Party Foul (G/t)

Part 1

"What do we do, Dom? What do we do!?"

A shrill broke out of an already broken vocal tract. Alcohol was never good for the throat, even if it was blended with coffee to hide the fact. The rotors of the helicopter piercing through the air echoed throughout the cabin, masking the beeps and dings of sensors in the hub and only drowned out by the accelerating beats of an overstimulated heartbeat, tippy taps of hands and feet upon cloth and metal, and a shaky, continually rising tone with every sentence.

"Nothing's popping up on the scanner, Dom. Not. One. Thing."

"I'm the pilot here, and you don't think I know that, already!?" There had been plenty a time Domino had wanted to knock some sense into Glyph, but this incident had thrown them right in the eye of a scope, aligned perfectly with a crosshair. "Do I need to remind you how we got here? Why we're doing this!?"

"No." The questions may as well have been rhetorical as the response didn't matter. They both knew the reminder was going to come anyway, and it sure did, drilling in hard.

"I told you not to get that tattoo, but you did," Domino began. "I told you not to show Curio that tattoo, but you did. "I warned you not to tell her what it meant, but you did."

Glyph attempted defending themselves, crossing their slightly slowed heart. "And, and, and... I warned her to not look into it, either! You can't blame me for this!"

Domino barked back, nearly scaring Glyph's jittery self through the windshield. "Are you kidding!? If not you, then I blame the damn Joe-bombs: all threeyou chugged like water in a desert."

If she had known their clan gathering tonight would turn into a secret spy mission all because of a few drinks and a surprisingly easy to open cellar, then they all would've gone abstinent long ago. It probably would've made lots of other things easier over the years, too, but that's why it's called an addiction, isn't it?

"Besides," Domino continued, glazing over her own flaws, "you're acting as if Curio wasn't going to get curious. It's in her damn name! Idiot!"

"Her or me?"

"Does it matter at this point? You're both dead to me until we all get back and you two grovel to the Captain that this vehicle thievery was for a rescue mission and is not worth a demotion."

"Two?" a new voice broke the semi-silence, sending both pairs of eyes in the front to the singular eye – well, singular working eye – in the back, a full person length away by the storage and supply bins. "You surely didn't forget about me."

"No, Jigsaw," Domino assured, restarting the flight forward. "You're the catalyst for us being up here, after all, and these two are gonna have to kiss yourass, too. Shockingly, or maybe not, you've got more to lose from this than I do."

"Damn straight," Jigsaw agreed, coincidentally scratching under her eyepatch, "but this is worth it. Curio's like my own blood, even if she's a sporadic dunce. Though, Dom, I could've swiped an amphibian if I'd known we'd be making an aquatic rescue."

"Trust me; I would've let you do it, too, if we weren't sent a sprinkle of a signal of her attempting to not drown on our way here, wherever this is."

"Wait," Glyph interjected, looking back and forth between the intimidating pilot and the one-eyed wonder. "You don't know where this is? Neither of you has any idea?"

Jigsaw scoffed, sinking into her seat in preparation for whatever explanation Glyph was going to throw back. "I suppose that you do? Ha! Who am I kidding? I doubt it. You barely know what you got etched on your own back."