Hi everyone!
I'm mistyhollows - this is my first official publication of a multitude of fan fictions I'm writing about TF2! I really just enjoy writing for fun, so if you enjoy these stories, please let me know! If you don't enjoy them, well, I'm sorry my writing isn't to your liking! Anyway, thanks for reading and hopefully enjoy it!
So, if you don't catch the drift, Pill is Sniper's kid, an OC I've created. I'm sorry I can't work the fanfic page formatting everything very well right now, but hopefully it gets better. I'd appreciate any help you're willing to lend me with getting settled on this site. lol... thnx.
xoxo - misty
"Ah… so… you're the Sniper's kid," Spy spit at me. He rolled his cigarette around in his teeth while looking at me, up and down and up again. "A bit puny, in my opinion." He promptly turned his nose up to me.
I frowned at the statement, but the Frenchman's disapproval brought my spirits down. I didn't imagine the team would take kindly to a young girl coming to stay with the team for the summer, but I had to get my bearings together since my mom died. Hopping between friends' houses was fine for the end of the school year, but I needed a semi-permanent abode for the summer.
"For now," Demoman piped up, slurring in his drunken-ness. "I'm sure we'll…" he paused for a hiccup, "will change that before too long!" He chuckled to himself, walking out of the dining room.
My dad didn't say much. He never did. Australian outback-born, he didn't have much to say, especially while he was eating his breakfast and reading his paper, the rare occasion that he took part in inside the base today instead of his camper, just so I could meet his coworkers.
"Don't listen to 'em, Pill," Sniper said casually, flipping the page of his newspaper. I looked back at him and cocked my head a bit, then shrugged. Pill was the class I was supposed to master. It involved running fast, sniping, and healing. My purpose was the make the other team angry enough to surrender — rage quitting, if you would — as many games as possible.
'Course, now, I was weak.
"I'll bet she can't even run'a mile!" a Bostonian accent sounded behind me, scoffingly. I looked down at my hands, empty. I'd finished my toast. I wished I had something to toy with. For the 30 minutes I'd started meeting the team, they just criticized me for being so… short.
"Enough, Scout," my dad sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. "'Ey, bring me that pot'a coffee, shrimp."
The pot was set before him, and I felt the Scout's eyes on me, burning into my skin as my face grew hot, looking down at my hands.
"Nervous, princess?"
I glared up at him. No one but my dad was allowed to call me that.
"Enough, Scout," Sniper warned again.
"If I were dat puny, I'd be terrified—" Scout blabbered on and on, smirking at me the whole time.
"Scout, I said, ENOUGH!" My dad snapped, standing up, the chair falling behind him. He reached forward and grabbed Scout by the collar of his shirt and pushed him backwards. "Now git'outta my soight," Sniper growled, flinging the Scout out of the dining room threshold.
"Ayy!" Scout exclaimed, stumbling backwards. "Okokokokokokokokokokokokokokokok okokokokok," he said quickly, scrambling out of Sniper's line of view.
"I guess there's no friendly fire tolerated," I stated bluntly, a hint of sadness edging my tone as I looked back down at my lap.
Sniper chuckled. "Noice try."