BLU Headquarters. Map: 2fort, CTF.

[hands_of_blu]

It seems like a perfectly sensible sort of place: pale blue walls, tile flooring, fluorescent lighting high overhead, lockers. There's even a pinup calendar.

But a close look shows the equipment locker to contain more ammunition than some Third World countries use in a month, and the same personal locker that has the small flowered purse in it has a note about asbestos stuck to the door, and the air has that faint tang of antiseptic scrub that only really happens when vast quantities of the stuff are used to wipe out every other smell possible. And a peek out the big, garage-like door reveals what looks not unlike the inside of a barn, save for the weathered Builders League United logo on the wall...


[OOC: This is the BLU side's initial post for the Team Fortress 2 plot. If you want to play on RED, stop by battin1000. Orientation takes place here and when people get in on both sides we'll have the actual war post. Consult the 2fort Team Fortress 2 wiki page to get an idea of the grounds we'll be playing on!]

Comments

[licensed-pro.livejournal.com]

"Did you not understand the bit about the door put me here?" Charlie really, really needs to not leave his wallet in his room when he goes to the bar. Because this is starting to get more than old. "I didn't ask to come here. And I really don't care about a war. I'd really like to get back to the bar from whence I came."

Honestly, you assume someone can point you to a way out, but no. It figures.

[hands-of-blu.livejournal.com]

"Son, the only place that door goes is to the rest of the base. There ain't another door out of here. I should know." He puts his hands on his hips. "And I don't care whether you wanted to come here or not. You're here now, and we don't let uninvited folks just wander back on out."

[licensed-pro.livejournal.com]

Charlie raises an eyebrow at that, blinking slowly. Very slowly. "I am not your Son and I will go where I damn well please."

[hands-of-blu.livejournal.com]

"Fine. Then you'll die," says the man. "Now git out of my way. I've got a turret defense to set up."

[licensed-pro.livejournal.com]

"I beg your pardon? I die for walking out of somewhere I don't want to be int he first place?"

[hands-of-blu.livejournal.com]

"I told you, boy, you. are. in. a. war. zone." The man snorts. "Walk out that door all by your lonesome and every gosh-darn sniper on both sides is gonna carve his name on the inside of your skull from the front. That's assuming you don't walk in front of a turret or piss off a Pyro. I don't care how you got here, frankly."

[licensed-pro.livejournal.com]

"Educate me then, since you're obviously learned on this. How do I get out of said war zone?" Charlie's getting more than a little pissed at this. Just what the hell was the Bar trying to play with him for?

[hands-of-blu.livejournal.com]

"If you want a crack at getting out of this alive, then you put on a BLU uniform, you get a BLU-issued weapon, and you get in the fight with the rest of us," the helmeted man says. "I don't care which job you do, frankly, long as you don't get in my way when I'm wrenching something. But if you do that and you're alive at the end of the day, we'll get you back to the civvies, 'n you can do the rest from there."

[licensed-pro.livejournal.com]

"Mm. Fabulous. And which undoubtedly wonderful one of you people do I go to for that?" Uniforms, weapons, fighting--this was all so very much not his style. But if this was some hoop he had to jump through to get back to where he was supposed to be then fine.

Whatever.

[hands-of-blu.livejournal.com]

"Me, for the moment," says the man. "The other fellas're out sweeping the perimeter. RED don't usually try anything before the sun comes up, but it sure doesn't hurt to be sure."

He slides the helmet back a touch and scratches his scalp with the business end of a formidable wrench that he'd been carrying in his belt.

"We got spares of pretty much all the uniforms right now, tell you the truth. You ever handled a gun before, boy?"

[licensed-pro.livejournal.com]

"No, but I've heard the general directions." He raises an eyebrow with a rather flat expression, sliding one hand out of his pocket to put it to his forehead and press at the corners of his eyes.

"Will you kindly stop calling me boy, and son, and everything else if I give you my name?"

[hands-of-blu.livejournal.com]

"We don't use names around outsiders," says the man. "And nobody's gonna call you by yours, so you might as well keep it to yourself. Me, I'm an Engineer. You-" He looks the younger man up and down. "Well, you're no Heavy, that's for sure. And you're not gonna go Soldier, I can tell you that right now."

[licensed-pro.livejournal.com]

Charlie rolls his eyes. "Whatever you say, fine." He'll definitely resist flirting with this guy, because while he is looking him up and down Charlie has the distinct feeling he'd probably start swinging with that wrench.

"So sign me up for something else for the day. Your pick, it's not like I'm going to care."

[hands-of-blu.livejournal.com]

It's hard to tell exactly what the Engineer's looking at, given the goggles, but eventually he steps back a pace. "How fast can you run?"

[licensed-pro.livejournal.com]

"Depends on what I'm running from." Charlie sighs and tolerates the million questions. Barely. "Why?"

[hands-of-blu.livejournal.com]

"I was gonna set you up as a Scout," returns the Engineer. "You looked fast. Don't look like you're fast enough, though, so-"

He opens one of the lockers and shoves a blue pinstriped suit and balaclava at Charlie.

"Congratulations, you're our new Spy. Put this on and I'll show you how the disguise kit and the cloak work."

[licensed-pro.livejournal.com]

"Fabulous." Charlie mutters, less than ecstatic about the designation. The fact that he's now stuck in yet another completely strange place is not improving his mood.

He rolls his eyes at the suit, but puts it on, showing almost no care for the fact that he's standing in front of someone he doesn't know. "Show away. the sooner I get out of here the better."

[hands-of-blu.livejournal.com]

The Engineer couldn't care less, really. He just waits for Charlie to finish up, then holds up a cigarette case and flips it open. "Disguise kit, right here," he says. "You can pass yourself off as any of RED's crew. Or ours, for that matter, but there ain't much point in that. Get yourself behind enemy lines, report on their positions, stab 'em in the back if you get the chance- you'll find your butterfly knife in the pocket, by the way, and your revolver. They'll see who you are the second you try to stab 'em, just so you know."

[licensed-pro.livejournal.com]

Charlie just makes a noncommittal noise of moderate assent--he really isn't planning on shooting or stabbing anyone.

"Great. So, disguise as someone else, and that wears off when I try to use a weapon. Good to know. What else?"

[hands-of-blu.livejournal.com]

"The watch." The Engineer taps one thick finger against a narrow wristwatch that was included with the suit. "Takes one second to activate. Gives you ten seconds of invisibility. Three seconds to come out of the cloak, and then thirty seconds before it'll work again."

"And there's the sappers. Take 'em with you, stick 'em on any turrets or dispensers or teleporters you see that aren't blue."

[licensed-pro.livejournal.com]

"Mmm." Charlie takes what he's given, after studying the wristwatch and putting the time constraints to memory. Not that he expects to need them, but it's better to at least be prepared.

"Alright then. Do I just wait around, now, until field day starts?"

[hands-of-blu.livejournal.com]

"Oh," says the Engineer darkly, "it won't be much longer now... 'course, that reminds me. You've got a radio in that there balaclava of yours. Don't bother lookin' for it, you won't find it. You talk, we all hear it back here, so tell us where the REDs are if you want us to back you up. And yell for a gosh-darn medic if you get hurt, 'cause no one else here'll save you."

[licensed-pro.livejournal.com]

"Don't you all sound just so helpful..." Charlie remarks dryly. He'll keep the balaclava off until he absolutely has to put the damn thing on, as he hates having things over his face.

[hands-of-blu.livejournal.com]

"I mean it, Spah." Well. Spy. But that's how it comes out in the Texan accent. "We're not qualified to do it. There ain't a weapon on the other side that won't leave a hole in you so big none of us can patch it fast enough to do you any good. Find a patch kit if you want, but you're gonna need a Medic if you get your behind shot."