Friday, April 22, 2005

   Nougat: Origins (Chapter V):
[So here's how the squad names break down . . . so you have a "Ruth" and a "Henry". Then you have a Marsden (or "Mars'") and a Kathy Kitzman ("Kit' Kat'"). Then you have a Trixie "Twix" Jones. Then you have Roch, the outsider of the group . . . he's named after "Ferrero Rocher", which isn't a chocolate bar . . . makes enough sense, eh? Hehe . . .]


Constable Nougat had been a part of Sergeant Marcus "Flint" Stone's squad for well over a year. During his time under him, he learned how to survive the city's streets, present himself as a person of authority, and above all, have faith in the abilities of the team.

It was this very team that was then eating a quick breakfast of bagels and coffee in the lunchroom of the precinct before their shifts started. The small yet noticeably loud table held on its surface several paper cups of coffee and plates of torn up, sectioned bagel pieces; on the floor around the table were the torn off, sectioned bagel pieces that did not arrive at their intended destinations.

"Alright Noug', I'm ready this time," Henry said across the table before opening his mouth as wide as he could. Nougat drew his arm back and tossed the chunk of bagel through the air in a well-planned arc. The surrounding officers held their breaths while Henry leaned his body back in his attempt to catch the bit of bread - they all released in another round of laughter as the piece of bagel bounced off the officer's eye and onto the floor.
"Dude, you suck!" Nougat said, popping a piece of bagel directly into his own mouth.
"Hey, this is a multi-person effort, you're just as much to blame," Henry replied. The rest of the squad just howled.

"Face it," Flint said while he rocked back in his chair, "you both suck. Here, I'll prove my point . . . Noug'!" Nougat cocked his eyebrow and answered.
"Yeah yeah, whadayawant now, sarge?" he asked.
"I guess a Beretta in the butt beats a butterfly in a boot, huh?" he quoted. All around the table the squad gave signs of varying degrees of familiarity - most frantic of all was Nougat.
"Aw hell! I just watched this a couple weeks ago!" he shouted, slamming the top of the table over and over, trying to remember. "It's uh . . . that . . . uh . . . . . with Denzel . . . . . hell! What the suck is it . . . crap!" Some of the officers shouted frustrated cheers of encouragement. Henry, meanwhile, was just making ticking noises; a buzzer sound soon followed, and Nougat pressed his hands above his nose, exhaling quickly.
"Ricochet, Noug', Richochet," Flint said through a long smirk. Immediately Nougat cried out and hammered his fist onto the table, causing a fit of more laughter to envelope the lunch room, as well as in himself.

After the shouting from all parties died down to a degree, Nougat called for attention.
"Alright, Flint, alright," he said, standing up while he motioned with his hands for quiet, "I want you to show us just how good you actually are . . . . . 'cause there is no way you're getting this one!" Flint leaned his chair back on two legs once again and folded his arms across his chest.
"Try me," he said flatly. Nougat leaned forward, as did everyone else so they could listen.
"The Lord's gonna smoke his ass," he quoted.
"Busting, 1974," Flint said instantly.

Again, the entire room howled with shouts while Nougat swore over and again after dropping back into his seat and letting his head fall onto the table.
"How the crap did you know Busting?!" Nougat exclaimed.
"Because," Flint replied, "I am still the pharaoh, and you are all still a bunch of no-talent ass-clowns." As the squad continued to die with laughter, Nougat, completely defeated, walked around the table, dropped to his knees and began bowing at the sergeant's feet - again, more laughter ensued.


"Alright, enough rope-a-dope," Flint said after tugging newer squad member back to his feet, "I gotta tell you guys some stuff that's actually serious and important. So siddown." Everyone could tell when the sergeant wasn't joking around, and this was one of those times; they all obeyed and sat down quietly.

Flint cleared his throat. "Good. Alright so this is what's up . . . for the next little while I'm gonna be on special assignment. It's part of a drug sting that I've been working with for a long time now. Anyway, I won't be heading the squad for the next bit because of this . . . alright, who the hell of you is most senior . . . . . oh yeah. So yeah, Ruth'll be your acting sergeant, but don't you dare call her that or else her head'll pop from getting too big . . ." Everyone chuckled as Ruth shook her head. "But yeah, she'll be learning how to lead, so be nice to her. But, if she drops the ball - or, if you just have questions bigger than her belt can handle - you can go to Sergeant Mulligan . . . now I want you all to kick some ass while I'm gone. 'Cause I really need to work with this thing . . . . . if we crack this thing open, it could set back drug operations in this city for maybe ten years, if not longer . . . ya dig?"

Most people in the squad gave small nods to their sergeant, as well as words of encouragement and praise - the odd word of good luck came and went as well. Nougat had a slightly different thread of thought, though.
"Why don't you just have us all help you out too?" he asked. "I mean, the more hands the better, right?" Flint chuckled a little and walked around the table, crushing more bits of fallen bagel. He patted Nougat on the shoulder several times, and then went on to chop him lightly in the side of the neck.
"You're learning, that's good," he said, "but no, the city needs you to keep its streets safe." Nougat began to stand up.
"I know, but still . . ."
"Trust me Noug'," Flint said, cutting him off, "this one's pretty specialised as well. The whole team on this one's been working on it for a long time . . . . . now sit down . . . stay with this team and work with it . . . . ." Nougat tried to say more, but stopped himself. Flint nodded and smiled softly, which kind of disturbed the rest of the squad. "Good boy."

"Ruth, you're gonna be able to keep these idiots on a tight leash, right?" The sergeant asked while sitting himself back down. Ruth nodded.
"I'll try not to let ya down, Flint," she said.
"Good," Flint answered. "Now let's hurry up and finish breakfast . . . and actually eat it, will ya? The cleaning people are gonna have our skins for this mess . . . . ."


[Again, for those of you keeping track, "The Real Flint" once gave his e-wife Molly a nickname: "Blades Mulligan". Again, I think you can see where I was going with this . . . Alright, see ya in the weekend!]
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