Still Trash

July 15th, 2030 1930 EST 'New Frontier' Chow Hall

"Damn boys, you know the chief isn't going to take pot shots from scavs as an excuse to be a shit bag on their PT times."

"Yea, yea Crawford laugh it up. At least we didn't get slammed on the 1MC first week on duty for being a bagger on his first week." (Lin)

"Let it go dude, he's just a bent shitcan that fell through the cracks." (Asagi)

"You're lucky the chow boss still thinks it's worthwhile to provide your ass with anything resembling food fuck face. Next time you're running faster than a norm try not falling on your face alright carrot top? Otherwise you'll actually look like a unpicked carrot when I turn around to see if you're enjoying that dirtnap or not." (Lin)

"Oof" (Asagi)

"Fuck both of you, y'all just chasing that bravo zulu from chief all the time like 2 lil' pups. You think your theoretical scores will keep you on top forever? We'll see how far both of you get during the practical tests." (Crawford)

"We'll see eh clown? Let's make a bet then." (Lin)

"Hit me." (Crawford)

"If both of us place above you at the end you'll let us decide on your call sign." (Lin)

"Alright. If I place above either of you.....I'll take your grandfather's Budweiser*." (Crawford)

"Nah dude you're going too fa-." (Asagi)

"No no that's fair. Alright bet." (Lin)

"Really you guys actually spitting on this? That's fucking nasty man. I'm not spit shaking. Get away from me. Aw fuck your breathe smells FUCK OFF!" (Asagi)

"You gunna catch him Crawford?" (Lin)

"Nope he's fucking fast man. Good luck, and don't pussy out on this bet you hear?" (Crawford)

"I won't, 𝐑𝐮𝐛 𝟏." (Lin)

"No.....fuck." (Crawford)

𝑯𝒆'𝒔 𝒔𝒐 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅.