It hurts like a punch

[scubatankfilledwithfarts]

There are plenty of general agreements within the flock of the Wild Geese: don't ever let the Captain sleep with a drag queen ever again, the only way to a good night is through booze that's as clear as veggie piss, Francis will cry about his ex so make sure he stays away from the harder stuff, and finally, the one the Captain should never know about: Badou Nails had to have come from the Captain's womb, however artificial it is.

There's just no conceivable way this little shit couldn't come from Bernadotte. With that squinty eyed look and upturn of a button nose he shot at their group of four, the tiny chick had imprinted on their captain, sure enough.

What cemented it was--

"And what exactly do I get outta this if I keep my mouth shut? And I don't mean for my karma factor, I ain't worried about that."

That. What would make it jarring is if the next thing the kid asked for was a nudey mag. Thankfully this wasn't the case, so the group could remain fortified behind their leader without having the big one in a collective shitstorm.

"We'll getcha whatever you want-- besides that tv. Who the hell's gonna haul that around? You?" A snort from their leader, to the remaining members dismay.

Badou's expression is closing off very quickly, and if they don't seize this chance now, well. It'd never happen again. So Juno shoves Vel out of the way (the latter of which just falls to the side into the abyss....of the hedges somewhere over the stone, rest in piss) and doesn't dare put his hands on the teen.

[it seems as though, ever since they brought him home, he doesn't like to be touched aside from a noogie here and there-- and that like is pretty relative to spitting and fuming]

[nothing like having the kid flinch away from hands]

"Here's what we're gonna do....we're gonna pay you fifty bucks."

Three sets of eyes and one single green orb widen as big as saucer plates. The latter of which is a smoothed out neutral look before they can catch him on it.

"It's that important to you guys? You, who don't give two shits about it if it ain't fighting."

Something strange vibrates in the teen's voice, where they can't read the look on his face. It doesn't make Juno bristle, just wonder.

[maybe he's more like the captain than he thought....soft]

[or its probably puberty. finally]

But Vel jumps the gun once more, teeth grit so hard every single yellow veneer can be seen, along with each piece of spittle as he snarls,

"Cause some of us don't got the privilege of seein' their kids again! And because that Silvia's got a tight little ass to look at....you really think I wanna look at the asses of these walking jockstraps every day?! I'm tired of it..." Vel's shoulders droop as he trails off, a sigh gusting from the bottoms of his lungs. It's his very soul that's defeated.

Juno knows that feel. The other two, Morrison and Dante, nod in agreement. Ass and kids, it's hard to find a consistent way to have one without the other, if you aren't careful.

[and Lotvall hadn't been, careful that is. Just a kid himself, and not a very bright one, but he'd done what he could, became a dog of war for her sake. maybe to get away from Silvia, too]

"Fine," Badou sighs, as well, far older than his thirteen or so years. Swipes a finger under his nose and sets Juno with a Look.

Something akin to hope blossoms in his chest.

"Make it seventy five and we have a deal."

The little bastard is definitely the captain's bastard.

But the plan was set in motion, Bernadotte was thoroughly distracted at the pub, and--

"Look at uncle Morrison, baby, lookie here! Look, look!"

And a bunch of stupid old war dogs gush their guts out to a tiny baby. They're drooling as much as she is. And his dear sweet baby girl eats it up, squealing amid excited burbles and curious looks as each rugged man, scars and pieces of themselves, line up to give her attention.

Lotvall finds himself shaking his head, because really, that's all he can do to not go insane at the sight of all these shit-for-soldiers going gaga over a child. Even the ones who hate kids tore themselves away from whores long enough to grumble a few choice words at him.

["Don't hold her ass like that, she'll wiggle right out," and "You've never fed a kid, have ya? Betcha wish you had them titties Silvie does...me too." Most of the well wishes are....ones he'd rather forget]

The weirdest sight of all is probably about five feet something, red hair and one eye, hunched over a meal across the room where he stares daggers at their ragtag little group.

[Lotvall can't tell if its longing or loneliness that shadows the already gaunt shadows of the kids' face]

From across the room he spots Dante join the kid, and though he's been told and punched into persuasion, into not running to his defense because the little gosling has very sharp teeth, no?, Lotvall braces himself. In the end, he doesn't have to worry: Dante gets a boot in the asscrack, ruffles up the kid like a yowling little cat. Feral.

[he does know how to take bites out of them]

The new papa has other things to worry about, regardless. Miller and Jansen are trying to coax one tiny foot into an even tinier and more ridiculous pink sock and, much like her father, his baby isn't having it. He wants to save her, as her father and protector since the moment that tiny collection of cells began to gather into a person, but the other part of him? Really wants to watch these two hardened forty somethings put a pink sock on a fussy baby. It warms his heart or something.

[mostly it means one of the others might notice there is a diaper leak and he'll get to slide away somewhere]

The warm fuzzies cease and desist when the door slams open and, tangle of braid akimbo, Captain Bernadotte strides in with the wind at his back and murder in his eye. Lotvall is certain his balls shriveled at the same moment all noise and movement also came to a halt. At least he won't have to worry about any brothers or sisters for Kai any time soon.

"The hell is this? A bunch of mangy mutts start leavin' the bar one by one, makes a guy start to wonder if a natural disaster is on the way," he snarks, most likely mad he hadn't had an audience for more of his steamier jokes. The cool saunter he does into the room stops when he lays eye(s) on the baby, held in the air and eerily silent in mimicry of the others.

"....What the hell is this." The Captain sounds more flabbergasted than anything, too stumped to use his hands to gesture. Nope, just a wide eye on the equally wide eyed infant.

No one replies, no one spills the beans. Bless his comrades. Bless--

"We didn't wanna tell ya, boss, but..." Oh no, oh fuck no, Dante don't open your herpes ridden mouth--

"Vel here got up the duff....and Wilson's the father. Princess Pippcine was born in secret, that time he had the stomach flu? The one from Spain? Yeah, nah. That was the princess."

Solemn, sagely nods seem to pass over the group like a wave at a concert. Lotvall doesn't dare breathe. The baby squeaks.

Finally, finally, the captain relents. Or seems to be, when he takes a step back. But then another one forward, Lotvall almost wheezes, he takes the baby, holds her, his hands beneath her teeny armpits and, the bastard, the bastard--

Proceeds to walk around, lets tiny feet swing as he pushes his only child to the chest of every mercenary in the joint to see who the father is. Lotvall is very sure that if he didn't need to keep this job so badly, the rage that quakes within him would have him walking over there to deck him....

[their boss doesn't get any slack cut just because he breezes the baby at his young, uh....ward (?) to see the kid scowl and cover her little ears, nope, not at all.]

When all members have been eliminated with disappointment and sighs, Bernadotte comes to Lotvall. The baby's been steadily getting fussier and fussier with each man who isn't her father, until she's got the teary eyes going on, wobbly lip and all. Even though she's also perfectly content to divide her attention between gumming at Bernadotte's braid. Figures.

"Now, little poussin, why don't you go split your daddy's hairs, huh?"

The bastard must have known the entire time. He had to have, right? Right? Because he gently deposits the baby into Lotvall's arms, and when she settles against the crook of his arm, heartbeat to heartbeat, in seconds--

Pip grins. Claps his hands.

"Well, well! Since you sons of cocks started the party without me, we've gotta hold one for the little lady...so be on your best, yeah?"

The scoff from the peanut gallery of the 13 year old distracts their captain with a noogie fight, leaving Lotvall to gaze solidly and wearily at his daughter. He smooths back her hair and wonders, not for the first time, just what the hell he signed up for.

[When he sees gloved fingers, stained with tar, reach up to smooth back crimson locks on a downy and angry head, he understands just a little bit more.

Only a little, though]