RPing sample
This is more like a fanfiction oneshot then an RPing sample, but it's the best I have as Scoots, so.
It had been a typical day. Or as typical as it would get at the RED Base.
"Wake up, maggots!" Was his alarm clock, despite whether or not BLU had acted up. Every single morning, he'd awoken to the Soldier's bellowing. The Scout had gotten used to it by now, but it would be nice to sleep in some day. "I want to see each and every one of you ladies out of bed, and no taking time to doll yourselves up! No sir, this is a war we're fighting!" He could already tell that his wish wouldn't come true.
Tyler sprung out of bed, then sauntered out to the hallway. He gave a sloppy salute to the loud Soldier. "Report'n for duty, General Dickhead." He fired back with a grin. Some poked their heads outside to confirm what they had heard, while others simply went about their business.
The Soldier whipped around and stomped towards the Scout, who had his feet glued to the floor. "I do not want to hear any of your backsass, you little scum-sucking parasite! Do we understand each other?" The Soldier's helmet bumped against the young Scout's forehead gently as he ducked down near to the Scout's face. He kept the satisfied grin on his face, but said nothing. "Maybe the maggot didn't hear me. Do we understand each other?!" Scout grinned and shrugged. He was really pushing his boundaries today. The Soldier grumbled hotly, and for a moment, the Scout could swear the colour of his flushed face matched his uniform - Angry, irritated red. The Soldier had made a movement towards the cocky Scout, when someone pulled him backward.
"Easy there, mate." The Australian Sniper spoke from behind him. "You don't wanna get 'ny docks in your paycheck from killin' a Scout, do ya?" Typical Sniper. Tyler could confidently swear that Crocodile Dundee behind him never thought of one thing if that thing didn't have to do with making money, spending money or him making and spending money. He was strange. But at least he was quieter then the Soldier before him, who seethed as the Sniper defended the boy. Unlike the expendable Scout, the Sniper's job was a good bit difficult - Replacing the Aussie would probably be a good bit harder then finding someone who could swing a bat and run.
The Soldier stormed off, and the Sniper's fingers loosened from his shoulders. "Close call, ankle-biter." He murmured. Tyler heard him dust his vest off, then turned around.
"Quit callin' me that," The teenage Masshole demanded. "I ain't an ankle-biter, and I had that under control."
That drew a soft scoff from the aged Sniper.
"Under control?" He echoed incredulously. "You think pokin' at a hyped-up Soldier is under control? He woulda' snapped your neck like a twig if I weren't there, an' we both know it." He corrected. The Scout couldn't say much to that - Somehow, he knew that was true. "An' until you shape your act up 'n start actin' like a man, I'll call ya whatever I want... Ankle-Biter." He added the last bit in with a little amusement, which only made the Scout even more angry.
The boy tugged at his cap, turned around and putted along after the Sniper, his sneakers landing against the tiling rather sharply. The Sniper pretended not to notice him and adjusted his Aviator shades, shifting them underneath his leather hat.
"Ey!"
The Sniper ignored him, and walked outside. The Scout's nostrils flared, a muscle in his jaw jumping a little prominently. He ran outside and, as the Sniper climbed up the ladder to his 'nest,' the Scout skidded around the tower and followed after him. The Australian looked down at the Scout as he arrived in a plume of dust, but kept climbing. "Are all Yanks like you?" He asked casually, scaling the ladder deftly.
The Scout furrowed his brow, tilting his head to the side before he continued. "Whadda ya sayin'?"
"Are all Yanks stupid and impatient little twits?"
"I ain't little!" The Scout retorted sharply. "An' I'm no stupid, impatient twit neither!"
The Sniper laughed lightly, hopping over the edge of his ladder. "Yeah, y'seem like it, mate." He mocked lightly. The Scout growled a little, and shrugged off any offer of help from the Sniper as he scrambled over the edge of the ladder.
The Scout had never been inside the rickety old nest the Sniper called home. It wasn't a great place - There were three crates of ammunition at the window, one with a mug and a coffee pot and the other with nothing. The third had jars of yellow liquid stacked atop it. His scoped rifle was leaned against the wall with his submachine gun, while his curved knife remained sheathed at his belt. The boy also saw a few magazines littered around the place, and a fourth crate in the corner with a mattress folded against the wall. He guessed that was his bed.
On the floor was a radio, which the Scout guessed was to receive transmissions from his headset and the Engineer's radio. He paused at the sight of the little alcove, then ventured in. "Ya live here?" He asked, crouching down by the window.
"That I do, little wanker." He replied, with almost what could be considered an affectionate tone. The boy mulled over that and then stood, walking to the curious jars of yellow stacked on the wooden crate. The Sniper watched with some amusement as the boy picked one up, twisted the metal lid off and sniffed it's contents. His nose wrinkled at the result.
"Ya apple juice definitely smells rank, man." He muttered. The Sniper gave a dry laugh.
"That ain't apple juice." He replied to the confused young Scout, gently reclaiming his jar. Best not to let the boy torture himself any further. "Y'best be leavin' that alone, mate." He murmured, twisting the lid back on and trapping the foul scent inside.
He furrowed one brow, then looked out to the battlefield. He was quiet for a moment as he looked out, arms folded.
"You ever feel real pissed off an' ya can't explain why?"
"Sometimes," The Sniper replied. "Sometimes. Goes away when ya get older though, mate."
"Oh." For once, the Scout was at a loss for words. It was a strange occurrence.
"Whaddya doin' here, anyway, little wanker?" The grizzled Sniper asked, making the Scout start a little. He looked at the Sniper, gauging the seriousness of the question asked, then laughed.
"The fuck do ya think I'm doin' 'ere?" The boy asked after the initial peal of laughter. "Same thing you are, man!"
The Sniper wasn't laughing. His face was stoic.
"That's what I was afraid of." He mumbled. The Scout's smile faded, nose cringing as he tilted his head. "Look, mate," The older man began, taking note of his confused expression. "War ain't for kids. Okay? It's for old codgers who don't know anythin' passed killin' each other. Not for kids." He reiterated. The Scout's confused look turned into a simple glare.
"'Fore you get angry with me, lemme just say this." He poured some of the dark, surely stale coffee into the mug and sipped away, before beginning. "If you're gonna stay fightin', you need to write to your parents. Every day. You got that? You need'a tell 'em you're okay." The Scout's glare softened a little at that, but didn't lose much of it's angry tone. "You don't know when you'll be blown t'bits out there. You need'a tell your mum'n dad that you're fine."
The Scout snorted. "Yeah, okay then."
"I'm bein' serious." He shot back, raising a hand to remove his aviator shades. "Mate, you don't know how rocky things are with my parents. But I still write to 'em, call 'em, let 'im know I'm alive and kickin'."
The Scout was a little fazed at that. He'd never seen the Sniper's eyes - A steely brown colour. He really was serious, wasn't he? The Scout didn't know how to react. "Uh... Haha, ya parents are still alive? Do they keep 'em in a museum?" He laughed at his own joke, but the Sniper wasn't amused.
"Just write to 'em." He next-to-ordered. The Scout swallowed.
"... Guess I could," He managed. The Sniper smiled.
"Glad t'hear it."
They were quiet for a few minutes. Not much else needed to be said.
"'M gonna go now." The Scout murmured abruptly. He stood and, without waiting for the Sniper's response, walked to the ladder and slid down the wooden ladder.
He heard the alarm starting up from the base. With a grin, he decided to put the Sniper's talk behind him, and dashed towards the doors to prepare for battle.
While he was fighting, he hadn't noticed the BLU Spy eying him on the field. The Sniper saw the Spy drag the weaker boy off, but couldn't get a clear shot of the Spy.
Until the Scout was, oddly, released. The Sniper smiled at his good fortune and gunned the Spy down.
His smile disappeared when he saw the red pooling in the dust below the Scout.
It had been a typical day. Or as typical as it would get at the RED Base.
"Wake up, maggots!" Was his alarm clock, despite whether or not BLU had acted up. Every single morning, he'd awoken to the Soldier's bellowing. The Scout had gotten used to it by now, but it would be nice to sleep in some day. "I want to see each and every one of you ladies out of bed, and no taking time to doll yourselves up! No sir, this is a war we're fighting!" He could already tell that his wish wouldn't come true.
Tyler sprung out of bed, then sauntered out to the hallway. He gave a sloppy salute to the loud Soldier. "Report'n for duty, General Dickhead." He fired back with a grin. Some poked their heads outside to confirm what they had heard, while others simply went about their business.
The Soldier whipped around and stomped towards the Scout, who had his feet glued to the floor. "I do not want to hear any of your backsass, you little scum-sucking parasite! Do we understand each other?" The Soldier's helmet bumped against the young Scout's forehead gently as he ducked down near to the Scout's face. He kept the satisfied grin on his face, but said nothing. "Maybe the maggot didn't hear me. Do we understand each other?!" Scout grinned and shrugged. He was really pushing his boundaries today. The Soldier grumbled hotly, and for a moment, the Scout could swear the colour of his flushed face matched his uniform - Angry, irritated red. The Soldier had made a movement towards the cocky Scout, when someone pulled him backward.
"Easy there, mate." The Australian Sniper spoke from behind him. "You don't wanna get 'ny docks in your paycheck from killin' a Scout, do ya?" Typical Sniper. Tyler could confidently swear that Crocodile Dundee behind him never thought of one thing if that thing didn't have to do with making money, spending money or him making and spending money. He was strange. But at least he was quieter then the Soldier before him, who seethed as the Sniper defended the boy. Unlike the expendable Scout, the Sniper's job was a good bit difficult - Replacing the Aussie would probably be a good bit harder then finding someone who could swing a bat and run.
The Soldier stormed off, and the Sniper's fingers loosened from his shoulders. "Close call, ankle-biter." He murmured. Tyler heard him dust his vest off, then turned around.
"Quit callin' me that," The teenage Masshole demanded. "I ain't an ankle-biter, and I had that under control."
That drew a soft scoff from the aged Sniper.
"Under control?" He echoed incredulously. "You think pokin' at a hyped-up Soldier is under control? He woulda' snapped your neck like a twig if I weren't there, an' we both know it." He corrected. The Scout couldn't say much to that - Somehow, he knew that was true. "An' until you shape your act up 'n start actin' like a man, I'll call ya whatever I want... Ankle-Biter." He added the last bit in with a little amusement, which only made the Scout even more angry.
The boy tugged at his cap, turned around and putted along after the Sniper, his sneakers landing against the tiling rather sharply. The Sniper pretended not to notice him and adjusted his Aviator shades, shifting them underneath his leather hat.
"Ey!"
The Sniper ignored him, and walked outside. The Scout's nostrils flared, a muscle in his jaw jumping a little prominently. He ran outside and, as the Sniper climbed up the ladder to his 'nest,' the Scout skidded around the tower and followed after him. The Australian looked down at the Scout as he arrived in a plume of dust, but kept climbing. "Are all Yanks like you?" He asked casually, scaling the ladder deftly.
The Scout furrowed his brow, tilting his head to the side before he continued. "Whadda ya sayin'?"
"Are all Yanks stupid and impatient little twits?"
"I ain't little!" The Scout retorted sharply. "An' I'm no stupid, impatient twit neither!"
The Sniper laughed lightly, hopping over the edge of his ladder. "Yeah, y'seem like it, mate." He mocked lightly. The Scout growled a little, and shrugged off any offer of help from the Sniper as he scrambled over the edge of the ladder.
The Scout had never been inside the rickety old nest the Sniper called home. It wasn't a great place - There were three crates of ammunition at the window, one with a mug and a coffee pot and the other with nothing. The third had jars of yellow liquid stacked atop it. His scoped rifle was leaned against the wall with his submachine gun, while his curved knife remained sheathed at his belt. The boy also saw a few magazines littered around the place, and a fourth crate in the corner with a mattress folded against the wall. He guessed that was his bed.
On the floor was a radio, which the Scout guessed was to receive transmissions from his headset and the Engineer's radio. He paused at the sight of the little alcove, then ventured in. "Ya live here?" He asked, crouching down by the window.
"That I do, little wanker." He replied, with almost what could be considered an affectionate tone. The boy mulled over that and then stood, walking to the curious jars of yellow stacked on the wooden crate. The Sniper watched with some amusement as the boy picked one up, twisted the metal lid off and sniffed it's contents. His nose wrinkled at the result.
"Ya apple juice definitely smells rank, man." He muttered. The Sniper gave a dry laugh.
"That ain't apple juice." He replied to the confused young Scout, gently reclaiming his jar. Best not to let the boy torture himself any further. "Y'best be leavin' that alone, mate." He murmured, twisting the lid back on and trapping the foul scent inside.
He furrowed one brow, then looked out to the battlefield. He was quiet for a moment as he looked out, arms folded.
"You ever feel real pissed off an' ya can't explain why?"
"Sometimes," The Sniper replied. "Sometimes. Goes away when ya get older though, mate."
"Oh." For once, the Scout was at a loss for words. It was a strange occurrence.
"Whaddya doin' here, anyway, little wanker?" The grizzled Sniper asked, making the Scout start a little. He looked at the Sniper, gauging the seriousness of the question asked, then laughed.
"The fuck do ya think I'm doin' 'ere?" The boy asked after the initial peal of laughter. "Same thing you are, man!"
The Sniper wasn't laughing. His face was stoic.
"That's what I was afraid of." He mumbled. The Scout's smile faded, nose cringing as he tilted his head. "Look, mate," The older man began, taking note of his confused expression. "War ain't for kids. Okay? It's for old codgers who don't know anythin' passed killin' each other. Not for kids." He reiterated. The Scout's confused look turned into a simple glare.
"'Fore you get angry with me, lemme just say this." He poured some of the dark, surely stale coffee into the mug and sipped away, before beginning. "If you're gonna stay fightin', you need to write to your parents. Every day. You got that? You need'a tell 'em you're okay." The Scout's glare softened a little at that, but didn't lose much of it's angry tone. "You don't know when you'll be blown t'bits out there. You need'a tell your mum'n dad that you're fine."
The Scout snorted. "Yeah, okay then."
"I'm bein' serious." He shot back, raising a hand to remove his aviator shades. "Mate, you don't know how rocky things are with my parents. But I still write to 'em, call 'em, let 'im know I'm alive and kickin'."
The Scout was a little fazed at that. He'd never seen the Sniper's eyes - A steely brown colour. He really was serious, wasn't he? The Scout didn't know how to react. "Uh... Haha, ya parents are still alive? Do they keep 'em in a museum?" He laughed at his own joke, but the Sniper wasn't amused.
"Just write to 'em." He next-to-ordered. The Scout swallowed.
"... Guess I could," He managed. The Sniper smiled.
"Glad t'hear it."
They were quiet for a few minutes. Not much else needed to be said.
"'M gonna go now." The Scout murmured abruptly. He stood and, without waiting for the Sniper's response, walked to the ladder and slid down the wooden ladder.
He heard the alarm starting up from the base. With a grin, he decided to put the Sniper's talk behind him, and dashed towards the doors to prepare for battle.
While he was fighting, he hadn't noticed the BLU Spy eying him on the field. The Sniper saw the Spy drag the weaker boy off, but couldn't get a clear shot of the Spy.
Until the Scout was, oddly, released. The Sniper smiled at his good fortune and gunned the Spy down.
His smile disappeared when he saw the red pooling in the dust below the Scout.