"MPPH MAHH!"
"The cart is approaching THE FINAL TERMINUS, OH HAAA HAH HAHH HAAAH!"
The Engineer sighed. Another day at the old collection of rotting wood and explosives that was Frontier. You'd think a man like him, Texas-born and supporting 11 PhDs in hard knocks would be happy in a place like this. But no such thing. All day he had fallen easy prey to the vast assortment of spies the enemy got from god-knows-where. It had gotten to the point that he almost lost his precious mini-sentry to a haplessly-thrown sapper. He was beginning to hate the clangs and bangs of upgrading his little beauty, only to have her demoted and shamed when that darn spy and his tape recorder came along. He just wished-
"You FAAAIILLLEED! Prepare to die!"
He winced. Wait for it…
"C'MERE, CUPCAKE!"
"AAAGGHHH AHH!"
"ALLLRIGHTEY, MAGGOTS! TODAY WAS A SHHHAMMMEFULL DEFEAT TO THAT SCUM!"
The Soldier whacked his hand a couple times for emphasis. You had to rally the troops, after all. Morale doesn't kill, but it sure as hell helped.
"If WE are to be VICTORIOUS FOR ONCE, YOU WILL ALL HAVE TO START DOING WHAT YOU WERE HIRED TO!"
The REDs looked at Soldier as if he had suddenly grown a pineapple for a head.
"I believe we already have, Monsieur. Did you not see me couper en tranches those scoped-in imbeciles?" The Spy berated, exhaling a large cloud of smoke from his 15th cigarette that day.
"WHY YES, I DID SEE YOU UNCLOAK, MISS YOUR FIRST TWO STABS, GET SOAKED IN JARATE, KILL ONE SNIPER WHO WAS IDILING, AND GET SHOT TO DEATH BY THEIR SCOUT!"
"Oh…merde. This is…embarrassing." The Spy blushed from Soldier's unnecessary assault of AMERICAN JUUSTICE!1!1. He hurriedly ran away, crying into his cupped hands. Poor Frenchie.
Just then, the RED team's Spanish Pyro walked in singing one of his favorite tunes from his newly acquired TV show, Historias Vegetales.
"Mira el pepino, ver cómo se mueve, como un león, persiguiendo a un ratón!
Mira el pepino oh, la suave de sumo vi miento, como la mantequilla en un mono calvo
Mira el pepino
Mira el pepino
Mira el pepino, la danza, el baile, sí!"
The Soldier walked right up to Él Pyro and punched him in the nose. Or, rather, what little cartilage was left on Él Pyro's burned face
"¡Ay, qué fue eso, el hombre cohete?" He said, clutching his face protectively. The Soldier, not understanding any language but AMERICAN!1!1, walked away slowly and once again slapped his palms down on the table.
"Like I said, WE NEED TO FIGHT BETTER! Didn't you TWINKLETOES get enough training with those ROBOTS?" He screeched, sending spittle flying everywhere.
"Alroight, alroight, we get it. 'You all need ta' work hardah', blah blah blah. I know outroight what I'm doin', okay? I'm a professional." The Sniper quipped, taking a quick sip from his 'WORLD'S BEST MERCENARY' mug. He had pulled it out of one of those care package crates, along with a new hat. "Lucky bahsted.", the Scout had said. "Why don't I get any hats? All I get is some stupid, dirty, hahnd-me-down cleats. I already gaht five paihs, Ma! Yeesh.."
Back in the war room, the Soldier practically tackled the poor Australian to the ground.
"I DO NOT CARE WHATEVER YOU DID IN THE 'OUTBACK', PANSY! This is WAR, and I EXPECT EVERRYY SINGLE ONE OF YOU TO FIGHT LIKE A MAN, AND GET THE DIRT OUT OF YOUR SKULL!"
"Or what, General Dinkum?"
"OR I'LL MAKE SURE YOU DON'T HAVE A SKULL TO USE, YOU LOUSY, PANSY, KANGAROO-HUNTIN'-GOOD-FER'-NOTHIN'-"
The Sniper shot his fist out and clocked Soldier in the jaw before he could continue, jumping on him as a full on fight began. They both flew off the table and straight onto the floor, becoming a cluster of flying fists and colliding kicks. The bursts of curses and meaty fist-on-face smacks echoed throughout the now almost completely silent war room.
The Demoman laughed and then cried. The Scout started muttering something about cleats. Medic tried to cover Heavy's ears, while the Russian chuckled quietly. Spy was still nowhere to be seen, although he was probably in his room crying or smoking. Or jerking off. Or all at once. Either way, the base was a mess. Just as Sniper was about to whip out a jar of his…er…'fluid', Ms. Pauling burst from the doors next to Él Pyro's now charred cacto.
"What is going on here? Aren't you guys supposed to be-"
She then saw the mangled mess that was the Sniper and Soldier.
"WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING? GET OFF OF EACHOTHER, NOW!"
They immediately got up and cringed, waiting the inevitable smack to the cheek. After all, hell hath no fury like an angered woman.