"Lucky—" grunt, "fucking—" clang, "bastard."
There's another loud clang as the man sets the weights down carelessly, making his companion roll her eyes. "Are you still bitching about farmboy's 'special assignment'?" Setting down the magazine she'd been flipping through, she rolls over on her side and stares across the bunkroom with a raised brow. "Because I think the LT made it clear you were supposed to stow that shit ASAP, Schue." Gleefully, she bares her teeth in a grin. "Remember? He blew his stack at you right over there." She points to the door to the head. "You were running your mouth again, and he said shut it or you can go play egghead games. Then we get to take all your shit, because you're never coming back."
Schue raises a hand to flip her off, waving away her words. "You gonna rat on me, Matine?" She snorts, and he shakes his head. "There you go, then. You ain't gonna do shit either." Grabbing a towel, he rubs it over his bald scalp and tosses it her way, missing by about half a foot.
"Never been more glad you shoot better than you throw than right now." Flipping onto her back and stretching out her legs as well as she can in the space, Matine shrugs. "Don't see why it pisses you off so bad, anyway. You really think the captain was gonna pick you to guard whatever high level number's kicking around with Ward? Man, you barely didn't turn scrub, I was there."
"Oh, blow me." There's no heat behind the usual insult, and Schue shrugs. "Nah, just don't see how it's fair. He was supposed to be out here with us, and instead he's kicking it with some hot piece of VIP ass."
Groaning, Matine tosses the magazine by her side in his direction. "Schue, could you keep your jackoff fantasies out of ragging on the chain of command?"
Reaching down to grab his crotch, Schue laughs and lets go, standing and flexing a little. "You wish, baby. Just say the word and I got a whole two socks I can throw outside the door." Still chuckling, he settles into his own bunk. "No stroke book shit here, I saw the handoff. Our mystery number's a whole lot prettier than you, Matine, I might be in love. Dark hair, nice rack, tight ass... definitely not like the numbers we got around here." He shakes his head. "Weird shit, though. No chains, no cuffs, Captain hovering. Like he was her daddy and Ward was taking her to a dance or something." He points across the room at her, tone smug. "Lucky fucking bastard."
"Stow the shit, Schue." Across the room, Matine's face drains of all humor, holding a hand up when he starts to protest. "I get you're our FNG, but lock it down. Whatever you think you saw? It's the kind of shit you weren't supposed to see." He opens his mouth again and she makes a sharp, angry sound, clicking her teeth together. "Listen up, Private. You didn't see anything, you don't say anything. Captain Gallagher wants Ward guarding his prisoner? Ward does it, and you got no opinion at all. We clear?"
Schue glowers, and Matine's tone ices over. "I said, Private Schue, are we clear?"
After a long moment, Schue nods and shrugs as well as he can laying down. "Yeah, fine. Don't have a goddamn seizure about it." When she doesn't respond, he huffs out a loud breath. "Fine, all right, I get it. I'm zipped, I'm zipped."
Turning her back to him and facing the wall, Matine nods stiffly. "Good. Stay that way."