spy/scout: the scout has had far too much to drink.

[titusnowl]

Half past four - that unholy time of the morning when no one's still up from last night and no one's yet up for today; the Spy, of course, keeps odd hours, and so he hears noises in the bathroom - which bear investigation.

Beneath the dividers of the farthest stall, a pair of legs in black baseball pants, familiar shoes with two white stripes, one blue-trimmed sock fallen loose from an athletic calf to bag around an ankle. He taps softly on the door. "Scout?"

There is no answer, which is slightly worrying; so he trips the latch and opens the door, repeats himself. "Michael?"

A single hand extends tremulously upward, one finger pointed toward the ceiling. He sighs and half-kneels near the younger man. "Are you sick?"

A voice choked in misery still manages to sound pissed off, echoing slightly in the bowl of the toilet. "Yeah. You fucking knocked me up. I'm pregnant with your ass-babies. What the fuck do you think?"

Marie-René shakes his head and mutters something guttural, French. There's not really any way for the boy to be sick - they're a closed community, after all, where would he catch the flu? "What 'appened?"

"I told you - " the Scout begins; but then he's being sick again, and when he recovers himself he says: "Beer-pong with the Demo. Fucker cheats."

"'Ow can you cheat at beer-pong?"

"Goddamn ass-bastard fills the fucking cups with Scotch. I got motherfucking alcohol poisoning. I'm going to die in a shitter."

Another shake of the head. "Per'aps you should go see ze docteur."

"That fucking sadistic Nazi douche would just start cuttin' pieces off of me - you don't want that, you goddamn cockfag - "

"Tu es con," mutters the Spy. "Pauvre p'tit idiot - " He gets up, returns with a cool, damp washcloth, and settles in on the floor against the door to wait it out together.

Comments

[cupiecake.livejournal.com]

heeee. i did write most of that for you. XD

I *almost* wrote you something last night, but I can't swear like the scout. also I know no french. so it wouldn't have been very good.

this is now the tf2 flashfic archive thread

[chikkiboo.livejournal.com]

When the Scout went back to his room that night, the Spy was already there, lying on his bed, smoking a cigarette and reading a magazine. He looked up at the Scout's entrance, folding the magazine down against his chest, and said without preamble: "Take your clothes off."

"What the fuck are you doing in my room? Why the fuck should I take my clothes off?"

"Take zem off, Michael."

Well, fuck - he'd used his fucking *name* -

He took them off.

"Kneel."

He knelt.

The Spy picked his magazine back up and continued reading.

"What the hell, man? This is bullshit - "

"Shh. I'm not done wi' ze article yet. It's ver' inairesting."

"You're a fucking cockfag, you know that, you son of a - "

"Shh."

[chikkiboo.livejournal.com]

There's a second there where he doesn't quite see through the disguise and thinks "Oh shit," and then there's a second where he recognizes the Spy despite the red Pyro gear, and then there's another second where he thinks he fucked up and he's fucking screwed forever, because whoever the shit it is, anyway, just fucking jumped him, right when he hit the landing and before he had a chance to do shit-all.

Then there's another second where he realizes that it is, in fact, Marie-René, and he realizes this because the cocksucking bastard gets him slammed face against the wall - it actually fucking hurts - and whispers something gay as shit in French in his ear, all he catches is "c'est vrai," and he's surprised he even catches that much because if you asked him he'd say he didn't know any of that shitfucking Frog bullshit anyway - then fucking grinds against him. He fucking knows what that does to him -

"What fucking side are you, cockfag?" the Scout hisses. Then the Soldier finally blasts through the door, checks his weapon at the last second before he blows a hole right through the Spy - but he's an old veteran, he makes a show of fumbling the bolt to make the miss plausible, keep up the Spy's charade for a couple more minutes, and the Scout's left with the Spy's mocking eyes and the Soldier's confusion to deal with.

[chikkiboo.livejournal.com]

"What were you before?"

Why the hell he always feels like asking stupid girl-ass questions like that after a good fuck he doesn't fucking know. Anyway, the Spy just looks at him, doing that thing where one eyebrow goes up and drags that side of the mask with it - you know, it ought to look retarded but it actually gets his point across - and makes the act of tapping ash off his cigarette speak volumes. Volumes with titles like "Jesus Christ, You're An Idiot, Aren't You?" and "How To Be Stupid For Dummies." Only maybe in French.

"I'm a spy, cheri. What, do you think zey go out to ze Burgair Keeng wi' ze recruiting papers and say 'Oh hello M'sieu ze Fry Cook, would you like to be a Spy?' You can come straight from ze - how is it in America? High school, ze baseball team, but I need to have useful skills."

"I have useful skills, fuckface - "

"Einh, I suppose - " and he's smirking and looking down.

"Fuck you!"

"Ozzer way around."