Chapter Text
They often get put on missions together. They’re not exactly team players, which is precisely why they work together so well.
This time, they’re handed the keeps to a Warthog, a pair of sniper rifles,the name of a city, and a name. Florida leaves the rifle behind, packs his knives. Some people you just can’t change.
They’re driving, on their way to that city and that name, when Florida starts messing with the radio. Wyoming glares at him.
"I’ve got one word for you: sing-along!" Florida says, grinning. He’s got his helmet off for once, his ponytail streaming behind him form the wind.
"No," Wyoming says. "None of your heathen hippie music. I’m not singing that nonsense."
"Yes, you will," Florida says, fumbling for something in his bandolier. "You’ll like it, I swear. Sing-a-longs promote team bonding and strong manly affection! Besides, it’s not my music, I packed the music of your people!”
Before he can be stopped (and who is Wyoming kidding, Butch can never be stopped. It’s one of his better qualities) he’s pulled an audio disk out and stuck it in the Warthog’s audio interface.
Spice Girls spills out of the radio. I tell you what I want, what I really really want— So tell me whatchu want—
Wyoming nearly drives into a ditch.
Florida doesn’t even pause in his singing.