The Modular Combat Shotgun is a variant of the 870 that is designed for different combat roles. Primarily a close quarters breaching gun, it comes with a variety of barrel lengths and stock options, as well as the ability to mount to an M4 with the proper adapter. One of the most sought after parts on the MCS is it’s unique forend, which has an integrated handstop. The MCS is not readily available to the general civilian market, instead the main customer demographic are LEO and military buyers. (GRH)
he doesnt tell anyone to avoid the chirps but dex was a contestant on chopped in high school. nursey just happens to be watching reruns of chopped one day and thus it begins
My dude, sorry this took 5ever. But finals are done now. Yay! Also, I don’t really know how to cook, nor have I watched Chopped, so. Anyway. Enjoy. Thanks for the prompt!
There is one voice in the world Dex had hoped to never hear
in the haus, and it was the voice of Food Network chef and TV personality Alton
Brown. Yet, that is exactly what he hears when he pushes open the door of his bedroom.
A flash of familiar red hair on the screen has Dex across
the room in an instant. He shoves Nursey out of the way and slams the laptop
“Hey, what gives?” Nursey says.
“No,” is all Dex can say in response.
A devilish grin works its way across Nursey’s face. “How
come I’ve never gotten to taste your hollandaise sauce? If you could pull off
eggs Benedict with pig’s feet and those premade rolls, it’s gotta be killer.”
“No,” Dex repeats, throwing his bag under the desk, and
flopping face-first onto the bottom bunk.
Nursey awkwardly uses his heels to roll his chair back from
where Dex had pushed him. “So, it’s not killer?”
“No.” It’s muffled this time by Dex’s pillow.
“Did you win? I didn’t even get to see if you won.”
Dex turns his head to the side, so he can glare at Nursey.
“Yeah, I fucking won.”
Nursey’s eyebrows raise, impressed. Contradicting his
expression, he derisively says, “You sure? If you won, there would be nothing
wrong with me seeing the end.”
Dex remains silent. He stares into the distance and wishes
he could go back 60 seconds to the time before Nursey learned a secret that
made him incredibly annoying. Scratch that – more incredibly annoying.
“I can’t believe that
woman beat you. Her soufflé was atrocious. And her salad. Who would garnish a
salad with a vegetable? A salad is vegetables.”
“Right? The garnish just became another component of the
fucking salad,” Dex whispered.
Nursey has no idea about cooking. He will consume whatever
takes the least amount of time to prepare. The other day, Dex found him eating
a dinner of spaghetti and cut up Slim Jim. Naturally, Dex had also partaken of
the meal. But he wouldn’t have made it.
“Will you at least tell me how it ended?” Nursey is past
appealing to Dex’s pride. There’s a hint of a whine in his voice.
Dex flicks his eyes to Nursey, acknowledging his
Nursey stands. “Please?”
Wariness thaws Dex’s resignation. “No…”
Nursey takes Dex’s hand. “Please?” he says gently.
Nursey ducks into the bottom bunk. He straddles Dex’s lower
stomach, bends down, and murmurs, “Please?”
A shiver runs down Dex’ spine and through his limbs. His
“no” is a little strained.
Another few inches, and Nursey’s lips brush Dex’s ear. Sweat
breaks out across his brow. The heat of Nursey’s breaths floods across the side
of his face, fills his brain with steam. “PLEASE?” Nursey fucking screams in
A startled Dex shouts in terror and flails, his elbow catching
Nursey under the chin. With a grunt, Nursey rolls to the side as Dex scrambles
out of the bed.
“What the fuck,
Nurse?” Dex yells.
“Ow,” Nursey mumbles in response. His hand, cupped beneath
his chin, is catching the blood dripping from his lip.
“Christ. Fuck.” Dex grabs a handful of tissues from the box
on the desk. He shoves them in Nursey’s direction and sits cross legged on the
opposite end of the mattress. His heart is still thumping rapidly in his chest.
“Will you tell me now?” Nursey manages around his lip and a
wad of tissues.
The blood weakens Dex’s resolve considerably, but he still
says, “On a few conditions.” Nursey nods. “You can’t tell anyone else on the
team.” A moment. “Or formerly on the team,” he thinks to add.
Nursey shrugs and nods, conceding. “But I get a condition,
too, since you broke my face.”
Dex’s expression is deadpan.
“My beautiful face, Dex. I can never dance again.”
With a sigh and an eye roll, Dex says, “Fine.”
“You teach me to cook.”
Dex considers. Best-case scenario, he bonds with his
roommate, and he gets to cook in a setting that is not his grandmother’s
restaurant, with someone who is not a member of his family. Nursey will
hopefully eat his spaghetti with normal meat that is neither slim nor jim.
Worst-case scenario, Nursey slips and falls on a knife or
sets his arm on fire, and the team discovers his televised past. The cooking
accident and the chirping put Nursey and him in the ground, respectively.
But it could be fun. Dex decides he is practiced enough to avoid
the worst-case scenario. He is the primary member of the Nursey Patrol, and
kitchen Nursey can’t be too much more of a danger to himself than drunk Nursey.
“Sure,” Dex agrees.
Nursey perks up. “Really?”
“Alright,” Nursey says.
“Did you watch any of the desert round?” Dex asks, jumping
into his story.
“No. You opened the basket and it had sour cream and almond
“It was those and something else. I made cheesecake and put
the liqueur in the crust. Wang” - Jean Wang, his opponent – “make some crepe
thing. It was honestly a mess.”
“The cheesecake or the crepe.”
“The crepe. You saw her salad.”
“The judges said the crepe had a weird texture. They loved
the cheesecake, but –“
“But what?” Nursey gasps dramatically.
“But Alton fucking Brown said it was dry.”
There is a moment of silence in which both men absorb the
weight of that criticism. It’s broken by Nursey. “Brah. How the fuck can
cheesecake be dry?”
“Right? And the other judges just nodded along with it. But
I still won, so.”
“Yeah you fucking won. She made a plain ass salad and
crepes. Crepes taste like weird flat noodles.”
Dex nods eagerly. “Uh huh. And imagine a bad crepe. Weirder
Nursey mimics barfing, stands and grabs his bag. He throws
the bloody tissues in the trash, but his lower lip is still swollen. “Fuck
Alton Brown. The first thing I want to learn how to make is dry cheesecake.”
“My specialty,” Dex says.
Nursey grins, walks out the door, and leaves for class.
A smile stretches Dex’s lips, hidden in their empty room.
Retailed by Westley Richards in England c.1911. 12 gauge triple-barrel cluster, single trigger, top break action, automatic extractor. There was a short-lived enthusiasm for these guns back in the early 20th century, but balancing problems and no doubt WW1 put an end to it.