[Narrative]--Donut probably has ideas.
He wasn't worried. That would be ridiculous.
Nexus-Grif had made it clear that he could take care of himself. Had made it clear that he had taken care of himself before, more than once, even. He'd had the foresight--foresight; that was a word Simmons had never pictured himself using in reference to Grif--to arrange an "if you see this, shit is going down" message, and if he had the foresight for that, then he'd had to have had the foresight to go armed. Possibly to the teeth, even.
The mental image of Grif with an arsenal that Sarge would be proud of could've been an amusing one, if there wasn't something incredibly unsettling about it that Simmons couldn't quite put into words.
And he knew Grif wasn't alone there, too. There'd been a couple of questions in the Nexus asking after the whereabouts of certain people already, and the party had to have been well populated; if Grif did manage to get himself in over his head, there was bound to be somebody who could help him out of it.
...On the other hand, there would probably be civilians that would need help, and--
Simmons was pulled out of his thoughts by a gloved hand waving in his face.
"--to Simmons. Blood Gulch Outpost No. 1 contacting Private Dick Simmons, do you copy?"
Simmons shoved the arm away from him and turned to glare with a sharp "What?" at the reason why he was so worried (except that he wasn't worried).
Grif--lazy Grif, out of shape Grif, Grif who deliberately clogged his own weapon, Grif whose mouth ran faster than his brain, and the Grif whom Simmons automatically thought of when he thought 'Grif'--pointed at the plate in front of the maroon soldier. "You gonna finish that?"
Simmons scowled and pushed the plate over in front of him. He was just about to return to his thoughts when Grif interrupted them again. "The hell's your problem, dude?"
"I don't have a problem," Simmons answered curtly.
"I ate half of this before I bothered asking you for it," Grif countered.
"He did!" Donut added helpfully. "It was amazing."
Simmons glared at his teammates before rising to his feet with an, "I don't need this shit," followed by his storming out of the mess hall, leaving behind a very confused Grif and Donut.
"Man, what crawled up his ass and died?" Grif asked.
Nexus-Grif had made it clear that he could take care of himself. Had made it clear that he had taken care of himself before, more than once, even. He'd had the foresight--foresight; that was a word Simmons had never pictured himself using in reference to Grif--to arrange an "if you see this, shit is going down" message, and if he had the foresight for that, then he'd had to have had the foresight to go armed. Possibly to the teeth, even.
The mental image of Grif with an arsenal that Sarge would be proud of could've been an amusing one, if there wasn't something incredibly unsettling about it that Simmons couldn't quite put into words.
And he knew Grif wasn't alone there, too. There'd been a couple of questions in the Nexus asking after the whereabouts of certain people already, and the party had to have been well populated; if Grif did manage to get himself in over his head, there was bound to be somebody who could help him out of it.
...On the other hand, there would probably be civilians that would need help, and--
Simmons was pulled out of his thoughts by a gloved hand waving in his face.
"--to Simmons. Blood Gulch Outpost No. 1 contacting Private Dick Simmons, do you copy?"
Simmons shoved the arm away from him and turned to glare with a sharp "What?" at the reason why he was so worried (except that he wasn't worried).
Grif--lazy Grif, out of shape Grif, Grif who deliberately clogged his own weapon, Grif whose mouth ran faster than his brain, and the Grif whom Simmons automatically thought of when he thought 'Grif'--pointed at the plate in front of the maroon soldier. "You gonna finish that?"
Simmons scowled and pushed the plate over in front of him. He was just about to return to his thoughts when Grif interrupted them again. "The hell's your problem, dude?"
"I don't have a problem," Simmons answered curtly.
"I ate half of this before I bothered asking you for it," Grif countered.
"He did!" Donut added helpfully. "It was amazing."
Simmons glared at his teammates before rising to his feet with an, "I don't need this shit," followed by his storming out of the mess hall, leaving behind a very confused Grif and Donut.
"Man, what crawled up his ass and died?" Grif asked.