tosbox | making my way downtown

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making my way downtown

[The big issue here isn't getting fired. No, Spy will be fine for now, considering all that he's saved. Losing a resource as powerful as RED and Mann Co in general is a blow indeed, but Spy can get by. Right now, he's more concerned about living and making sure none of his loose ends catch up to him.

Most of the things he's taking back with him are either essential or expensive. The weapon magazines and catalogues sent by RED are still sitting in his old quarters, along with some leisure books and even some pieces of his old uniform. The suit has always been a part of his look, so he keeps some of it; they make for some decent padding for the wine stored in the trunk of his car.

With his tie slung around his neck and his jacket over his arm, Spy makes a mental checklist of all he needs. His life is pretty much stowed away in his wallet: bank cards, multiple IDs, cash, miniature cloaking device, plane tickets... He pats his pants pocket for the only thing that doesn't fit in his wallet: his passport. Not that he'll need it for the flight, but it's good to have these things just in case.

A tiny part of his brain nags at him, urging him to feel sentimental about leaving his workplace of over four years. But to hell with that - god knows this won't be the last he's seen of them.

When Scout hobbles up to his car, a mess of stupidity and arm casts, Spy is tempted to slam the door in his face and make him eat his dust trail. But, of course, the little mongrel has to pull the mother card and all of a sudden Spy feels responsible.]

I have a jet leaving in fifty minutes. You've got twenty. Get in the car.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

If you want an experiment wit' lies, I could pretend to be someone you could actually stand and maybe even befriend for t'e duration of our stay. Quite a lot of effort for little payoff, 'owever.

[In other words: it's a lot of fun to fuck with you, Scout.

Spy gets up with the intent of receiving what gift they've been brought by the guards.]

Don't t'row up if you know you can't clean it yourself.

Issat gravy or what? What's it tryinta hide?

[ He's concerned, Spy, jeez. Still, Scout takes his tray with the fingertips of one hand and shuffles aside to go set it on the table ( naturally spilling some of it all over ). When he sees Spy collecting his tray: ]

GET 'EM, SPY!

[ The guard handing the the tray over through the slot in the glass seizes and jerks back into the other guard, in the process of drawing mace while the one behind him goes for his baton. Scout roars with laughter. ]

[Spy, with the reflexes of someone who fights for his life daily, immediately jumps back a few feet when Scout yells. Naturally, he drops whatever was being transferred in favor of watching the sudden commotion.]

What t'e 'ell was t'at?!

[ Scout hadn't intended for Spy to drop his tray, but he considers it a bonus, and now he's having to choke on tears of laughter. ]

Oh man, classic Scout!

[ He tries to wipe his eyes on his sleeve, casting a glance at the red-faced guards. ]

Come on, fellas, just checkin' your reflexes! Tell 'em they did good, Spy. Hey, can we get some magazines or a radio or somethin' in here? I need ta know how the Sox are doin'!

[Wow, Scout, are you asking to get beat up? Spy flashes a scowl at the guards, and it's the final straw they need before fleeing. With a loud sigh, he picks up his tray, righting its contents before setting it on the table.]

Scout, I swear to you, I am going to tie you to a chair and 'ang it from t'e ceiling. T'en, I am going to beat you until each and every one of your teeth 'ave fallen out.

[ He frequently is, yes, that tends to be in his nature as an annoying little bastard.

He gives the other man and his threat an unimpressed look. ]

Whuteva. You didn't even want it before.

[ Maneuvering his spoon into his hand, he mushed and chopped up whatever suspicious meat was on his tray. ]

T'at is not t'e point.

[Spy is mildly tempted to knock the food out of Scout's reach, but he's also pretty sure that would do the opposite of getting him to shut up. At least Scout's mouth will be occupied by food rather than talking.

Closing his eyes, Spy focuses on downing his food rather than tasting it.

When his plate is clear, he folds his hands together in front of his mouth, still fighting the urge to smoke.]

So. I 'ope you realize I 'ave no intentions of staying 'ere, and I know you will be of no use to me when it comes to escaping.

[ It takes Scout considerably longer to get through his meal, having to crane his neck all the way down to the end of his arm. He's half-tempted to just put his face down and eat it like a dog, but he's not quite there yet.

He raises a brow at Spy. ]

So what're you gonna do?

[Spy shifts his hands, folding them and unfolding them, as he thinks.]

On second t'ought... You may be useful after all.

[Right now, what Spy needs is a clear mind. And what will help provide that? A cigarette, of course. Besides, if they're getting out, then there's no reason not to indulge himself. He takes a long drag before leaning back in his chair.]

You will 'ave to pose as zhe distraction. Complain about your injuries, per'aps, anyt'ing t'at will get t'em to open t'e door for you. During t'is time, I will slip out and kill whoever 'as come to get you. T'en I will grab you and run. [He pauses to take another drag.] It would be an attempt better made if I knew t'e layout of t'is building, but I doubt t'e guards will be smart enough to track us down a dark corner.

[ Scout listens to the plan, his eyes narrowing a bit. It makes sense. Does he trust Spy not to leave him behind? Not a damn bit.

His options are to agree, or to disagree. If he doesn't agree to howl about his injuries, however, he rather suspects Spy will try to make him do so by creating new ones. ]

Ok. Lemme finish so I got some energy fer my noisemaker.

[ He moves to scrape up another bite, then stops, eyes shining. ]

Or you can help.

'Elp? What do you-- Oh no. You're not saying you want me to--?

[He gestures to Scout's plate and his restricted arms.]

I am reading too much into t'is, oui?

[ Scout places down his spoon, nudging it with a finger towards Spy. He was trying to fight back a grin, but it still made it out in the curl of his lips as he spoke. ]

No, I think you got it.

I--

[Spy swallows his indignation as he takes a long drag of his cigarette. Scowling, he taps off ash just beside his teammate's spoon.]

T'ere is no way in 'ell.

Okay, I am detectin' a distinct lack-a team spirit here.

[ Complains Scout, full Little Shit Mode activated. ]

Edited 2014-11-23 06:44 (UTC)

[Spy bristles, high-strung and unfamiliar with being on the butt-end of a joke.]

"Team spirit"? You want me to show you "team spirit"? I can show you team spirit, alright.

[He takes one last deep, quick inhale of his cigarette, then stubs it in the table, right next to his last smoke. Then he plasters on a smile, taking on a hooded stare. Leaning forward on his elbows, he picks up the spoon and shovels some food onto it.]

Are you ready to take my 'ot load into your mout'?

Yeah c'mon.

[ Scout only recognized food getting ready to come to his mouth and 'ready' and dropped his jaw open to accept it. Sometimes it took him a moment to understand Spy's accent or care about what he was saying. But the other shoe fell soon enough, shifting his look of smug anticipation into one of bewilderment and horror. ]

Wait what--?

[Grinning, Spy leans his chin into his free hand, the beginning of a purr building in his chest.]

You 'eard me. If you're such a hot stud, you can take it hard and fast, right?

[And here he is, enunciating so Scout can understand each and every word that comes out of his mouth. Now the spoon hovers in front of Scout's face, close enough his teammate should be able to simply open his mouth and take it.]

[ Scout's expression passes more into the realm of horror, and then peels his lips back with disgust. ]

You're a sick, sick man, Spy.

[ But ultimately he figured Spy's goal was to make him give in and not eat. So he craned his head forward and defiantly swallowed the morsel. ]

[Spy gives an appreciative hum, that purr still resonating in his throat.]

Oh, but you asked for it. I love it when my partner can take whatever it is I dish out.

[Playing on the whole food deal here. Spy started this game, and he'll damn well finish it a winner. He picks up another portion of food and brings it up to Scout's lips.]

Put t'at mout' of yours to good use. Come on, make us bot' 'appy.

[ Scout's eyes burn with hatred, but he takes the second spoonful, chewing and swallowing once more. ]

Aw ye, Spy, gimme more. I am so hungry.

[ As mechanically and flat as he can, as if he were reading from a script. ]

[Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Spy digs up another portion, but holds it farther away from Scout's mouth this time.]

Oh, come now, you can do better t'an t'at. Where is t'e desire? Where is t'e ent'usiasm? You must say it like you mean it.

[ Still as if he's reading from a script. ]

But I do mean it. Spy. I do. It would please me if you put it in mouth hole.

[ He cranes his head forward, opening his mouth a bit and baring his teeth. ]

Of course, Scout, I'll put it right where you want it.

[Once he delivers that bite, his shit-eating grin dies down a bit. There's still some left, and Spy manages to scoop up some of that mysterious gravy. He holds up the spoon backwards, his free hand holding down the curved part of the spoon, ready to let fly.]

I could finish all over your face or in your mout'. Which would you prefer?

[ Scout half-grins, half snarls, and stands up abruptly. ]

Neitha. I don't let you finish. Dick.

[ And he makes to stomp over to the glass. ]

GUARDS! GUARDS COME QUICK! SPY JUST SHIT A HUGE FUCKIN DIAMOND OUT OF HIS ASS! I THINK HE STASHED SOME COAL UP THERE JUST IN CASE HE NEEDED TO CUT HIS WAY OUTTA SOMEWHERE LATER, BUT IT CUT HIM UP COMIN OUT! I THINK HE'S DYIN!!!! GUARDS!!!

[Ah, it was a good run while it lasted. Scout's already moving before Spy can slide in one last joke, so he flings the food at his teammate's retreating back before standing. Actually, the spoon should help. As he listens and rolls his eyes at Scout's story, Spy tucks the spoon under one arm, then takes the tray the food had been served on and bends it into a tool he can use for either stabbing or bludgeoning.

With the spoon in one hand and the tray in the other, Spy sets his back against the wall by the door.]

Blue balls is such an ungentlemanly response. You don't seem like much of t'e type to be forceful in such a way, but I suppose I may be mistaken.

play scout and die withing thirty seconds of respawning (y)

u kno it. gotta go fast!!!

i am also now the ruler of typos

I'm the queen of edits, it's ok

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tears in my eyes

i'm dying here too these stupid boys

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