The East Wing.

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

Ocelot hadn't followed his men to mess after roll. With a taut and monosyllabic "yours", he left the unit to the discretion of Lt. Imanov and took off down the yard toward the East Wing, in the direction Raikov had headed.

Generally, he and the Major got along famously. They were both young and overachieving- albeit in different arenas- and had a shared proclivity for using human nature against itself. He admired Raikov's deceptive Adonis Flytrap technique and ready brutality when the situation demanded he stop being pretty and start getting results. He also admired his nasty sense of humor. He was, like Ocelot himself, a polished brat.

What did not please him was when that extended into needling him by breezily transferring random soldiers into his unit.

Random soldiers with questionable incidents.

Especially random soldiers with friendly fire incidents.

Considering the haste of his departure, Ocelot was pretty sure the Major was having cock for breakfast.

Raikov was going to eat his fist for lunch.

Ocelot gritted his teeth.

"I hope he left some room," he muttered to himself.