PHD #335: Dog Squadron Catfight
Dog Squadron Catfight
Summary: Z-Unit and the LT mess with each other— and with Shiner.
Date: 27 Jan 2043
Related Logs: None
Lady Shiner Vandenberg 
Security Hub
More than just an office for the Marines and their XO, this room has remote surveillance views of the Brigs as well as a state of the art communications center built into the far bulkhead. A locked and heavily armored door to the aft leads into another room, the white lettering on it reading 'ARMORY.' There are a few desks scattered around the room for getting necessary paperwork done and the Commandant's picture hangs on the wall next to one of the President.
Post-Holocaust Day: #335

You can take a rifleman off of the front lines, but you can't take the front lines out of the rifleman. Lance Corporal Lady has been in rehabilitation for what seems like ages, now, and, even though she's still got permission to go about MP detail with the assistance of a cane, she seems to use it more as an alternative nightstick than as anything else, at this point, her limp barely noticable at the brisk stride of rounds. But the end of shift leaves her sour-facedly penning in paperwork at the front desk. This is -not- what she was built for. By a long shot. But she bites her tongue and she does it, upper lip curled such as to make the very act of signing her name look like a hostile one, pen scratching at paper through the vigorous angles of her full name, going far over the allotted space.

Shiner is not a marine. Even if he weren't in a naval uniform, you'd be able to tell, from the slightly too long hair to the easy smile, to the way he leans up against the doorframe after knocking. "Yo," he greets, even going so far as to give a little wave. "Paperwork, huh? Paperwork sucks." And after dropping that little pearl of wisdom he asks casually, "Is Lieutenant Vandenberg around?"

"Ya -think-?" The words angled, hostile, through slanted lips, though as she looks up her eyes are more joking than actually pissed. Still, the words get spit out like the Lance Corporal had a real problem with the guy's comment. "I think she's takin' a shit or something, siddown," she jerks her chin roughly upward and to the side, pinning a distant chair in a fixed snap of her gunmetal-grey eyes. Over there. "I'll let her know you're here when she gets back. What's your name," she goes so far as to take a slip of paper out to write it down on, though it somehow manages not to be a question. Tell her.

"A… uh…Midshipman Wright," Shiner replies amiably, ambling over to the seat and setting himself down. "I got stuck on paperwork duty when I was like, all injured and crap," he remarks. "It sucks. It sucks balls. It sucks big fat sweaty llama balls. You smoke?" He reaches into a pocket for a battered pack of cigarettes, leaning to offer one over, an eyebrow raised.

Not the bathroom. Vandenberg enters the office dressed in her combat blacks, stripping the rifle sling off her shoulders as she nods to Lady. "Lance," comes the quick greeting. She walks right on by Shiner and heads towards a desk at the back of the room. When the Lieutenant reaches it, she turns to see the seated Shiner and her brow quirks. "I'm guessing it wasn't drunk and disorderly this time. At least, I -hope-, Middie." At least the officer manages a genuine smile.

Midshipman Wright. She doesn't repeat it back, but she's writing it down, w-r-i-t-e. Misspelled, but it'll do. She peers back up at the Midshipman, taking the cig before he can change his mind, and definitely before she arcs a scarry brow in his direction, "Sound like you know an awful lot about suckin' on balls, right?" Or was that 'balls, Wright.' Again, her intonation is flat, after a particular Scorpian inflection, caught between query and statement. She cocks her Platoon LT a grin as she comes back in. "Ellt, sir," she barks back, voice deep in a falsely mascuilinised tone. Seeing as how the note is not obsolete, she crosses out the two words to give space for the next note. Waste not.

Shiner rises to his feet as the midget enters, giving her a broad grin. "No, sir. For once I'm actually not in trouble. I know, right? Will wonders never cease." He tucks the packet of cigarettes away again, without claiming one for himself oddly enough. "I've come to claim my bacon."

Vandenberg seems to take a cue from Lady and she removes a smoke from her vest, carefully lifting the paper bliss from a pocket that has the pack in it. "No trouble? I'm not sure I buy that…" Then the reason for the visit surfaces and her eyes narrow. She lights the smoke and pulls hard on it. "You've come to claim my bacon," she remarks. "Uh huh. Well breakfast is over. And I'm sorry, I left my personal stash in my other pants. Its a browns-only thing. You understand."

Lady is doing paperwork. Not eavesdropping. Honestly. Cig tucked behind her ear for the next opportunity she has to light up, she can't keep the corner of her mouth from creeping cat-like toward her ear as the LT sets her up. "Wouldn't blow him off just like that, LT, sir. Hear he's got an awful talented tongue. Four of out five sweaty llamas can't be wrong." She still keeps her eyes on the paper, the meanwhile, writing slowly and trying to keep her errors to a minimum.

Shiner gives Lady a wink, eyebrows waggling. "You'd better believe it, sunshine." He tugs at his collar, proudly displaying the pins to Vandenberg. "Mind, I came to show these off, too. What do you think, sir? Do they go with my eyes?" A broad, shit eating grin at that.

"Talented tongue? Oh yeah? Well I hear there's a few guys aboard who might appreciate that in lieu of llamas," Vandenberg asides around her smoke to Lady, waggling her brow. "Maybe quite a few womenfolk, too." She looks back to Shiner and gives him a saucy wink. The cigarette is plucked from her lips and ashed into a tray on the desk. When he reaches for the pins, she lofts her brow. "Well no kidding. Finally getting around to getting off that lazy ass and kicking the CAG's rear to let you fight the good fight from the front line? Impressive. Damned shame, though. I was going to come see you about disassembling ordnance down on the Deck. Looks like that's a pipe dream, though. So how long until I have to worry about making sure the enlisted are saluting you?"

"Two, three months, she said," Shiner replies, perching himself on the corner of Lady's desk. "Assuming I can pass all the officer stuff, anyway. And don't get in shit for anything." He lowers his voice a little. "Thanks, sir, for not reporting me or anything." He gives Lady another grin and an eyebrow waggle. "So that means you've got a maximum of three months left to take advantage of me. Drinks at seven? Wear something nice, I'll come and pick you up."

Lady finally takes the time; she looks up at Shiner, both brows raised, either intrigued or incredulous. "Only three months?" she asks him back, "Why wait 'til seven? Crawl under the desk and get to work, betch," she tells him, voice gruff and cutting, and, though it's accomanied by a sharp, toothsome smirk, it's hard to tell whether she's serious or not. "You sure you want to let the wingers take 'im, Eltsir? Not many guys out there'll lick yer clit without wantin' to go up your butt for the favor," she remarks bluntly.

"Two or three months? Woof." Vandenberg ahses the cigarette and lifts it back to her lips. "Well in all seriousness, Wright, I hope you can do it. And hey, you don't have to thank me. Just behave yourself and remember to keep ya cod in the pocket with the enlisted once you're up there and I don't think we'll have a problem." She grins and leans on her own desk, that Cancerian accent in full swing. She looks back at Lady just in time to choke on her smoke, sputtering into a laugh. "You, my good Lance, have an excellent point." She points two fingers at the other Marine, the cigarette smoldering between them.

Shiner nods amiably, but then… wait, what?! He just blinks at Lady, then swallows. Something is not right here. He throws out his best lines, he gets shot down. That's how this WORKS. "Uh…" he manages, "Um… what? I… uh… didn't mean /here/." He clears his throat, nervously rubbing at the scar tissue at the back of his neck. "Um. I mean, totally. I would. But… you know. You've got your paperwork to do and… uh… drinks at seven, though? I'm totally up for drinks at seven. Or no drinks. No drinks is cool, too. We could just… hang. Y'know?"

Lady tosses the ceiling a vindicated roll of her eyes as Shiner backpedals. "Nevermind, Eltsir. He's already talkin' like a Winger," she sneers derisively, then, with a glance up toward the chronometer as if mentally checking her schedule, she gives a puff of air from the side of her mouth, blowing a frazzled bleached-blonde lock out to the side of her head only to have it flop into place. "Sure, seven hundred hours. Bring me a drink an' you can have yourself a drink," she grins, all crooked, at him. If he's so eager to lick at someone, she'll take advantage, sure. And if she can get some booze out of it, all the better.

"Hey. Whoa." Vandenberg lifts her hand and points at Shiner. "Not so fast, buddy boy. Ain't no way you're bangin the Lance before I get a test drive. But you'd have to wait months for that so, hey, I guess I'll just have to take a backseat. I understand. No, its cool." Passive-aggressive Marine makes a face and glances to Lady.

Women. Like buses. All of a sudden everyone wants Shiner. He does his best to compose himself, running a hand through his hair. "Uh… yeah. Seven," he agrees with Lady, surprised, hopeful, and more than a little confused. "Great!" He gives Vandenberg a tentative glance, arching an eyebrow. "Uh… sorry, sir?" he attempts gamely. "But… uh when I qualify and everything? Totally. I mean, you're hot. You both are," he adds hurriedly towards Lady. "I'd do you."

Lady puts her hands on the desktop, standing up without even the use of her cane, "Frak, Eltee, he's gonna be one of you soon. Betchboy's -mine- 'til then." She's not particularly tall, but still she towers over Vandy, and she's puffing up, to boot, shoulders hunched square, features threatening. Yes, she did just call Shiner her bitch.

"Damned right I am, Shiner! I'll be damned if I let this hussy crawl up on you before I get my time in!" Vandenberg looks him up and down like a piece of meat before she looks back at Lady. "Til then? Yours? Bitch, you ain't got the tossa's first 'Q bout what the frak I'm bout to rain down." Lady might be puffing up but Vandenberg just flicks the cigarette into a trashcan without even looking. She's ready to go, the Cancerian scrapper hanging out all over the place. "Think you got tracts and rights, you ain't gotta hint. Or you got somethin' you gotta jaw?" Her arms lift out as she steps off the desk. Its about to be a throw-down.

Shiner just gapes at the pair, quite prepared to be referred to as 'Betchboy' if it means hot marine on marine action. There may even be a bit of drool.

Lady crouches down, elbows bending and then straightening rapidly as she kicks her legs out to the side and jumps the desk, landing bent-kneed on the other side to take the impact of the landing, then leaning forward and flinging herself straight at her boss. No more words. She's going hard chest-to-chest to try to take the other woman to the floor.

"Shiner. Get the frak out of here. That's an ord-" Then Lady is up on the desk. Vandenberg starts to crouch into a fighting position before the Lance Corporal throws herself at Vandenberg. The pair bounce off Vandenberg's desk and roll onto the floor. The Lieutenant tries to throw an elbow into Lady's side but just can't gain traction so the arm reaches up for a handfull of hair while she rails the other fist into the other Marine's arm. Meanwhile the other Marines in the room look on with some amsuement. A few stand to watch.

Shiner backs off a few feet, watching from the door. That's 'out', right? He shoves his hands into his pockets, let's just say to… sort his loose change or something. In fact, let's just not think about it. Probably best that way. He leans against the doorway, transfixed by the fighting pair, although he does attempt a mild, "Shouldn't somebody stop them..?"

This honestly couldn't be much better of a show if it were staged. Lance Corporal Lady gives a yell as her hair's pulled, and grabs a fistful of her boss' hair in return, keeping her body close to the other woman's body to minimize the impetus she can get behind a punch while trying to pin her shoulder down with an elbow and getting a leg crooked across one of Vandy's legs to try to pin it still. "The betch is mine, betch," she growls into Van's ear, just loud enough to be heard across the room before the LT gets a good punch in and they start veering across the floor in a struggle, Lady smacking the back of her own head against the leg of a desk. Good thing she's got a thick skull.

"Keep ya filthy mitts off 'im, huss! I'll spill y'blood like a water b'loon!" Vandenberg is getting shoved across the floor like a dustbunny being routed by a broom. The leg gets pinned and the Lieutenant growls, trying in vain to get her leg up. She tries to grapple her way around the side of Lady nad finds she can't. Downside of being so small - you're smotherable. Eventually Natalie lets go of Lady's hair and, given that its her only free hand, starts trying to land some rapid punches into Lady's side, writhing underneath the other woman.

Shiner has a brief crisis of conscience, apparently finally finding one, much to his and everyone's surprise, no doubt. Swallowing, he edges in closer, tilting his head this way and that as he delicately tries to look for an opening to help separate the pair. "Uh… I mean, I can do both of you..?" he hazards, brows drawn at this terribly confusing state of affairs. In dips a hand towards the back of a shirt, albeit whose is unclear, and he gives a hopeful tug, throwing his weight behind pulling the pair apart.

Lady takes the blows to her ribs with a purse of her lips and a series of grunts, trying in vain to get her hand, now free of hair, onto Van's bicep to stop that last limb from whaling on her. But it's rough going, and, suddenly, she's getting pulled up and back, and she lets out a noise not unlike a roar of fury as she's pulled from her prey, "Oh FRAK that! You better -watch,- betch, you -better- damn watch!" she spits out. Presumably to Vandy.

When Lady is getting pulled off another Marine moves over to restrain Vandenberg as she gets up, feet roundhousing as she tries to get at Lady. "Lemme frakkin go!" No such luck. The male Marine holds tightly ou to her under her arms, holding her up off the ground. Its probably more than a little funny. "Fine! Take his ass! Didn't want him anyway!" Indignant? Check. Weak defense? Definitely. "Walk your ass out that door but check your corners! I'll be waiting!" She's still trying to swing and get out of the hold.

Shiner does his best to restrain Lady, which is less than ideal given his lack of training, but it's a valiant effort and even involves only minimal groping. "Dude, seriously," he manages, half grinning in dazed amusement. "Are you guys on crack? You could take it in turns, I don't mind."

Lady pulls one shoulder roughly out of Shiner's grasp, turning to look him down with an appraising stare, as if finally taking stock of what she's won. "You be a good boy and git gone," she swats him on the ass, "I'mma get my stuff packed up here. Seven hundred hours. Don't you keep me waiting." 'Cause Lady will break you.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Shiner assures her with an eager grin. "Seven tonight. You got it." He looks like he doesn't quite know what to do with himself for a moment, then thrusts a hand out. "Uh. Dave. My name's Dave."

Lady is already heading back to her desk, then, turning around, she looks at the hand as if she didn't quite know the significance of the gesture. Finally taking the hand, she shakes it once. "Lady. Lance Corporal Lady." No, he doesn't get a first name. He does get a little huff of a laugh through her nose, though. And she turns again, heading back to where her work's waiting for her, adjusting some things that had gotten mussed up in her leap over the desk.

Shiner turns away with a broad grin and a knowing look for the various other marines in the place, swaggering out like the cat who got the cream.

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