Wash isn't sure what he's expecting to hear, what he's waiting for, but there's the rush of air of a missed shot hurtling past and Maine shoving him aside from it, his expression hard and steely, impatient. Maine just shoves the hilt of the rapier back into his hand, and Wash is trying hard to focus, to bring himself back into the present, but it's hard to stop the memories from bubbling to the surface in his thoughts when Maine answers him. Don't do me any favors, Maine's voice, low and gravelly over comms, brushing past him and bumping his armored shoulder against Wash's own after he'd pulled some covvie Mainee was grappling with off of him and shot him in the face. Don't do me any favors, that harsh raspy growling, Maine glowering at him after Wash had offered for him to choose a weapon first for some sparring session. Don't do me any favors, snapped and snarled, Maine sitting in his bunk with his head in his hands, still getting used to Sigma, Wash coming by to check on him when he didn't see him in the morning for training, when he wasn't in the mess later, either.
Watch your own fucking six.
He turns. There's no one here yet, but the sirens are still blaring and there's the telltale sound of distant shouting, of footsteps scrunching through the snow -- that one soldier had gone for backup, and they're almost here. The woman's pulled away from out of York's grasp, passing Maine another sword, asking him if they're friends of his. Wash looks back at York, and he'd clearly gotten ahold of her after she was trying to protect Maine from him, god, Wash, get a fucking hold of yourself, but there's a moment when he glances down at the rapier in his hand, tightening his grip over the hilt, and maybe, just maybe, actually smiles.
It's gone a second later. There's no time. He gestures to Maine, to his companion, to York -- there's no need to explain, he's sure Maine understands that they know the Cetagandan base a whole lot better than they do and following his lead will be their best bet to get to safety, and as much as Maine might not be pleased to take any kind of orders or instructions from him right now he'll have little choice in the matter. ]
This way. [ An immediate, rough growl, Maine squaring up his shoulders, already ready to protest, and something Wash entirely expects. Maine wouldn't want him helping, wouldn't want York helping, either, he can do it on his own -- and he doesn't want them putting themselves in unecessary danger, but Wash just looks him straight in the eye, his jaw set. ] No. I'm with you. We both are.
This way.
[ Maine growls again, but he nods, and Wash is already turning, gesturing at them again. First York, and now there's Maine. There may be more of them here, and after everything Wash has done, after everything that's gone wrong . . . Not this time. He won't lose them again, not if he can fucking help it.
He leads them around the mess building, and Wash is running through the mental map he's built of the base in his mind, where the soldiers were most likely to search, how they're probably combing the place. He's never gotten a count of how many soldiers there really are here, but there's probably to many for them to be able to make a clean escape, but if it comes down to it, between him and York, even armed with swords they should be able to take down a good number and help cover their escape.
They're moving quickly through the snow when there's a loud shout -- they'd managed to avoid the soldiers that were heading in their direction before, but the base is swarming, now, full of guards on the look out for the invaders. Someone's spotted them, some distance away, just emerging from around a corner. He shouts for backup, waving people over, and Wash glances back at him just quickly enough to spot him lifting his arms, one of those Cetagandan weapons in his hands, taking aim. Wash might not know who this woman is, but she's with Maine, and that's more than enough reason for him to immediately turn once he realizes who the soldier is aiming for, shoving her roughly out of the way just barely in time.
The shot's sloppy, ends up hitting a nearby wall, but the backup's already pouring in, other Cetagandan soldiers rushing forward, more shouting. Wash looks around at Maine, and then back at York, meeting his eye. There's too many, and with how they're armed, if they have to fight, then. ]
no subject
Wash isn't sure what he's expecting to hear, what he's waiting for, but there's the rush of air of a missed shot hurtling past and Maine shoving him aside from it, his expression hard and steely, impatient. Maine just shoves the hilt of the rapier back into his hand, and Wash is trying hard to focus, to bring himself back into the present, but it's hard to stop the memories from bubbling to the surface in his thoughts when Maine answers him. Don't do me any favors, Maine's voice, low and gravelly over comms, brushing past him and bumping his armored shoulder against Wash's own after he'd pulled some covvie Mainee was grappling with off of him and shot him in the face. Don't do me any favors, that harsh raspy growling, Maine glowering at him after Wash had offered for him to choose a weapon first for some sparring session. Don't do me any favors, snapped and snarled, Maine sitting in his bunk with his head in his hands, still getting used to Sigma, Wash coming by to check on him when he didn't see him in the morning for training, when he wasn't in the mess later, either.
Watch your own fucking six.
He turns. There's no one here yet, but the sirens are still blaring and there's the telltale sound of distant shouting, of footsteps scrunching through the snow -- that one soldier had gone for backup, and they're almost here. The woman's pulled away from out of York's grasp, passing Maine another sword, asking him if they're friends of his. Wash looks back at York, and he'd clearly gotten ahold of her after she was trying to protect Maine from him, god, Wash, get a fucking hold of yourself, but there's a moment when he glances down at the rapier in his hand, tightening his grip over the hilt, and maybe, just maybe, actually smiles.
It's gone a second later. There's no time. He gestures to Maine, to his companion, to York -- there's no need to explain, he's sure Maine understands that they know the Cetagandan base a whole lot better than they do and following his lead will be their best bet to get to safety, and as much as Maine might not be pleased to take any kind of orders or instructions from him right now he'll have little choice in the matter. ]
This way. [ An immediate, rough growl, Maine squaring up his shoulders, already ready to protest, and something Wash entirely expects. Maine wouldn't want him helping, wouldn't want York helping, either, he can do it on his own -- and he doesn't want them putting themselves in unecessary danger, but Wash just looks him straight in the eye, his jaw set. ] No. I'm with you. We both are.
This way.
[ Maine growls again, but he nods, and Wash is already turning, gesturing at them again. First York, and now there's Maine. There may be more of them here, and after everything Wash has done, after everything that's gone wrong . . . Not this time. He won't lose them again, not if he can fucking help it.
He leads them around the mess building, and Wash is running through the mental map he's built of the base in his mind, where the soldiers were most likely to search, how they're probably combing the place. He's never gotten a count of how many soldiers there really are here, but there's probably to many for them to be able to make a clean escape, but if it comes down to it, between him and York, even armed with swords they should be able to take down a good number and help cover their escape.
They're moving quickly through the snow when there's a loud shout -- they'd managed to avoid the soldiers that were heading in their direction before, but the base is swarming, now, full of guards on the look out for the invaders. Someone's spotted them, some distance away, just emerging from around a corner. He shouts for backup, waving people over, and Wash glances back at him just quickly enough to spot him lifting his arms, one of those Cetagandan weapons in his hands, taking aim. Wash might not know who this woman is, but she's with Maine, and that's more than enough reason for him to immediately turn once he realizes who the soldier is aiming for, shoving her roughly out of the way just barely in time.
The shot's sloppy, ends up hitting a nearby wall, but the backup's already pouring in, other Cetagandan soldiers rushing forward, more shouting. Wash looks around at Maine, and then back at York, meeting his eye. There's too many, and with how they're armed, if they have to fight, then. ]