#bludayze

    Now if Scout were to be totally honest, he wasn’t so sure about this job. It was strange to be fighting in a war he’s never heard of before, but it paid beautifully. This was opportunities he couldn't miss out on. So he goes for it. And now that he was at the base, driven there from the train station by Pauling, and ready to meet his team. A team. Oh this was strange to Scout, given his normal situation is fighting on his own, or outrunning his brothers to fight before them. He’ll deal with it. 

lemme draw ur muses pls  | accepting !!

It was dark. 

His fingers frantically patted around trying to stabilize his dangerously comfortable surroundings as he felt a wave of deja vu flood over him. The little doctor mangled around in the cloth wondering how he even got himself into the BLU team’s supplies of all things. Really he wasn’t trying to get into trouble and wanted to mind his own business but unfortunately life didn’t throw him any bones. 

hozier starters | open@bludayze

There’s a little bit of a pause, as Pauling tries to process the medic’s- in her opinion- entirely too casual statement. She blinks at him, mouth agape, before her face settles into a deeply concerned frown.

She is far from a medical professional but Pauling is sincerely certain a heart should never be described as screaming- and certainly not by someone whom might mean it very literally. 

@bludayze

Over the past four days things had started to go missing around the base. Never anything important or missed, assumed to have been lost in the laundry for the longest time. Socks, a pair of Spy's gloves, an old shirt, a pair of pants with a hole in the leg. More noticeable things started to turn up gone as the days passed. Blankets, pillows, random pieces of uniforms. Never consistent.

With the recent disappearance of the resident Engineer though everyone started to suspect it was her who was behind it, confused and concerned why she would steal so many odd things.

The first one to attempt to confront her had been Spy in an attempt to retrieve his gloves. No one expected to find him rushing out in a flustered state, balaclava askew and suit jacket open with buttons hanging loose. He got his gloves back but he warned a few of the others not to bother Abigail in a hushed tone over dinner. When pressed further he simply shook his head and pursed his lips before leaving the room, making sure to give a firmer warning aimed at Scout.

Sniper was the second when his hat turned up missing the next morning. He slipped out in a similar state as Spy had but with a noticeable bite mark on the side of his neck. He spent the rest of the day in his camper.

Finally Abigail was spotted trying to creep out of her workshop looking rather...exhausted. Feverish even. Wrapped head to toe in a blanket as she shuffled to the kitchen. She was tense when Soldier confronted her, eventually rushing off and locking herself back in her workshop without eating the snack she'd tried to grab. Much to the harsh American's confusion.

It was nearly three in the morning when she finally slipped out again, finishing what she'd intended to earlier in the day by wolfing down as much pasta as she could stomach that she found in the fridge. Once her hunger was satisfied she was able to relax for a moment before that fevered state crept up on her and her pupils dilated. She could smell everything, everyone that had passed through the area in the past few hours, and it made her head spin. She barely registered that she was heading toward the medbay in a sleepless haze of autopilot, blanket hanging lazily over her shoulders as she crept inside the dark room. He wasn't there. Good.

Years of living in Siberian had tuned the Russian’s senses to detect an incoming snowstorm when one was on the horizon. This was no different. The prickles on his skin, the sharpness of the air, the blustery winds. There was a big one coming.

But even when the snowstorm did hit, Heavy wasn’t expecting it to be so much so quickly. His mind ran through a checklist of supplies--in case of a snow-in--then donned his own bearskin coat, mittens and scarf. Armed with a shovel, a small axe and some twine, he headed into the woods.

Though he had wandered out further than expected, he trusted his sense of direction and had been chopping firewood for what felt like an age. Then he saw it. Or rather, saw him. 

A man. A medic. A Blu.

His bearskin had been bleached an off white by his mother as a camouflage in the Siberian wastes, but at this distance and his size, it was difficult to hide. Instead, he stood tall, axe embedded in a nearby log. He didn’t need it as a weapon. Should he need one at all, his own hands would suffice.

              .:“To be quite honest mein Freund, I have no recollection of what happened after that.” A soft groan left his chest as he rose his large hand to his head, cupping the side softly. It ached–he ached, all over from head to toe, even as he laid there. “I just woke up here in my lab, on my own gurney. Ach… get me an ice pack from the cold storage there, will you?”

             .:His other hand went about feeling across himself, fingertips pressing in to common fracture points to see if he was intact or not. Lazily his right leg lolled off the side, dangling off as if wanting to find the ground but not quite getting permission from the rest of him yet.

She does as directed. The ice box isn’t difficult to find, and she retrieves a cold compress without any issues. Ignoring the organs in plastic baggies felt strange, and they squished into her hands as she pushed them aside. It reminds her of marinating raw meat in the kitchen overnight, and discards the thought. The parallels aren’t really comforting.

“Here,” pressing the retrieved item into the doctor’s hands, she watches on in concern.