Tag, You're It!
Fandom: Red vs Blue
Characters: Florida and Wyoming
Word Count: 586
Warnings: None
Florida slowly inched around a corner, carefully taking a peek around the building. There were structures spread out around the compound that made good hiding places, but moving from one to the other would leave him open to fire. He needed to find a better place before he was spotted. He turned his focus back to his current location. Beyond the shack on the outskirts, there were trees. They were his best bet from here. He made a dash for cover and disappeared up the nearest tree. Now, if he could follow the tree line back around the edge of the grounds, he could obtain his objective and get out before taking another blow. He touched the splash of red across his ribs softly. It didn't look good. Sure, he could survive this sort of hit, but he knew his opponent. He couldn't afford giving the man another opportunity. Time to get on the move. He hurried along the tree tops, hopping from one branch to another when possible. The trees barely made a rustle.
He started getting a little lax with his stealth after a few minutes. If the enemy hadn't spotted him yet it meant they were waiting for him at the base. His target was stationary. They knew he had to come back eventually. When he got within range of the building, he hung back in a tree, searching for signs of movement. Florida knew the sniper was out there somewhere, but he couldn't spot him. Not from here. He dropped to the ground silently, gun pulled as he turned his head from side to side. It appeared clear. Too bad most of the functions in his helmet were out of commission. Motion trackers would be nice right about now.
The building in the center of the base was out in the open. There was no way to get there from where he was without exposing himself. He darted along in the shadows of the surrounding buildings, trying to find a way, but it was bright out. There was just no subtle way to do this. Just as Florida was prepared to make a dash for it, he heard a click. He swung around and turned his gun on the nearest building blindly. Before he could get his shot off, Florida's head snapped back. Red filled his visor, and he fell to the ground.
"Tag, mate. You're it," a familiar voice drawled.
Florida laughed, listening for Wyoming's steps as they grew closer. He reached a hand out and found the other Freelancer's. With a pull, Wyoming set Florida upright again and the blue soldier removed his helmet.
"Great shot, as usual, buddy," Florida chirped, turning the helmet around to investigate the paint splatter. "Right between the eyes."
Wyoming slung the sniper rifle over his shoulder and pulled his own helmet off, revealing a cocky smirk.
"Yes, well, if you sat still for five seconds, perhaps I'd have beat my best time. Like a blasted squirrel up there."
Florida laughed and tucked his helmet under his arm.
"Nothing makes a man feel down when he's that high up," he responded, slapping Wyoming's shoulder with the back of his hand. "I believe this means I owe you lunch."
"Know anyplace with a vintage wine?" Wyoming asked as they headed back to their pickup destination.
"Oh, I think the cafeteria manager could be convinced with a little well-earned flattery. She changed her hair recently, did you notice?"
"Can't say I have."
Florida went on, all smiles.