Church stared at the training dummy Flowers had set up for his training in melee combat. He was armed with a sheathed knife that would register strikes on the dummy without damaging it and nothing else. A few strikes of fist and blade helped him to familiarize himself with the combat method, though an attempt at kicking left him flat on his butt. "Donkey doodle!" he swore...sort of. "What the shell is going on with my vocabulary?" he demanded angrily. "It's pupping annoying!"
"What's wrong?" Tucker asked as he stepped in, no longer fused to Simmons' faceplate. "Too much of a 'good Dad' to teach your kid a few swear words?"
"...what do you want, Tucker?" Church groused as he got back up.
"Just wondering if you're as tough without the rifle," Tucker taunted, shifting into a combat stance with his own sheathed knife. "Sure, you're impressive when you think Maud's in danger, but she's not right now, is she?"
"You did imply-" Church began.
"Geeze, can't you take a joke?" Tucker demanded aggressively. "I'm just yanking your chain, man. I freely admit to being a pig, a lech, a creep, and a total sleazeball when it comes to the opposite sex, and my preferred sense of humor is about as lowbrow as it gets...but I have standards. Maud doesn't fall into the over-under threshold, so I'm not about to seriously consider anything like that with her."
"I'm almost afraid to ask..." Church responded as he shifted into his combat stance. "The over-under threshold?"
"Over 16, under 60," Tucker responded readily. "I'll only consider pursuing that sort of relationship with a girl if she's over 16 the first time I see her, and presently under 60. Otherwise it's just creepy."
"...uh..." Church began awkwardly.
"By my standards," Tucker added pointedly. "Don't be such a prude, dude! Besides, aren't you the one who convinced Maud to accept this by saying she needed to get used to the idea of guys fighting over her? You think you can protect her from that kind of talk forever?"
"She's maybe two or three, developmentally," Church countered pointedly.
"Exactly!" Tucker countered readily as they began to circle each other. "Get her used to the idea that guys talk like that, and she won't be thrown off when they start talking about her like that when she hits puberty, and will be able to respond appropriately. With a kick to the shins, or possibly somewhere higher."
Church stopped his movements. "Wait...you're saying your completely inappropriate behavior earlier is your idea of protecting her?"
"Well I am Uncle Tucker," Tucker allowed logically. "If she's gonna see me as family, I'm gonna act like family...and be the Uncle everybody else wishes didn't spend as much time with the kid. Helps keep her safe from players who don't have morals, and cuts down on my-"
As he'd kept moving as he talked, he now spun around Church before grabbing him under the arms and suplexing him head first into the floor before rolling away.
"-responsibilities," Tucker finished. "By the way, you really need to stay more combat aware. Also, now we're even for the crotch shot."
"...duly noted..." Church groaned as he lay back, rubbing his head through his helmet.
Once the paint had crumbled away, Sarge had immediately sent a call to his men to gather back at Red Base. Simmons had arrived first, and Sarge was now pacing and fuming as he waited for Grif to arrive. They had been soundly defeated - not just defeated, but routed - by the hated Blue menace, and had failed to achieve the goal of claiming the pony for a week! That meant they would have to go, helmet in hands, to ask the Blues for permission to spend time with the adorable engine of destruction, carnage, and physics defying shenanigans. It was totally galling!
As he caught sight of the orange armor, he immediately leapt into his rant. "That was absolutely disgraceful, men!" he declared at the top of his voice. "We were defeated, nay routed, by the hated Blue menace! On top of that, we've failed to claim the pony! Now I'm going to have to parley with the Blue leader again if I want to spend any time with that sweet, tiny, adorable engine of destruction, carnage, and physics defying shenanigans! And it's all your fault, Grif!"
"My fault?" Grif demanded, plainly upset and offended. "How is it my fault?"
"You were the one assigned to get the flag from the Blue Base!" Sarge insisted angrily. "You were the one who talked about how they'd all be trying to take us out, so sneaking in to swipe the flag would catch them off guard! 'The enemy's gate is down', my foot! That's the last time I let you talk me out of putting you to hard work! Why didn't you shoot back at that sniper once you had his position?"
"Because I might have hit Maud, and I didn't want to be ripped in half," Grif pointed out logically. "I didn't have a sniper rifle, so he was well out of my accurate range, and I could see Maud was with him."
Sarge turned that over in his mind angrily, trying to find fault with it...and couldn't. "Alright, that's a fair point," Sarge allowed ruefully. "God almighty, that felt dirty to say. But why didn't you take evasive action to avoid getting hit?"
"During the first volley, standing still was evasive action," Grif pointed out. "If I dodged, I'd more likely move into the path of the bullet rather than out of it. And with the shots he pulled in the second volley, I wouldn't be at all surprised if he could have hit me if I had a solid wall between me and him by putting a spin on the paint ball to make it ricochet off the canyon wall!"
Sarge grit his teeth as he clutched his shotgun tightly. "....alright," he growled angrily. "That is...another good point, dam it all! But why did it take you so long to get back to base when I sounded general quarters?"
"I was looking for the pick ax," Grif explained readily.
"The pick ax?" Simmons asked in surprise.
"No talking out of turn!" Sarge roared at Simmons. He turned back to Grif. "Why in the nine circles would you want a pick ax?"
"To dig up rocks, duh," Grif explained plainly.
"...drudge labor, Grif?" Simmons asked in surprise. "You? Why?"
Sarge wanted to call Simmons on that, but he wanted an answer too.
"Well, Sarge said Maud eats rocks, especially the unusual ones with gem formations," Grif explained. "I figured it'd be good to have a supply here to feed her if she wound up warping in here again, to calm her down. Or on the off chance we end up winning and she stays here."
Sarge stared at Grif in amazement. "...that is...probably a good idea," he admitted finally.
"Thank you Sarge," Grif offered happily. "Now, where-"
"But you had it!" Sarge added emphatically.
"Uh, yeah?" Grif confirmed. "So?"
"I am so darn conflicted right now!" Sarge screamed out in frustration.
"Yeah...so, the pick ax?" Grif asked curiously. "I think I spotted a gem vein further down the canyon. Not big enough for commercial mining, but a few good knuckle size ones as treats for Maud might buy us our Flag back without any humiliating negotiations, and possibly get us in Maud's good books."
"Thor's other beard, Grif, stop being right!" Sarge screamed out at the top of his lungs. "It's violating the natural order of things!"
"Pretty sure the 'natural order' got thrown out the window when the teleporting, rock eating, talking pony showed up," Simmons groused morosely as Grif went off to find the pick ax.