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Along the way he runs towards into Hangman, returning from the mess with a snarl on his face. “Anything good?!” Rooster calls.
“Not unless you wanna take years off your life.” Hangman shouts. They close the distance easily, him stopping near Rooster. “What the hell was that about in the group chat man?”
Rooster groans, shaking his head. “Theresa got a ride to the airport from Payback, and of course she didn’t tell me anything.”
Hangman nods along, allowing Rooster to stew as they stroll towards their barracks: one of the newer buildings - you could tell by which rooms had thermostats and which had A/C window units - that had an occupancy of approximately three hundred. With the additions of the three who were bitten on the 4th, it was now at about half capacity.
Bob opens the door, stopping to hold it for them. “Hey,” he calls, scrolling his phone. His wireless earbuds lay around his neck almost like a backwards necklace.
“What are you up too?” Hangman jabs.
“I’m meeting Phoenix at the gym. We’re gonna do that then grab something to eat.” He pauses, seeming to consider his next words. “You guys could join us if you like.”
Hangman sighs, nodding a bit. “Sure. Let me go change.”
“I would, but I don't’ have anything with me.”
“I’m sure I have something, Bradshaw.” Hangman hollers back. Both Bob and Rooster eye him suspiciously as that cocky grin whips across his face. “And if not, I’m sure Bob’s got something that will.”
They end up at Adalberto’s just after the lunch rush, munching on Carne Asada Nachos and taco’s as they talk. “At least your holding up well.” Hangman offers, eyeing Phoenix and Bob.
“Sure.” Bob snarks, taking a nacho. “We’re doin’ fine.”
“You’ll get used to it.” Rooster assures. “Trust me. The first month is kinda the worse but it’s been up from there for me at least.”
“I just don’t understand why we’re having to do all this extra stuff. The separate barracks? Recertification? Does Kazansky just not trust us or something?”
Hangman rolls his eyes. “It’s a sensitivity thing, Trace. You thought being in an F-18 was loud before, now it’s gonna be a hell of a whole lot louder.”
“Still can’t believe you chose this.” Bob mutters. “I mean, you could’ve done anything, and you decided to go fly a plane, when you knew it would be worse on your hearing than normal.”
“It got me away from home, that’s all that mattered. I didn’t wanna turn back.” Hangman takes a bite of his taco.
Phoenix lowers her soda, pointing at Hangman over the lid. “Where did you go to flight school?”
“Pensa’ola.” he mumbles through the taco. “Wasn’ goin’ ba’ a Te’as.”
“You could chew your food.” Rooster prods. Hangman scowls, meanwhile, everyone laughs at his expense. He manages to swallow the taco, but doesn’t try to save his pride on that one.
Bob scrunches his eyebrows, seemingly in concentration. “You okay there, Bob?”
He startles at Phoenix’s prodding, glancing wildly from her to Rooster to Hangman. “Oh, sorry. Uh, I was just thinking.”
“Did it hurt?” Rooster jabs.
Everyone gets a chuckle out of it, even Bob. Once they settle, he shakes his. “No. I just have a question?”
“What?” Phoenix asks.
“How does the whole hair color fur color thing work?” Bob asks.
“I got this one,” Hangman butts in, shutting Rooster up real quick. “So there’s too factors. Ancestry and, well, hair color. Ancestry determines the technicalities, like the species, and hair color determines the color.”
Rooster cocks a brow. “What do you mean by species?”
“There are different subspecies of wolf. Wherever you’re families from - like ya know, Mexico, Germany, Ireland, etc. determines the subspecies. So, Phoenix is technically a Mexican wolf. And then depending on where all our families are it can vary.”
“So then what are you?” Bob asks, taking another nacho.
“I’m frickin’ special.” Hangman groans, glancing around. “I’m technically a Texas red wolf.”
Rooster shrugs. “So?”
“They’re extinct.” Hangman deadpans. “I got it from my mom’s side. At some point or another a wolf married a Native American and they had kids.” He sighs, taking a sip of his soda. “Or so the story goes.”
Phoenix cocks an eyebrow. “So you don’t really know?”
“I don’t really know a lot. My dad was technically a McKenzie valley wolf or something. It’s weird. The subspecies make it weird.”
“I’ll have to see about talking to Sharon.” Rooster mutters. “She’s like, a wolf geneticist. She’s gotta have something on this.”