titusnowl | jen's line about "michael could learn to speak french" put a picture in my head

They don't get a lot in from outside - no news, no communication with what family they might have out there - but they're not completely cut off. They can get in magazines, books, shit like that. Kind of like a lending library - you put in for what you want, and if they don't see a reason you shouldn't have it, they send it in for you. The rules aren't ever laid out, but they make a certain kind of sense: the old Pyro asked for the Anarchist's Cookbook once and got it; somebody else wanted 1984 and was refused. Magazines and shit like that were censored - for instance, Michael got Sports Illustrated so he could follow his Red Sox, and anything about the Game was cut out with a razor before he ever saw it. But it was better than nothing, even if it did mean that if the war escalated the first they'd know was when they woke up and the desert they were in was suddenly made of glass.

The Scout'd read the SI in the common room, but he'd usually sneak his books into his own. People didn't fucking take him seriously anyway, he didn't need to take shit from 'em for spending his spare time looking over the Art of War or some shit about the Crusades, y'know? And that's where he was - laid out on his bed with his nose in a book - when the Spy came in.

The book got slammed down flat, cover-down, as soon as the door opened, Michael complaining: "Don't you fucking knock, assface?"

"Spy," and a shrug, were all the response that was; then a gloved hand was gently but firmly forcing the book back up to look at the title: French For Dummies. Marie-René looked at him in surprise. "Michel - tu apprends le français?"

"Fuck you!" he said hotly, the tips of his ears going red. "I'm just using it to hide my fucking porno, ok?" And he ripped the book back and shoved it under the mattress as if it really was something dirty. But Marie was still fucking looking at him, and it seemed likely that he was about to bust out with some super-Froggy cockfaggery any second now, so he had to say something else. "How the hell else am I supposed to know what you're babbling about, huh? You could be fucking talking shit about me or something."

"You could ask me."

"Yeah, if I wanted to learn how to talk like a cockfag - "

"Ah, but zat book will not 'ave your profanities, mon cheri."