Hey all! I know it's been nearly a month since Christmas, but this arc and this final chapter took way longer than expected. It's extra lengthy too, so I hope you enjoy this late holiday gift!
I don't own any of the sources I used to write about A Christma's Carol. Most of the lines were heavily edited, or just made up given my general knowledge from the story. If you're interested in what I looked at, you can google an abridged version of the play and you will get several sources, several of which have some of the same exact lines as one another.
:::
"Oh, my boy!" Scout tried to gasp for air as his mother wrapped her arms around him, tightly holding him close as if at any moment he would vanish.
"M-ma'!"
"I'm so glad to see you, honey!"
Dressed like civilians, or at least as close as possible to what would be considered socially acceptable, the group of eight mercenaries watched Scout's mother cuddle the shit out of their teammate. They had arrived in Boston less than a half hour ago, immediately heading to Scout's house as a light snow started to fall over the city. Donning the coats Pyro had packed to fit the winter weather of the play, the nine men trudged inside the small home, greeted by an over excited dark haired woman who ushered them all into the living room.
Squeezed between Medic and Engineer on the couch opposite the mother and son, Soldier sat at attention, helmet-less and lacking the grenades on his coat. He held a bouquet of badly picked flowers in his hand so tight that his knuckles were white. Engineer glanced over at his nervous teammate, feeling a bit anxious as well, but due to the impending play that they had to perform. Without his hardhat and goggles, Engineer felt naked - but, as Spy mentioned briefly, he looked very much like a fatherly figure in his neat button-up and khakis. The latter was the only pair of business bottoms that he owned, and he sourly missed his denim.
Attempting to distract himself from his nerves. Engineer peered over at Medic and Spy, who sat on Soldier's other side with dark peacoats over their shoulders. The doctor wore what he always did when they were off-duty, button-up with sleeves rolled, suspenders, and dark trousers. Unlike Engineer, he seemed comfortable, both in his clothing and the upcoming role. Although the Texan did not act at all with Medic, he was keen to notice that the physician, once in his role, handled it rather well. Although it wasn't too amazing, what with Medic's accent and general lack of experience, he played his part genuinely.
Spy was a different story, hunched over, and unlit cigarette between his fingers. Scout's mother had immediately forbid any sort of smoking indoors (though Engineer was sure he could smell faint traces of ash here and there), leaving the Frenchman agitated. Instead, he fumbled with the script on his lap, marked up in barely legible French. As usual, the director was in his RED suit, but this time, he had a beret and sunglasses atop his mask. Engineer did not even bother questioning the man's motives anymore.
The sound of foil drew Engineer's attention to the loveseat on his other side, where Heavy was settled comfortably eating his brunch, a sandwich with just the right amount of everything. The large man had somehow squeezed himself into the small cushioned seat, prim and proper in his loose overcoat, checkered button-up, beige slacks, and uniform boots (other than his aqua flip-flops, they were the only other shoes he owned). Leaning over his shoulder, body against the back of the chair, Pyro peered over at the sandwich in the large Russian's hands, gas mask obscuring any lip licking. Engineer didn't doubt the mercenary in the pink blouse, dark overalls, and red marshmallow jacket was hungry - the Texan hadn't seen him eat at all the entire way over, not even when the group made a diner pit stop.
A hushed chuckle pulled Engineer from his thoughts, and he glanced over his shoulder for the source of the noise. A hat-less Sniper and Demoman were standing near the small fire place, examining the array of frames Scout's mother had set on the mantle. Although chairs had been brought out for the two, they chose to explore, hoping to catch embarrassing photos of Scout they could later use to tease him with. Like Soldier, Demo didn't really need to wear anything in particular since Scout had his costume prepared. Instead, the one-eyed Scotsman wore a dark windbreaker over a red t-shirt, matched with his uniform trousers and heavy boots. Surprisingly, there was no alcohol in sight, but Engineer was sure Demo had a couple of bottles stashed in Sniper's van. The Australian of the pair, and the star of the show, stunned Engineer the most when he met the group in the morning to head out. Under Spy's supervision, Sniper had dressed for his role, that is, wearing the preliminary outfit of a one Mr. Scrooge. And since the bushman did not own anything business or professional, Spy had dressed him in his own clothing. That led to an Australian with a navy blazer, white button-up, beige vest, and dark slacks. Engineer didn't even know Spy owned anything other than his RED uniform suits, but apparently he did, as Sniper's outfit hugged close, obviously due to the fact that Spy was shorter and a bit more thin.
"Ma'am!" Engineer's attention once again shifted as Soldier bounced in the seat next to him. The patriot was holding the flowers straight forward, shoulders back, and looking like he was about to fart. Scout's mother had loosened her hold on her son, now looking over to Soldier with a questioning smile.
"These are for you."
"Aw, how sweet!" Scout gasped for air as his mother finally released him to receive Soldier's flowers. The mercenary scrambled to the edge of the couch, rumpling his makeshift newspaper boy-esque outfit.
"Thank you, Mr. Soldier," accepted Scout's mother, smelling the badly picked flowers.
"See, boy?" She turned to send her son a raised eyebrow. "Why didn't you get your ma' a present?"
Scout held his palms out. "I am the present, Ma'! We drove all the way up here to do this. Can we please see the set and props now?"
Scout's mother huffed, raising from her seat and sashaying out of the room with the flowers.
"They ain't here. My guy and some of the other husbands took everything down to the elementary school. That's where everything's set up," called the matriarch from the kitchen. Spy immediately shot up, script under his arm, and free hand searching for his lighter.
"Right. We must move!" the Frenchman ordered, hurrying to the door with a haste only seen on the battlefield. The rest of the mercenaries begrudgingly followed, knowing that it was only a matter of time before they would perform in a short-noticed, ridiculously abridged, and possibly unintelligible play.
"Be good, hun!" Scout's mother called, popping her head out of the kitchen to wave bye.
"I will be!" Soldier returned, with a lopsided grin, only for Scout to grab his ear and forcefully drag the larger man out the door.
:::
"Okay, we have the office backdrop, and desk over here, and-"
"Yo, outta the way!" Spy glared as Scout shoved past him with Pyro in tow, both carrying large boxes.
"These are the costumes," announced the Bostonian, setting the box down backstage where the mercenaries had gathered to examine the props and scenery they would be working with.
"I worked hella hard on these, so you betta respect 'em." Just as Scout and Pyro were about to rip over the boxes and start handing out clothing, a "gentlemen" sounded.
The mercenaries turned from their huddle around the two boxes to see a tall, slender man standing behind them. Holding a lit cigarette between his fingers, the blue-eyed stranger scanned the crowd raising an eyebrow at the nine professional killers. He met Scout's wide-eyes.
"Y-You!" blurted out the youngest of the group, immediately stomping up to the sharply dressed man. "What are you doin' here? My ma' didn't say you'd be here!"
"A pleasure to see you too," stated the man dryly, with an accent the mercenaries couldn't quite place.
"Can I help you?" spoke up Spy, casually gliding over, his own cigarette now between fingers. "Or would you like to explain why you're on my set?"
The Frenchman immediately didn't like this newcomer - something about him was unsettling, from his dark shoes, well-pressed suit, and graying hair. Further, there was his accent, his voice, the glint in his eyes...they all seemed frighteningly familiar to Spy who squinted as he examined the man's oddly tanned face.
The stranger held out his hand, meeting Spy's sunglasses with a neutral expression. The mercenary hesitated for a moment, before reaching out to shake it with him own gloved hand.
"I am here at the behest of Scout's mother to simply make sure everything is going smoothly."
"Yer Scout's dad?" It was Demo who asked such a blunt question, one eye squinting at the strange man, too drunk to realize how inappropriate he was being. Scout snarled, turning to his teammates.
"Hell no! Don't you guys recognize him, it's-" The man reached over and slapped a hand over Scout's mouth, pulling the younger man closer. With an affectionate noogie to a struggling Scout, the man gave a small smile:
"Like I said, just here to check up. Let's not cause a ruckus, Thomas? Your mother wouldn't be happy..."
"What do you have to do with Scout's mother?" In a sudden leap, Soldier was upon the foreigner, shovel raised, blade near touching the other man's throat. Looking neither surprised nor bothered, the stranger slowly let go of Scout and took a step back.
"You have four hours until the play. I would use that time wisely to practice," the man stated, slowly pushing the shovel's blade to the side and pointedly ignoring Soldier's question. "I trust you will not need any help?"
"None," managed Spy. "We are fine. Now I'd ask you leave my actors and I to our work."
The other man raised one eyebrow and shrugged, before turning to leave.
Soldier snarled, raising his shovel again, and ready to smack the retreating man over the back of his head. Scout stepped between the two, shaking his fist at the stranger who he only seemed to recognize.
"Wait 'till tomorrow, pal! I'm gonna be on ya like-like...like Demo on a crate of liquor!" the young man blurted out as the man disappeared through the back door.
"Mmprow?" Pyro questioned, glancing at Scout's heated expression.
"That communist didn't smell American if you ask me," Soldier grumbled under his breath, finally lowering his shovel to a less threatening position.
"Enough!" scolded Spy, smacking both Scout and Soldier over the head with his rolled up script. "We have a show to put on. Get dressed for your first scene. Let's do one more practice before the real thing!"
:::
Spy fumbled with the lit cigarette in his hand, peeking between the stage curtains at the growing crowd. Children flocked to the front seats, often accompanied by parents, and the doors were held open by a growing influx of guests. Although the auditorium wasn't too large, for an elementary school catering to short attention spans, there seemed to be seats squashed so close to increase the room capacity. Not that Spy minded - that just meant more people would be exposed to his directorial brilliance. He just hoped none of his impromptu actors had a melt-down at the sight of a full theater.
The Frenchman shoved a cigarette between his lips, trying to regain some confidence lost from the practice just an hour ago. The team managed to all do their lines mostly correct, except the introduction of props and background was a bit jarring, and required that all hands not involved in the scene get to moving the stage around between scenes. Pyro was in charge of lights until his scene, thankfully a simple switch that could be dragged in two directions to brighten or dim the stage.
"Mr. Spy?" Spy turned abruptly to see Scout's mother in her usual blue dress, a white faux fur coat over her shoulders, and the strange man from before looping arms with her.
"Didn't mean to sneak up on ya," apologized the aged, yet beautiful woman. "I'm just here to wish ya all luck. I'll be cheering the entire time!"
Spy managed a nod and small smile, taking the cigarette from his mouth. He glance at the gentleman at her side, wearing his same dark suit, and giving him a slight smirk.
"Not that you'll need it, I'm sure. You look like a capable man," the other man said casually.
"Thank you. I'm sure Scout would appreciate a last minute motivator," Spy let out, dragging his attention to the short woman. Scout's mother smiled wider, returning his nod.
:::
Sniper grumbled in the suit and coat Spy had provided for him. He felt like a damn fool, not to mention there was an entire theater waiting for him. Without his aviators and hat, the Australian felt exposed, nothing to cover any instance of mistake or embarrassment.
Around him, the rest of the team had gathered to wait for Spy's late words. The Australian glanced over at his fellow actors, searching for some sort of confidence boaster from one of them. His eyes sought out Demoman, usually a source of encouragement in troubling times. The Scotsman, to Sniper's growing dread, was frowning as he stared down at his shoes, one eye narrowed and more quiet than ever. Next to him, Soldier was reading out his lines, the script held up to his face as he concentrated on impressing Scout's mother.
Sniper felt a nudge at his side, and turned to see Engineer giving him a near pitying smile.
"You nervous, pardner?" asked the Texan. The sharpshooter glanced away, still not use to seeing Engineer without his signature hardhat, let alone goggles.
"No way," he mumbled, crossing his arms and cursing as the fabric resisted such movement. "Wot? Are you?"
Engineer chuckled lightly, fumbling with the glove on his right hand.
"To be right honest, just a bit. But I got it much easier than you."
"Yeah, but," Sniper shot Engineer a smirk, "You'll be on stage with Scout."
"He wouldn't do anything to mess this up," defended Engineer, looking over at his co-star who was speaking rapidly to a listening Pyro and seemingly uninterested Medic and Heavy. "Not when his ma' is watching..."
"Gentlemen," Spy finally arrived, ushering his cast closer and pocketing his sunglasses to give them all a very serious look. "This is the moment of truth. You may be performing for children who know nothing about culture or art...but I expect nothing but the best from you all. In less than 10 minutes the play will begin...do not fail me."
:::
On the dark stage behind curtains, Sniper sat rigid in a chair at a desk, trying not to notice the entire audience watching in silence as Scout's mother had shushed the crowd and gave a brief introduction. Even with the entire team standing just offstage, Spy with a microphone, Heavy at the curtains, and Pyro at the lights, he felt truly alone. Across from his seat, he saw Soldier shoot him a thumbs up with a pump of his shovel, nearly hitting the painted office background.
"And I hope ya all enjoy!" finished the housewife, earning an applause. At this, Sniper grasped the pen set on the desk, hunching over and pretending to be writing in a prop book.
He heard Heavy let out a small grunt, pulling back the curtains, followed by the lights slowly being brightened.
"Once upon a time," narrated Spy, subduing his French accent, "on Christmas Eve, the aging Ebenezer Scrooge sat busy in his office."
Sniper would never admit it, but Spy's voice actually felt comforting in this stressed situation. Hearing Heavy making his way across the stage now, the sharpshooter hesitantly looked up from his prop book, catching a glance at the eyes of elementary school students and their parents. Sniper quickly averted his gaze to his Russian teammate who was slowly nearing, blue eyes wandering across the audience.
:::
"Merde," cursed Spy under his breath as he watched Heavy lock eyes with all those watching the performance. "Stop looking at the audience!"
:::
Sniper watched nervously as Heavy stopped short of the desk, but still looked out on the crowd. He coughed, setting his book down slowly.
"Er, nephew?" the Australian got out, already feeling like the world was going to end. This seemed to break whatever trance Heavy was in.
"Merry Christmas, Uncle!" Heavy finally boasted, a grin upon his face now as he reached out for Sniper's hand. The Australian took it, withholding a yelp as Heavy pulled him out of his seat and nearly onto the desk.
"Bah, humbug!" snapped Sniper, yanking his hand back and shooting Heavy a glare at the forceful handshake. The Russian continued smiling.
"Christmas, humbug?" Heavy let out a boisterous laugh, angling his body toward the audience and shaking his head in mirth. "Surely that is not what Uncle thinks, da?"
"I do!" returned Sniper,pushing his chair back, gaining confidence from Heavy as they continued their scripted lines.
The scene soon ended as Scrooge sent his nephew on the way, followed by a solicitor entering. Played by Spy, the suited man briefly discussed charity during the Christmas season, only for Scrooge to quickly dismiss such nonsense. Sniper concentrated on his mock writing as Spy somehow managed to return immediately back to narrating after his exit.
"Old Scrooge spent the rest of the evening working, ignoring the joy and merriment just outside his window. Not even Bob Cratchit, Scrooge's faithful clerk, was spared from spending Christmas Eve working. By closing time, he approached his gloomy boss' office."
Engineer made his way onto stage, shoulders slumped in an attempt to present himself as Scrooge's meek clerk.
"Sir, tomorrow is Christmas..." started Engineer upon reaching the desk Sniper sat stiffly behind. The Australian nodded, slamming his book close and pushing his chair out harshly. It screeched against the stage paneling floor. Reaching for the heavy blazer on the back of his chair, Sniper let out a "hmph", holding a frown the entire time.
"And I suppose you want the day off?"
:::
Spy couldn't help but smile a bit as Sniper and Engineer finished their conversation, leading to the two heading off stage as the lights dimmed. Other than Heavy's issue at the beginning, everything seemed to be going well. As long as the other followed his and Engineer's lead, the play should end with a standing ovation, or maybe flowers thrown on stage.
As Spy dramatically narrated Scrooge's grumpy arrival home and preparation for bed, Medic and Heavy set the second stage scene in the darkness. Meanwhile, Sniper rushed to get out of the tight-fitting suit and throw on his pajamas. He quickly returned to see his bed had been rolled out on to the dark stage, and the office back drop covered with one of the inside of a bedroom.
Now in comfortable fitting, kangaroo-printed pajamas, Sniper jumped into bed, holding his prop book and pretending to read as the lights returned. So far, no one had laughed in the audience, nor have any of the children started to throw things - the Australian was starting to feel a bit less apprehensive. Perhaps things would go smoothly after all?
Suddenly, as planned, Heavy made a few stomping noises off stage, followed by Medic wailing. Sniper resisted the urge to laugh and the oddly high-pitched noise made by the doctor.
"Wot was that?" he stated instead, forcing himself to appear frightened.
With another wail, Medic glided onto stage, and Sniper mocked pulling his blanket closer. Dressed in his outfit he arrived in, Medic also had a long, dark muffler over his shoulders, a costume choice by Scout, and was seemingly covered in a light layer of flour.
"Do you not remember me?" bellowed Medic in his heavy accent, raising his hands and wiggling his fingers a bit. He looked ready to let out another ghoulish wail as some kids in the audience giggled, only to sneeze. Some of the flour blew off, filling the air around him.
"Is that, is that my old partner, Jacob Marley?" continued Sniper, as if Medic never sneezed.
"Yes, it is I," Medic exclaimed, stalking over to the end of Sniper's bed with a few sniffles. He readied for his next line, only to sneeze twice more.
"Ach, vat a mess," grumbled the physician under his breath, earning a pointed look from Sniper.
"Bless you!" called out one of the younger girls from the audience, followed by a couple more from other kids not willing to be left out.
"Danke," Medic broke character, then jumped, and to Sniper's surprise, landed on the edge of his bed with one leap. The Australian was quite taken aback, given Medic's age, and hugged his book close as the German leaned over to glare at him from behind his glasses.
"My partner, Scrooge! In my life I disdained Christmas, as have you."
:::
"Ready for duty, crouton!" Soldier halted at attention at Spy's side as the director watched the scene between Medic and Sniper play out. He was on his sixth cigarette since the play started, and was cursing Pyro and Scout's clever idea to use flour to make Medic look more like a ghost.
"Maggot!" snapped Soldier, reaching out to shake Spy's shoulder. "Am I on?"
Spy swatted Soldier's hand away and gave the man a glare. "In a second, you imbecile."
The American grinned, mockingly dusting off his fist on the front of his costume.
"I look real amazing, huh? Scout's mother is sure to want to date me after this," Soldier concluded, in his dark red top with black trimming. It looked a lot like his usual uniform top, but dyed darker, and trimming on all the edges. The costume was actually quite stunning, with a glittery sash, and bells tied to Soldier's glittery faux fur boots to give his character a pop.
"Mmpu mmpft mhis!" Pyro joined the two, holding out Soldier's helmet, wrapped in a green leafy wreath with red bow. Soldier looked astonished, before a grin started to form on his face and he reached for his precious hat, only for Spy to snatch it away, sending Pyro a strict look.
"What is this? He is the Ghost of Christmas Past, not a soldier. This does not fit the character theme!" the director hissed, glancing over to the stage, where Medic was finishing up his lines.
"Mmpht mmit mploks mmut..." Pyro looked down at his shoes, seemingly dejected. If Spy had been anything but the director, he might have let it slide.
"I don't care how cute it looks. No hat. Now get back to the lights!" ordered the Frenchman. He heard footsteps as Medic returned behind the curtain, shaking his head to get the flour out of his hair.
"Zat vas actually fun! I should be an actor," mused Medic, smiling as he reached to run his hands through his white peppered hair. Spy rolled his eyes.
"I think not. Go help Pyro with lights, I think he-" Spy felt the helmet be wretched out of his hand, and turned to see Soldier run on stage with it.
"It is I!" roared Soldier, shoving his helmet on his head, and waving at the audience. "The Ghost of Christmas Past!"
From the bed, Sniper stared wide-eyed, mouth open, and clutching the blankets close in real fear.
"What in the actual hell," mumbled Sniper, noting Soldier's too early and way too startling appearance.
"Yes, me, the handsome, all American Christmas ghost of past shenanigans, here to share with you my greatness."
"Oh my God," breathed Spy, watching as horror as Soldier started to go on a tangent. "No...no...no-!"
Medic latched onto Spy, holding tight so the director wouldn't run on stage and murder his actor.
"Relax, dummkopf! Sniper vill handle it," soothed the Medic as Spy struggled against his hold, upsetting the flour that sprinkled into the air.
On stage, the Australian continued to stare as Soldier discussed his past. That is, the past of him on a killing spree across Europe during World War II.
"...and, let me tell you, Fritz thought he could take me on, but ohohoho, boy was he wrong!" continued Soldier, pacing up and down the stage, speaking directly to the audience. Sniper watched in terror as some kids started talking among themselves, a few grimacing, looking ready to fling things on to the stage.
"No..." mumbled Sniper, feeling like he was having flashbacks. "Not again."
"And then, I said-"
"Aghhh!" Sniper let out a dramatic cry, jumping out the bed, revealing the ridiculous that was his kangaroo pajamas. "Wot are you!"
With that, he pointed at Soldier, who stared blankly from behind his helmet.
"Are you one of those ghosts that Marley spoke of!" continued the Australian, hoping to everything that Soldier was not having an episode.
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past!" the American announced, breaking into a grin and reaching over to grab Sniper's wrist.
"Come with me for an exciting and character changing adventure!" With that, Soldier pulled Sniper with him off stage, a bounce in his step as the lights dimmed to darkness and curtains started to fall over the stage to signal the end of the first act.
:::
"I could kill you," hissed out Spy, free from Medic's hold and hands clenching and unclenching at the sight of Soldier's dumb smile. The patriot reached out to pat the director on the back, smile never leaving his face.
"Ah, don't worry about it, maggot. The audience loved my monologue! It gave me character."
"Loved it?" Sniper blurted out, arms tightly crossed and shoulders hunched. "They were about to flog you! Or throw things. I couldn't go through that again."
"If you pull that again," threatened Spy, pointing a finger in Soldier's face. "I will murder you. Painfully."
"Uh," started Medic, popping up over Spy's shoulder. "Zat was his only sce-"
"Painfully."
:::
Demoman sat in full costume on a chair backstage, hearing his teammates chatter quietly as they readied for the second and Pyro had fitted him with the embroidered crimson cape, as well as a red coat similar to Soldier's but with green trimming. Tightly wrapped around his waist was a forest green sash, plastic leaves sewn into the edges. Similarly, his both his boots had a string of leaves and vines tied around the ankles, dotted with glitter courtesy of Pyro. Instead of a helmet, the mumbling mercenary had created a crown from a wreath for Demo, peppered with plastic berries that sat comfortably in his growing curls. Despite the merriment promised by his outfit, he Scotsman stared forlornly down at his lap, one finger tapping rapidly against his right knee.
He couldn't do it.
At base, or on an empty stage, it all seemed so easy. But now, with a crowd of people watching? When he first peeked from behind the curtains, Demo near had a heart attack. Never had he felt so anxious, even with all the alcohol in his system.
He couldn't do it, Spy would just have to play the part of the second ghost. Assured at this sole solution, Demo looked up to search for the Frenchman. His swiftly beating heart began to sink as he realized Spy had already head to the stage to play the extra role of young Scrooge's boss for the first scene of Act II.
"Yo, you're on in a couple of minutes."
Demo looked up to see Scout walk by, holding his own script.
"Lad!" the Scotsman jumped from his seat and desperately grabbed hold of Scout's shoulder.
"Do me a favor, act my part?" breathed out Demo with a pleading eye. Scout just raised an eyebrow, looking from the hand on his shoulder to the alarmed Scotsman.
"Are you crazy? Or sober?" Suddenly Demo grabbed the collar of the American's shirt and shook.
"Ye don't understand, I can't do this!"
"Hey, let go, ya bastard!"
"I'm gon ta' puke I tell ye, puke! Yer gon ta' need to do it, lad!"
"You're ruining the outfit, cyclops. Let go!"
"Everything okay?" Heavy stared at his two teammates in confusion.
"Thank God! Demo's freaking out, and he's on in like a minute," Scout explained, finally managing to get free of the alcoholic's hold. Heavy raised an eyebrow at Demo's wide eye.
"Freaking out? Demoman is scared?"
"Petrified, lad! I can't act with all those people watching me."
Heavy settled a large hand over Demo's shoulder. "It is easy. Pretend you are really a ghost and Sniper is old man."
"I can't pretend to be a ghost! Those eyes, lad, all those eyes on me..."
"But you can pretend Sniper is old man, da?"
Demo blinked. The pair didn't notice Scout hurry away, most likely to aid Medic in changing the stage for the next scene as Pyro dimmed the lights.
"Well, I don't have to pretend for that..."
Heavy nodded with a smile. "Then walk on stage, and act as Sniper is old man. It is like being in battle. We must all play our parts, but can only play if we have one another." Tears were starting to form in Demo's one eye.
"I-I don't think I can," the Scotsman let out. Heavy patted his shoulder.
"You must."
"Did you see how great I was!" Soldier popped up between the two, ruining the sentimental moment. "It's gonna be a hard act to follow."
Soldier chuckled, slapping Demo on the back, completely unaware, or simply uncaring, of the emotional turmoil his friend was going through. "Also, the crouton says you better be on stage in a few seconds or he'll put his custom leather shoes up your ass."
:::
Demoman slowly stepped out on stage, wishing he had drank more. His eye wandered to the crowd, squinting in the bright lights from overhead. Regardless, the drunk felt his legs start to quiver, and he stopped a few feet from Sniper's bed, where the Australian had been snoring obnoxiously for over a minute.
A man in the audience coughed, and Sniper snored louder, attempting to prompt his costar.
"Uh..." Demo couldn't help it, his eye wandered to the audience again, their blank stares reaching into his very being. His heart felt like it would explode, his stomach like it would somehow collapse in on itself. Those eyes continued to ogle Demo's exposed soul, waiting patiently for him to fold under their judgment.
Pretend Sniper is old man.
Demo's one eye snapped over to the snoring Sniper, taking in the appearance of his slightly rumpled hair, and series of wrinkles no man his age should have. A light stubble had built over his face from yesterday, and the dark bags under his eyes seemed worse with the lights shining heavily.
And in his head, as Demo stared in silence at the Australian, he could swear that the wrinkles started to run deeper, and the roots of Sniper's unkempt hair whitened, his stubble-no, beard, following a similar pattern.
Another audience member coughed.
"Wake up, ye old fool!" Demo's outburst caused Sniper's eyes to snap open, just as the Scotsman reached for his pajamas' collar and pulled him up and out of bed. Sniper stumbled to his feet, only for Demo to lift him up and over his shoulder.
"Wot the bloody hell are you doing!" yelled Sniper, not at all recalling any of the following actions in the script.
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present, Scrooge! Here to show ye all that ye have wrought with yer cranky and ill behavior."
"Put me down!"
:::
"Aye, lads, I got it!" Demo stage whispered, returning backstage as Medic and Soldier went to work rearranging the stage under the dimmed lights.
Spy smiled, glazed eyes unblinking.
"I must be in Hell."
"I think you did well, pardner," Engineer praised, ignoring Spy's mental break. "I guess this is my scene now..."
Demo shot him a thumbs up and hurried back out to join Sniper, fully confident now after managing to make it through his first scene. The Texan let out a breath and shook out his arms as if throwing off weight. He glanced over his shoulder as Scout hurried over with his prop cardboard crutch which looked foolishly small next to his height.
"Let's do this," the younger man said with a tight smile, following Engineer onto the dark stage. They passed Demoman and Sniper who stood as observers near the center of stage, and sat at the large table with cutlery and plastic food set out. Scout set his flimsy crutch against the table, and it fell over just as the lights brightened up and the scene officially started. To his horror, he heard clapping, and saw his mother in the front row, smiling up earnestly.
"That's my boy!" she called.
Scout tried not to blush, pretending to poke at the fake mashed potatoes on his plate. Spy began to narrate Sniper and Demo's arrival as voyeurs, as well as the background of a content and happy family at the home of Bob Cratchit, where a father sat with his son, Tiny Tim, after sharing a family meal. Engineer heaved a great sigh, patting his stomach.
"That sure was an amazing meal, especially that pudding!" the Texan exclaimed, gesturing at the set table of plastic food that he and his family supposedly finished. He picked up his empty wine glass and held it in the air, Scout following on cue with a small plastic cup that had "Tiny Tim" scrawled on it in black marker.
"Merry Christmas to us all. God bless us!" Engineer stated, toasting the air and smiling over at Scout.
"God bless us, every one!" To that iconic line, Scout's mother began clapping again. Scout reddened, bringing the cup closer to partially obscure his face.
"Aw, c'mon Ma'. Really?" he asked sheepishly, breaking character.
"Shhh!" his mother shushed him from her seat in the audience, then glanced over her shoulder at parents and children behind her. With a grin, she mouthed "that's my son", gesturing at Scout with her thumb (as if everyone hadn't already figured that out).
:::
As Demoman made his leave, after Heavy appeared briefly as a nephew enjoying his Christmas party, Sniper sunk to the floor, and the lights dimmed just a bit. Instead of a scene change, there was silence in the shadows, and Pyro finally stepped out onto stage.
Sniper brought his gaze up upon hearing his teammate's footsteps, and jumped back in fright. That didn't necessitate much acting since Pyro actually looked near terrifying in his heavy, black robe. A hood hung over his face, shadows obscuring his gas mask, and the robe hung loose, trailing along the floor behind the mercenary.
"Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come!" Sniper exclaimed, slowly standing up, but crouching slightly so not to totally appear taller than Pyro and diminish the power difference. Behind Pyro, at the edge of the stage just behind the curtain, the Australian could see his French teammate watching with bated breath. The play was nearing its end, and if Sniper ruined it, Spy might literally go on a backstabbing spree.
Pyro, true to his role, said nothing as Sniper recited his lines. He finally straightened up and somberly moved toward Pyro as the lights began to brighten, but only slightly. From the other side of the stage, Engineer returned to the dining table, holding Tiny Tim's crutch with a saddened face. Being made out of cardboard, the crutch looked downright silly in the southerner's hands, but Engineer tried his best to pretend that it was real as he presumably mourned for his son's death.
:::
"Wow," hummed Medic, as Sniper collapsed next to Scrooge's gravestone with a disgruntled cry. "Zat's actually pretty believable."
The Australian sat crumbled in his pajamas on the dark stage with lights from above focused on him and a plastic gravestone. Pyro stood just outside the light, watching Sniper throw his arms around the prop, only for it to fall over into him due to its light material. Fumbling, yet still pretending to cry with his head down, Sniper set the gravestone up straight.
"It's 'cuz he's thinking about how old he is and how he probably ain't gonna be able to pick up any chicks anymore," commented Scout, coming up next to Medic who shot him a confused look. The doctor glanced at the stage, then at Scout again.
"Aren't you supposed to be above the stage with the flashlights?" he asked, a feeling of dread building up at Scout's dismissive expression.
"Eh, I didn't really feel like holdin' 'em for so long so I told Soldier he could do it."
Spy, who was concentrating on the ending of the second act, snapped around upon hearing Soldier's name.
"What?" he breathed out, wide-eyed and quiet for a moment. "No..."
The Frenchman abandoned his post and headed for the ladder to the balcony above the stage. Swiftly he climbed to the top, and caught sight of Soldier holding two flashlights, pointed inward and down onto Sniper below.
"Soldier," said Spy, cautiously walking over to the American who was grinning down as he watched the play. "Hand me the flashlights."
The patriot glanced over, his smile growing when he saw Spy edging toward him, hands raised a bit.
"Hey, maggot! I'm a human light post." Soldier started snickering to himself, once again glancing down as Sniper was starting his monologue. Spy nodded, continuing to move closer to his teammate.
"Right. A very still and quiet post. But an American such as you surely has much better things to do. Just let me take over and..."
Soldier's head turned so fast his helmet whipped against his head. He fixed Spy with a challenging glare and snarl.
"What did you say? You don't think Americans can be light posts?"
"Non, that is not what I said," bit out Spy, just three feet away and eyes moving to the flashlights in Soldier's hands. "I just want to make sure this all ends well."
"Well?" questioned Soldier, eyes narrowed. "Or French?"
Spy stilled, squinting in confusion.
"That doesn't make any sen-"
"America!" yelled out Soldier, tilting the flashlights so they shined into the audience. Spy felt the breath in his throat catch, hearing Sniper stop his near finished monologue and the audience begin to talk in confusion.
"Soldier, give me the lights!" he demanded, leaping and reaching for the two plastic devices that Soldier now held above his head. His beret flew off, landing on the edge of the balcony platform.
"Get off me, sister!"
Spy found himself shoving Soldier into the railing, gloved hands making snatches for the flashlight in the larger man's right hand. His fingers brushed against the plastic handle, and he used his other hand to slam into Soldier's elbow. Soldier grunted, and his grip loosened on the flashlight. Spy made to grab it, but only jostled Soldier's hand, and the plastic cylinder with two batteries fell down toward the stage below.
"Non!" Spy cried, leaning over the railing to see the flashlight's beam spiraling downward, landing directly on Sniper's head.
:::
"It wasn't too bad," commented Scout with a half-hearted smile as Medic flashed his pocket pen light into both of Sniper's eyes. The Australian murmured something unintelligible, head resting on Pyro's lap backstage.
"If you ignore the blood," added Demoman as he walked up to the trio from his position at the dimming lights, having seen Pyro drag Sniper backstage when the flashlight clunked him over the head. Heavy, who had been on curtain duty and smartly pulled them closed when the flashlight fell, watched from beside Scout with a worried expression.
"Sniper is okay?"
"Looks like a concussion," diagnosed Medic, clicking off his pen light and pocketing it. "I'll have to treat you vith the medigun ven we get back to base."
"Am I dead?" managed Sniper, eyes closing and opening as blood dripped down the side of his face from the gash the flashlight created.
"Is he dead?" Spy came tumbling down the ladder from the balcony, rushing over to Sniper's side. Medic moved out of the way as the Frenchman reached out to hold onto Sniper's hand.
"He vill be fine."
"But," Spy held tight to Sniper's hand, eyes wide as he looked over at Medic. "Can he perform?"
"Vell, no. I mean, I don't even zink he can stand."
"Merde!" Spy abruptly let go of Sniper's hand and stood up, rubbing his temples. "It's ruined, it's all ruined."
"I found some paper towels in the bathroom," said Engineer as he entered the back, hurrying as fast as his short legs could carry him. "How's he doin'?"
"He vill live. I do need to stitch up that wound zough. Keep pressure on it vile I get my medkit from ze car," Medic explained as he stood and started to make his way to the door. As he was told, Engineer sat next to Pyro and placed the towels onto the bleeding laceration, hands pressed over it. Sniper winced, but otherwise said nothing else.
"Mmpr munna mphee mmpine," Pyro comforted, one hand reaching out to pat the Australian's shoulder.
"Fine? Fine?!" Spy raged, throwing his hands up. "Do you hear that?"
He gestured behind him, towards the stage and auditorium where the audience sat, their voices audible as they talked about the sudden curtain closing.
"Ah, it's not that big a deal," tried Demoman, shooting Spy a sympathetic look. "I mean, at least the lad's alive."
"Is Bilbo Baggins still with us?"
Spy whipped around to see Soldier making his way over with a slight frown. He turned and with a disgruntled cry, lunged, butterfly knife in hand and aimed at the American's throat. Heavy immediately slipped between the two and hefted Spy up by his waist.
"Put me down!" barked Spy, uncharacteristically loud, struggling against Heavy's hold and waving his knife through the air.
"Nyet. Spy needs to calm down," the heavy Russian stated, not allowing Spy to gain any footing on the ground.
"Holy crap, dude. I thought we said no weapons?" Scout said, gesturing at the butterfly knife in Spy's hand.
"Well?" snapped Soldier impatiently, leaning over to look at Engineer and Pyro. "How is the hippie?"
Sniper weakly raised a middle finger to the patriot, and Engineer shot Soldier a disapproving frown.
"Doc says he's gonna be okay. But he could've been really hurt."
"Er," Soldier, to everyone's surprise, actually looked a bit ashamed, one hand moving up to rub the back of his neck. "I'm, uh, sorry. I mean, you may be a dirty, non-American, kangaroo loving bastard, but I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Well," breathed Demoman, reaching for one of the bottles of Scrumpy on a nearby table. "I think I've heard everything. This calls for a celebration, lads!"
"Celebration?" Spy finally managed to get out of Heavy's hold, knife now flipped closed but still out. "In case your lack of depth perception also led to short term memory loss, we are in the middle of a performance!"
"Woah, there," said Scout, sidling up at the fuming Spy's side. "Just narrate the third act and ending. Ain't that big a deal. I mean, sure, Ma's gonna be mad but I think she'll understand."
"Narrate an entire act? What do you think this is?" Spy snapped, shoving the closed knife into Scout's chest. In response, the younger man held up his hands in mock surrender, taking a slight step back.
"Mmf mply mmy mphuunained mmctors," offered up Pyro from his position on the floor. Scout grinned a bit, nervously glancing down at the closed knife pointed at his chest.
"Pretty much. Do you really got any other choice?"
Spy slowly withdrew the knife and stowed it inside his suit pocket. With narrowed eyes, he glanced around at his group of inexperienced actors, stopping to frown at his incapacitated lead bleeding on the floor. He sighed, closing his eyes.
"I have a better idea. Take off his pajamas."
:::
"And for all your assistance...I'm raising your salary, Bob. Merry Christmas!"
Spy smiled through his teeth, watching Engineer's expression morph from shock to happiness as he accepted the check from the Frenchman.
"That enlightening Christmas Eve surely changed old Scrooge for the best," narrated Demoman, speaking to the microphone Spy was previously attending to. As the Scotsman continued the ending narration of the play, Scout limped on stage, his cardboard crutch not even touching the ground.
"He became a good friend, a good boss, and a good man. Truly, Scrooge had a change of heart, a pleasant surprise for those around him."
Engineer threw an arm around Scout, and the two shot Scrooge tight smiles. Scrooge being Spy, wearing Sniper's face thanks to his disguise kit he neglected to inform his teammates he brought along.
"From then on, it was said by all that he knew how to keep Christmas well. And so, as Tiny Tim observed..."
"God bless us, every one!"
For a brief moment, Spy disguised as Sniper, Engineer, and Scout stood completely still, smiling out into the quiet audience. Then, slowly, Scout's mother started to clap, followed by others.
"This is a load of crap," bit out Scout, still smiling as the entire audience hesitantly broke into applause. The other mercenaries, minus the real Sniper, filed onto the stage to take a bow.
Engineer, who had did his best to ignore Scout's statement, glanced over the applauding audience (noting that no one made any effort to stand up, not even the children who halfheartedly slapped their hands together), eyes focusing on Scout's mother and the man sitting next to her. The stranger wore a smirk, politely clapping as he met Engineer's eyes. The Texan furrowed his eyebrows at those blue eyes.
"Say," he whispered, realization hitting him. He tilted his head toward Scout, but still stared at the stranger. "How did that fella' next to your ma' know to call you Scout?"
:::
So who wants to guess who that stranger was?
I'm so glad to be done with this! It was one of the most difficult chapters for me to write, not just due to all the material that had to be covered, but the craziness that is putting on a play. I have not seen one in years, so I am not sure how precise or accurate any of my writing is. I just hope you all didn't find it too confusing and enjoyed reading much more than the audience did!
What was your favorite moment? Did anything make you lol? Please comment and let me know!