[[Alrighty, so. This is just by me, Alex; this time Kara and I didn't write in tandem. Just FYI since we will post solo fics, too. Although, Kara was (and always is) a large resource for the most amazing support and wonderful feedback, so give her some credit too, alright? I'm not finished yet, but hopefully- soon- I will be. If you have any (polite) constructive criticism, that'd be great to hear! (Especially about my sentence patterns; I want to know if the beats sound too repetitive, etc.) I hope you enjoy it!]]
"Well this is just fuckin' weird."
Demoman was standing in the middle of the kitchen, frying pan in hand. Well, he was actually more off to the side, near the opening to the hallway that led to the stairs that led to the other hallway with the bedrooms on each side. The rest of the room was filled with nearly the entire RED team, most of them genuinely confused or disturbed, or you know, both.
Demoman was clad only in his bedtime kilt and, somehow, his black beanie. Scout always teased the Scotsman about how he lived in the hat, saying that it was to cover his bald spot because he was old. Demoman would always spit a rabbit-related insult at the younger merc whenever that happened.
Anyways, Soldier was fully clothed in his typical everyday army uniform and helmet, his rocket launcher lying against the dining table. A gigantic grin more crooked than the Administrator's heart was plastered across his face as he—probably—stared at Demoman from across the room.
Spy's top half was draped over the kitchen sink like a ragdoll, the tap water streaming violently down onto his cloth-wrapped head as he panted heavily. He sounded like he desperate for breath. Just below his waistline, his body split into eight different writhing pillars of maroon flesh. Suction cups sucked and snapped as Spy's tentacles waved about and slapped the walls and floor. "Mon Dieu," Spy gasped, throwing his head back and letting the water splash onto his face and wet his balaclava.
Sniper was sitting on the floor, his knees pulled up close to his chest with his head in his hands, still wearing his "red" (magenta) pinstriped pajamas. Searching for the source of the Aussie's strangely-occurring depression, Demoman looked closer with his one eye to see a thick, brown leather collar around Sniper's neck. A long leash wiggled off of it and onto the floor, coiled up right next to a huge bushy black tail sprouting from Sniper's tailbone. Two fluffy pointed ears were popping out of the top of Sniper's head, the same color as his hair, and they drooped downwards sadly.
Engineer was standing nonchalantly by Spy, remaining quiet as per usual. He looked the most normal in the room. Well, he would have, if it wasn't for the freakishly long giraffe-like neck emerging from his shoulders. On his face he wore a flat expression, seemingly unaware of the current situation in the RED base.
However, the awkward room was far from silent. In the center of the room stood a small man who looked exactly like a shorter version of Scout, save for the raven-black hair and thick sideburns. The man was wearing Medic's typical mercenary attire (sans glasses), which was much too big for him; the sleeves of the lab coat dripped off his arms like spaghetti and the scarlet tie dangled loosely from his thin neck.
"Shit!" he howled, fretfully trying to pull the large sleeves back up and fold them nicely. He had Scout's higher voice, but with Medic's thick German accent. "How d'you vear zhis shit all zhe time? And vhy can you only talk vith zhis dumbass Nazi dialect or vhatever?"
Demoman jumped as the miniscule abomination slapped himself in the face.
"Ow! Vhat vas that for!?" He massaged his cheek.
"Zhat vas for you being such an idiot," he hissed, talking to, apparently, no one but himself. "Und I have to vear zhis. I'm a doctor, after all." He sighed grumpily when his expression jumped to one of stern assertiveness. "None of zhat. Scheiße," he crowed, "You are awful at zhis! No vonder zhey only gave you a plain tee shirt!" He was scolding himself at his own lack of talent in the sleeve-folding area. His tongue licked curiously at the gap between his two front teeth while he frustratedly fidgeted with his outfit.
"HELP! HEEEELP!"
The cry of a tiny child in distress emanated surprisingly loudly from the hallways. Demoman turned his head, not speaking a word; he was too shocked by the rest of the kitchen to react much.
"HEEELP!" The childish sobs echoed through the RED base, accompanied by thundering footsteps. Demoman was terrified.
Then, like a whale falling from the sky, Heavy hurtled out of nowhere (well actually from the stairwell), flying towards the kitchen and slamming on the brakes as he approached Demoman.
"Demoman, help me," the bearish man said. His bearish growl was missing, however. The infant-like voice was spilling from his lips.
"It is Pyro," Heavy squeaked anxiously, fear burning in his eyes. He grabbed the limp Demoman in his monstrous hands and shook the Scotsman lightly but firmly in distress. "I open closet—Pyro is there. I open door, Pyro is there. I open DRAWER—Pyro is there."
Demoman was trying his hardest to listen, but the sheer freakishness of his entire morning had gotten to him. All that came from his lips was a breathy mumble: "I'm ne'er getting' sober agin."
"Look!" Heavy shouted, his voice still as high as though he had converted his bedroom into a helium gas chamber. The man rushed over to the fridge, yanking the door open with a violent pull.
There, inside the fridge, squished between two shelves, was Pyro, sitting in a cross-legged position with his chin in his hands.
Heavy looked up nervously at Demoman, panic rapidly overcoming him as his breathing quickened. A retching noise came from Spy's direction, and that's when Demoman snapped out of it.
"BLOODEH FUCKIN' CRISPS!" He howled loudly, interrupting the schizophrenic conversation of the anonymous mousey man in the middle of the room, causing Sniper to jump and making Spy glance up from his sink water.
"I ain't gonna have inny more a' this! I wanna know EXA'TLY wha' happened, right now!" He whirled around, his kilt spinning as he pivoted. He was pointing his pan threateningly at the shocked crowd gathered in the kitchen, Heavy still standing timidly behind him.
"I—I just don't know," Sniper moaned, still moping on the floor. "I w's gonna git up for me morning coffee, you know—the usual. I sat up in me bed upstaihs, when I felt somethin' tuggin' at me neck—" he raised his chin and curled his fingers around the chocolate-colored leather—"an' I tried t'find a way t'get it off me. Doesn't 'ave a clip, or a switch, or nothin'. Stuck around me neck like cement." He sighed. "And I ain't gonne try t'use my kukri so close t'my throat, you wankers. Not t'mention, I got these bloody things poppin' outta me." He pointed aggressively at the doggish ears perking up from his head and the furry wolf's tail sticking out of his rear.
"I vas just—No! Let me tell him first! No, I vill tell him—and anyvays, it doesn't matter who tells him, because—"
"SHUT UP!" Demoman yelled, surprising the runt. "TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED ALRIDDY!"
Nearly shivering, the small man answered shyly. "Vell, I, uh—ve—both vent to bed last night like normal. Vhen ve voke up, ve vere in zhe infirmary, vith no clothes on, looking like zhis." Upon finishing his story, he stared frightfully back up into Demoman's critical eyes. "Oh, ja," he shrugged, raising his eyebrows as he nodded. "Und I am Medic—and I'm Scout," he ended with a snarl, looking down at his stomach as though someone was there. "Vhatever," he sassed.
Demoman was in the middle of letting out an utterly agonized groan when Spy's words cut him off short.
"I went to bed, right?" he gasped, peering over his shoulder while still trying to stay in the water. "But zhen, during zhe middle of zhe night, I felt very sirsty. I needed a drink. I got up to get a glass of it, but I couldn't. Zhere was zhis kind of green… glow coming off of me," he said with an obscure look of confusion. "I don't know what it was. But I passed out and when I came back up, I had zhese disgusting sings for legs and I was dying for water." His head lolled unceremoniously when he turned back to the faucet.
There was a long moment of silence before anyone spoke again.
"Engineer? D'ye have innythin' t'say about wha' happened t'you?"
"Nope," Engineer replied, almost unmoving except for his lips.
Demoman squinted his eye. "Are ye sure?"
"Nope."
"Bloodeh—what do ye mean, no?"
"Nope."
"FUCKIN'—"
Demoman stopped when an enormous hand rested gently on his shoulder. The dark man turned his head.
"It is okay, Demoman," Heavy peeped angelically. "It is only Engineer. Maybe that is all he can say."
Demoman sighed. "I'm guessin' you woke up with a baby voice, then?"
Heavy nodded solemnly.
Demoman growled, looking up at the ceiling and curling his fingers in distress. "Fine," he spat, turning back around. "Pyro's not gonna tell us anythin', tha's fer sure. But you." Demo squinted his big brown eye and pointed his index finger sternly at the Soldier, who was now crouched under the chair on the other side of the kitchen. "You tell me why you were smilin' this mornin', and you tell me everythin' you bloodeh know."
Soldier gulped.
