AN: I'm just going to apologize in advance for the upcoming accents I decided to type in. They're hugely exaggerated, but I feel like it works. If anyone hates it and think I should stop, or if you like it, let me know. Thank you Battle Mistress for the review, I'm so glad you enjoyed the story! Also thank you to Nexus1914 for the follow. It really means a lot to me, you guys.
"Ay, that's him!" a loud and northern accent proclaims before I can slip through the room of men drinking and playing poker. He leaps from his seat and is in front of me instantly. This must be the Scout. I don't comment or move when he stands over me, giving me a once over. He looks young, maybe younger than me. He is skinny and beardless, hardly a man in my opinion. I try to loosen up when I realize how rigid I've gone. Suddenly, the Scout lets out a high pitched laugh, forcing me to tense right back up.
"You guys," He chokes out while turning his back to me and pointing a thumb in my direction, "he's a freakin' shortie!" He carries on his whooping laugh, hunched over and I try again to slither my way out of the room.
"Woah there," another man stops me, guiding me by the shoulders to the rest of the team. I fight with effort to keep myself from digging my heels into the floor. "Y'can't leave without meetin' the team first." the man's accent was pleasantly southern and hushed, nothing like the sharp one from the boston dude. "I'm the Engineer." the man nods slightly in my direction. I nod back pretending I'm not shocked. My image of a sixty something year old with a triple the normal size chrome dome and wearing goggles that reflect the light of the sparks bursting from his latest creation is shattered.
"Oi'm the Snipah, an that there's the Demoman." A tall, lean man man with an Australian accent greets me, nodding toward the Demoman who seemed too involved with his drink to notice my arrival. The Demoman was a burly black man with only one eye. Once he swallowed the rest of his drink, he smashed the bottle to the floor and declared
"All in!" with a strong Scottish accent, while shoving a not very impressive stack of poker chips into the center of the table. The man sitting across from him smirked handsomely with a cigarette protruding from the corner of his mouth and pushed his much larger pile into the Demoman's.
"Full 'ouse." the smoking man challenges, he sounds French, with cool confidence and tosses his cards face up on the table. When he begins to rake in the chips, the Demoman rises to his feet quick enough to topple the chair noisily.
"Yer'a grottie, cheatin' Spy!" he explodes with spit and a small hiccup.
"Ze game iz ze game, Demoman, and you 'ave just lost." The Spy says leaning casually back and taking a drag from his cigarette. Plooming smoke snakes from his cocky smile. The Demoman yelled something incoherent before launching himself across the table, scattering the chips. I step back several feet. The Spy easily dodges the attack.
"Zis may not be ze best time for introductions." a friendly German voice says from behind me. I'm surprised by the amount nationality in the team, but pleasantly so. Guessing from the man's gloves and labcoat, I'd say he's the Medic. I tell myself the smeared red on his front is definitely not blood. He's smiling, waiting for my response. I feel awkward not giving one. Shattering furniture breaks the uncomfortable moment between me and the Medic. A flushed face of a giant yells deeply Russian "NO FIGHTS!" and everything seems to rumble with his voice. Silence fills the room except for the few chips settling to the floor. I take the moment to back toward the stairs across the room.
"Who's there!?" A previously sleeping man I didn't notice jerks awake. The Spy straightens his tie.
"It iz getting late." He states and leaves the room. I take his example and leave the drunken men at it. The Engineer attempting to calm the yelling Demoman while the Sniper tells the cackling Scout to shove it.
xxx
I am comfortably snuggled in my bed, finally out of that stuffy suit and mask. I've locked the door, just in case someone happens to want to visit. My room is a pretty bare board place. There's a bed and dresser. That's it. I haven't investigated what else may be in here, I'm too tired. This whole experience has given me an adrenalin rush or two and all I need right now is a good night sleep.
These mercenaries are indeed an interesting bunch of men, at least when they're drunk. The Engineer and Medic were pretty decent, the Sniper too. Everyone else was pretty drunk, except the Spy. He seems like one cocky bastard. I bet he's smart, but the kind of smart where you know that the people around you aren't so you think yourself above them. Basically a self important a-hole. Maybe, maybe not. Probably. I'll figure it out after I get a good night's sleep.
An earsplitting siren shocked me unpleasantly from my slumber. Gasping a little, I inwardly complain about the method used to rouse me from my sleep. I quickly dress. The dresser contained simple red clothes. Get it, 'cause I'm on the RED team, I think smirking a little. I bet everything is blue on the other team. I opt for the coolest clothes I can when I consider how much time I will be spending in the very thick suite that still lay across my bed. I find a red tanktop, and some shorts that were, thankfully, not red. (Same color on color has never been my favorite look.) The shorts were made from thin, black cloth. The sort that doesn't hold in body heat.
They go down to my knees, and my top goes down to past my hips with the arm holes trying for some side boob. Great. All the clothes are too big. I guess they were meant for a man, even a small man would fill these out better than I do. Even though my wardrobe is several sizes too big, it fits pretty well in the chest and the pants stay rested on my hips, too bad it hangs awkwardly loose everywhere else. I suppose it doesn't matter, I think when I slip into my Pyro uniform.
I can help but be filled with excited awe. This suite is extremely nice. It's exceptionally thicker than my old one and feels far more reliable. The mask too, strikes me with amazement. It's nothing like my old, crusty WW1 p.o.s. No tubes and no straps. It's more like a hood, which, again, works out perfectly.
Unfortunately, the gloves and boots are a bit of a hassle with empty air it the ends of each finger and in front of my toes. I hope it doesn't look as stupid as I imagine.
Downstairs is empty and pretty messy from last nights activities. I gaze at the open area from halfway down the stairs. There are three table scattered with poker chips and cards and toppled chairs and bottles. There's also a little kitchen area complete with fridge, oven, and an assumingly stocked cabinet. I stumble a bit when I walk through the room. I choose the neatest looking table, one that looks untouched and tidy. I upright a chair to sit in and lean back comfortably. Now what? I question, gazing at my hands. They look much larger in the thick gloves.
I slide off the gloves and place them on the table in front of me. Placing my hands on top of them, I see the ridiculous size difference. At least the sleeves have enough elastic to stay on my wrists without swallowing my hands. The bottoms around my ankles are the same way. I kick off my boots easily and I see my sock covered foot. I'm just glad I had a pair of socks with me to start with, at least something fits.
On a whim, I suck all my limbs inside the suite. It's roomy enough to sit comfortably cross-legged inside it. How toasty, I think, contemplating whether to suck my head in there as well. I giggle at what I would look like. Swirling smoke drifts across my vision. I look across the table to see a man fade into sight. I blink a few times to confirm what I see. The Spy now sits in front of me like he's been there for awhile.
"You are very strange… " He comments with narrowed eyes and maybe a twitch from the corner of his mouth. My first instinct is to push myself into the suite properly, but a little voice asks me Why? So I look less weird? That's dumb; plus being weird will make people not want to get to know me. Which is good. The weirder the better! I smile under my mask. This realization dissolves any nervousness I have. I don't have to worry about what is thought of me, as long as I can do my job, nothing else matters.
I just stare at the Spy through the tinted circles lenses. I hope I make him uncomfortable, I know that's what he does to me. He's dressed in a red brown pinstripe suit, very classy, matched with a red balaclava, less classy, more unnerving. Sinister ski mask aside, he looks quite sharp with a cigarette poised between his black gloved fingers.
"Zere's somezing unusual about you, eesn't zer?" he questions. I shake my head no. No need for that curiosity. "Hmph." He grunts with a puff of smoke.
"Coffee." came a prolonged moan. It sounded more like 'cawwwfeee', so I knew it was the Scout. Within ten minutes the rest of the team appeared with similar requests as the Scout, all the while I stayed balled up in my suit. I gladly received curious glances from each team member. Everyone crowded around the only clean table, each unwilling to clear off their own.
I've never been a breakfast person, so I continue to sit and stare at each man in turn. The Spy is across from me, masked, and to his right is the man I didn't meet from the other night. Not the giant, but the sleeping one. A round helmet covers his head and eyes irritatingly so I can't really see his face. I tell by the emblem on his arm he is the Soldier. That makes the giant the Heavy, I suppose that makes sense.
I'm bored. When do we get to fight? I decide to refit into my suit to leave. Uncomfortably I notice that everyone is watching me do so, like they're waiting for something to happen. No matter, I step into my boots, they'll just be disappointed, then. I gather my gloves and rise. I go the opposite direction of the stairs and hope it leads somewhere interesting. I turn a corner, but then stop thinking I heard something. You definitely did, now shut up and listen! I follow my own instructions.
"He's freakin' weird, right?" the Scout asks. There is an agreeable grunt from someone else.
"Not a very talkative fellow, is he? Haven't heard his voice once." the Engineer adds.
"Oi've never even seen the bloke!" the Sniper says like it's the nuttiest thing he's ever not seen.
"No von has, I vonder if he's hiding somethink…" the Medic joins. Uh oh! Nope, nothing hiding here, nothing at all interesting! I try to mentally project to him.
"Nah, I think he's just freak." the Scout brushes off the Medic's comment.
"What are we all talking about?!" and loud and vocal voice asks. The Soldier, maybe? Someone must have waved him off because the conversation ceased. Just then, an announcement sounded on the loudspeakers. "Attention: Mission begins in fifteen minutes." Finally. I listen to the men shuffle around until they are all walking out of the room. They all file past me toward the same destination. I fall in behind them.
We load into a beat up piece of garbage looking trunk I didn't notice yesterday when Miss Pauling dropped me off. After a short dispute of who gets to drive, then another on who gets to ride passenger, everyone takes their seats. Mine is in between the wall and and Engineer. I don't think anyone was too eager to sit next to me. Within ten minutes we arrive at the biggest building I've ever seen. I follow the lead through the blank and all metal hallways; it is short walk and the doors seal off behind us.
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