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The way he squashed the cigarette butt under his boot made them all tense up for action, It was always like that, whenever Tarma took ahold of the foul smelling substance and crushed it under his foot, they knew something was definitively up.The cigar lay unlit, after all he didn’t actually smoke them, due to Marco’s insistence, complete with slide show presentation, of the evils of them. But to Marco, such work had not been unruly or unjust. After all they were soldiers, and physical fitness was a must.
Marco’s muscles twitched, with the burning desire for action. Though he was the leader - capable with a handgun and a Metal Slug alike - he had left it to Tarma to do the talking. Whenever not shouting, ordering civilians to move, or coding, contact with others made him nervous. Not that he would ever admit to such a thing to anyone.
From her position Fio looked tense - He noticed. - Not that that was unusual for the girl. If anyone saw the girl, cute, preppy, small, female no one would associate the likes of of her to a soldier, and she was at risk in the battlefield. But he knew that looks could be deceiving and she was probably the team’s elite heavy gunner.
They were all familiar with the pattern, the stomping of the boot, the crushing the cigar, and so they knew they had to act, as a team. In a way they found themselves lost when not blowing up enemy soldiers, or even aliens. Not really sure what to do with their time. Marco programmed and did lectures, were he not the designated smart guy, with all the tactics, Tarma did machines, like a certain cartoon he had watched as a child. Fio, well, Fiorina didn’t really have a set hobby. Sometimes she could be found shooting at targets, sometimes she could be found acting childish and playing video-games. She took wherever her mind fancied her.
So as it came that Tarma showed up, his hands still greasy with motor oil, idly moving as if he were still thinking of what part to attach to one of his pet projects, they were not only ready -. They wished for it.
“What is it this time?” - Fio asked, her voice, somewhat high pitched, not very akin to the men who accompanied her in the battlefield. - Some rebel army, some aliens, mummies… - She would go on to list every single threat they had faced if she weren’t stopped, so, Marco quickly did so, before they stayed there half an hour. Though he wasn’t comfortable with others, he trusted his life to the other two every single time they went out, so of course he could talk with the two.
“...the Peregrine Falcon has dealt with a lot” - He smiled, adrenaline rushing up his limbs as he remembered the many almost deadly situations that had existed in his life, back when it was just him and Tarma, and then later when Fio had joined. He had walked close to the edge of death, just a thread needle away from it. Between shrapnel, bullets, and fire. Between tanks and alien space crafts. - “But we’ve always pushed through. Whatever the threat this time may be, I’m sure they’ll fall to us.”
Fio smiled, her nervousness seemingly melting away under the gaze of his leader. But then he was talking to her, not to the seemingly calm and chilled out Tar. Who had that wicked smirk in his face, as if the entirety of a war couldn’t faze him.
Or maybe he just had a funny thought in his mind. - She didn’t know.
“Ya know, you actually say some pretty deep crap, when you’re not shaking like a chicken…” - Tar told Marco, bursting into gut churning laughter not quite very long after. - It was the second option then, Fio deduced. He just couldn’t help but make a joke at the expense of their leader.
Used to a fierce military upbringing and to respect hierarchies, Fliolina had at first not understood how relaxed those two acted. Yes, Marco was the default superior, at least in military rank,and they were still in the military, even if they were a specialized covert team, but they acted as equals, pushing at one another, joking, being pals. When she had been having her military training if she even had dared thinking about doing that to her drill sargeant, she’d bee running laps until she fell into a puddle of his own puke. Or, at least until her glasses sweated off her face.
Marco seemed to take it in good nature though, if the little smile on his face was anything to go by. That could be attributed to the fact that they were, above all, friends. Bounded by fire and old hijinks.
“I can go deep…” - He told Marco, suddenly turning towards him, and rebutting Fio’s attempts at looking at him to decipher his emotions. - “I can go hard.” - Marco clenched his fist, so that all those muscles he had - they all had were overshadowed by the veins that throbbed, almost as if trying to get out. Marco must have been smiling, because Fio could hear something affecting his voice, and they hadn’t been eating before Tar had arrived. - “I can definitively fuck shit up!” - Such language was all around tame, compared to the loud mouths she had heard in all her years training, so she wasn’t shocked.
There was a stereotype about sailors, but soldiers cursed as much, if not twice as much. And the team was no exception. Of course, though she sometimes swore, so much that his dear old father would have been proud, it was not inherently a good trace to have as a polite member of society.
But what were a few curse words between friends of fire, pals of war, between
amicis?
The italian girl couldn’t help but smile, just as Marco couldn’t help but put up a front, despite his nervousness and just as Tarma made his jokes.
They were ready for war.