Good Cookies: Prompt and Fill Post, Round Two
Good Cookie, definition: 1. Marine Corps Good Conduct Medal; 2. Generation Kill fanworks created for YAGKYAS. Can include short (under 1000 words) ficlets, drabbles, drawables, mixtapes, fanart, whatever!
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Ray spots him first, coming in the side door with his wife on his arm and holding a small, white box about seven inches square. “Dude,” he says to Brad, smacking Brad on the arm to get his attention. “What the shit’s Trombley packing?”
Brad looks over and cocks his head when he spots the small, white box. “Dog’s head,” he guesses.
“Gun,” Ray replies.
“What’s up, my white brothers?” Poke asks as he walks over.
“Trombley’s carrying a little white box,” Ray tells him. “Think he’s gonna go full psycho and blow up the place?”
Poke follows their line of sight and shakes his head. “Nah. Probably just food.”
“We got food,” Ray replies, glancing at the buffet to their right, “and we’ve got booze,” he adds, glancing to the bar to his left. “What’s he got to bring that’s so damn important?”
“We could ask him,” Brad says, and Ray makes a disgusted noise.
“Ask him,” he mutters. “The fuck kind of answer is that, Bradley?”
“For fuck’s sake, you dumbshit,” Brad says. He thrusts his beer into Poke’s hand and walks across the ballroom to where Trombley and his wife are talking to another couple.
“I still cannot believe that crazy bastard got someone to marry him,” Ray says.
Poke shrugs and takes a long drink of Brad’s beer. “Don’t even get me into that conversation, dawg. I’m still not sure how I got my wife to marry me.”
“You gave her your balls in a giftbag.”
“Goddamn right, and I’m a better man for it.”
Before Ray can retort, Brad’s back at them, giving Poke an annoyed look when he grabs his beer and realizes it is noticeably lighter. “Dick.”
“You left it in my hand,” Poke replies. “You knew what that meant.”
“Well?” Ray asks.
“Wife’s got an allergy, and she likes cake, so they brought one with them so she could actually have some this year.”
Ray blinks. He shakes his head. He blinks again. “What?”
“Yup.” Brad says. “Our little psycho is apparently a pretty decent husband.”
“I’m gonna go drink myself into a coma,” Poke says, turning towards the bar.
“Make your people proud,” Brad says.
“Suck my delicious Mexican dick,” Poke replies.
Ray is still alternating between blinking and shaking his head. “I still think it’s a gun,” he says.
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“Ask him,” he mutters. “The fuck kind of answer is that, Bradley?”
I started laughing then and didn't stop until the end. Oh, Ray.
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