Grandeur Defector

XXXVIII

"I am serious, Fliq. How will you explain this to the medics? You have blood everywhere on you."

"Eh. Got bored, went walkin' in the Wild West."

Truffles had no idea what that meant, but inferred that he was talking about the jungle behind them, which grew further from them both. They were halfway to camp, walking side by side talking to each other. Fliqpy had washed his face of the blood the best he could (although Truffles had to convince him to do such a thing) and as they approached camp, their comfort near each other grew naturally.
Truffles shook his head, though he tried to hide his smile.

"We are...beyond saving."

Fliqpy spat.
"It's war. Every man for himself, weed out the weak."

He shook his head again and rolled his eyes.
"Jeez. You are quite intense."

"Says you, pussy cat."

"Hah!"

As the tall grass faded behind them much like the trees, they stepped past the trench with ease and headed into camp. Jacks was sitting near the medic tent, smirking aggressively as they approached.
Why is Jacks awake? It's early morning! Neither of us need anymore conflict for the day after that.

"Nice time for a make-out takeout session in the trees, huh lovebirds?"
He sneered, eyes passing from each.

Fliqpy didn't quit walking to stop where he stood, unlike Truffles; instead, he walked over to Jacks and hunched with one foot digging into the log the bully sat on, looming over Jacks with a bone-chilling smile, eyes wide and fists balled.

"Shut your fuckin' mouth herbivore, before I cut, stuff n' serve you like a Thanksgivin' turkey."

WHOA.
Jacks opened his mouth again, then promptly closed it. He looked taken aback by the aggressive comeback, stare going from extreme self-confidence to offended shock. He made a tsk noise and pulled out a cigarette from his pocket, lit it with the lighter in his other hoof, and placed it him his mouth.

"Get out of my face, Queerflip."

"Who the fuck you callin' 'Flip'?"
Fliqpy didn't like Jacks' words, or rather, he really enjoyed the challenge for blood spilling, as his grin grew wider while his patience grew thinner.
"And oh ho ho? Whatcha gonna do if I don't?"

"I'll—"

"You'll what."

Fliqpy leaned uncomfortably close to Jacks' face with a hateful sneer, calmly grabbed the cigarette from his mouth, and inhaled the smoke that wasn't his. He blew the smoke onto Jacks' face, making him cough in response.  The smoke rolled out of his mouth like mist on the distant plains.

"Fuckin' herbivore."

Fliqpy dropped the cigarette on the ground and kicked dirt on it, the smoke immediately covered in filth from his boot and the ground's unwashed surface.
Uh oh.
Fliqpy doesn't know he's an alter. S-So do they see each other as simply voices in their head? Perhaps they are in denial—?
Both hands in his pockets, Fliqpy walked to the medic tent, he waved Truffles goodnight, and disappeared out of sight. Jacks watched him go with his eyes, then mumbled slurs of all kinds under his breath, pulled out a fresh cigarette, and struggled to light the butt. Jacks glared at Truffles.

"What do you want, stripeless?"

Instead of responding verbally, Truffles gave him a sheepishly sly look in return. Jacks spat and finally gave up, still angrily mumbling to himself as he stared into the distant trees.
Serves him right.
He headed back to his own tent, unzipping the entrance and stepping into the warmth of his own personal space. Truffles flopped down on his cot, trying to process what just happened a few minutes before.