You know what the worst part about staying at a top secret military alien research base is?
Taco night.
It happens every second Friday, and you dread it every time.
Hordes of hungry, sweaty people, all in rubber hazmat suits, racing to a single truck, trying to be the first to get their pick of the wares. And the horror isn't over yet. What happens after is worse... try to imagine all those same sweaty, rubber suited workers an hour after. Where do you think they'll be? Yep, you guessed it. The barracks stink for weeks after, and by then, it's taco night again.
You shuddered just thinking about it.
A fast swish of air startles you back into focus, just in time to barely dodge the kick coming your way. Your sparring partner laughs and follows the kick with a swift left hook.
"Honestly (y/n), you're supposed to actually pay attention when fighting."
You deftly swing yourself around to block the hit, delivering one of your own while the colonel is preparing for another kick. She leans back to dodge the fist coming her way and you use her momentum to knock her leg out from underneath her.
You attempt to reposition yourself, but she grasps your ankle firmly and flips you over her head. As you fall you twist yourself around and land in a crouch, bending your ankles to absorb the impact. You stand, acknowledging the colonel's win with a nod. She chuckles.
"You're getting good, (y/n)."
"I still have a lot to learn."
The colonel nods.
"Alright, that's enough for today, get changed and get some food."
You nod and exit, entering the locker room. After a quick shower and a change of clothes you head into the mess hall, grab yourself a plate of steaming hot mashed potatoes covered in thick gravy, and take a seat at a table in the back of the mess, where you can sit relatively quietly amidst the loud, raucous laughter and chatter of the soldiers, officers and scientists.
The peace and quiet doesn't last very long though. A large group of mixed ranks moves their way over to your secluded table and gather around, clearly having a heated debate.
"Hey! (Y/n)! We need your opinion on our little discussion!"
Luke, one of the soldiers you know well, yells over the noise as he sits down.
"Sure. Seems to be pretty important to you guys." you grin, gesturing at the aggravated group.
The man laughs, but then turns serious.
He shakes his fist at the right half of the group,
"(Y/n), these madmen seem to think that pie is superior to cake."
You try (and fail) to smother your laughter, and it only gets worse as Luke looks at you, wounded.
The debate continues to escalate
The rest of the night is spent in a constant state of laughter as both sides will neither yield or accept a truce. You try and remain an unbiased judge, but you can't help rooting for team cake, because... obviously... you aren't a complete psychopath.
If only every night was like this.
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