Hill explained, "Look, no one was gonna out-shoot that guy. I thought I'd just knock down his goddamn tower."
Rutman said, "This is a predicament because Hill's gotta stand to shoot the hyvel. Which means someone has to distract the sniper-"
"And that kid looks fast." Hill said.
"You didn't!" Firenze protested. "That poor kid-"
Rutman said, "Now, this kid is scared shitless. The only reason he believes us is because we're big-bad-ASOC, but even we think this is a stupid fucking plan, and he can tell, so I promise him, 'hey, you get out there and draw fire, I will buy you all the drinks'. He tells me to fuck off. Hill looks at him and says, 'hey, kid, I will get you laid like a goddamned hero'. He's still not buying it. So Dag tells him-"
Kawalski said, "I told him that I've got leverage on the local cops, and I will bail him out of whatever bullshit these two get him into."
Rutman nodded. "And this kid - probably doesn't even fucking know how to shave, he's starting to get into this. He's terrified, but he's gonna be the hero, so he starts taking off his fucking armor. Just pop, off comes the carapace. I'm staring at him, and he says to me, in this little-kid-angel-voice, 'it won't stop a k-gun, I need speed'. Motherfucker strips down to his fucking cartoon-donkey-covered underpants."
Rutman turned right to Firenze, and said, "So he pops up, arms flailing, and sprints - I've never seen someone run so fucking fast - like he's last to the food line, and the first shot misses him - blows a goddamn pillar in half-"
Hill continued, "I pop up, lob the hyvel, and drop the tower. Done."
Rutman finished, "And this kid, this glorious, lunatic kid, he turns around, with this shit-eating grin, his fucking donkey-decal boxers, and the biggest terror-boner you've ever seen-"
Slim interjected, "That's a medical improbability."
Rutman pressed on, "So this kid asks, 'Am I a hero, yet?'. Mother fucking A."
"What happened to him?" Firenze demanded.
"He became a fucking legend!" Hill said as he raised his glass. "To Donkey! Hero of the fucking Authority!"
Everyone toasted to that.
Another round in and Firenze had to slip away from the table, pleading biology. His bladder had turned murderous beneath the tide of beers, but more to the point, he needed to escape the crowd. It wasn't that he wasn't enjoying himself. He was. But he had always been one for quiet corners and careful study, not for boisterous carousing. He could fake it, for a while - he'd trained hard at that - but it drained him.
Besides, it's not like he was running away. He was going to stay. He'd just do it from the edge of the social storm, not within the eye.
He took care of business and returned to the bar, tried to pour a drink as another peal of laughter burst from the center of the room. He smiled though he hadn't heard the joke - company by proxy was the very best kind of company. He'd nearly finished filling his cup when he felt Sergeant Clausen lean against the bar beside him.
"You doing alright?" Clausen asked.
"Yeah." he replied. "I think."
Clausen snorted and tapped his knuckle to his brow, the fins of a dart poking into his hair, and said, "Good. You did a fine job today. Have some fun." He leaned forward, transferred a single dart to his right hand, and strode towards the dartboard with a weaving swagger. His hand came up with his stride, and his eyes narrowed. Without pause, he let fly the first missile - thock - and his opponent's score reset to zero.
"Sorry, Bugtuck." Clausen stated as he pulled the next dart into his throwing hand. He took another step- thock! Clausen closed the game, still a half-meter behind the throwing-line. He stopped, took a drink, and then, with his off-hand, hurled the final dart into the powered-down bullseye. "Guess you're buying." He returned to Firenze and asked, "You want to play?"
"Jesus, no!" Firenze exclaimed. "I only play when I can win!"
"How are you gonna get better, then?" Clausen asked. "You've always got to start like shit and grow from there."
"Right." Firenze acknowledged but did not agree.
They leaned against the bar for a long minute, in silence.
Firenze finally asked, "So… these stories…"
Clausen smirked.
"They're a bit… much." Firenze said.
"You don't approve?" Clausen asked.
Firenze could hear the bait. He didn't take it. "No, they're funny. It's just… that shit's pretty morbid when you think about it."
"It's what we do." Clausen said. "You gotta find the funny part, or you'll go toast."
"I guess." Firenze agreed. "I think a couple of your guys are already bonkers."
"Hill?" Clausen asked.
Firenze nodded. He took a drink for emphasis.
"He's a piece of work, but a damn good soldier. You couldn't ask for a better battle-buddy." Clausen said. He glanced over, gave someone a quick nod, then added, "He'll keep you alive. You just stick on him."
At the table, Rutman's voice rose, and Firenze could make out, "-largest fucking still you've ever seen. For being so hot on prohibition, this patriarch had the most monstrous 'shining operation I'd ever seen, and Reaper's shooting incendiary-"
Clausen must have heard it, too, because he summarized, "I remember that one. Two-story flaming-dive into a water tank. Perfect form, too."
"Really?" Firenze demanded.
"Probably. Hard to get a good look. I was also on fire." Clausen replied. "Get back over there and throw in a story."
"I don't have any."
Clausen glanced at him, sideways. His steel eyes and hard-stubble shadow added extra weight to the aside glance.
"I don't have anything to contribute to this-"
"Bullshit." Clausen said. "That sounds dangerously close to 'poor me', Princess."
"I'm just a grad student-"
"You rang Reaper's bell."
"I kicked him in the nuts when he wasn't looking." Firenze corrected.
"You cleared the course three times under par. There was some nasty stuff
