Let Me Count The Ways 1/?
Title: Let Me Count The Ways 1/?
Author: Kyrianne
Fandom: RVB
Pairing: Grif/Simmons :3
Rating: Eh... I'm saying PG13 at the moment.
Word Count: 2282
Summary: Sarge tells Simmons to go get Lopez back from O'Malley. Insanity insues.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, RVB, or Halo. Hell, I don't even own the GAME of Halo, or even an Xbox. And I probably couldn't even own YOU while playing. But maybe I could. Who knows?!
A/N: This is actually the first fanfic I ever starting writing for Red vs Blue, but since it's so goddamn long I haven't posted any of it... until today. This is part one of millions. I'm not anywhere near being done yet, and I don't know when it will end.
Please let me know if you like the story and wish to see it be continued! I promise there will be a lot more Grif/Simmons loving later on the in the story. ;]
---
"I'm completely honored that you have so much faith in me, Sir, but are you sure you want me to do this myself?"
"Believe me, Simmons, you're the only one I can trust with something this important."
"I... I don't know what to say. Thank you, Sir."
"Of course. Now get movin'! The enemy is a turd-bellied toad-sucker who waits for no one!"
"Of course, Sir! Right away, Sir!"
Simmons hurried out of the room, mentally cataloguing all the supplies he'd need for his mission. He could feel the electronics in his head whirring slightly at the busy work, and he couldn't help but wince a little for the sake of what he had lost during his "upgrade." For the most part he was completely fine with the fact he was now Version 2.0, but there were times he grieved for what could have been, had he still been completely human. Not to mention all the embarrassing malfunctions he could have avoided. Like that time Red Command had decided to try out faxing all the new tactics (not that they were particularly new anyway; even Grif had the instructions memorized to a T) and they had received them during supper, before anyone had really gotten used to the idea of him having a fax machine in his ass. Or that time when he had run into Donut on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night and the nightvision in his cyborg eye had allowed him to learn the pink soldier wore nothing but a fuscia polka-dotted g-string to bed (that image was still haunting him often, to his dismay).
Because he was so engrossed in his own thoughts, Simmons didn't realize that Grif was in his way until he had walked straight into the other soldier, knocking him to the ground and trodding far from daintily on his stomach.
"Fuck, Simmons! Watch where you're going!"
"Sorry Grif, I didn't see you there." He was still too absorbed to bother with any snarky comeback, simply taking a few steps backward to let the orange-clad man stand.
"Like fucking hell you didn't!" Grif sat up and leaned on an elbow, panting slightly and grimacing at his stomach. "I bet you ran into me on purpose, you douchebag."
"Well, I wouldn't have if you weren't standing in my fucking way," Simmons growled, fed up. Almost like an afterthought, he added, "Cockbite."
"Ohhh, come on! I'm standing in front of the door to the one room we never, ever use around here. You can't tell me you--"
"Sarge has a mission for me, and I need to gather supplies for it. No thanks to you, you fucking asswipe. Now get out of my way before I bitchslap you with my cyborg arm."
"Jesus Christ, Simmons, what did you eat this morning? Rusty nails?" Grif asked incredulously, but moved swiftly out of the maroon soldier's way. Simmons stalked through the now-clear doorway, rummaging violently through the many boxes stacked inside. He cursed to himself a few times, drawing the attention of Grif, who had plopped down to recline on the floor beside the door. The orange soldier peeked his head into the room and watched the cyborg's frenzy of movement for a while before asking, "What did Sarge ask you to do?"
Simmons froze for a solid second before turning slowly and replying in a suspiciously even tone, "Why do you want to know?"
Grif shrugged. "I 'ono. Just curious, I guess." A smirk quirked his mouth as he added, "He want you to find him some bath oils or something?"
"Fuck you, Grif," Simmons replied, turning his attention back to rummaging. A moment later he let out a triumphant "ha!" as he pulled a battered green canvas tarp from a waterdamaged cardboard box labeled "Junk." Grif eyed it suspiciously.
"What do you need a tarp for? You gonna cut his hair, too?"
"This isn't a tarp, Einstein, it's a tent," Simmons replied smugly, shaking it out so he could refold the durable fabric properly. Grif's eyes widened.
"What do you need a tent for?!"
Simmons hesitated slightly before answering. "I... I'm leaving the base for a while, for the mission."
"Where the fuck are you even going? Where the fuck would Sarge even want you to go?"
Grif could barely hear the other's reply.
"I'm going to get Lopez back from O'Malley."
For almost a full minute, the only thing Grif could do was stare. Get Lopez back? From O'Malley?! Even Sarge couldn't seriously be that insane... could he? This had to be some kind of joke.
When Simmons didn't say anything else to suggest he was kidding, Grif demanded, "You're joking, right?
Simmons snorted. "Why would I ever want to joke with you about something like this anyway?"
"Well, duh, to screw with my mind. That has to be what you're doing now, right? Because there's no fucking way in hell Sarge would send his favorite kiss-ass on a suicide mission."
Simmons turned away and started opening a box to give his hands something to do as he replied softly, "It's not a suicide mission."
The orange-clad soldier let out a low whistle. "You're serious? He's really making you do this?" A single nod was his only answer. "Wow. Sucks to be you."
Simmons whipped around to glare at his comrade. "It's an honor to be chosen for something this important. Something you probably can't even begin to understand, you lazy fuck."
Grif raised his hands lazily in mock defense, smirking good-naturedly. "Woah, calm down, Simmons. I don't think I've ever heard you call me so many dirty names in only 10 minutes."
Simmons rolled his eyes and turned his concentration back to the job at hand. "Shut up, I'm trying to get supplies together." He began muttering under his breath as he starting moving things to his growing pile of stuff, blinking slightly every time he added a tallymark to the calculations in his brain. "So I've got the tent... And here are some bandage strips..."
"Bacon! And straws! And feathers! Brownies! CDs! Orange markers! Donut's lacey curtains! Ruler--"
"Would you SHUT UP?!" Simmons bellowed at Grif, who grinned sheepishly back at him. "You're messing up my concentration!"
"Whatever, dude. I was just listing stuff I like," Grif shot back, mouth twitching suspiciously from a badly withheld smirk.
"You like Donut's lacey curtains?" Simmons smirked back, fighting his own amused reactions.
"Wait-- Fuck!"
Simmons doubled over with his contained laughter, barely managing to choke out, "Wow, Grif, you're," laugh, gasp, "amazing."
"Gee, thanks," the other grunted in response. Suddenly, his eyes gained a mischeivous glint and he catapulted himself upward and into the room, reaching to snatch a gun holster from Simmons' pile. He spun as soon as he was sure he had a hold on it, and started sprinting out of the room and down the hallway.
"Grif, what the fuck?! GET BACK HERE WITH THAT!!" Simmons screeched after him, flying to his feet and dashing after the theif. It didn't take long before his superior cyborg leg helped propell him forward and he tackled Grif for the second time that day.
As luck would have it, it was just after Simmons had grasped the wrist of the squirming man beneath him to help immoblize the culprit that Donut decided to bounce into the hall.
The pink soldier stopped abruptly as he saw them on the floor, Simmons straddling Grif with a wrist gripped tightly above the latter's head, and Grif panting heavily from running the length of the hallway. "Oh, sorry guys. Let me give you some privacy..." He turned as if to leave.
"Simmons is going on a mission!" Grif suddenly blurted, as if that explained everything.
"Jesus, Grif, why did you have to tell him?!"
The confusion in Donut's eyes suddenly disappeared as a realization dawned on him. "Ohhhh! So you guys are saying goodbye before he leaves! I get it!"
"NO!" both men on the ground yelled simultaneously, Simmons jumping up with Grif not too far after, who threw the holster at Simmons chest like it was suddenly as hot as the proverbial potato. Simmons scrabbled with it in midair for a few seconds before snatching it and holding it to his chest protectively.
Donut blinked, the confusion settling on his face again. He hesitated, but decided to change the subject. "Well... what kind of mission is it?"
Just as Grif started to open his mouth, Simmons answered hastily, "It's a secret."
The maroon soldier groaned at his mistake as the younger soldier's face lit up. "A secret mission? Oh man, I bet you get to use all those awesome gadget stuff, right? Like those watches that have bombs in them, or those pens with stuff hidden inside! And you absolutely have to wear a tuxedo, or it just doesn't count!" He paused for a moment, pulling a puppy-dog face, and he begged, "Can I come? Pleeeeeeease?"
"No!" the two other soldiers said in unison again. Simmons turned to glare at Grif. "You don't have any say in this!"
"Well, sor-ry. Even I know you don't want Donut along."
"Come on, Simmons! Please? I'll carry all your stuff!" A melodius undertone colored his voice as the pink spartan added, "I'll even write you a theme song~!"
Simmons ignored both of them, turning and starting back toward the supply room. He still had a lot of packing ahead of him.
+++
"Need any help?"
The soft footsteps of whoever was in the doorway stopped, compelling Simmons to turn around and look at the person disturbing him. "Are you going to give me any?"
"Pff, no," came the predictable reply as Grif slumped onto a large cardboard box. It groaned under his weight, but managed to stay standing. He shifted around a bit before starting hesitantly, "So, uh, about what happened out there..."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Simmons cut him off, avoiding eye contact as he continued shifting through supplies.
"You know, when Donut got the wrong idea--"
"I. DON'T. KNOW. WHAT. YOU'RE. TALKING. ABOUT," Simmons repeated through clenched teeth, turning to glare daggers at the orange soldier.
Grif whipped up his hands defensively. "God, I'm sorry!" he exclaimed. There was an awkward pause before he murmured, "If you wanna talk about it, though..."
"What makes you think I want to do that?" the maroon soldier demanded. Grif shrugged.
"I dunno, man. But knowing you, it'll make you go crazy sooner or later. Might as well let it out now, eh?"
"..." Simmons didn't say anything, instead pushing a shaking hand through his hair. Grif waited impatiently for an answer, swinging his legs repetetively against the cardboard he was sitting on.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
"Would you cut that out?" Simmons finally growled, throwing an army-issue food packet at the object of his annoyance. It bounced off of Grif's head harmlessly, landing with a soft thud on the concrete floor.
Grif leaned to pick it up. "Powdered pea soup," he read aloud. He snorted and continued in a fakely cheerful voice, "Just add water!" He scrunched up his nose as if deep in thought, then added, "I wonder if it would taste good with mayonnaise..."
"Not funny, Grif," Simmons complained, coming to snatch the packet away from him.
"Heeeeeeey... I wasn't done reading that yet!" Grif whined, reaching to steal the packet back. Simmons held it just above Grif's fingertips, smirking as the other man flailed his arms wildly trying to grab it.
Grif gave up with a huff. "Fine, you asshole. It wasn't that important anyways."
"Oh, come on, Grif. It's no fun if you just give up like that," Simmons protested, sitting down on the box beside Grif's. It complained, and just as soon as Simmons thought it was going to hold, it collapsed, sending him violently to the floor.
Grif exploded into laughter. His eyes bulged out as he clutched his stomach, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.
"Fuck you," Simmons muttered darkly, standing up to survey the mess he'd created. He sighed at the flood of food packets that had been set free when the box broke. "It's probably going to stay there, there's no where else for it to go," he murmured to himself.
His thoughts were interrupted when he felt something smack into the side of his head. He turned to see Grif with a lapful of food packets, grinning goofily as he threw them grenade-style at Simmons' head. They pelted him with much more force than he had employed on the one he had thrown before, and if it weren't for the metal plates in his head, Simmons knew he would have been bruising.
"Cut that out!" he griped, lifting his arms in a protective cross in front of his face. The packets kept flying, accompanied by the satanic peals of Grif's laughter at the indignation of his comrade. Simmons snarled and darted for the pile, scooping up at least 7 of the packets. He hurled one as hard as he could at Grif's head, but Grif managed to duck just in time, his shock only too apparent. A second followed, slamming right into its target as Grif tried to right himself. It exploded, sending a lightish brown powder flying everywhere.
When the dust finally subsided, Simmons could see that Grif had squinched his face up at the last moment. The powder dusted him lightly from head to toe, making him seem like some sort of creepy manniquin at a museum. It seemed almost a full minute before Grif finally cracked open an eye. "...Ow," he whispered. He trained his eye on Simmons and stared at him seriously. "It's fucking on, bitch."
---
And on a side note, do any of you have a copy of Halo 3 and Xbox Live and would be willing to make a detailed walkthrough/flythrough of Rat's Nest? I need it like woah for a project I'm working on, but I don't have the resources to learn Rat's Nest myself.
If one of you could do this for me, I would love you long time. :D
Author: Kyrianne
Fandom: RVB
Pairing: Grif/Simmons :3
Rating: Eh... I'm saying PG13 at the moment.
Word Count: 2282
Summary: Sarge tells Simmons to go get Lopez back from O'Malley. Insanity insues.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, RVB, or Halo. Hell, I don't even own the GAME of Halo, or even an Xbox. And I probably couldn't even own YOU while playing. But maybe I could. Who knows?!
A/N: This is actually the first fanfic I ever starting writing for Red vs Blue, but since it's so goddamn long I haven't posted any of it... until today. This is part one of millions. I'm not anywhere near being done yet, and I don't know when it will end.
Please let me know if you like the story and wish to see it be continued! I promise there will be a lot more Grif/Simmons loving later on the in the story. ;]
---
"I'm completely honored that you have so much faith in me, Sir, but are you sure you want me to do this myself?"
"Believe me, Simmons, you're the only one I can trust with something this important."
"I... I don't know what to say. Thank you, Sir."
"Of course. Now get movin'! The enemy is a turd-bellied toad-sucker who waits for no one!"
"Of course, Sir! Right away, Sir!"
Simmons hurried out of the room, mentally cataloguing all the supplies he'd need for his mission. He could feel the electronics in his head whirring slightly at the busy work, and he couldn't help but wince a little for the sake of what he had lost during his "upgrade." For the most part he was completely fine with the fact he was now Version 2.0, but there were times he grieved for what could have been, had he still been completely human. Not to mention all the embarrassing malfunctions he could have avoided. Like that time Red Command had decided to try out faxing all the new tactics (not that they were particularly new anyway; even Grif had the instructions memorized to a T) and they had received them during supper, before anyone had really gotten used to the idea of him having a fax machine in his ass. Or that time when he had run into Donut on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night and the nightvision in his cyborg eye had allowed him to learn the pink soldier wore nothing but a fuscia polka-dotted g-string to bed (that image was still haunting him often, to his dismay).
Because he was so engrossed in his own thoughts, Simmons didn't realize that Grif was in his way until he had walked straight into the other soldier, knocking him to the ground and trodding far from daintily on his stomach.
"Fuck, Simmons! Watch where you're going!"
"Sorry Grif, I didn't see you there." He was still too absorbed to bother with any snarky comeback, simply taking a few steps backward to let the orange-clad man stand.
"Like fucking hell you didn't!" Grif sat up and leaned on an elbow, panting slightly and grimacing at his stomach. "I bet you ran into me on purpose, you douchebag."
"Well, I wouldn't have if you weren't standing in my fucking way," Simmons growled, fed up. Almost like an afterthought, he added, "Cockbite."
"Ohhh, come on! I'm standing in front of the door to the one room we never, ever use around here. You can't tell me you--"
"Sarge has a mission for me, and I need to gather supplies for it. No thanks to you, you fucking asswipe. Now get out of my way before I bitchslap you with my cyborg arm."
"Jesus Christ, Simmons, what did you eat this morning? Rusty nails?" Grif asked incredulously, but moved swiftly out of the maroon soldier's way. Simmons stalked through the now-clear doorway, rummaging violently through the many boxes stacked inside. He cursed to himself a few times, drawing the attention of Grif, who had plopped down to recline on the floor beside the door. The orange soldier peeked his head into the room and watched the cyborg's frenzy of movement for a while before asking, "What did Sarge ask you to do?"
Simmons froze for a solid second before turning slowly and replying in a suspiciously even tone, "Why do you want to know?"
Grif shrugged. "I 'ono. Just curious, I guess." A smirk quirked his mouth as he added, "He want you to find him some bath oils or something?"
"Fuck you, Grif," Simmons replied, turning his attention back to rummaging. A moment later he let out a triumphant "ha!" as he pulled a battered green canvas tarp from a waterdamaged cardboard box labeled "Junk." Grif eyed it suspiciously.
"What do you need a tarp for? You gonna cut his hair, too?"
"This isn't a tarp, Einstein, it's a tent," Simmons replied smugly, shaking it out so he could refold the durable fabric properly. Grif's eyes widened.
"What do you need a tent for?!"
Simmons hesitated slightly before answering. "I... I'm leaving the base for a while, for the mission."
"Where the fuck are you even going? Where the fuck would Sarge even want you to go?"
Grif could barely hear the other's reply.
"I'm going to get Lopez back from O'Malley."
For almost a full minute, the only thing Grif could do was stare. Get Lopez back? From O'Malley?! Even Sarge couldn't seriously be that insane... could he? This had to be some kind of joke.
When Simmons didn't say anything else to suggest he was kidding, Grif demanded, "You're joking, right?
Simmons snorted. "Why would I ever want to joke with you about something like this anyway?"
"Well, duh, to screw with my mind. That has to be what you're doing now, right? Because there's no fucking way in hell Sarge would send his favorite kiss-ass on a suicide mission."
Simmons turned away and started opening a box to give his hands something to do as he replied softly, "It's not a suicide mission."
The orange-clad soldier let out a low whistle. "You're serious? He's really making you do this?" A single nod was his only answer. "Wow. Sucks to be you."
Simmons whipped around to glare at his comrade. "It's an honor to be chosen for something this important. Something you probably can't even begin to understand, you lazy fuck."
Grif raised his hands lazily in mock defense, smirking good-naturedly. "Woah, calm down, Simmons. I don't think I've ever heard you call me so many dirty names in only 10 minutes."
Simmons rolled his eyes and turned his concentration back to the job at hand. "Shut up, I'm trying to get supplies together." He began muttering under his breath as he starting moving things to his growing pile of stuff, blinking slightly every time he added a tallymark to the calculations in his brain. "So I've got the tent... And here are some bandage strips..."
"Bacon! And straws! And feathers! Brownies! CDs! Orange markers! Donut's lacey curtains! Ruler--"
"Would you SHUT UP?!" Simmons bellowed at Grif, who grinned sheepishly back at him. "You're messing up my concentration!"
"Whatever, dude. I was just listing stuff I like," Grif shot back, mouth twitching suspiciously from a badly withheld smirk.
"You like Donut's lacey curtains?" Simmons smirked back, fighting his own amused reactions.
"Wait-- Fuck!"
Simmons doubled over with his contained laughter, barely managing to choke out, "Wow, Grif, you're," laugh, gasp, "amazing."
"Gee, thanks," the other grunted in response. Suddenly, his eyes gained a mischeivous glint and he catapulted himself upward and into the room, reaching to snatch a gun holster from Simmons' pile. He spun as soon as he was sure he had a hold on it, and started sprinting out of the room and down the hallway.
"Grif, what the fuck?! GET BACK HERE WITH THAT!!" Simmons screeched after him, flying to his feet and dashing after the theif. It didn't take long before his superior cyborg leg helped propell him forward and he tackled Grif for the second time that day.
As luck would have it, it was just after Simmons had grasped the wrist of the squirming man beneath him to help immoblize the culprit that Donut decided to bounce into the hall.
The pink soldier stopped abruptly as he saw them on the floor, Simmons straddling Grif with a wrist gripped tightly above the latter's head, and Grif panting heavily from running the length of the hallway. "Oh, sorry guys. Let me give you some privacy..." He turned as if to leave.
"Simmons is going on a mission!" Grif suddenly blurted, as if that explained everything.
"Jesus, Grif, why did you have to tell him?!"
The confusion in Donut's eyes suddenly disappeared as a realization dawned on him. "Ohhhh! So you guys are saying goodbye before he leaves! I get it!"
"NO!" both men on the ground yelled simultaneously, Simmons jumping up with Grif not too far after, who threw the holster at Simmons chest like it was suddenly as hot as the proverbial potato. Simmons scrabbled with it in midair for a few seconds before snatching it and holding it to his chest protectively.
Donut blinked, the confusion settling on his face again. He hesitated, but decided to change the subject. "Well... what kind of mission is it?"
Just as Grif started to open his mouth, Simmons answered hastily, "It's a secret."
The maroon soldier groaned at his mistake as the younger soldier's face lit up. "A secret mission? Oh man, I bet you get to use all those awesome gadget stuff, right? Like those watches that have bombs in them, or those pens with stuff hidden inside! And you absolutely have to wear a tuxedo, or it just doesn't count!" He paused for a moment, pulling a puppy-dog face, and he begged, "Can I come? Pleeeeeeease?"
"No!" the two other soldiers said in unison again. Simmons turned to glare at Grif. "You don't have any say in this!"
"Well, sor-ry. Even I know you don't want Donut along."
"Come on, Simmons! Please? I'll carry all your stuff!" A melodius undertone colored his voice as the pink spartan added, "I'll even write you a theme song~!"
Simmons ignored both of them, turning and starting back toward the supply room. He still had a lot of packing ahead of him.
+++
"Need any help?"
The soft footsteps of whoever was in the doorway stopped, compelling Simmons to turn around and look at the person disturbing him. "Are you going to give me any?"
"Pff, no," came the predictable reply as Grif slumped onto a large cardboard box. It groaned under his weight, but managed to stay standing. He shifted around a bit before starting hesitantly, "So, uh, about what happened out there..."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Simmons cut him off, avoiding eye contact as he continued shifting through supplies.
"You know, when Donut got the wrong idea--"
"I. DON'T. KNOW. WHAT. YOU'RE. TALKING. ABOUT," Simmons repeated through clenched teeth, turning to glare daggers at the orange soldier.
Grif whipped up his hands defensively. "God, I'm sorry!" he exclaimed. There was an awkward pause before he murmured, "If you wanna talk about it, though..."
"What makes you think I want to do that?" the maroon soldier demanded. Grif shrugged.
"I dunno, man. But knowing you, it'll make you go crazy sooner or later. Might as well let it out now, eh?"
"..." Simmons didn't say anything, instead pushing a shaking hand through his hair. Grif waited impatiently for an answer, swinging his legs repetetively against the cardboard he was sitting on.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
"Would you cut that out?" Simmons finally growled, throwing an army-issue food packet at the object of his annoyance. It bounced off of Grif's head harmlessly, landing with a soft thud on the concrete floor.
Grif leaned to pick it up. "Powdered pea soup," he read aloud. He snorted and continued in a fakely cheerful voice, "Just add water!" He scrunched up his nose as if deep in thought, then added, "I wonder if it would taste good with mayonnaise..."
"Not funny, Grif," Simmons complained, coming to snatch the packet away from him.
"Heeeeeeey... I wasn't done reading that yet!" Grif whined, reaching to steal the packet back. Simmons held it just above Grif's fingertips, smirking as the other man flailed his arms wildly trying to grab it.
Grif gave up with a huff. "Fine, you asshole. It wasn't that important anyways."
"Oh, come on, Grif. It's no fun if you just give up like that," Simmons protested, sitting down on the box beside Grif's. It complained, and just as soon as Simmons thought it was going to hold, it collapsed, sending him violently to the floor.
Grif exploded into laughter. His eyes bulged out as he clutched his stomach, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.
"Fuck you," Simmons muttered darkly, standing up to survey the mess he'd created. He sighed at the flood of food packets that had been set free when the box broke. "It's probably going to stay there, there's no where else for it to go," he murmured to himself.
His thoughts were interrupted when he felt something smack into the side of his head. He turned to see Grif with a lapful of food packets, grinning goofily as he threw them grenade-style at Simmons' head. They pelted him with much more force than he had employed on the one he had thrown before, and if it weren't for the metal plates in his head, Simmons knew he would have been bruising.
"Cut that out!" he griped, lifting his arms in a protective cross in front of his face. The packets kept flying, accompanied by the satanic peals of Grif's laughter at the indignation of his comrade. Simmons snarled and darted for the pile, scooping up at least 7 of the packets. He hurled one as hard as he could at Grif's head, but Grif managed to duck just in time, his shock only too apparent. A second followed, slamming right into its target as Grif tried to right himself. It exploded, sending a lightish brown powder flying everywhere.
When the dust finally subsided, Simmons could see that Grif had squinched his face up at the last moment. The powder dusted him lightly from head to toe, making him seem like some sort of creepy manniquin at a museum. It seemed almost a full minute before Grif finally cracked open an eye. "...Ow," he whispered. He trained his eye on Simmons and stared at him seriously. "It's fucking on, bitch."
---
And on a side note, do any of you have a copy of Halo 3 and Xbox Live and would be willing to make a detailed walkthrough/flythrough of Rat's Nest? I need it like woah for a project I'm working on, but I don't have the resources to learn Rat's Nest myself.
If one of you could do this for me, I would love you long time. :D