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the writing prompt was "I used to think..."
"I used to think the upper limit of range on a potato cannon sort of contraption was about 1,000 feet," said ratbarf, with his arm shoulder-deep in a large piece of pipe, "but that was before I learned about the wonders of high explosives and spark strips."
"What the hell, fag, I thought we were gonna play drinkin' foosball tonight, not do fucking boring science." Scout hopped impatiently from one foot to the other behind the busy Pyro, constantly scanning the field and the roofs of both bases and the door to theirs and the guard towers and the sky.
"There is no such thing as boring science," ratbarf replied calmly, "when I am doing it. We have the Engineer for that. ...I think my arm is stuck."
"Good job, ass-for-brains."
"Don't be a dumbass, Speedy. I'm sure you know where there's some Vaseline, so go find me some."
"Fuck you and whatever you're fucking implying, douchebag." Scout flipped him off but ran inside obediently anyway.
Meanwhile, Zed had realized that it'd been at least half an hour since he'd seen ratbarf, which probably meant something bad was going to happen. He finished the chapter in his book, set it aside, and took his cigar out to the yard.
"What the hell're you doin'."
ratbarf craned his head, looking over his shoulder at the Engineer. "Science!"
"That ain't how you do that." Zed walked in a slow circle around ratbarf and his haphazardly-assembled spud gun. "That really ain't how you do that. There's no need for you ever to be stickin' your hand down the barrel that way. What the hell are you doin'?"
"I forgot to make the barrel removable, and didn't realize I'd forgotten to hook the little black wire up to the thing with the stuff attached to it until it was too late. I didn't want to start over or it would be a waste of effort. Don't worry, Senor Canbread will be returning shortly to free my appendages and then things will continue as planned."
"I think things continuin' as you planned 'em is a perfectly legitimate reason for sane people to worry."
"And as no one within several miles of here counts as 'sane,' I think things work out quite well, actually. Vaseline is a petroleum product, right? Do you think it'll catch on fire when I set the gun off and accompany the projectile with gouts of flame out the muzzle? Because that would be righteous and awesome."
Zed rolled his eyes toward the brim of his hard hat. "Maybe, maybe not."
ratbarf looked thoughtful for a moment. "Would it help if we splashed some gasoline down in there?"
"Define 'help.'" Zed put his cigar between his teeth and crossed his arms, emanating the Air of Disapproving Authority.
"I just said, accompanying the projectile with gouts of flame would be righteous and awesome. If we can really get it going, we might even be able to set the bridge on fire!"
"You're not setting the bridge on fire."
"Oi! What're we settin' on fire? No 'avin fun wivvout me, yeah?" The blue team's other Pyro bounded outside, followed by a very sheepish-looking Scout. "Scout didn't say nothin' about no fires when 'e grabbed that arse-lube - "
"It's not fuckin' 'ass-lube,' bitchtits! I fucking told you he got his arm stuck in his fucking cannon thing - "
ratbarf shuffled on his knees, trying to see everyone who was joining the party. "You did bring the ass-lube, though? I'm starting to get a little uncomfortable, honestly."
"It's not fucking ass-lube!"
"Scout, it's a bottle of Astro-Glide."
"I hate you all."
"What the hell, fag, I thought we were gonna play drinkin' foosball tonight, not do fucking boring science." Scout hopped impatiently from one foot to the other behind the busy Pyro, constantly scanning the field and the roofs of both bases and the door to theirs and the guard towers and the sky.
"There is no such thing as boring science," ratbarf replied calmly, "when I am doing it. We have the Engineer for that. ...I think my arm is stuck."
"Good job, ass-for-brains."
"Don't be a dumbass, Speedy. I'm sure you know where there's some Vaseline, so go find me some."
"Fuck you and whatever you're fucking implying, douchebag." Scout flipped him off but ran inside obediently anyway.
Meanwhile, Zed had realized that it'd been at least half an hour since he'd seen ratbarf, which probably meant something bad was going to happen. He finished the chapter in his book, set it aside, and took his cigar out to the yard.
"What the hell're you doin'."
ratbarf craned his head, looking over his shoulder at the Engineer. "Science!"
"That ain't how you do that." Zed walked in a slow circle around ratbarf and his haphazardly-assembled spud gun. "That really ain't how you do that. There's no need for you ever to be stickin' your hand down the barrel that way. What the hell are you doin'?"
"I forgot to make the barrel removable, and didn't realize I'd forgotten to hook the little black wire up to the thing with the stuff attached to it until it was too late. I didn't want to start over or it would be a waste of effort. Don't worry, Senor Canbread will be returning shortly to free my appendages and then things will continue as planned."
"I think things continuin' as you planned 'em is a perfectly legitimate reason for sane people to worry."
"And as no one within several miles of here counts as 'sane,' I think things work out quite well, actually. Vaseline is a petroleum product, right? Do you think it'll catch on fire when I set the gun off and accompany the projectile with gouts of flame out the muzzle? Because that would be righteous and awesome."
Zed rolled his eyes toward the brim of his hard hat. "Maybe, maybe not."
ratbarf looked thoughtful for a moment. "Would it help if we splashed some gasoline down in there?"
"Define 'help.'" Zed put his cigar between his teeth and crossed his arms, emanating the Air of Disapproving Authority.
"I just said, accompanying the projectile with gouts of flame would be righteous and awesome. If we can really get it going, we might even be able to set the bridge on fire!"
"You're not setting the bridge on fire."
"Oi! What're we settin' on fire? No 'avin fun wivvout me, yeah?" The blue team's other Pyro bounded outside, followed by a very sheepish-looking Scout. "Scout didn't say nothin' about no fires when 'e grabbed that arse-lube - "
"It's not fuckin' 'ass-lube,' bitchtits! I fucking told you he got his arm stuck in his fucking cannon thing - "
ratbarf shuffled on his knees, trying to see everyone who was joining the party. "You did bring the ass-lube, though? I'm starting to get a little uncomfortable, honestly."
"It's not fucking ass-lube!"
"Scout, it's a bottle of Astro-Glide."
"I hate you all."