Disclaimer: I don't own Starfighter Comic or any rights to Starfighter Comic. I don't own the awesome characters. Everything belongs to HamletMachine.
AN: Just a very short bit of fun. I'm working on an intensely dark Praxis story and needed to focus on something lighter for a moment.
"You have to be fucking kidding me."
"This is no joking matter. When one of my men fears for his life, I take it very seriously. Especially if one of his comrades is the one threatening it. Now, get your ass in there."
Encke escorted Cain into the white, windowless room. The others were already seated, in a circle of chairs.
Abel's forehead was glossy. He was sitting up straight with his legs crossed and his hands folded neatly in his lap. Next to Abel Praxis was glaring with his arms crossed. Beside Praxis Deimos was snickering, with a hand covering his mouth. Between Deimos and a beaming Keeler was an empty chair, intended for Cain. Needless to say, Cain took his time reaching it.
"All yours, K."
Keeler smiled at his fighter. "Thank you, Encke."
The door slid shut behind the fighter and Cain gazed at the exit with longing.
"So." Keeler clapped his hands together. "I've been informed of a conflict involving the four of you. We are here to solve it. I will mediate the resolution. Would anyone like to share their feelings with the group?"
Cain squinted at him. "I like your side pony-tail."
"It's a braid," Keeler said sharply. "And that was strike one for you, Cain. Three strikes and you're out, and by out, I mean you'll be spending the rest of the week in the brig. I am the lead navigator of this ship, and I demand respect from this group."
"Yes, sir," Cain said tightly.
Abel raised a hand. "Excuse me, sir."
"I wouldn't mind sharing with the group, but I don't know why we're here."
Keeler frowned. "You weren't aware of the incident between Praxis and your fighter?"
Abel's eyes went wide. "No, sir."
"They were fighting over you—"
"With all due respect, sir," Praxis cut in, "We weren't fighting over Abel." The fighter's cheeks turned pink.
Sensing that the conversation was headed towards compromising his mission, Cain decided he liked Keeler's interpretation of events. "Yes, we were fighting over Abel," Cain proclaimed. "Because Praxis was acting like he wanted him and Abel's my best navigator so far. I got a little touchy."
"Touchy? You were gonna cut out my good eye!" Praxis shouted.
"You called me a gypsy bastard!"
"After you attacked me just for talking to Abel – and if you value him so much why'd you call him a slut?!"
Abel looked at Cain liked he'd been slapped in the face. "You called me a slut?"
Cain snorted. "Tch. I may or may not have, I can't recall."
"Bull shit," Praxis huffed. "You're a lying sack of crap."
"Praxis," Cain snarled, "Go suck a bag of dicks, you busted nosed pussy."
"Hey!" Keeler exclaimed.
"You want to talk about appearances, rapey face?"
"That's enough," Keeler snapped. "Cain, stop being a psychotic asshole. Praxis, you're a nice guy, but Abel's a grown man, he's not your responsibility. Deimos, stop laughing." Keeler took in a deep breath and looked at Abel's sour face. "Abel, do you want to say something?"
Abel shrugged. "I have to pee."
Keeler facepalmed. "Group session over."