Up In Arms

Chapter 7

"What happened to you?" Thunderclap asked, brows raised as I grabbed a granola bar from the box I had stashed in their kitchen.

My hair was a mess, some of my hair dye coming out with the blood and staining the towel I still had draped around my neck. My jacket and shirt were destroyed around my right shoulder where the bullet went through, also stained with now-dried blood. Food first, then I could clean up and re-apply.

"Let's just say that I now know why you guys avoid headshots." I grumbled, exiting the room with my snack.

Twenty minutes later and my mood had improved significantly. Walking back into the kitchen, I found that the dining table had been taken over by containers of chemicals labeled 'flammable' and lab equipment that looked straight out of a movie set. Thunderclap didn't look up from her work, but I knew that she knew that I walked in.

"You're hella cranky when you're hungry." She remarked.

I made myself a cup of coffee. "Noted."

She poured one potentially-explosive chemical into another potentially-explosive chemical. "So, you dye your hair?"

"Probably for the same reason you dye yours."

"Touché."

I paused, taking a sip of my coffee. "So, what can you tell me about Silvershot?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" Thunderclap glanced at me, seeing the perfect 'are you kidding' face I just made and laughing. "Wow, only a week and you already know her that well! Why so focused on Silvershot? You've been pestering her since day one."

"She's captured my attention." I said after a short pause, unable to come up with a subtly cheeky reply that didn't give away my aspect. "And she seems to tolerate me, so there's that."

"True," Thunderclap nodded thoughtfully, "If any of us tried pulling those stunts we'd probably lose a finger or seven. She likes her personal space, her coffee black, sniper rifles, and silence. People aren't really her forte, that's why she's a sniper."

"A bit cliché, don't you think?"

A glass stir rod was suddenly being pointed at me threateningly. "Do not say that around her."

"Don't call her an assassin, either." Winterfall joined the conversation, entering the room while wrestling with her hair and a hair elastic, huffing when a few of the untamable strands came loose. "She hates that the fits the stereotype."

"Noted." I nodded to Winterfall. "Need help?"

"Please." She sat down next to me and offered me the elastic.

I didn't really expect her to accept my offer for help, but I took the elastic and began to gently gather her hair for a high ponytail.

I went through a phase where I grew my hair out really long, but the major drawback was that it took forever to change dyes, so I ended up cutting it. During that time, I learnt both how to work with long hair and how to work with someone else's hair.

Winterfall started talking with Thunderclap about her current mission, and I tried to block out as many details as possible and just focus on putting her hair up.

I finished and sat back, taking in Winterfall's 'disguise'. A plaid pleated skirt with black leggings reaching down to just above her knees, plain white dress shirt underneath a crisp black blazer with a school's crest on the left breast pocket. She had a pair of fake glasses on the table and a messenger bag by her ankle strap ballet flats. With simple makeup lightly applied, she looked like a teenager. Eighteen, if I had to put a number on it.

"Preppy." I remarked.

She shot me a sly smile. "Why, thank you."

"For the compliment or the hair?"

She reached up to check the base of her ponytail with a hand, looking surprised and then amused. "Both. Well, I'm off. See you later."

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Winterfall took the pipe bomb Thunderclap held out and tucked it away before putting her shoes on and exiting the room.

The light-blue-haired woman started packing up her materials, and I stood to help. We had the entire setup taken down, washed, and on the drying rack in half an hour. At the sound of loud bantering, I rose from my crouched position by a cabinet decorated with cheap stickers of flames and explosions. As I suspected, Lockheed and Tenpin entered the kitchen from the direction of the living/meeting room.

"Sup, Thanatos!" Tenpin greeted, holding out a fist.

We fist-bumped. "Hey, man."

Lockheed threw an arm around Thunderclap. "So! What's for lunch?"

The girl rolled her eyes. "Since when do I cook anything edible?"

I glanced at Tenpin and side-whispered. "Can anyone here cook?"

"Silvershot, when she's in a good mood." He whispered back. "So, nobody."

"How do you guys even survive?" I sighed, rubbing my forehead. A quick glance in the fridge and freezer told me everything I needed to know about their eating habits, but also provided me with the perfect learning opportunity. "Who wants to learn how to make a grilled chicken Cesar salad?"

Considering that we didn't blow up the kitchen, I'd say that there's hope.

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I keep on forgetting to put these, but please:

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