift in tone was enough to jar him into a muted frown. "Ya heard what I said, cabron," he replied flatly.

Samael snorted and turned his focus back to the guard, whose eyes were locked onto Robin disapprovingly. "Can you believe this guy?" 'Holmes' complained as he shook his head. "Dumbass been yappin' like this ever since I picked 'im up!"

"It's a great way to get sent to the front line, Private," Skinny noted icily while Samael's eyes flicked to the paper still gripped in his hands.

"Aw, don't worry, we got summin' much better planned fer him," Samael rambled as his tail swung slowly to the side. "My CO's puttin' together a task force fer a charge into Wortistan. Private Castro here's gonna be the tip of the spear! His record shows he likes hoppin' around...an' we got one helluva hop in mind!"

Skinny snorted and offered a thin smile in Robin's direction. "What an honor." He peered at the paperwork again and then shook it briefly. "Gonna take you up on that offer...Holmes, right?"

Samael produced another winning smile. "Holmes is where the heart is, as mah daddy always liked to say!"

Robin groaned into Samael's back while the guard smiled hesitantly back. "Heh. Right. Yeah, you don't need to spend any time longer with this guy. Gimme a sec and then you guys can head in to grab his stuff and be on your way."

"Yer a peach!" Samael trilled, continuing to beam for a second or two before exhaling as the guard entered the shack to leave the two on the idling motorcycle. Robin wondered if he'd see that snarl now...but was instead shown another half-smile over Samael's shoulder. "Haw, trainin' you's a blast, hon. Keeps me on my toes!"

"So does giving most guys a blowjob, Shorty," Robin retorted. He refused to uncover the memories of Rico's easy grin, the way he could fast-talk even the shittiest foreman into letting them clock out thirty minutes early to catch a show downtown. And yet here they were, using that same kind of bullshit for something personal. A waste of his time, of Samael's time. Of the whole goddamn Movement's time. Another useless sacrifice in Robin's name.

Robin failed to exude any further venom before Skinny approached them again with a smile that already proved Samael's act successful. "This all looks good to me. Made a note in our records -- here's the original back." He held out the forgery for Samael to accept cheerily. "Appreciate you doing the extra legwork." He stepped back to activate the security gate, tossing a wave to Samael and a scowl to Robin. "Go on through, Specialist. Good luck with the rest of your trip."

"Yer appreciated as well," Samael trilled before revving the motorcycle to carry them forward and into the base.

Robin glanced back as they rolled past the checkpoint, shaking his head and leaning in to mutter once more into Samael's ear: "I see that tongue ain't just for wrappin' around some baboso's dick..."

"Well, five more minutes an' it coulda been both," Samael chortled.

Robin grumbled over Samael's shoulder. "I'm more interested in what happens when ya pick someone who ain't into cock..."

The grin Samael flashed back at him was frustratingly intoxicating. "I gotta purdy good track record on knowin' who's down fer what...but I've made a wrong guess now 'n then." He winked and turned his focus once more on their approach to the depot. "No one expects the sucker punch from the 'little faggot', though. I get everyone on their back one way or another..."

Robin had no doubt about that.

"The private should be court-martialled for insubordination! We had that car locked down!"

Robin maintained his bored expression while Samael prepared some sort of tailored response at his side. He was too slow, however, as Robin met Bristol's furious gaze evenly. "I think ya still just mad you got bitch-slapped by HADES. Had ya big moment all ruined." He shrugged as Samael fidgeted slightly and tried to interject. "Guess you shoulda come out that car."

Bristol snarled and stormed forward as several heads lifted to stare in their direction. Robin welcomed the eager spark, only to frown as Samael gingerly brushed it off as he stepped up with a gentle clear of his throat.

"Step aside, Specialist!"

"Sir, I gotta haul him and his stuff all the way to Allbane on a bike," Samael drawled as he produced a wearisome expression. "It ain't gonna be easy if ya knock his ass out, an' Captain Talbot gonna chew my ass out if we gotta delay the charge."

Bristol paused and then glared down at Samael. "Talbot? Frank Talbot? He made Captain?"

Robin looked around at the survivors of his former (albeit temporary) platoon and felt a grin tickle his muzzle. If Shorty fucked this up, they'd finally get a chance to do something fun.

"Sure did!" Samael exclaimed. "Stepped over his bars 'bout a week ago after he told Command 'bout his big idea fer takin' back part'a Worti!" Robin made a face as he glanced down at his companion, then back to Bristol. "He's in mah chain so I gotta keep my mouth shut --"

"No you do not," Bristol interrupted with a short laugh before shaking his head. "Crazy bastard's been sending troops into Valhalla since his first bar." Robin realized that Bristol was buying this shit wholesale. The master sergeant shot a withering glower back up to him. "You're gonna wish you'd gone down with Lovell and Miller, son." Bristol flashed a toothy grin that likely made most squirm. "You savor that Red glory, Private. We'll have a toast for you after our next mission."

His features hardened once more and he thrust a finger toward the door. "Now take your shit and leave, gentlemen. Give Captain Talbot my regards." Bristol spun around and immediately barked at the other Reds: "And what the hell are all of you gawkin' at?! We got our own path to glory to carve, and it's gonna start with two laps around the hangar! Move it!"

Robin bent down to grip the handles of his bag, making a face at the missed opportunity and then turning to follow Samael so they could leave back through the front. "Shoulda let him take a swing, gatito. Give me something to do on this lame-ass job."

Samael winked up at him. "I toldja I was gonna show ya the ropes! I know ya wanna punch shit, but 's like Y'vonne said! Not all our missions gotta have fights 'n stuff." Robin had a biting response prepared, but Samael added enthusiastically: "You'd be real good at this kinda stuff, even if you'd rather knock a fella's lights out!" Robin snorted and regarded him mildly while Samael bounced a bit with his cheer. "Naw, fer real! You don't scare easy, you gotta real solid poker face...an' the way yer able to get under someone's hide so easy would go a long way to get someone actin' off their balance!"

Robin made a face even as Shorty's words trickled into his thoughts. He chose to ignore them in favor of an incredulous huff. "So how the fuck did you know about that captain back there?" he demanded as they approached the bike. He dropped to a knee to use the built-in straps to secure his bag while Samael chortled and tugged at his chest armor.

"Uhhhh, I sure as hell didn't," he replied with a crooked grin. "Jus' kinda played that one by ear, pulled a name outta my ass; ain't thought it'd be someone he knew."

"Geezus, how are you still alive?" Robin muttered. They both climbed onto the motorcycle and he could hear Samael's entertained smile from his spot behind the redneck.

"I get that a lot, hon. Ain't no lie that there's a lotta luck that goes into all this." Robin's grimace deepened as Samael kicked the bike to life and then added over the engine's rumble: "Got lucky with you too, after all. Now c'mon -- let's get back on track 'fore Mama ends our li'l streak of aces..."

"So how much of this rebel shit is driving across Sirca, and how much of it is you suckin' dick to get out of the noose?" Robin queried, folding his arms and resting against his duffel bag.

Samael chuckled while leaning on the handlebars and looking down both ends of the dusty highway. "A'right, you got me on the drivin' part -- lawd, feels like sometimes half my life's spent on wheels." He quirked a funny grin. "Helps me sympathize with Nelson, at least." Robin frowned, realizing he was unconsciously building a mental image of this mysterious super-bitch based on Samael's extravagant rambling. She must have been something else to instill such fear in her tiny redneck warrior if she wasn't even able to handle stairs.

"But hey, you saw yerself I ain't had to pull off a single belt back there at the depot!" Samael trilled, wiggling his hips as his tail jangled enticingly. Good thing Robin wasn't on his cycle. "I been dry as a bone since leavin' yer room the other period!"

Robin released a dismissive burst of air through his nostrils. "Gatito, you ain't been dry since the day you climbed outta the gene puddle back home."

Samael's grin hardly wavered as he raised a finger. "Yer lucky I know what that word means after all the teasin' I get 'bout the Sampian incest!" He cocked his head and stared intently to the west. "Guess there's still time to see...if I...gotta...suck..." He trailed off as the soft whine of sirens trickled through the Stigman dust. "Wonder if that's our boys..."

Robin leaned forward against Samael with anticipation dripping from his words: "And if it is?"

Samael glanced over his shoulder and smiled slightly. "Then you 'bout to earn yer first rebel paycheck, hon..." He squinted to better make out the approaching vehicles as Robin shielded his eyes to do the same. "Yeah, that's our four-door. Hoo shit, with a coupla minutemen hot on their ass..." He stomped a paw down, and the oversized bike roared to life beneath them with an eager rumble.

Robin absently looped an arm around Samael's chest as Shorty revved the engine and waited for the trio of vehicles to draw closer. Robin could now make out four figures in the lead car, one of them withdrawing from an open window while clutching a bleeding arm as the sound of gunfire echoed over the incoming engines. Robin's muzzle sprouted an excited grin as the lead vehicle whipped by them, spurring Samael to release the clutch and explode onto the cracked asphalt in time for the first militia car to scream past.

They took off with a squeal of rubber, accelerating swiftly to match pace with the armored personnel carrier that thundered along at the end of the small convoy. Robin licked the front of his teeth as adrenaline blasted through his veins, meeting the surprised stare of the van's driver before Samael gave the bike more throttle to roll up to the smaller interceptor.

The minuteman behind the wheel glanced over before snarling and yelling something to his partner in the passenger seat. Samael reached down to yank a pistol from a supply pack, then cursed and swiftly jerked the handlebars to swerve away from the sudden attempt to smash their sedan into the motorcycle. "Motherfucker! These guys ain't rookies!" Samael barked while thrusting his arm out again and unloading a burst of rounds toward the front corner of the interceptor.

It careened rapidly in the other direction, causing Shorty's bullets to miss their mark. He growled and then held the pistol up by his shoulder while yelling back: "Take it, try'n hit their tires!"

Robin glanced at the pistol before replying loudly: "Ain't really my thing, cabron."

Samael gave him a stupefied face before waving the handgun wildly. "Could ya try 'n make it yer thing fer just a se--shiiit!" He dropped the pistol over his shoulder so that it fell between their bodies while he decelerated and weaved behind the militia cruiser as its driver tried once more to ram them.

"Whatever ya say, Shorty," Robin commented, reaching down to pick up the pistol from his lap to examine it for a second while Samael yelped a few more expletives when the second minuteman opened fire from the passenger window. He absently lowered his head as a stray round glanced off his shoulder armor, then shrugged and leveled the handgun in the vague direction of the interceptor.

He pulled the trigger several times, his arm bouncing with the recoil of the rapid discharge. Samael glanced over as his relieved expression morphed onto a gawking stare -- nearly every one of Robin's bullets had gone wide, with only two having hit the sedan at all. "Geezus, hon..."

"Toldja it ain't my thing!" Robin called back, handing the emptied pistol over Samael's shoulder before they both looked behind them as the slam of metal grabbed their attention. The head of another militiaman poked through a hatch in the roof of the APC, followed shortly by an assault rifle that was promptly leveled in their direction.

"Oh shit!" Samael cried out, moments before the automatic weapon chattered with a spray of hot lead. Robin gripped into Samael once more as the redneck accelerated to avoid the burst. But the trail of gunfire followed them and Samael stared over a shoulder before gritting his teeth and launching them ahead to swiftly cut in front of the interceptor.

A hail of bullets perforated the roof of the cruiser, resulting in one minuteman gripping his arm with a shout as the driver stared blankly, then slowly slumped over the wheel. Robin's eyes lit up and he squeezed Samael's side firmly while leaning forward. "I'll be right back, Shorty!"

He heard Samael's confused response but had already repositioned himself to a squat, twisting around neatly on the broad seat of the motorcycle and then throwing himself without hesitation to the hood of the interceptor as it lurched slowly to one side. "Robin! Wait, fuck!"

But Robin was already sprinting over the bullet-riddled roof, his eyes gleaming as the rifleman atop the armored van widened his eyes and scrambled to reload his weapon. His tail helped keep balance for his prosthetics pounding across the top of the sedan, focused on his goal despite the way he saw the van's driver wrenching the wheel to the side. He lunged off the trunk and left behind a massive indentation to soar across the gap between the vehicles with one hand outstretched.

His teeth glistened, reflecting the thrill pounding in his ears, and his eyes burned anxiously into the mortified expression of the minuteman who was far too slow in turning his rifle in Robin's direction. His hand clutched into the roof first and he let momentum carry his body forward before he levered his torso sideways to slide neatly across the roof. One of his prosthetics collided cruelly with the officer's jaw, sending up a spray of blood an instant before his weight snapped his target's neck.

"What the fuck was that?!" someone shouted from inside the van.

Another voice snarled: "There's someone on the fucking roof!"

Robin watched the body of his first target drop back inside before gripping into the side of the hatch and swinging himself into the vehicle to follow suit. He managed to shove both legs into one of the remaining minutemen to send him slamming into the wall with a shocked cry, letting his body arch backward before releasing the hatch to land near the back of the van. "What's good, putas?" he rasped around his easy grin, quickly counting three opponents in the rear, plus the driver and passenger up front.

Militia One yelled incoherently and lunged at him while reaching for his sidearm. Robin met him with a thrusting kick to his throat as a hand flew down to grab the officer's wrist. One gagged and stumbled backward while Robin guided his gun hand into unleashing a barrage of bullets against the back door.

Robin glanced past him to see Militia Two charging in with a baton. He twisted One's wrist cruelly and spun the officer around before planting a prosthetic in his back to launch him stumbling into Two. They collided with matching grunts as a bounce of the vehicle sent them rolling into an ungainly heap. Another flash of movement drew Robin's attention and he lifted his head in time for the butt of a rifle to smash into his muzzle.

Blood sprayed from his jaws as he fell backward and crashed against the double doors, knocking them open as the dry Stigman heat rushed into the van. He cursed at the pull of gravity that left him splayed halfway out of the armored van, his arms danging mere centimeters from the pavement rushing past. His attacker snarled victoriously and shoved past his recuperating companions while lifting the rifle to his shoulder. Robin's eyes flicked to the side a moment before he lashed a leg out into the flimsy fold-down seat bolted to the wall.

The thin metal tore free from the sheer power of his kick, sending the square hunk of drilled steel into Militia Three's chest and surprising him into unloading a three-shot burst into the roof. Robin's eyes glowed ravenously, using his other leg to hook around the minuteman's ankle, yank back, and introduce his spine to the floor as a shocked yelp escaped his maw.

Robin reached up and gripped the doorframe, yanking himself back into the vehicle so he could throw himself into a vicious punch that smashed against Two's bared teeth. The officer gave a gargling cry and crashed into the passenger seat up front, giving Robin the opportunity to face One as the minuteman slung a fist into his cheek. Robin only twitched slightly and then offered a searing haymaker that knocked One off his paws.

Robin was on him before he could collide with the floor of the vehicle, leaping astride his chest and hammering a brutal series of jabs into his face. Someone grabbed his wrist and he immediately reversed the grip, yanking a stunned Three over his shoulder and slamming an elbow into his jaw as he crashed down into the compatriot still reeling from Robin's onslaught.

A sharp crack from the front seat jabbed a hot iron poker into Robin's forearm, drawing his attention away from the beatdown. He hissed in pain and leaped off One's torso to avoid a second shot from the panicked officer in the passenger's seat. Robin lashed out a leg on instinct, his metal prosthetic whickering through the air and smashing against the offending pistol with a dull clang. A stray round fired just past the driver's head, eliciting a threadbare yelp. "Someone kill this fucking guy!" he screamed before gasping as the cruiser in front of them veered suddenly and forced him to roughly whip the steering wheel to avoid a collision.

The maneuver tossed every occupant to the side, and Robin took advantage of the confusion to clutch the passenger's arm and smash it against the divider between the cab and the rear. The minuteman howled in agony as Robin started to turn back, only to find a pair of arms snaking beneath his to pin his upper body while hauling him to his feet.

He attempted to buck free, but Three had half a meter of height on him and fiercely held him in place while Two wiped blood from his muzzle and scrambled to locate a gun amid the chaos. Robin gnashed his teeth and then twisted his head around at the sound of a familiar roar to see Shorty glide into place behind the APC, the wide-eyed redneck yelling something incoherent.

A surge of adrenaline rushed through him and he glanced back to see Two snatch up an assault rifle with a defiant shout. Robin arched his spine forward to force his captor to move the same way, then snapped his head back to crush his skull against Three's muzzle. The arms looped around his shoulders loosened as the officer gave a muffled wail and released Robin, who dropped into a low squat, threw a crude elbow backward against Three's crotch, then sprung up toward Two when he tried to swing the rifle down.

Robin was faster, using one hand to force Two's dominant arm upward before his jaws dove for the minuteman's exposed throat. He tasted blood as his teeth tore through hide, flesh and sinew, ripping his head to the side as a splatter of viscera coated his features.

"Oh fuck!" someone cried out from behind him while Robin released the arm of the limp corpse and began to turn back to the others only to be distracted by Samael gunning the motorcycle. He glanced back and then blinked at the sight of the motorcycle's front wheel momentarily airborne before it slammed into the back of the van. Samael put on a burst of speed and launched the bike forward to fully enter the APC, knocking One through the divider and into the cab before he reached out to grab the front of Robin's armor.

"Christ, hon, we gotta go!" he shouted, all but dragging Robin onto the seat behind him and then leaning down to scoop the bloodied rifle from Two's lifeless fingers. He mashed a paw against the wheel well and Robin automatically slung an arm around his torso as they rolled backward and then thumped back to the asphalt with a squeak of rubber.

One stumbled toward the open doors with another weapon, but Samael swiftly jerked the handlebars while twisting the throttle to send them racing alongside the APC. Apparently remembering Robin's last bout with a firearm, Samael gripped the rifle in one hand while jerking his head at Robin, who understood redneck better than he realized as he leaned forward to replace Samael's fingers around the handlebar. Samael nodded, then balanced the rifle on his forearm to fire a small burst of rounds into the van's front tire.

Robin and Samael winced as one from the explosion of compressed air, the tire disintegrating and driving the front bumper into the surface of the highway. Metal screamed across asphalt and the APC twisted to the left while teetering precariously on two wheels before tipping over with a booming thud.

Samael whooped and tossed the rifle aside, letting it skitter into the ditch as he tapped Robin's hand to take back full control of the motorcycle. "Let's catch up to our friends 'fore anyone else shows up!" he shouted over a shoulder. An eye flicked back to the bloodied muzzle that hovered near his neck and Samael gave a brief chuckle, barely audible over the wind whipping past. "You ain't had to kill that dude...but fuck me, yer a fighter, a'right." He gazed forward again and Robin saw a flicker of a smile. "But I ain't sure I wanna be on the bottom next time."

Robin smirked and wiped some of the blood into his fist before settling against Samael's back. "Heh...fair enough, gatito. Keep it consistent today; bitch on the bike, bitch in the bed." He glanced back briefly at the duffel bag, then frowned into Samael's back plate. "Closest you gonna get to a 'thank you', anyway..."

"Haw. Fair enough, hon," Samael echoed. "I'll take what I c'n get."

So will I, Shorty.

Red vs Blue © Rooster Teeth. Halo © 343 Industries. Concept by Myshu, assisted by The Department of Chupapology.