From the slums of Shaolin
Wu-Tang Clan strikes again
The RZA, the GZA, Ol' Dirty Bastard, Inspectah Deck,
Raekwon the Chef, U-God, Ghostface Killah
And the
M-E-T-H-O-D
MAN!
M-E-T-H-O-D
MAN!
M-E-T-H-O-D
MAN!
M-E-T-H-O-D
MAN!
It was just her luck, really. Why would she ever get a chance to just lounge in bed? She was Cairo Casablancas; there wasn't yet a euphemism with the word 'lucky' that she could be molded to fit. It wasn't enough that this cursed streak had to manifest itself in a nonexistent love life and in a disastrous trail of assignments, now she wasn't even allowed quiet moments of serenity in bed either. Attack by Zeon forces now, of all times?
It was probably taking off my bra that did it. Look at those mobile suit designs. They must just hate the idea of humans being comfy.That thought
was comfy, actually. It meant that maybe they weren't singling out Cairo specifically.
They can't make me put it on. I'll be in a cockpit. No one will notice.Of course, knowing her luck, the one time she decided to stay comfy she would end up getting shot down and turned into a dead, pockmarked lump of cooked flesh inside her pilot suit. Like pork tenderloin with freezerburn. On the other hand...freezerburned and
comfy.Cairo Casablancas sighed and stood up, quickly inserting herself into an ergonomic but unflattering pilot suit and making sure to bring along her tape deck. Mobile suit combat in space wasn't anything like the old tank battles or dogfights of centuries past; in space, the only sounds you had to focus on were alarms, and those came with big blinking lights that could clue you into problems. There was no harm in bringing along music.
Should I do a shot?Would one shot dull or sharpen her reflexes?
It gets thirsty in there. It'd be just my luck to die parched.She ended up compromising and pouring herself one shot of sambuca con la mosca, with only one coffee bean instead of her customary seven. She would save the other six for her return, if she was somehow lucky enough to come back from this in one piece. They would give her something to munch on and calm down before she burrowed back into her bunk and rooted herself there like a big, lazy blanket oak.
Cairo ended up cheating on her way to
Troy Horse's MS bay and eating another two chocolate-coated coffee beans. She justified this infidelity by reminding herself that they were symbolic of prosperity and good health. She could still save
four for the return trip. Esquiline through Viminal.
When she reached the hangar bay, shuffling to her G-Fighter without much enthusiasm, her chief mechanic instantly took notice of her.
"Howdy, Ensign! We've got the slave rig wired as effectively as she can be!" Cairo felt confident enough in her ability to fly the G-Fighter Space Type by herself, and she was happy that at least no one could get killed if she was proven wrong, but it was still quite the gamble. Especially with all the power in this Luna Titanium puppy. "You'll be picking off Doms like flies with chopsticks!"
Cairo didn't tell him that she couldn't use chopsticks. Instead, she smiled unsteadily.
"Thanks, guys," she said with a nod of gratitude. "I'll give her all she's got - and plenty more."
That sounded like something cocky people said. Fighter pilots should be cocky. She learned that from that one American movie with the gay guys.
I'll never find a Maverick..."Do one last systems check," she instructed the mechanic with a nod. "I'll just be a minute."
There was no getting around it.
She was gonna have to kill a lot of people if she wanted to have a chance to nap later.
Alright, y'all
Get your White Owls
Get your meth
Get your skins
Don't forget your 40s
And we're gonna do it like this!
I got
Fat bags of skunk
I got
White Owl dub
And I'm about to go get lifted!
(Yes, I'm about to go get lifted!)
I got
Myself a 40
I got
Myself a shorty
And I'm about to go and stick it!
(Yes, I'm about to go and stick it!)
En garde, Zeon.
Cairo Casablancas would let you try her Wu-Tang style.