It's been a long slog, the marines were tired, battered, and just tired of it all. They finally got the word, they were going home. One soldier said all he wanted was a nap, and his favorite snacks. Several havenworlder medics, and some level 1 and 2 deathworlder medics, asked the humans, what kind of snacks? -- Anon Guest
"Roasted, salted cashews," said Marine Blem, who had literally rolled out of her battle-rated livesuit and had yet to extract herself from the floor. "And a creamy soda float."
"I want a craft beer and a big-ass bowl of Jersey Caramels." sighed Marine Ark. "Just stuff them in me until I puke."
"That is pleasant for you?" squawked Medik Preen, attempting to lift Marine Zol by one armoured arm. Zol was far too heavy for Preen to try, but this was the Havenworlder variant of the Deathworlder Consciousness Test. If the Deathworlder was giggling, then they were conscious.
Zol was either an excellent actress, or she really was "dead to the world" as the humans were wont to say. Preen made sure Zol wouldn't swallow her tongue, and moved on.
"I want ice cream," sighed Shen. "And fruit salad, and chocolate crackle topping, and loads of cream, and cheesecake chunks..."
"And caramel popcorn?" guessed Blem.
"Nah, that's too much sweet."
"I wanna steak," mumbled Zol, returning to consciousness. "Rare as I can get it. Dripping... Mash taters 'n' honey carrots anna whole boatload o' gravy. And deep-fried pork belly onna side."
"You fuckin' carnivore, Zol. We were talking snacks."
"Too bad, I wanna meal." Zol managed to lever herself into a sitting position, and began extracting herself. "A feast, some fizzy, and a good, solid ffff--"
"ZOL!"
"...fun time with friends," Zol grinned. Everyone knew that wasn't what she meant.
[Photo by Aldebaran S on Unsplash]
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