fic: Guns and Poses
Aug. 31st, 2015 03:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Guns and Poses
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,215
Summary: Scout's trying to mix guns and romance, with varying results. (Or: why Miss Pauling kept running into Force-A-Natures in The Contract.)
Author's note: So, was I really the only one who thought this of The Contract? Several of Miss Pauling's lines in this entire piece are contract lines from the game. (The "I Need you" line in particular is a Scout rare contract line)
Betaed by Carrie.
Scout had learned all kinds of lessons today, like apparently, guns were harder to stack than they looked. In his mind he could see a gun heart, which was probably romantic and crap, and the sort of thing a girl like Miss Pauling would dig. He'd seen her looking in at those gun magazines, eyes wide like maybe she was being swept off her feet by a gun with legs and a smug grin on his metal face.
Maybe if he made a fancy cologne that smelled like guns, he'd catch her eye. Ew de Gun smoke, or whatever the hell those French bastards called it.
He had to admit, he loved some good guns, though not the way Heavy did, like he'd adopt all the stray guns and keep them the way Medic kept birds, but with less accidental immortal Archimedes monsters.
Or at least Scout hoped they were accidental. With Medic, who knew.
From this angle it sort of looked more like a pile, but he was sure that Miss Pauling got the deeper meaning behind it. She was a smart girl, he was sure she got art. Besides, rich fucks paid tons for pictures of soup cans, she could probably sell this hunk of metal done by a hunk for millions--but obviously she wouldn’t, because she would be so impressed at how he made something just for her. Maybe next time he'd spell out Miss Pauling is the greatest in Force-A-Natures so big that it could be seen from space.
But a single pile which was sort of artistic, but in a non-stupid way wasn't enough for him.
He'd tried some creative spelling with bullets in one of the walls over on Gravel Pit, but it'd only put him back in Respawn with a ricocheted bullet in his skull. Miss Pauling was real capable, classy girl, so obviously, she needed a gun-chair. He'd only had about three trips to Medic and Respawn when he forgot to unload them. And Mann's Glue said it could glue a frigging rampaging elephant down, complete with illustration of Saxton Hale lifting one above his head.
Scout leaned back to admire his handiwork. Really, he was onto something. Scout knew he was a visionary with the gun-chair. He was sure that they'd be like flowers were now, a total standard for romance with awesome gun-loving girls.
Psyche, like there was any girl as awesome as Miss Pauling.
Looking back at his handiwork, he thought it really added something to outside her office. This place wasn't exactly known for its decoration; everything was utility down here. He was pretty sure that even the potted plants were evil and filled with lasers or something.
A door opened down the hall, and Scout froze. He jerked from side to side and tried to find the words he'd planned all along. But all his plans had gone, along with his confidence. Scout rushed down the hall, slipping on the metal floors and barely missing the wall.
He tried to catch his breath, when it came to mind that this boisterous laughter definitely didn't sound like the Miss Pauling he knew and adored. Peering around the corner, he could see too-tight shorts and chest hair shaped like Australia.
"A chair made of guns? Just what I always needed! Bidwell, make that patent right away. I'll call it Saxton's Chairgun."
"And the other pile of guns, sir?"
"I don't know, we'll smelt them down, then sell them to those mercenaries as hats for twice the money!"
He lifted up the chair and left with it, as if giving his gun-chair a stupid name like Saxton's Chairgun wasn't enough of an insult. He started to pace, the fury welling up in him as his hands curled towards fists. Usually, he'd punch out any asshole who dared to mess with him, then smash their skulls in with his bat for good measure. But this was Saxton Hale, and even he didn't go around killing the people who helped bring his paychecks about.
Scout took a swing at the wall instead. He looked cool for approximately two seconds, before he drew back his hand and let out a scream that certainly did not sound like a twelve year old girl. Saxton made it look easy, but punching walls was a lot harder than it looked.
He shook his aching hand, and mentally wondered if a trip to the doc wasn't in order. Broken bones was just what his day needed.
"What a friggin' jackass," Scout muttered. "Who the hell comes in and steals art?"
It wasn't enough that the guy wore tacky shorts, he had to go stealing Scout's brilliant ideas.
*
A gun which he could also beat people's skulls with was his best idea yet. But this time, he was sneaking around like a stinking Spy, because he wasn't having another idea stolen by Stealy McHotpants. He'd waited until Saxton Hale was at least three continents away before he pulled out his latest idea, but with that asshole, there was no telling when he'd fly in through the window or kick in a door.
He rested it just outside her office, and even put a bow on it, because a classy girl deserved classy stuff. He really thought it livened up the whole dull discount Sci-Fi freak show the base had going on.
Seeing her walking down the hall towards him was like a punch to the face, but way more fun. He shifted, mentally scrambling for the words to say everything that built up in him.
"Miss Pauling--! Oh, yeah, over here--"
This time, he forced himself not to flee. His voice cracked, like he was twelve, and he just pointed at the guns. "Yeah, for you--"
She pushed up her glasses, and he got distracted by her hands. Lavender nail polish this time, slightly chipped. He'd never just sat down and thought damn, look at the hands on that girl until Miss Pauling. From the way she held clipboards, to how her fingers curled around the handle of a gun, she was all elegant grace and class.
"More guns? I've been tripping all over your guns for months," she said.
"You noticed?" Scout said eagerly.
"How could I not? They're everywhere. Scout we need to talk," Miss Pauling said.
She went on into her her office ahead of him, and left the door open. She was waiting for him, and even wanted to talk to him. Probably to thank him for the incredible imaginative gifts, and ask him on twenty dates at once.
Now, if only he'd gotten to give her that gun chair, then she'd be swooning into his arms, and begging him for fifty dates.
Scout pumped his arm in a little victory gesture.
"Nailed it," Scout said.
Series: TF2
Character/pairing: Scout/Miss Pauling
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,215
Summary: Scout's trying to mix guns and romance, with varying results. (Or: why Miss Pauling kept running into Force-A-Natures in The Contract.)
Author's note: So, was I really the only one who thought this of The Contract? Several of Miss Pauling's lines in this entire piece are contract lines from the game. (The "I Need you" line in particular is a Scout rare contract line)
Betaed by Carrie.
Scout had learned all kinds of lessons today, like apparently, guns were harder to stack than they looked. In his mind he could see a gun heart, which was probably romantic and crap, and the sort of thing a girl like Miss Pauling would dig. He'd seen her looking in at those gun magazines, eyes wide like maybe she was being swept off her feet by a gun with legs and a smug grin on his metal face.
Maybe if he made a fancy cologne that smelled like guns, he'd catch her eye. Ew de Gun smoke, or whatever the hell those French bastards called it.
He had to admit, he loved some good guns, though not the way Heavy did, like he'd adopt all the stray guns and keep them the way Medic kept birds, but with less accidental immortal Archimedes monsters.
Or at least Scout hoped they were accidental. With Medic, who knew.
From this angle it sort of looked more like a pile, but he was sure that Miss Pauling got the deeper meaning behind it. She was a smart girl, he was sure she got art. Besides, rich fucks paid tons for pictures of soup cans, she could probably sell this hunk of metal done by a hunk for millions--but obviously she wouldn’t, because she would be so impressed at how he made something just for her. Maybe next time he'd spell out Miss Pauling is the greatest in Force-A-Natures so big that it could be seen from space.
But a single pile which was sort of artistic, but in a non-stupid way wasn't enough for him.
He'd tried some creative spelling with bullets in one of the walls over on Gravel Pit, but it'd only put him back in Respawn with a ricocheted bullet in his skull. Miss Pauling was real capable, classy girl, so obviously, she needed a gun-chair. He'd only had about three trips to Medic and Respawn when he forgot to unload them. And Mann's Glue said it could glue a frigging rampaging elephant down, complete with illustration of Saxton Hale lifting one above his head.
Scout leaned back to admire his handiwork. Really, he was onto something. Scout knew he was a visionary with the gun-chair. He was sure that they'd be like flowers were now, a total standard for romance with awesome gun-loving girls.
Psyche, like there was any girl as awesome as Miss Pauling.
Looking back at his handiwork, he thought it really added something to outside her office. This place wasn't exactly known for its decoration; everything was utility down here. He was pretty sure that even the potted plants were evil and filled with lasers or something.
A door opened down the hall, and Scout froze. He jerked from side to side and tried to find the words he'd planned all along. But all his plans had gone, along with his confidence. Scout rushed down the hall, slipping on the metal floors and barely missing the wall.
He tried to catch his breath, when it came to mind that this boisterous laughter definitely didn't sound like the Miss Pauling he knew and adored. Peering around the corner, he could see too-tight shorts and chest hair shaped like Australia.
"A chair made of guns? Just what I always needed! Bidwell, make that patent right away. I'll call it Saxton's Chairgun."
"And the other pile of guns, sir?"
"I don't know, we'll smelt them down, then sell them to those mercenaries as hats for twice the money!"
He lifted up the chair and left with it, as if giving his gun-chair a stupid name like Saxton's Chairgun wasn't enough of an insult. He started to pace, the fury welling up in him as his hands curled towards fists. Usually, he'd punch out any asshole who dared to mess with him, then smash their skulls in with his bat for good measure. But this was Saxton Hale, and even he didn't go around killing the people who helped bring his paychecks about.
Scout took a swing at the wall instead. He looked cool for approximately two seconds, before he drew back his hand and let out a scream that certainly did not sound like a twelve year old girl. Saxton made it look easy, but punching walls was a lot harder than it looked.
He shook his aching hand, and mentally wondered if a trip to the doc wasn't in order. Broken bones was just what his day needed.
"What a friggin' jackass," Scout muttered. "Who the hell comes in and steals art?"
It wasn't enough that the guy wore tacky shorts, he had to go stealing Scout's brilliant ideas.
*
A gun which he could also beat people's skulls with was his best idea yet. But this time, he was sneaking around like a stinking Spy, because he wasn't having another idea stolen by Stealy McHotpants. He'd waited until Saxton Hale was at least three continents away before he pulled out his latest idea, but with that asshole, there was no telling when he'd fly in through the window or kick in a door.
He rested it just outside her office, and even put a bow on it, because a classy girl deserved classy stuff. He really thought it livened up the whole dull discount Sci-Fi freak show the base had going on.
Seeing her walking down the hall towards him was like a punch to the face, but way more fun. He shifted, mentally scrambling for the words to say everything that built up in him.
"Miss Pauling--! Oh, yeah, over here--"
This time, he forced himself not to flee. His voice cracked, like he was twelve, and he just pointed at the guns. "Yeah, for you--"
She pushed up her glasses, and he got distracted by her hands. Lavender nail polish this time, slightly chipped. He'd never just sat down and thought damn, look at the hands on that girl until Miss Pauling. From the way she held clipboards, to how her fingers curled around the handle of a gun, she was all elegant grace and class.
"More guns? I've been tripping all over your guns for months," she said.
"You noticed?" Scout said eagerly.
"How could I not? They're everywhere. Scout we need to talk," Miss Pauling said.
She went on into her her office ahead of him, and left the door open. She was waiting for him, and even wanted to talk to him. Probably to thank him for the incredible imaginative gifts, and ask him on twenty dates at once.
Now, if only he'd gotten to give her that gun chair, then she'd be swooning into his arms, and begging him for fifty dates.
Scout pumped his arm in a little victory gesture.
"Nailed it," Scout said.
