On the prowl

[thatched]

Characters: Thatch, Namur, Ace, and Espio
Location: Beyond Balamb and anywhere they can sneak into
Rating: PG-13 for cursing and more
Open/Closed/Finished: Closed
Summary: Kidnap Chameleon, stick him in a car, drive him round the countryside and go to all the bars!



"Remember men," Thatch murmured into the walkie talkie, one of which he had procured from Grell, the other for Marco. He was sure they would understand, they were men on a mission-- a mission of debauchery. Anyway, petty borrowing was alright so long as it was returned.

"When you see Target: Pink, don't give him a chance to even blink. Just pick him up in passing and keep on going. If you can cast stop, do that, if not, do what you can. As of now..."

He looked around carefully before murmuring.

"Yellow Section, clear."

Comments

[thatched]

He stirred a bit at Esipio's voice, looking askance at the chameleon. Marco had taken driving? He was surprised the man wasn't a nervous wreck inside. He'd have to ask him about it later.

"Takes a bit to get used to driving, mate. Nam-chan here took to it like a fishman to a dive bar." He leaned up and pinched Namur's cheek. They were getting close to the bar but-- he reached over and wrapped a hand against Ace's forehead, playfully pushing his head back against the seat, an apology and forgiveness in one.

"I usually prefer flying by glitter turkey, but I wouldn't mind coming up in the air with you a few times."

[mera_mera_ace]

Ace grinned brightly at Thatch and like that everything was forgiven and forgotten. Boys, right? He turned, nodding at Espio. "You said you would take me flying one day. I'm gonna hold you to it. I wanna see if it's anything at all like flying on Marco."

"And class? You have to take a class to drive a car?" Ace had never heard of anything like that before. Then again, they didn't have cars in his world as far as he knew.

[om_nom_namur]

"Shit, Ace," Namur turned where indicated, and slipped the whale of a car neatly into a parking space off to the side of the bar. "Make y' take a class for everythin' 'round Garden. How t' swim. How t' cook. How t' wear yer damn clothes, even." He chuckled. Garden Code was the worst class by far and Ace would have to take it sometime in the next year. Namur did not envy him.

"A'ight, everyone out. If yer goin' t' get s' damn sloshed y' puke, do it inside or on the ground. Y' splash Li'l Blue an' I'll end y'."

[thatched]

Of course they had a lot of classes for basic things and fair was fair. If they had to indoctrinate kids from an impressionable age into military service, might as well teach them how to wash their damn clothes in the deal. He got out of the car and stretched, working the kink out of his neck before grinning at Namur's words.

"You are a Fishman among Fishmen," he said, wrapping an arm around Namur's shoulders and planting a smooch on his head. He lead them toward the bar, keeping a close eye on Espio unless the guy decided to scarper. It was a ramshackle kind of place. A kind of bar that all the Marines except for the really annoying (and fun ones) would avoid. No dark and dangerous criminals but people that looked too shifty to leave alone but too much like a stringbean to bother to arrest.

The air was filled with a haze of blue cigar smoke, smelled chiefly of beer and the kind of food that gave you heartburn, as well as waitresses that liked to feel the breeze.

"Don't drink the water," he murmured out of the side of his mouth--before pausing at the eternal question, side glancing Namur. Bar or table? A booth was out of the question but the other seating choices were a bit on the nonexistant side.