“Hells yeah, girl power!” The pair exchange a celebratory high five, commemorating the never-ending pillars of estrogen, talking about each other’s feelings, and hot pink AK-47s. “For a first-timer you actually held your own, too. I think you were really getting into their heads.”
“Oh, yeah, I was meaning to ask that to someone: am I allowed to talk to the other team like that?”
Marcie smirks and responds jovially. “Girl, if you can get them so pissed that they’ll give away their positions just to shoot at you and shut you up, I’d say you’re allowed to talk all you want.”
“I wouldn’t,” Luke “Driving The Car” Anders adds as he runs the wipers to get the dust off his windshield. He sports a dissatisfied grimace that would speak volumes to Cecile if she could see it. It does, however, speak a few pages to Marcie, who can see it.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, goading him.
“It’s just—“ He catches himself, throwing half a glance back to the passenger in the back seat and realizing he probably shouldn’t finish. At least, not with Marcie in the jeep. “Never mind, it was stupid.”
“That’s right it was stupid.” Marcie punches him in the shoulder lovingly and looks out her window, enjoying her small-yet-worthwhile defense of a fellow woman who dares to enter the sacred realm of machismo, yet refuses to be tainted by it. Cecile does the same out her own window, and can’t help but smile a little. She keeps forgetting how much she actually enjoys getting out of the house, when fate conspires to get her out in the first place.