Warrick detested being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night to tend to frankly undermanned and underfunded TERCOM and ATRU systems. He detested it even more when he was dragged out by humorless, smirking grunts in full kit without much consideration for his nervous admin. He'd felt her trembling faintly under his reassuring pat to the shoulder as he passed, and calmly stated that he would be back in time for breakfast so to please not delay putting on the kettle and cook-stove.
It was ridiculous, really. There was no reason to come to his lab with weapons in hand and an entire squad devoted to picking him up as if he were some unwilling local under invasion instead of a loyal member of the Commonwealth temporarily expatriated in the name of scientific advancement. The fact that the military insisted upon the use of technology they could barely afford and scarcely understood was nothing to do with him. Still, it was easier to grumble and slide out of bed than to put up a fuss and dodge bullets. Perhaps he could manage to teach one of their technicians how to stop being a brainless idiot and they'd finally leave him alone to finish his work in peace.
"This really couldn't have waited until morning?" he muttered to one of the soldiers penning him in as they walked to the waiting transport. There was no reason for them to surround him while walking as if he were a prisoner either, but Warrick figured they were doing it simply to be irritating. "Or have been conducted with less unnecessary fanfare? At this rate I'm going to need to pay for my admin's personal therapy and anti-anxiety medication."
This was most definitely not standard operating procedure, although it was what Brad was trained for. Special operations, reconnaissance. In and out. Better than driving around a desert in a humvee, even if the thing was practically his pride and joy. No, this is infinitely better, being able to do what he was trained to do -- being able to utilize his skillset and not wait around for four hours for a fucking translator.
Except, he has no idea what he's after this time, and he's without the rest of his squad, and that already makes him a little uncomfortable. He'd be fine with it if it was completely solo work, even, but when he has to work with an unknown factor, he'd prefer having at least one other person he knows he can rely on.
This unknown factor comes in a red-headed, female flavour. Sort of femme fatale, which makes a smile pull at the corners of Brad's mouth, but he manages to fight it off. He hasn't said much to her yet. They only rendezvoused ten minutes ago, in a dingy hangar where they're supposed to wait for... something. Not knowing frustrates him, but that's how it is sometimes. Some things are just on a need-to-know-basis.
He crouches behind a set of crates, padded knees resting against cement as he waits. It's quiet out here. Whatever they're waiting for, Brad's sure they'll hear it from a mile away. There's nothing else around but sand and dust and the occasional sound of a raptor soaring past, after all.
Brad clicks his tongue, eyeing off his companion. She's sexy, almost appallingly so. Maybe that's why Nate saw fit to assign this job to him -- because the other marines behave like fucking animals at the slightest suggestion of the fairer kind. Retards probably wouldn't be able to keep it in their pants long enough to focus on their mission.
"Am I going to find out what we're here for?" He leans his head back against the crate, closing his eyes for a few seconds before he opens them again, looking at her expectantly.
Forget the fact that there's freaky shit going on that should be leaving the entire town in an insomniac state. Roman feels like he can't sleep for other reasons.
He's pissed.
He kind of doesn't like the way Peter hangs with Letha. He hates it, in fact. It fucks with him somewhere deep down inside, for a reason he can't quite pinpoint. He loves his cousin with all his heart -- however much that means, because do Godfreys even have hearts? -- and Peter is his best friend -- only friend? -- and so it really shouldn't matter, right? But it does.
All he knows is he feels a restless sort of anger. He wants to pace back and forth, he can't keep still. And so -- fuck his mother and her batshit, obsessive behaviour and rules -- he decides to go for a midnight wander. If his wandering takes him close to Peter's, well, then, that's just a coincidence.
One hand's shoved in the pocket of his black coat as he walks, the other carrying a bottle of bourbon by the neck, the bottle clearly already fairly gotten-into. His car's parked not far away from Peter's place. He's not sure what he really wants out of this. He'll be satisfied just seeing Peter and Letha apart, he thinks, because shit, it's like they're joined at the hip lately.
He doesn't see Letha's car tonight, and so that's a good start. Maybe that will be enough -- maybe he'll go home with just that observation made. He leans against the side of his car, taking a swig from the bottle, idly watching. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
The Calculus of War (Military AU) - Warrick/Toreth
It was ridiculous, really. There was no reason to come to his lab with weapons in hand and an entire squad devoted to picking him up as if he were some unwilling local under invasion instead of a loyal member of the Commonwealth temporarily expatriated in the name of scientific advancement. The fact that the military insisted upon the use of technology they could barely afford and scarcely understood was nothing to do with him. Still, it was easier to grumble and slide out of bed than to put up a fuss and dodge bullets. Perhaps he could manage to teach one of their technicians how to stop being a brainless idiot and they'd finally leave him alone to finish his work in peace.
"This really couldn't have waited until morning?" he muttered to one of the soldiers penning him in as they walked to the waiting transport. There was no reason for them to surround him while walking as if he were a prisoner either, but Warrick figured they were doing it simply to be irritating. "Or have been conducted with less unnecessary fanfare? At this rate I'm going to need to pay for my admin's personal therapy and anti-anxiety medication."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
expositionin'
no subject
Except, he has no idea what he's after this time, and he's without the rest of his squad, and that already makes him a little uncomfortable. He'd be fine with it if it was completely solo work, even, but when he has to work with an unknown factor, he'd prefer having at least one other person he knows he can rely on.
This unknown factor comes in a red-headed, female flavour. Sort of femme fatale, which makes a smile pull at the corners of Brad's mouth, but he manages to fight it off. He hasn't said much to her yet. They only rendezvoused ten minutes ago, in a dingy hangar where they're supposed to wait for... something. Not knowing frustrates him, but that's how it is sometimes. Some things are just on a need-to-know-basis.
He crouches behind a set of crates, padded knees resting against cement as he waits. It's quiet out here. Whatever they're waiting for, Brad's sure they'll hear it from a mile away. There's nothing else around but sand and dust and the occasional sound of a raptor soaring past, after all.
Brad clicks his tongue, eyeing off his companion. She's sexy, almost appallingly so. Maybe that's why Nate saw fit to assign this job to him -- because the other marines behave like fucking animals at the slightest suggestion of the fairer kind. Retards probably wouldn't be able to keep it in their pants long enough to focus on their mission.
"Am I going to find out what we're here for?" He leans his head back against the crate, closing his eyes for a few seconds before he opens them again, looking at her expectantly.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
Forget the fact that there's freaky shit going on that should be leaving the entire town in an insomniac state. Roman feels like he can't sleep for other reasons.
He's pissed.
He kind of doesn't like the way Peter hangs with Letha. He hates it, in fact. It fucks with him somewhere deep down inside, for a reason he can't quite pinpoint. He loves his cousin with all his heart -- however much that means, because do Godfreys even have hearts? -- and Peter is his best friend -- only friend? -- and so it really shouldn't matter, right? But it does.
All he knows is he feels a restless sort of anger. He wants to pace back and forth, he can't keep still. And so -- fuck his mother and her batshit, obsessive behaviour and rules -- he decides to go for a midnight wander. If his wandering takes him close to Peter's, well, then, that's just a coincidence.
One hand's shoved in the pocket of his black coat as he walks, the other carrying a bottle of bourbon by the neck, the bottle clearly already fairly gotten-into. His car's parked not far away from Peter's place. He's not sure what he really wants out of this. He'll be satisfied just seeing Peter and Letha apart, he thinks, because shit, it's like they're joined at the hip lately.
He doesn't see Letha's car tonight, and so that's a good start. Maybe that will be enough -- maybe he'll go home with just that observation made. He leans against the side of his car, taking a swig from the bottle, idly watching. ]