How to do a barbecue, Solartan Style

[nephero]

[Open to Valkyries, Pilots in Solarta]


There was something to be said about how things just kinda worked out.

Way back in the day, according to fossil evidence if you cared or believed in such things, scorpions were tiny little critters whose entire danger lay in their stinger. But with the advent of growth hormones in consumables and as of yet unknown chemical cocktails and a disturbingly laissez-faire attitude towards the proper disposal of waste product, circumstances became that it was no longer just the venom you had to worry about.

No, Wasteland scorpions were behemoths who not only remained just as venomous as their ancestral counterparts, but were also couch sized, cantankerous, and fully capable of ripping a man limb from limb with their pincers.

It was without a doubt the single most grotesque way to go, in Yavul's opinion, being pulled apart by a bug. Assuming, of course, that you weren't stung first. Also assuming that in the process of being stung, the forearm-sized barb didn't spear you through anything particularly vital. That was also a grotesque way to go, hanging from a barb caught in your ribs because you just HAD to be That Guy, Jiminy, and try to ride the damn thing like some kind of hideous pony.

And to what purpose? At least his death had been instantaneous, caught right in the heart like a last ditch mercy. But it had been stupid, and it had been horrifying, and by virtue of the Valkyries’ personal combat doctrine, every last one of them had felt it.

Not literally of course. And only for a second. But a second’s worth of agony and terror was enough to dictate that the next person who got near those clackity motherfuckers without taking proper precautions would end up wishing the scorpion had killed them.

They'd fried the damn arachnid, of course, both out of vengeance and in order to retrieve dearly departed Jiminy.

That was years ago, well before Yavul took command, back when it might be months before they returned home to the safety of the domes. Eating, as it stood, was a matter of distinct creativity in the front lines. Months of rations was enough to turn anyone feral, and so when they found that the excessive application of heat mitigated latent toxins in the scorpion’s meaty bits, well…

In that moment a squadron tradition had been born.

After the war it became less and less necessary to go “bug hunting”, but more a matter of recreation. It posed a double benefit: the squadron got practice in exterminating wasteland critters who might otherwise get too close to Solarta for comfort, and they got a good round of barbecue in for their efforts.

Well worth the price of decontamination.

Yavul took a breath, hissing against his mask, and stared out into the waning twilight.

It had to be done at dark, of course. Millions of years of evolution didn't suddenly stop being a thing in the wastes, and so these great big angry bastards were just as photophobic as their prior, unmutated versions. But that was what the lamps were for-- massive blacklights hooked to Svanhvit’s underbelly. The draconess rumbled beneath him, eyes lidded as she enjoyed the last of the day's warm rays before the sun finally dipped beneath the horizon and vanished from sight.

“All right,” Yavul said over the comms linking his helmet with that of his companions for the evening, a mixture of his own squadron and members of others. “See that outcroppin’ over yonder? Credits to crullers that's gonna be a hell of a nest. Razzle Dazzle, I'm gonna have you fly up an’ over an’ drop the water on ‘em from up high. Should rattle the sumbitches out in the open, an' then you can join the festivities. Svan here's gonna provide our lightin’, give us a good bird’s eye and we'll pick ‘em off bit by bit. Don't get separated and don't let ‘em surround you, that'll get nasty real quick. Otherwise,”

Yavul grinned and snorted in amused derision.

“Whoever catches the biggest bastard wins!”

[Marakai2.0]

Raz could hear Yavul's voice in his ear, buzzing through the comm in his helmet. He grinned widely, hidden beneath the black glass of his faceplate.

"Gotcha, Bossman. When's the last time it rained in the desert, ya think?" He let out a light chuckle as he checked the straps and harnesses that held him securely to Mimsk's back one last time.

"So, droppa thunderstorm on their heads and send them running. Good plan, great plan."

Beneath Mimsk, clamped securely to all four of her mechanical legs, was a ridiculously large tank of water. Beneath this tank was no less than twelve nozzles that would release hundreds of gallons of water in a high pressure spray, not unlike a dozen simultaneous firehoses. He may not be bringing the thunder, so to speak - not yet, anyway - but he was fine with bringing a cloudburst to the dead desert.

Razican could feel the wings pumping behind him, could hear the whoosh of the air as those great metal appendages pushed them upward. Mimsk wasn't the largest Dragon, but she had little to prove - her small size, combined with her mechanical wings, gave her a huge advantage on speed and maneuverability.

It was only a few seconds before they were coming up on the indicated outcropping of rock, and Raz could just see the signs of nesting in the fading light.

"All right, guys!" he whooped into the comm, "We've got a downpour in T-minus five, four, three, two...mark."

He pressed a big red button on a control box he'd wired to his harness earlier that day and, beneath him, those dozen nozzles hissed to life. Twelve jets of penetrating, highly pressurized water cut straight down, cutting into the sand and rock and flooding the arachnids in their holes. Mimsk did two slow circles, thoroughly saturating the ground below until the tank was empty.

"All right! Mimsk, let's go set this thing down in a dune so we can join the party!"

[Lion]

Now this was a great idea for a muthafuckin' vay-cay-shee-owwwwn! As far as great ideas went, it sure as hell beat sitting around his apartment sleeping on the couch all day and meandering about at night. Going through all that effort to make a few gifts and not give them was just a dick movie. Even Grisham knew that. The trip would be worth it, that was for damn sure.

The warning couldn't have been more clear and if Yavul didn't pull through, he'd be motorboating his tits. Not that Grisham had any real doubt. But neither did he have any doubt that if there wasn't damn good steak, there'd be motorboating. Grisham did not make idle threats.

However, leaving Haruxhir behind to go out here into the middle of this fucking desert probably wasn't the best idea. Good thing Yavul's dragon was big enough for the both of them, and he clung to the back of Yavul, adjusting the rifle on his back. Not quite your standard issue rifle there, and it showed in its heft. But it'd be enough to char a carapace or two.

Sure, he couldn't say he was familiar with giant desert scorpion hunting. Definitely not Solartan style, but the slaying of giant critters varied little in Grisham's experience. He was ready, and it showed in his posturing. Shoulders back, rolled here and there in his flight suit. Breathing came out low, slow, and even. The plan, such as it were, was simple. Flush out the prey and pick them off. It was a vague outline of what was going to happen, and Grisham knew well enough how Valkyries handled anything regarding plans.

The goal in mind was to kill the biggest fucking scorpion they could find. Hellions trained for every eventuality, the variables you didn't count on. He was at the ready and remained quiet behind Yavul once the water was dropped. The blacklight was clearly registered on his helmet's hud.

"All right, Yavul, here they come," Grisham rumbled through the come and flipped a switch on the tesla rifle in his arms. The weapon gave a soft hiss and Grisham bent his knee high-enough to steady the shot on his thigh. He curled his body forward. "Locked and loaded. 3 Right-Huge Sons of bitches at 3 o'clock. Razzle Dazzle, you're a right charmer. Just in case you didn't know that already."

Grisham held his breath, focusing that rifle and when it aligned with his target, he pulled the trigger and the kick was almost enough to send him hurtling from the seat. His legs tightened around and the harness kept him on. A bright burst of blue ignited across the blacklit dunes, spreading out in a wide shot that severed the point of a scorpion's tail and sent it writhing across the dunes.

"Whoop-de-goddamn-do," he hissed and readied another shot. Once the weapon was armed up, Grisham crouched over again, lower this time and stayed flexible against the second kick, and another shot blazed out, and burning a cut of electrical energy clear across half the head and left claw of that tailless scorpion. "Fuckin'-A right!!" he howled, immediately readying another charge. "One point. Alberich."

[Nix]

This whole trip could not get any worse in his mind.

First and for most was how much trouble he would probably be in when his commander found out about this little excursion, but he was not about to back down when Grisham was so gun ho about it all. Surely as the commander of another squadron he should know it was dangerous and reckless for him to be partaking in such dangerous recreational activities. If something happened to Mr Dynamo while playing exterminator with another squad what sort of laughing stock would that make him?

It sort of made Ranea smile, but the idea mostly made him sick. He doubt the capabilities of only a select few on this little hunting party and neither himself were on that list.

Still. He was hardly thrilled that the flying arrangements worked out as they did. Grishmanstealer was situated nice and cozy behind Yavul and Ranea was stuck with his arms around Pilot Echo Arika Grancha the burliest woman he had ever laid eyes on. It was probably comical in some way. A slender toned man clinging to a hulking woman.

Still he couldn't help but be jealous as he watched the two commanders together as they flew away from the dome. He barely noticed Arika asking if he was alright, even though the sound went into his com. "We're fine." He replied smoothly, not letting his jealousy consume him. Now that they were outside the dome they had to be on guard. Even 'recreational' activities could easily go awry. There were beasts and raiders out in the wastes. These lands were dangerous and not something to under estimate. The second you did such a foolish thing you were done for.

_____________

Arika was really happy to have the pretty boy holding on to her, there was no lying about that. As a woman who loved pretty and cute things, even if they didn't seem to 'suit' her, she had to be happy that Ranea fucking Purdia was riding behind her! And yet it was bittersweet because it was so fucking obvious this boy was pining hard for Yavul, who once again seemed completely fucking oblivious to shit. How many dates with this beauty was Yav gonna fuck up???

Maybe she should just steal the pretty away.

They flew out to the spot without a hitch, Arika kept checking back to see how Adal was fairing too. He seemed to be adjusting well, it was always interesting to see how fresh meat acclimated to being a Pilot, being in a squad, and being in Solarta. Maybe it was because Adal was older for a new graduate that he was doing so well already. Still she wouldn't be much of an assistant squad leader if she didn't look out for him.

Ranea was another story. He seemed quite capable but he wasn't a Valkyrie, his style was very different from what she had seen of him in combat scenarios, but then again the whole Apcintoch vibe was very different, and she would know. Apcintoch was her home town after all. How much trouble would he be in for being out here? Did his commander even know? Pilot Purdia didn't really seem like a rule breaker but Arika couldn't picture his commander or PR cell being ok with this hunting trip.

Well. Prying and criticizing wouldn't help shit. She'd just make sure Ranea didn't scratch his pretty face up so he wouldn't get in more trouble. "You wanna stay here an fly on Rebar? Not sure how you fancy folks prefer ta hunt." She offered more to keep Ranea out of harm's way then out of ignorance to the Alicantos' fighting style.

___________

Ranea tried not to take that as an insult. He enjoyed flying on his own dragon, Rebar was nice enough, but there was no bond there. And he didn't want to sit and watch while Grisham 'racked up points' as it were. "No, I can get dirty just fine." He replied into his helmet as Rebar landed.

It wasn't long after that the scorpions started rushing from water being dropped on them. Ranea relaxed, concentrating on their enemies and their surroundings. He had no sniper cover here, but that was fine. Reading beasts minds wasn't the same as humans, but the frantic energy was all he really needed to see, no deep motives or cunning plans. Fear. Confusion. Ready to lash out at anything in their way. He kept his comrades mostly in his peripherals as he gunned down one scorpion with a standard phaser gun. No fancy electric nightmare guns required. Being on the offensive was actually a bit liberating. It was necessary given his companions in this missio- recreational activity. Evasive measures in this situation would put the others in a higher line of fire. Besides. He was going to go get the biggest one.