1: Beginnings The letter sat unfolded still upon the nightstand. The room was obviously occupied but so squared away it reminded the round-jawed Southerner of the motel room from the night before. No, not even motel staff tucked beds in like that. The Texan pushed his duffel bag over the standard desk, feeling too bad to set it on a bunk so tucked in his own mother might be impressed. There was a faint odor about the room; nothing suffocating but worth a glance around the desk…only to find a bottle of gun oil and a folded rag tucked underneath. Calloused fingers drew the bottle up under his nose and, oh boy, that definitely explained the smell. Pungent stuff. The door had been closed behind him for privacy’s sake. He knew someone must already room here and yet the second the wood panel was swung open, the Texan fumbled not to drop the bottle of oil on the floor and make a mess of things. Like a child caught with one hand in the cookie jar, the bottle was quickly replaced to its original home and the ole’ cowboy took a spin on his heels. Immediately, he found himself being stared down by well over six feet of quivering bulk. First silence, and then an abrupt. “SPY!†What? Good Lord, was this some sort of drill? He’d only just arrived and the hulking stranger was crossing the room to him in three great big strides. The Texan would have backed up further if his hip wasn’t already pressed uncomfortably into the edge of the desk. Hands were thrown up quickly as if to barricade him from the behemoth with such an ill-fitted helmet wobbling over the bridge of his nose. “You think you can fool me! Your attempts to confuse me with this pudgy bimbo disguise are pathetic!†Meaty fingers lurched forward to curl into the front of his coveralls. “I beg yer pardon? Now hold yer horses—!†The Texan was snatched up like a ragdoll and jarred quite literally off his feet. Sure, height had never been in his favor but this man was making him feel more than short…he felt so small. “I will tear your face off and feed it to you! Do you understand me?!†The poor man barely had the sense to bat at the hand now trying to grab his face. He thrashed, work boots dragging over the wooden flooring in fruitless exertion. “Dang nabbit! Lemme down I’m no damn Spah!†Well the literal attempt to forcibly extract his face from his skull was put to a halt but the smaller man was still trapped; loomed over. Of course all he heard was that grimacing mouth spew out “Prove itâ€. His wide gaze landed on the creased paper still lounging on the nightstand. If only the madman would’ve let him go instead of dragging him along to grab the paper; as though his hand’s default position was a white-knuckled fist and god forbid something be trapped within its grasp. Tilting the brim of his helmet up with a knuckle, the Soldier took up the paperwork. His eyes tracked across the page from under the shadow of his gear and suddenly his grip on the smaller man’s shirt was relinquished. “You’re the Engineer.†It wasn’t even worded as a question or with a hint of apology. The newly-dubbed Builder stumbled back to his feet, quickly straightening the wrinkles in his clothes and rubbing at the angry red marks over his collar from being shaken like someone’s knickers on the clothes line. “Why didn’t you just say so!†The Texan stood deadpanned. He couldn’t even respond to the fierce clap on his right arm as his assailant-turned-companion grinned. Or was it a grimace? He could see teeth and that was about as far as his observational nature took him. “Dammit boy, ya didn’t even give me a second! Is that how ya greet everybody y’meet?†The Texan scowled something fierce with pre-existing lines creasing between his brow like folded schematics and lips drawn in a taut line. The Soldier didn’t even miss a beat. “You could have been a Spy! Precautions, Private Munchkin, always take precautions!†The moniker wasn’t appreciated but nor were two hot tempers. The Builder took a moment to pluck the papers from Soldier’s fists and fold them neatly into his coveralls. “Look, Mister, I’m not lookin’ fer—“ “I am not your Papi, country boy! You will address me as ‘Sir’ so long as we share these walls! Or Soldier.†The last two words followed awkwardly like the last object to fall from an upturned coffee can. “Uh, well, Sir then.†Something told the Engineer he wasn’t going to be getting an apology…best to move forward rather than back. “Nice t’meet ya.†He would have said ‘pleasure’ but the tasteless irony was almost too much. His hand was extended politely and stared at like a foreign object. “Chow is at 1600 hours down in the mess hall. Your bunk is that one. You have one hour to be squared away or I will PT you until you die, Private Munchkin!†The Soldier’s boots aligned with a click and his arm went up in a perfect salute. “Dismissed!†The Texan was left there after his impromptu Drill Sergeant, exchanged a battered entrenching tool for a double-barreled shotgun. Not one to look the glass over as half empty, he tried not to let discouragement or even doubt paint his thoughts. After all, this was only the beginning. -- Concrit always welcome. This is my first fic posting and real attempt to write the characters. I hope you enjoy.
6: Hours Idle hands were the devil’s work. Engineer vaguely recalled the phrase being spoken down to him as a young child. Any free time on the oilfields was spent shoulders-deep in the greasy belly of some machine. The man couldn’t recall keeping his hands still…or clean for that matter. The oil staining under his fingernails was basically permanent and palms worn soft from constant handling. His short fingers were remarkably dexterous for their comical proportions. No sir, these were not idle hands. They were the hands of a hard worker, a man incapable of thinking while sitting still. Straddling a swiveling chair, the Texan was currently hunched over the length of his sturdy work bench, the unmounted head of a level one sentry upturned in front of him with an assortment of tools just within reach. Wires of red and blue and green jutted from a gaping hole in the center as Engineer peeled another inch of insulating away to bare the raw copper wires. So enraptured in his assembly of the man-slaughtering machine, the turning hands of the clock went unnoticed for hours. Really, he probably wouldn’t have raised his head from the table if it wasn’t for the workshop door sliding open abruptly and light spilling over his shoulders. The Engineer didn’t even have a moment to turn before a booming call of “ATTEN-TION!†filled the space around him, nearly making him jump off his chair. “Goodnight Irene,†the Texan grumbled, red-faced, and pulling himself up properly. “Somethin’ I can do fer you, partner?†Manners were never sacrificed for personal feelings. At least the Soldier wasn’t snatching him up every time he found him in their room. The helmeted mountain approached in the same measured strides he always moved in, pausing just out of arm’s reach of his smaller, softer teammate. “You are effectively trained in the proper handling and maintenance of a firearm, are you not?†His voice was cut up into evenly spaced little words and flicked at the other man for each syllable. “I know my way around a gun if’n that’s what ya mean to ask.†Was the Engineer’s easy reply, lowering the wire cutters from his work. He was too polite not to look the Soldier in the eye—er, face. Even with obstructions between them. Not even a beat passed before a shotgun was being thrust into his hands. “Good. Hop to it then! I don’t have all night!†Engineer didn’t respond. Who the hell did this man think he was? He’d grown to accept Soldier’s apparent lack of social normalcy. He didn’t hold conversations very well and anytime he spoke longer than a few sentences it was often some rant triggered by his latest conspiracy theory against the other team and nationalities. Soldier was too loud, too rude, and too excitable. And yet the Builder continued to humor the other man. He left his chair and tucked the shotgun into one arm, freeing his other hand to tug a greasy rag from his back pocket and wipe his hands down. The Soldier waited at the doorway of the workshop with that tight-lipped scowl and led the shorter man along the new corridors until a blast of cool fresh air struck Engineer across the face. “Outside?†was all he inquired. For a man who wasn’t going to give him more than a five word answer, he didn’t feel particularly obligated to form proper questions anymore. “Patrol along the outside perimeter.†Of course he was met with the Texan’s hesitance once again. “During ceasefire?†“Toymaker do not question me—war does not take coffee breaks!†His voice was too loud for how late it was and Engineer fought the urge to try and hush him up. Instead he took up his shotgun properly and gestured ahead. “Alright, alright. Jus’ lead th’way I suppose.†No sense in fighting the man over a harmless chore. He followed behind the taller man like a pup , looking left to the inky silhouette of the canyon against the purple skies. What was the purpose of having him here for this patrol? Was it some sort of attempt to bond? Eyeing the back of Soldier’s helmet didn’t give him any answers. Not like staring the chalkboards down and digesting algorithm after algorithm. People weren’t practical problems. He was learning; slowly, but learning.
I like these. Please continue.
I'm definitely liking it thus far; I cant wait to see how/where you bring the plot! Although the title certainly gives a good hint lol. I like how you have their personalities, especially Engineer's. Usually people write him as just a tad too people-friendly for my tastes, but I like the balance he has here; Polite, but not a sap. I really hope that feel continues through the story. Can't wait to read the next prompt!
These are great! Can't wait to read more. It seems you have their personalities down really well, and I enjoy the flow of your writing. Thanks for sharing! The only disappointing thing about this thread is that it's posted in fanfic. I'd seriously love for this to turn afanfic. Ah well, even so, it's still super awesome!
Ah thank you all for the feedback! And I have this in /fanfic/ just for now. I'm sure there will be a few prompts turned explicit.
11: Red Desert summers were a cruel mistress. The sun grinned over the horizon in a slow arch, heating the earth below to just under scalding. At night when the sun was gone, everything plummeted into a cool blue. For now, the day’s bloodshed had come to a symphonic end of screams and piercing explosions. What teammates not promptly escorted back to base by courtesy of respawn were now trudging their lead feet through the red dust. Standing amongst the scattered remains of his hard work, the Engineer found himself kicking a bit of scrap metal aside with one scuffed boot, a heavy grimace carved into his face. Another rusted saying came to mind…one about hard work destroyed and wasted efforts. It made him a little homesick; almost enough to write. Every time his hand came near pen and paper, though, the words hurried from his grasp. With a sigh, his toolbox was closed and hefted up under both arms. If the Texan hadn’t been used to hard labor, he would have been hopeless. The second he was indoors, all hell had broken loose. Soldier’s thunderous voice boomed through every corridor, spewing every obscenity known to mankind at the dirty, tired men filing in. His hands were caught in violent gesticulations, entrenching tool pointed and smashed into the wall behind him for emphasis. It was, sadly, typical of the man to rant like this after a day’s loss. No one paid him much mind or took the insults too personally. Let Soldier blow some steam off now and spare the rant for supper. In some ways, it was like letting a child throw their temper tantrum. He’d wear himself down to the floor…or lose his voice. Whichever came first… Engineer kept his face pensively pursed and his fingers curled over the battered edge of his toolbox as he inevitably passed the ranting, blood splattered mountain. The shovel came down on his toolbox like a snare and his already-sore arms ached. “And YOU! Your little tinker toys did us absolutely NO good! While we were all busting our asses, you sat back with your thumb up your ass! You have failed this entire unit Private Cowboy!†With the Soldier’s voice ringing in his ears, the Builder only hefted his toolbox carefully and continued walking. Being the shortest and last to come indoors, he was the tail end of the All-American rant of the century. The words “are you listening to me?!†and “Section 8†skimmed his awareness but most of the larger man’s squalling fell on deaf ears. There was a loud crack as the face of Soldier’s shovel met the back of Engineer’s hard hat, sending his senses sprawling like a game of jacks. There was a crashing noise soon after as the Texan’s heavy box of equipment was sent tumbling across the floor. It had to have been an attempt to gain his teammates attention and oh was he getting it. Engineer whirred on both heels, swiping an arm out to grab a fistful of bandolier. It was comical, this sturdy, soft little man suddenly yanking his polar opposite in both body and mind closer. His lips turned into a scowl and those dark welding lenses reflected the shadow of Soldier’s eyes. “Lay yer hands on me again, boy, an’ I’ll beat you like a rented mule…†His voice was low, steady, but definitely not an empty threat. A short ways down the hall, Scout was turned to face the commotion and tugging the team’s little firestarter back with him. The Medic stood furthest back from around the corner, a discrete level of surprise lighting his eyes but otherwise leaving his face pensive. Had no one ever affronted this man before? Engineer was no less than a benevolent and comely to all his coworkers but by no means a push-over (or a punching bag). The Soldier’s face was steadily flooding with fresh blood and he didn’t even wait a beat before swatting the hand from his chest. His teeth were bared like some animal, hands perpetually balled into fists. “Now it’s been a long day an’ I reckon we’re all a little tired an’ a little sore. If you think rubbin’ our faces in th’dirt off th’field is gonna make this team any more efficient on th’field then yer DEAD wrong, son.†“Feh,†Soldier wasn’t certain how to respond to this sort of outburst. His brain wasn’t able to formulate a proper reaction and, instead, focused his attention on the other men looming down the end of the hall. “What are you standing around for, MAGGOTS?! CHRISTMAS?! Move out!†For now, the little Texan was paid no mind to collect his toolbox, right his yellow cap, and shuffle off to his workshop. That night, dinner was consumed in silence…
...Angry Engie is Angry. I love how you worked in Engineer's 'Darker side' into the prompts. Though, I will fully admit to wanting to see Engie beat Solly like a rented mule. I know, I'm weird.
Always do love interaction between Soldier and Engineer. This is some fun stuff! Is critique okay? Because I'm liking there short bits, but one thing that stands out to me that would improve the stories so much (and this might just be to me because I had this drilled into my head by an overzealous professor) would be keeping the stories in active voice. Basically, avoiding the verb "to be." So where you have: "There was a crashing noise..." something more like "The toolbox tumbled to the floor with a loud crash." "With a sigh, he closed his toolbox." "That night, they ate dinner in silence." And so on. You're giving us great little scenes, and I can't wait to see more. But switching to active voice, focusing on the verb as it actually happens, tends to make for stronger, more interesting sentences. Obviously, it's not a matter of eliminating every use of the word "was." But limiting it gives the story more immediacy. At any rate, I love me some Angry Engineer. Looking forward to more!
Ah thank you! I'll keep that in mind with my next prompts! I really do appreciate pointing that out. I do strive to try and improve my writing, not just the content of the story and characters.
I am saving this - all of it.