AN: Generic disclaimer- I don't own TF2.
Warning: Language, drug references and potentially offensive content(aren't all OC fics?).
The cab was hot and uncomfortable at best. An old crooner sang about lost love, the noise staticky through rusted speakers. Two people sat; a lanky male with a baseball cap and a bat at his hip and a female in tan pants, her own hat - a wide-brimmed and heavily decorated akubra - pulled down over her eyes. The train lurched and the male covered his mouth.
"Oh gawd. I think I'ma lose muh lunch," he grumbled, shifting in his seat. He looked around for something to hold on to in case the train decided to shake like that again. "How you holdin' up, toots?"
The female lifted one arm slightly from it's position, crossed over her chest, to raise the brim of her hat with her thumb. She raised a dark eyebrow at the green-looking young man.
"I am fine. You look ill," she said, speaking slowly. She tried to keep her accent from her voice.
"Heh," he chuckled, stopping and frantically searching for something to hold on to once more as the train shook. He clutched the sorry excuse for a cushion under him. "Gawd, I hate trains," he muttered. "You look fine," he said, sizing the girl up. "What's yer secret, eh?"
She shrugged and let the hat fall down over her eyes again, returning her arms to the crossed position. She had planned on spending the train ride asleep, but the talkative male to her right seemed intent on not letting that happen. He stared at her quizzically. Her lips pulled into a frown as he continued to stare and fidget.
"Shrimp and potatoes," she said sarcastically.
"Whut?" he asked, letting his jaw hang open slightly.
The female sighed and pushed her hat up again. Ivy colored eyes studied the male harshly and he almost shrunk away from her gaze. She thought it possible that the boy could be a decade her junior and she did not want to make small talk with the runt. When blue eyes blinked cutely at her, she scoffed and looked away, deciding to watch light pass by the poorly painted over windows.
"It was sarcasm," she said plainly.
"You got an accent. Where ya from?" he asked, shifting his backpack at his side.
"You 'ave one too," the female stated. As he opened his mouth to speak, she interrupted; "But where does it look like I'm from?"
"Well, uh, yer clothes say yer an Aussie, but yer accent don't soun' quite right... I mean, I always thought you people were all 'croikey!' an' 'g'day mate!'," he mimicked terribly. He looked at the female and found her glaring at him. He then realized how racist he had sounded. "I didn' mean 'you people' like, well, shit." He sighed and studied his kicking feet.
They reached the floor comfortably, but he bounced his heels to help ease the awkward tension he'd created.
"You are from New York?" she asked.
"Close 'nuff," he said, pretending he wasn't insulted. "Massachusetts. Boston. Go Sox," he added a slight cheer and cast a shy glance in her direction.
"Mm. Northern Europe," she said cooly, though her smirk didn't fade.
"That's real specific," the boy said, trying his hand at sarcasm.
A silence passed between the two, the female smirking over her minor victory in shutting the chatty boy up as she crossed her legs. The male played with the wrappings on his hands until he thought of another question.
"Ya like baseball?"
"No." He flinched at how quick her response was. He leaned an elbow heavily on one knee.
"So whaddya do?" he asked.
"I kill things," she said, still smirking.
"Well no shit?" he asked and then scoffed. "I mean how...?"
The female merely pointed up. The boy's eyes followed her gesture up to a rusted storage rack. On it sat the most well-maintained sniper rifle he'd ever laid eyes on. He whistled at the sleek weapon.
"Awf'ly big gun for such a little gurl," he said, smirking.
"I'm probably taller than you, shrimp," she deadpanned.
He stiffened and mentally cursed.
"And you?" she asked, wiggling the toes of one foot impatiently.
"I run. 'N I hurt people. Wit' dis!" He proudly brandished his baseball bat. His cheerful expression soured when she laughed.
"I heard'a bringin' a knife to a gun fight, but that's... ridiculous!"
"Man, fine! See if I save yer ass!" He was pouting and it only made the female laugh more.
It wasn't long before the train slowed to a halt. To the youth, it felt more like the world has suddenly stopped moving around him and he kept going, falling off his seat. The female held her stomach with laughter. One grumbling male and one chuckling female were ushered off the train after gathering their things. They were met by a man in a red jacket and an almost comedically oversized helmet.
"Fall in line, maggots!" he roared. The boy flinched and the woman raised a delicate eyebrow. Moments later they were standing side by side in front of the man with a touch of volume control issues. "Now here at- what the? They're sending me girls now?" He even seemed to roar when talking to himself.
Her glare didn't seem to do anything to the helmeted man so she adjusted the strap of her rifle over her shoulder and waited for him to continue.
"The battlefield is no place for a woman!" he shouted. She rolled her eyes. "Don't roll your eyes at me, maggot! I am in charge here, understood?"
"Yeah, sure," the young man said. "Can we go now?"
"You will call me Soldier," the coated man instructed. "I will call you maggot and-" he paused for a moment to consider his words "-magette!" He seemed proud of himself.
"Bully!" the female whispered sarcastically.
"The others will most likely call you by your titles, Scout and Sniper," Soldier said, his arms behind his back. "But here-"
"Look, pops," the hatted male started in. "I'm a merc, not on'a yer in-fun-tree or whateva, so just show me where I can store my shit, okay?"
"Confident," Soldier said, lowering his voice and nodding. "But stupid!" he shouted, whacking the boy's backside with a riding crop. The boy yelped and protested his treatment loudly.
All the way to their quarters - including the ride from the train station in a nondescript van, which was just as hot as the train - they were lectured about the rules. They were informed of "how things work around here" as Soldier put it. Including, but not limited to; the respawn system, when supplies came, and how to order them.
It was after sunset by the time the brunette female was shown her room and when she was, she slipped in and locked the door behind her, stopping Soldier mid-sentence. When the shouts and loud footfalls left the area, she set about unpacking her things. Once satisfied, she considered stepping to the kitchen to sample the local cuisine. Gently pushing her rifle under her bed, she took to the hall and sought out the kitchen.
"Oi, whasat 'ere? A lass in our kitchen? Did they send oos a cook or 'ave we goot a new docta?" said a tall, dark-skinned man with an eye patch. The other people at the table turned to look.
The Sniper glared, dark pink lips turning down in a frown as four stares looked at her expectantly. Her left eye twitched a bit. She opened her mouth to throw a mean retort at the man, but snapped it closed when a low, melodic chuckle sounded behind her.
"Goodness, if we would be so lucky, uh?" said an older, blonde gentleman in a lab coat as he approached. His sideburns were graying and thin, oval frames perched on a sharp nose. "She is... our new Sniper, I presume?" He put his bare hand on her shoulder and she nodded before shrugging off his hand. He raised a brow, accentuating his wrinkles before chuckling. "I am the doctor around he'a. Most call me Medic. V-what shall I call you?" he asked, flinching at the slip of his accent.
"The Sniper," she said.
"Very well," the blonde doctor said, turning to the staring men at the table. "Allow me to introduce you. This is Engineer," the Medic gestured to a man in a hardhat, who waved and nodded slightly in response. "This is Heavy," he gestured to a rather large man.
"Welcome, leetle Sniper. I am Heavy weapons guy," he said, giving her a goofy smile.
"Zat," the Medic said, turning Sniper's attention to a man in a suit, sitting a little distance away from the others, a cigarette in hand, "is our Spy."
"Oui, it ees a pleasure to meet such a... beautiful and dangerous woman," the masked man stood up and paced over to them, extending his hand to the female. She glared at it and then looked up at him.
A grin spread across her lips. She spit in her hand and took the Spy's, shaking it firmly. Her expression grew happier at the horrified look on the masked man's face. The other men at the table laughed and even the Medic at her side chuckled.
"Now that's a real handshake!" Engineer cooed.
"Yes, she is manly leetle Sniper!" Heavy put in.
Spy took his hand back and wiped it on his pants before stuffing it in his pocket. "I must... bid you adieu, for it is late." And with that, made his hasty retreat to a chorus of laughter.
"Ahm Demoman, lassie. Ahm sorreh for insultin' ye earlia. Y'just don't see many women who can han'le a gun," he extended his hand which held a bottle. "Am ey forgiven?" he asked as Engineer got up to tend to the food he was working on.
"This time," Sniper said, sliding into the Engineer's prewarmed seat. "What's for dinner?"
"Beef stew, tonight," Engineer said. He whistled a tune as he stirred the pot.
"There is one more, assuming you talked to the Scout on the way here," the Medic trailed off as the girl looked from the stove to him. "Ah yes, don't be alarmed if you see a young man in a strange suit and gas mask. Is only our resident Pyromaniac. He will not hurt you." Nervous chuckles arose from the table. "Do no mind them. If you are nice, Pyro is nice."
"'Nice' my ass," came a grumble. Medic rolled his eyes.
"You ver- were shown where the medbay is, yes?" She nodded in response. "Good, zen-" he stopped and sighed. He was having a hard time with his words today. "I will need to give you a physical and fit you with a tracking device so I can find you on the field when you need me... But that can be taken care of en ze morning. Enjoy your night and it v-was a pleasure meeting you." He nodded and turned to accept a bowl of stew from Engineer. He nodded to the man and stalked off.
There was a short period of silence as Engineer passed out bowls of beef stew to everyone and placed a plate of oven warmed buns in the middle of the table. The southerner pulled Spy's chair back to the table and sat in it. He looked at the female who watched awkwardly as the others ate. Demoman even poured a bit of Scrumpy in the mixture and stirred it up.
Noticing the petite Sniper's funny look, he explained; "Gives oot a bit more flavor. 'E tends ta make stews a bit bland."
"It's not my fault the alcohol has damaged your taste buds, bud."
"Well it's me turn ta cook temara and I'll show ye a real man's dish!"
They playfully hassled each other and the new Sniper hesitantly took a bit of the stew.
"Not bad," she said under her breath.
Nights at the BLU base were usually quiet. The occasional clang or clatter would sound from Medic's lab or loud snoring from Heavy would break the almost tangible silence. Though, for a few members of the squad, sleep was elusive.
The Sniper, for one, would often sit in the kitchen by oil lamp light, the overhead turned off as to not disturb the others. Hat and shades placed neatly on the table beside his hands that would hold a warm cup of tea.
Sometimes the team's demolitions expert – a blonde woman in her late thirties – would join him, her unruly curls pulled back in a low, sloppy, tangled ponytail. The woman was missing two and a half of her front bottom teeth; the half tooth that remained was sickly gray color due to improper care of the broken bit. But she provided pleasant conversation in a low, quiet tone, suppressing her mixed accents. He could never pinpoint where the accentuated a's came from and his raising deemed it inappropriate to ask such personal questions of a lady, even though she didn't much act like one.
"RED 'as new recruits," the Australian spoke softly as the female prepared coffee on the stove.
"I heard, yah," she spoke quietly. "I heard Soldier talking about it earlier." Her words were slow and drawn out. It made her sound slow-witted, but the sharpshooter knew better. He assumed she was ashamed of her mixed heritage and wanted to hide it. "He was ranting about how women do not belong on the battlefield. Except miss Pauling, he said. That is, until I walked in," a short pause. "I think he loves her."
Sniper smiled over the rim of his cup at the thought of the boisterous man falling silent when the female made her presence known. Perhaps he even blushed a little. That would be just dandy for the Aussie. It was their little secret that Demoman – she insisted that the "wo" was unnecessary – drank her coffee with sugar. She always drank it black in front of the others. He never understood why, even after she explained. She claimed that sweet things were feminine and she did not want to be seen as such. That pattern made no sense to Sniper. He drank his tea with honey and if coffee was more convenient, as it often was, he loaded it with sugar. He did not think of himself as feminine, despite his love of sweet things.
"I envy you tomorrow," she said, taking a seat next to the Sniper.
"Ah yeah? Why's that?" he asked.
"You get a balcony seat to view the chaos. You remember how it was when I first showed up, don't you?" She grinned before taking a sip of the dark liquid.
"'Eah," he responded and chuckled softly. "They weren't sure what to make of you."
"A bunch of bumbling oafs. Our side, too. Zhey didn't think I could handle myself on the field. So many hesitations. I didn't learn what the hell it was to respawn for three days," she said with a dark chuckle.
"If yer still getting' sick ova respawn'n you should see th' doc," he looked mildly concerned.
She grunted in response and glared at him half-heartedly. "Nngh," she grunted.
Not a moment later the soft sounds of bare feet padding on the floor met their ears as another member of the insomnia club joined them. Demoman lit a cigarette from the open flame of the lamp, the cyclone having been broken and tossed long ago.
A mop of brown hair appeared around the corner, dark grey shades reflecting the lamp light as the young pyromaniac gazed at the open flame restlessly. He wore only a white t-shirt and blue knee-length shorts. White scars and burn marks littered his arms, a few spattered on his neck that the loose shirt revealed. After a moment, he took off his shades and threw them on the table. He poured himself a mug of coffee and sat across from the other two. He grunted a meeting.
"'Ello," Sniper said softly. "It's rare to see you so," he paused to consider his words, "casually dressed."
"Couldn't sleep," came the simple reply. "Didn't feel like gettin' dressed." The young man shrugged and looked back to the flame, squinting a bit.
"Soldier will be up in two hours," Demoman threw out. Pyro rolled his eyes.
"New rivals," Sniper said. "One's a bird," he said with a hopeful inflection. He wanted to draw the quiet male into speaking more.
"A bird?" Pyro asked.
"A girl," Sniper's response.
"That's nice," he said though his tone said he didn't care. He stopped to think about it for a moment. "Actually, that could be good. Women generally have more hair, which is very flammable."
Sniper let a chuckle pass his lips. That wasn't the type of conversation he'd hoped to draw the boy into. He took the cigarette when the blonde handed it to him and took a long drag. The Pyro watched the tip glow before looking elsewhere.
The three sat in a somewhat comfortable silence, enjoying their respective beverages as Sniper and Demoman passed the fag back and forth.
Two hours passed in relative silence. Four more butts joined the first one in the ash tray and Demoman made a new pot of coffee. As predicted, Soldier was the first to join them in the kitchen with a greeting of "Good morning, boys!". He poured himself some coffee and leaned against the counter. He was dressed pristinely and standing tall. It was a sore irritation to the three sitting at the table. Pyro had his shades back on. Even so, he was squinting.
The team's Scout; a cute blonde with freckles – hurried into the room, skidding to a stop in front of the refrigerator. He wrenched the door open and grabbed a can of soda. He popped the tab and took a long swig of the beverage. A bracelet with large, wooden beads rattled against the can. "Ahh!" The boy sounded refreshed. "Good mo'nin!" he said to no one in particular. The boy chugged the rest of the can and crushed it between his hands. He threw it at Soldier and it bounced off of the older man's helmet as he hurried outside for his morning run. Soldier grumbled.
Their Engineer was next to enter the room and thanked the female for the coffee, pouring himself a cup. After a few sips of the caffeinated jump-start, he started preparing his own breakfast. Sniper excused himself and Pyro followed suit. Soldier gave Demoman orders to hunt down the new "maggot girl" herself, and just when she was about to protest, Heavy entered the room.
"Unh, good mornink," he muttered, sounding almost as if he had the beginnings of a slight cold.
Engineer gestured to a glass of milk already poured for the larger man. Heavy took it with a nod and a pleased grunt.
"I should not have to go out of my way to track down this new foe," Demoman said, lighting a new cigarette. "If I come across her, I will cut her head off, but I'm not going to hunt her down just because she is female."
"It's your duty, magg-" he paused for a second, "woman!"
Demoman stood up, the chair screeching loud as it skidded back. Engineer turned around and Heavy watched with interest.
"Is zhat all yu see in me?!" she shouted, her accent slipping. She radiated anger and Engineer thought about stepping between them. "Haff I not proven myzelf to you yet?" Receiving no immediate response, she stormed from the room. Engineer sighed and turned back to his cooking.
"Must be on the rag," Soldier grumbled. "Has she been getting enough meat lately?"
AN: Yup, another shitty OC story. No, I won't be offended if you stop reading now. But if you like what you've read so far and you want to read more, click below and leave me a review. Also, don't be afraid to leave criticism. Seriously folks. I love reading positive reviews, but purely positive comments don't really help me improve. Ja ne.
EN: So here we are again. It's been awhile. Anyway, yes, we need reviews. Good and bad is motivation, of course we still hope you enjoy this fic and don't just see it as another shitty OC story, as the author said. Until next time.