The Officers’ Lounge was, quite frankly, barely organised chaos, but the captains were having far too much fun to care.
It had become a tradition for the five of them to organise a couple of hours together in mid-December when everyone was either on standby or off duty, pooling both their skills and resources to wrap presents together. Adam and Rick had quickly established themselves as the ones able to get the neatest folds and crispest lines, while Pat could figure out an elegant way to wrap the most unusually shaped items. Brad and Paul contented themselves with the grunt work - holding things in place, cutting paper to the requisite size, curling ribbons with scissors and dispensing sticky tape.
To aid their efforts Rick had found a collection of funny, Christmas themed songs, including some of the most ridiculous covers of ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ that any of them had ever heard, and donations from everyone’s personal stashes ensured that the contents of the coffee pots were significantly more palatable than normal and there was an adequate supply of snacks to keep them going.
Some of the presents would be carefully stowed in backpacks and suitcases when the giver went on leave, others were to go into courier pouches and mail boxes on the shuttle tomorrow. Most were to be placed under one of the trees scattered about the base or were for the Cloudbase-wide Secret Santa and would be handed out at the special dinner laid on for the 25th.
“Hey, Pat, can you wrap this one for me?” Brad held out an oddly-shaped mug to their resident expert on wrapping unusually shaped things.
“Yep, sure, pick your paper.” Patrick took it with one hand and with the other he gestured to the range of offerings laid out beside the spot on the floor that he’d claimed as his work area.
“Thanks.” Grey mulled over his choices and settled on a white and silver dappled paper scattered with red and gold bows. “This looks good.” He picked up the roll and set it within Pat’s reach.
“Who’s it for?” Patrick turned the oversized novelty mug this way and that. It was shaped like an orca’s head and had quite a weight to it.
“Technician Jericho down in Engineering, it’s for the Secret Santa. He likes orcas,” Brad explained.
“Got it.” Pat unfurled a length of the paper and set the mug down, frowning as he turned it this way and that to see what angles worked the best.
“Oi, Pat.” From his workstation nearby, Rick reached out and bonked the other man on the head with a handy empty wrapping paper tube to get his attention. “Can I get the gold ribbon off you?”
Laughing, Pat tossed it over.
Of course that rapidly spurred imitations, a successful strike earning good natured teasing and much merriment.
It might have stayed at that if things hadn’t escalated. Adam had picked a moment when Paul wasn’t looking directly at him to swipe a tube at the back of his head, but warned by some instinct and moving like lightning, Paul snatched up a tube and twisted to parry the strike. Grinning tightly, Adam tried again, only to again be blocked. In a stunt straight from the movies, Paul rolled backwards and used the momentum to leap to his feet, swinging his improvised sword up in a sweeping stroke that Adam only just fended off.
In a moment of dawning revelation, the other three looked at the cardboard tubes scattered about, realised the untapped potential therein and promptly capitalised on it.
“En garde!” Faking a terrible French accent, Pat snatched up a tube and went after Bradd, clipping his knees. “Ochre, back me up!”
“S.I.G!” Ochre had a tube in each hand as he darted to cut off Brad’s escape across the back of the room.
“Blue! Help!” A laughing Brad was trying to fend off the two-pronged attack, only for his tube to split in the middle. “I need rearming!”
“On my way!” Blue broke off from his fencing match with Paul to vault the couch and go to Brad’s aid.
“Grey! Catch!” Paul sent a spare tube skittering over the floor like a curling stone, then got a very satisfying ‘bonk’ when he batted Pat across the ribs and grinned when Pat turned to retaliate, the swipe missing him by a hair as he lunged back.
The fight quickly dissolved into every man for himself, the five of them far too distracted to notice as the door to the Lounge slid open.
“Gentlemen.”
Battered and bent cardboard tubes in hand, the five captains froze and looked towards the door to see their commanding officer standing there and surveying the room, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrow raised.
“Magenta and Ochre, your forms need work,” was what he finally declared. “Scarlet, that’s a sabre grip and a foil stance,” White sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Grey and Blue, I expected better. As I have told you before, if you’re going to torment each other, do so properly.” He bent and picked up one of the half-used rolls of paper. “Hallmark is a terrible choice, the Michael Rose brand has a much better quality tube,” he declared, handing it to Grey as the closer of the two. The smirk twitching his lips was only barely contained as he turned to leave. “As you were, gentlemen.”