Another quick update before dinner. I hope you all enjoy it! -- The week was different than most given the fact that Sniper found himself out of his lookouts most of the time. He had to do some close, hand-to-hand work. The BLU Scout shrieked as Sniper took out his kneecap and then gave him a quick and easy headshot. He saw the Medic behind the struggling Heavy, another pair of their opposite numbers on their tail. Sniper had to reload, and before he could take aim the BLU Heavy mimicked smoking a cigarette. Sniper frowned, and before he could cock his gun, the BLU Heavy grabbed his Medic and drew a knife out from behind him. Sniper watched as Heavy drew down the blade—and the BLU Medic’s eyes widened, the look of betrayal so raw that Sniper almost felt bad for the German. When red smoke enveloped the BLU Heavy and he turned into the Spy, Sniper wasn’t surprised. “What can I say,†Spy smirked, “their trust in each other makes them easy targets.†Medic huffed and took the time to heal his Heavy. Sniper covered them as the Spy ran off, going up in smoke once more. Sniper fired off four quick shots, getting rid of enemy BLUs as fast as he could manage. Once the Medic was done he squeezed Sniper’s arm and they were off. It was a very close match, and Sniper stuck with the Medic and Heavy for a while until the damned BLU Spy came back to give Sniper a piece of his mind. At the end of the day, RED had won by a nose. Sniper was exhausted. Dinner was beans since it was the quickest and easiest. Sniper thought me might just pass out in his plate of beans when the Spy grimaced next to him, sucking down cigarette after cigarette. “Five times.†The Spy hissed. “Five times their Heavy went after me.†Sniper managed a weary smirk into his beer. “Not that I’m sidin’ with ‘im, but I can see his point.†Spy scowled at him but said nothing after that. The Medic tapped Sniper’s shoulder, and the circles pulling at his eyes were probably under all of their eyes. “Thank you.†His accent sounded a bit nasally. “For your help in the field today.†Sniper waved his hand. “Think nothin’ of it, mate.†Really, it would be unprofessional of him not to help out his own teammates. But the Medic wouldn’t have it. “No, it was not—it was helpful. If there’s anything you—need that you don’t have already, just say the word.†Sniper was going to say that he was fine when he thought of something. “Actually.†The doctor perked up as Sniper leaned forward. “Do you have any records of German classical composers? Sorry, I,†He scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know any German composers by name.†The Medic looked so baffled that Sniper almost laughed. The Spy wasn’t so strong-willed and he actually giggled around his cigarette as the Medic blinked. “I—well, yes. Yes, I do.†Sniper cleared his throat in a way he hoped came across as casual. “Could I listen to them, just a few times?†:::: The next time Sniper went back to the facility he didn’t even have to pull out his banjo before the glass doors opened. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Sniper stepped inside and let himself be taken down. She still didn’t speak when he entered the atrium. He looked up at the screens; Blue and Orange were “testing†again. He walked over to his Companion Cube and sat down in the same spot he was last time. He watched her watch him, that yellow eye all seeing and unblinking. He stretched his legs and spread his fingers out over his banjo’s strings. The lights flickered. The Sniper drew in a breath. He’d practiced in the Infirmary for hours, each spare moment the Doctor would let him listen to his records, stopping and starting as he learned every note. It was arduous. It was frustrating. Hopefully… it was worth it. He exhaled and the screens went dark. Sniper felt a crooked smile spread over his lips and he dove right into it. He didn’t stumble over any of the notes, and his fingers stung, the skin raw because of how much he’d gone over it just to make sure it was perfect— Within minutes his clothes were torn off and he didn’t have a chance, not really. Not with her grip, her reach, and those vibrations that drove a man half out of his mind. This time she didn’t stop him from crying out. His fingers twitched and held onto her cords, his nails scraping over him. Judging at the downright purrs she let buzz through the air, she didn’t mind it at all. Sniper did his best to just hold on, but she was relentless, never stopping, never letting him catch a breath. His vision went white and bright around the edges, like when he’d been staring at the sun for too long. He came to on the ground, sticky and his limbs heavy. He sat up, weakly grabbing for his hat. One of her cords passed over him loosely, making his stomach muscles clench from the contact as she pushed his hat across the floor. Sniper gingerly picked up his hat. He jumped when he heard a male voice say, “Sprinkler’s activated.†Luke-warm water rained down on him. He stretched and looked up at her, using his hat to block the water. “Cleanliness might not matter to you, but it matters to me.†The sprinklers stopped and Sniper salvaged what was left of his clothes—which wasn’t much. His pants were ruined; his shirt was more holes than cloth. Sniper felt loose and relaxed as he slid his shirt on. She was low enough to touch, so Sniper reached up with his hand and ran it over her metal body. He could feel things buzzing underneath her, a gentle, steady hum of something greater—something powerful. For a moment, Sniper could have sworn she leaned into his hand. If she had, it was only for a moment. The floor panel he was on pushed him away. She already had the corridor lit up, but Sniper knew where to go. :::: The orange pants weren’t terrible. They were loose and with his battered shirt it didn’t look too odd. Sniper sat on the floor panel, picking out random tunes instead of the classics. Orange and Blue were shooting their guns at each other, but whenever they fired no portals would form, just little bursts of blue and orange. Sniper remembered leaning against one of the wall panels, and he seemed to remember it leaning against him. He played until Blue and Orange left, he played until his eyes were struggling to stay open. It was only when he was slipping in and out of consciousness—when all the lights were off and the only person with him was her—that he heard her sing. Of course it could have been a dream, one could never be too sure about these things. All Sniper knew for sure was that he woke up under a mountain of pillows and blankets that was still being added to by Blue and Orange. She was scolding them as Sniper battled his way out of it. He was swamped and almost tripped over a few dozen blankets that managed to wrap around his legs. He tipped his hat, his banjo in one hand as he stepped onto the lift. When he stepped out of the lift it was just like all the other times he’d been there. He went past the debris, the vines, and ferns until his boots hit sand. He turned around—and he wondered if she thought of him the same way he thought of her. If she looked forward to the next classical piece he played or to the way he’d hum along sometimes. A slight smile grew on his lips, and Sniper shook his head, turning back to the sand. Nah. He was too old for such foolish thoughts.