MEDIC!

“Come in, take a seat! I hear you had some questions for me?”

Welcome to the blog! This has been edited to be more of an intro post, but to also cover some boundaries on these ask blogs.

All blogs run by this account adhere to both pieces of canon lore and extended content made by the creator.

That being said, not all blogs in the group will! When in doubt, check their introductions.

RULES:

If your blog hosts explicit NSFW content, especially untagged, we’d prefer you don’t follow us.

While we deal with some heavy topics, being a TF2 based blog; our blog is not comfortable with nsfw/18+ themes and we’d like to make that distinction rather clear.

We especially need to say this with the knowledge that there are a lot of people thirsty over the mercs. Keep in mind that there are human beings behind these blogs, and therefore we ask that you treat us like you would irl.

Otherwise, as long as you’re respectful to the mods, go ape with asks! We don’t tend to do long form magic anons, but if you have an idea, go for it!

EXTRA NOTES:

Our blog follows and runs under slightly altered but canon-based lore.

If you’d like to know more about the Mountain Base lore and be kept up to date on mercenary and asker findings, the official document(s) will be listed in a reblog.

If you see someone chatting in different colors on this blog, it often means they’re a different character! #Not your Scout is the BLU Rover Scout, and #Not your Medic is the RED Rover Medic!

Posts and interactions to blogs that aren’t within the canon or that are unrelated will be tagged with #Not your canon.

We don’t tend to interact as much with random roleplay prompts, due to experiences in the past. If you’d like to do a more serious interaction, just dm us! We’d be happy to do one with you!

INTERCONNECTED BLOGS:

@thecozycamper - A new Sniper on base! What happened to the old one, and how will he fare on this experimental base setup? He’s adjusting, but he’ll have to adjust a lot quicker for what’s to come. (Interacts with canon and non-lore canon blogs, tagged accordingly!)

@rengineer - An extra RED Engineer brought in to help maintain base functions and battles, as Rusty the in-house Engineer is less familiar with the respawn systems. (Interacts with canon and non-lore canon blogs, tagged accordingly!)

RUN BY THE HOST:

@askredmedic - You are here!

@thenewscout - Previously the newest mercenary on the team, and still the newest in terms of experience. He’s doing his best, okay?

@askredspy - He didn’t want to make a blog, but now he has a blog. Ask him questions, but don’t always expect a straight answer.

@askredengineer - Rusty wasn’t brought up into the life of a Mercenary, but he was called to action by Miss Pauling eventually. He occasionally helps Medic with experiments and is a lot smarter than he lets on, he’s just a bit shy at times.

Thanks to innovations by his hand, he’s developed mobile mini-sentries. They were banned from the battlefield until he made them smaller.

The Official lore document:

Staying low to the ground, the strange choice of carpet muffles their footsteps well enough to get a bit closer. Biting his tongue to prevent himself from jumping sky high at the nearby BANG! Of old heating units clattering to life.

Might’ve been Spy’s work.

Food for thought.

Picking up the pace, they fall into an uneasy rhythm. Scout unused to Mundy’s pace and vice versa. Not incomparable to a dog in how he follows at his heels, poking his head up every so often to listen for changes. Carpet turns to wood, soft thudding of shoes drowned out by the nearing debate. Dust, fried wires, salt and blowtorch fumes.

@askredengineer “Doc, we can’t keep this from them.”

“Our situation is dire as-is. Ze last sing ve need right now is a full blown panic!”

Sharp, harsh like a bowstring. A listener could well imagine the exasperated gestures he’s making. Clapping his hands together, the doctor lowers his voice and steps closer to the Engineer, chin tilted down. An eye twitches behind his glasses.

"I need you to put your morals aside for one second and sink about vat it is you are doing!” Medic hisses. Accent thickening the faster he talks, he pushes a finger to his forehead. "You put ze rest of us in peril by jumping to conclusions. We cannot afford to be zis reckless!" open palm gesturing forcefully towards the door.

@askredengineer “We don’t even know what happened to the body, let alone if he’s actually dead! What’re the odds he’s still weighing on the system?”

“I refuse the notion that it is the case. If he really were, they would not have dispatched a replacement so quickly.”

@askredengineer “Then what the hell is draining our power so quickly? ‘Cause it ain’t just faulty wiring! None o’ the breakers are bein’ tripped, I can’t make sense of the respawn machine, and god knows we can’t tell up from down here! The least we can do is ask for help!”

Medic scoffs, heels clicking on the floor as he paces back and forth. But his gaze is averted, hands behind his back.

“One of them is an unknown, and se other cannot even read! Their job is to shoot, they don’t need a reason to hesitate before pulling the trigger.”

@askredengineer “Spy’s busy keeping the generators from freezin’ over, and you’re tryin’ to keep us from freezin’ to death. If it ain't BLU that kills us first, the weather will.” He says, pulling his jacket shut and zipping it up to mark his point. Adjusting his goggles out of habit, his hands are gingerly placed into his pockets, regarding Medic with an exhausted frown. “I’m just sayin’… If it’s only gettin’ worse. We oughta let them know.”

"Dell is helping us investigate. Und if he truly cannot fix it, that is when we plan together. We cannot know if our mercenaries can handle the truth without breaking, Herr Engineer."

Sip.

Head casually tilting to the side, Medic takes another sip of the eggnog; unfazed.

"Aw hell, someone's gone and spiked the eggnog," he muttered, heading toward the table to grab the bowl.

Medic crouches by the Scout, checks his pulse, gives a thumbs up, then gets up onto his toes; scooping the guy up to at least lay him down somewhere softer.

Lugging him over to a nearby couch, the former doctor swoops back into the room just in time to catch… What was this, some kind of tantrum? Being thrown by BLU Soldier.

On the battlefield, learning to quickly pick out shreds of context from a mess of words was an essential skill. Efficiency was key when lives were at stake, and impaired motor function from sustained injuries were commonplace. Other times, teammates tended to ramble, or rant, or apologize instead of being direct. Sweeping emotions enveloped entire teams or single people, knocking the rest over like bowling pins in a narrow alley. Throwing matches, breaking down mid-battle, or in this case, outside of it.

Grudges were easy to hold when you didn’t know the enemy. And while the RED Soldier here may not belong to Medic’s team; there comes a sense of obligation to protect those under the broad wing of their team color. Regardless of who may be under it.

“And what if I spiked it?”

The doctor strides forwards, coming to a stop a few paces away from the BLU Soldier. Arms folded behind his back. He hopes it can go unsaid that he’s presenting a hypothetical to point out the absurdity of casting accusations with no proof; but he can’t be sure. Regardless, he’ll handle it if things get messy. Curious to know if the other will take his question at face value before he chooses whether to clarify.

He watched as the doctor faced off against the BLU Soldier in a plain blue sweater, with a pair of reindeer antlers hastily patched onto his helmet.

Both men were clearly aware of the house rules, and Medic seemed intent on taking full advantages of them, maintaining his composure even as the BLU Soldier loomed menacingly over him.

The laborer's eyebrows furrowed slightly as he caught wind of the words Medic had just spoken. His instincts told him this was heading toward trouble.

On the other side of the room, the BLU Soldier was momentarily stunned by Medic’s bold interjection, though his momentary surprise quickly curdled into disdain. The sight of the REDs sticking together, like filthy pests in his eyes, only fueled his anger. His glare burned beneath the shadow of his helmet as he stared down at the Medic, easily several inches shorter and significantly less imposing.

The patriot's mind worked quickly. He knew the RED Medic well enough to have blown him up countless times during the war… but this one wasn’t the same. A spy? No, there was no point in disguise at a party like this. He shoved the thought aside, focusing his fury on the present.

Slipping through loose fingers, his glasses clatter to the floor.

Only a brief flash of indignation betrays how he feels about the fact. Otherwise leveling the BLU with an unimpressed stare.

“I am not surprised. You lot have been known to be careless with emotion. You’d fit right in on zhe BLU team at our battlegrounds.” He continues, slowly raising a gloved hand to one of the Soldier’s arms. Not touching, but warning him of the consequences should he attack. With a plain smile, he says, “Choose your battles wisely, Reh.”

If your characters went ice skating, would they excel or fall flat?

🎁 PROMPT 2212

Pine forest.

He’d certainly appreciate the hot chocolate! As do the others. But after a trip or two he stops Mundy to take his hand, pulling him back out onto the ice. It feels sheer beneath his feet, but the doc is confident. Able to guide the other man until he’s able to balance on his own—barely. There’s only so much he can do to account for Sniper’s gangly limbs!

If he truly can’t balance on his own after a while of trying, Medic is happy to twirl the guy around himself and keep his balance. It’s not often he gets to let loose and have fun in such an environment.

Sip.

Head casually tilting to the side, Medic takes another sip of the eggnog; unfazed.

"Aw hell, someone's gone and spiked the eggnog," he muttered, heading toward the table to grab the bowl.

Medic crouches by the Scout, checks his pulse, gives a thumbs up, then gets up onto his toes; scooping the guy up to at least lay him down somewhere softer.

Lugging him over to a nearby couch, the former doctor swoops back into the room just in time to catch… What was this, some kind of tantrum? Being thrown by BLU Soldier.

On the battlefield, learning to quickly pick out shreds of context from a mess of words was an essential skill. Efficiency was key when lives were at stake, and impaired motor function from sustained injuries were commonplace. Other times, teammates tended to ramble, or rant, or apologize instead of being direct. Sweeping emotions enveloped entire teams or single people, knocking the rest over like bowling pins in a narrow alley. Throwing matches, breaking down mid-battle, or in this case, outside of it.

Grudges were easy to hold when you didn’t know the enemy. And while the RED Soldier here may not belong to Medic’s team; there comes a sense of obligation to protect those under the broad wing of their team color. Regardless of who may be under it.

“And what if I spiked it?”

The doctor strides forwards, coming to a stop a few paces away from the BLU Soldier. Arms folded behind his back. He hopes it can go unsaid that he’s presenting a hypothetical to point out the absurdity of casting accusations with no proof; but he can’t be sure. Regardless, he’ll handle it if things get messy. Curious to know if the other will take his question at face value before he chooses whether to clarify.

Sip.

Head casually tilting to the side, Medic takes another sip of the eggnog; unfazed.

To say the rigidness he exhibited faded was, maybe a little bit of an over statement. But, upon the smell that'd wafted from the mug in her hands his head lifted in interest and warily he takes it once offered. Guess this was her keeping her word from before...

"Too much caffeine makes ya jittery... Not good for the aim." He answers tentatively, hands cupping beneath the mug for the warmth of the ceramic. Fingers still flexing with the ghosts of numbness from the outdoor cold. Exhaling lightly at the "0" written after the 1, he eyed the personification the coffee cup expressed. It wasn't his mug, he idly wondered who's it was before- after giving a cautious sniff, taking a sip.

He gives an amused grin, waving the BLU Scout off. She takes a seat on a cushion by the shelves, sitting cross legged and watching the two.

Once Mundy’s been able to take a few sips of coffee and take it all in, the man continues.

“You asked before why somebody like me is working with a Scout from BLU,” his smile eases a little bit, and he sends a fond glance the Scout’s way. “That is because the Administrator works independently of the Mann brothers. And in a way, so do we. Allow me to explain.”

Pulling out a piece of paper, the Medic picks up a red and a blue pencil from his desk, and neatly draws out a line between two figures of opposite teams.

“Traditionally, teams have all donned uniforms signaling their allegiance to Redmond or Blutarch Mann. Stationed in various territories, the war quickly expanded to being over more than just gravel. Namely those of the fronting businesses that most bases are in.”

He scribbles out a landscape. A mountaintop with swirling clouds and roaring thunder. Isolated. Tapping it with a pen, he continues.

“But the Administrator was not impressed with the monotony of war. She cares little for the brothers’ petty spats, and more for the bloodshed they cause. With that in mind, it was only natural that attempts to break through barriers were made.”

As the RED member speaks, Mundy feels a chill down his spine. Memories of long gone eras creeping up from the past and locking onto him with freezing whispers.

At first, what he describes doesn’t sound like anything new for the Mann co. Mercenaries. But the way he tells this story alludes to so much more than the surface level. Like something trapped beneath the ice, scratching at the surface to be let out.

It’s overwhelming. An urge to break through the ice and plunge into the frigid waters. To be caught up and overwhelmed in the voices that have gone unheard of for years. To breathe the same air, feel the same lost feelings, to get caught up in their excitement of the unknown, to remember the adrenaline that coursed through them when things changed for better or for worse.

Sniper feels the ground beneath him walked by a hundred different footsteps, far beyond the room he sits in. A map in the back catches his gaze, and a small key unreadable from a distance lists the names of more of those people. Dates, times, locations blocked out on a massive scale.

Singing, dancing, laughter. Secrets shared between loose lips. Dramatic fallouts. Fresh documents exchanging hands. The shadows flicker in the corner of his eyes, begging to be seen. Begging to be heard. Pleading to be allowed to tell their stories. Of which there are many, too many to cover in a single lifetime.

And yet, they still try.

"A mission greater than... I suppose you could say that," he begins hesitantly, drawing a slow circle on the paper with his fingertips. "Selfish, is what I would call it. A failed project led to it's equally dismal end. It's humbling, to remember that you were once a part of something bigger." Looking up to the man across the desk, there's something of a searching look thrown his way. Absentmindedly assessing his reaction as he talks. "That you are just a fragment of history, sticking it out to deny the satisfaction of tying up loose ends."

A rumbling laugh cuts through the room, chin tilting down as he watches a dumbfounded Mundy scrub away at the condensation dripping down his aviators. Just like that, the ice is broken, and he's sent scrambling away from the edge. Foggy shouts of coworkers asking if he's okay, somebody placing their hands on his shoulders, dragging the desperate and freezing man back from the rocking floe towards somewhere warmer. A camp made to dig away at this reservoir of lost history, determined not to lose anyone in the process. When a blanket is wrapped around his shoulders by a woman murmuring condolences, his reality snaps back in like a broken bowstring; prompting the ghostly sensations to vanish with it.

"Forgive me, I've gone on for too long." Roughly clearing his throat, the wistful air around him melts. Swiftly rolled off the shoulders like it were a bothersome bug rather than a heavy reminiscence.

"Think it already seems so." He comments, head tilting towards the present BLU in stating something already plain... but, there's certainly an undertone. He has a lot to think over.

Mundys head suddenly picks up with a slight start, raising his wrist and tugging down the sleeve to eye the watch face on his wrist. The edge of his lip pulling into something concerned.

Quickly dismissing the comment, however, the doctor weaves his fingers together with his hands propped up on the desk. Eyes narrowing distantly while quietly contemplating the question. The BLU Scout stays uncharacteristically silent, owlishly watching from her spot on the cushions like he’s about to deliver profound wisdom. Instead, all that arrives is a click of the tongue and a shaking head.

“I suspect your Spies may, by virtue of their jobs,” he starts. “But we are tight-lipped for a reason. While the extension of trust to you may seem random, our Scout is a good judge of character. If she trusts you, then so do we.” Legs kicking with a sunshiny expression, the Scout happily leans back on her palms, nodding along. “Abuse that trust, and we will know.”

Following the veiled threat comes a more conversational tenor, brushed aside much like Mundy’s tone.

Fragments imply something broken. Unable to be pieced together. Maybe the mentality doesn’t fit the picture. Are things truly so dire? Or is the rabbit hole deeper still? It beckons again, but without voice. A quieter tug to look, listen. Wait, aim at the target, pull the trigger. Take the plunge.

“You may trek down here as you wish, be it to get away from your teammates or deliver news. Come to know us if you are curious. We may have knowledge or intel we can pass to you that go beyond faction lines.” The Rover Medic says, rapping at the map behind him. “As such, you’re also free to peruse the files kept on-hand so long as they are declassified by us.” The corners of his mouth wrinkle as he smiles, metal fingers flexing.

Do your characters do anything special for Christmas?

🎁 PROMPT 0112

Snow.

Prompt: Snow

Medic’s POV

Snow was a common occurrence on mountain base. Slush, flurries, hail, strong winds, blizzards, torrential rains—all plentiful. Soaking both the surroundings and its inhabitants to the bone.

Wracked with shivers, Medic cursed at the flickering lights. Kicking the heater back alive as he debated simply kindling a fire in the middle of his medbay. Not keen on burning down the base, nor on the prospect of leaving the nest of shuttered windows and piled blankets that his workplace had been transformed into; the man brought his coat closer and huddled with the doves lining the breadth of his shoulders.

He hated it here.

Comms were out. No word from Miss Pauling. Malfunctioning respawn. Empty rooms and terrible architecture with little to no rationale on what’s placed where. The coffee machine worked, but barely. His was lukewarm by now, nonetheless clutched to his chest like something most valuable to him. Shut in the clinic as if afraid that any crack of the doors would whisk away what little heat remained.

Wind whistled outside, bringing to mind a shrill kettle. What he’d give to have hot tea… Normally he’d be overheating under the number of thick blankets wrapped around the birds and himself, but the cold seemed to penetrate even the best of insulators.

He just wanted to experiment. Do a surgery or two. Was that really too much to ask for? To do his job without freezing to death?

Wiping a sleeve against his runny nose, Medic let out a heavy sigh. Watching the air coalesce around the breath leaving his lips, fogging up his glasses worn askew. He wasn’t sick, he was sick of this. Not even throwing himself headfirst into developing the Kalteshulter with reckless abandon had been a sufficient enough distraction from the base’s deficits.

Of which, there were plenty.

Just as his eyes began to slip closed and wallowing in self-pity started becoming an afterthought, a swishing noise caught the doctor’s attention. Startling the doves as he curiously peered from beneath the mountain of blankets. Groaning, he nearly didn’t budge to pick up what looked to be a simple slip of paper. From the current vantage point, it did look vaguely fancy, but it didn’t necessarily mean anything. Something from the Spy, perhaps?

Curiosity eventually won over, and the freezing Medic pulled himself from his fortress briefly enough to snatch the paper slip. No… Not a slip, a letter. Tearing it open with shaking fingers as he rushed back towards the faulty heater. It shut off upon sitting back down. He kicked it online again. So it goes.

Expression pulling into one of disbelief, followed by outright suspicion; Medic peered down at the curious Christmas invitation, dubiously unfolding the information contained within.

Thumbing the thick cardstock in one hand, he mulled over the information within. Recognition flashed at the event’s host. Their part-time Engineer, the same one tasked with helping his fix respawn. Brows lowering further with every word he read.

The timing was perfect. A little too much so. Promising everything he’d wished for in a place far away from base? Plentiful heat and power, food and refreshments, a quiet home away from home, a truce amidst conflict, tied up with a neat little bow including a working respawn?

Medic worried his lip, torn between chasing after a wild fantasy of a wonderful break and the harsh reality that told him it had to be the work of the BLU Spy. But why? Why try and lure them away from base? It wasn’t as though he were allowed to actively destroy the respawn machine, inefficiently as it might perform under the current circumstances. The administrator would surely punish him severely for it. If she got through the communications black-out.

Maybe that was it. The perfect crime, all of the circumstances so happening to fall perfectly in place for it to look like an accident. Team members wander off, chasing something the other team has no clue about. They get lost in the blizzard, and die outside of respawn’s range. The survivors get picked off one by one, unable to respawn because of the faulty or even now broken machine.

Medic glared at the paper, preparing to tear it in half, but his fingers shook too hard to do it. Not out of cold—although it was certainly an issue—but out of guilt.

What was he thinking? Of course the Engineers would want a break from the stress too. All of the details looked sound, and no information was amiss. In fact, the list of contacts was far too broad. If this was the Spy’s doing, it was planned far, far ahead.

Taking a deep breath, Medic let his shoulders relax. Scritching one of the birds’ heads and exhaling, going cross legged, then letting a leg free to bounce while reading back over the invitation.

If it didn’t interfere with their schedule… He would have to check in with Rusty and the others. But his excitement only grew, sparking a flame of warmth in his chest untethered to the temperature of the operating room.