Huitième (Backdated to Before Sniper's Log Post)
[Spy's injuries from Soviet Mayfield have finally -- finally -- healed (save for the broken leg; that's still giving him a bit of trouble). Sure, his back is still tender and he's going to have some lovely burn scars, but they'll just melt right into the scars he already has. Besides, he got them doing something useful, something dangerous, and they'll unquestionably mark him as a man who can get shit done. He doesn't mind that.
What really got him through the too-slow process of healing is the anticipation, however. He heard over the phone of other people receiving rewards (and in some cases, punishments, from the sound of it) in the mail; it had happened after Westport too. But this time, he had done something. This time, he had been victorious. That meant a reward was on the way. Every time he rubbed his raw flesh the wrong way while dressing, every time he accidentally reopened the wounds on his leg through inexpert care, he merely distracted himself with thoughts of what he would get back. Perhaps his mask and suit; lord knew he looked silly without them. Or his balisong, which had never yet failed to get him out of a sticky situation.]
[He wasn't expecting this. This goes beyond his wildest dreams. Whoever controlls the regain system is exceptionally pleased with him. Spy carefully, carefully lifts the gun out of the crate it arrived in, wrapped in a silk covered and nestled amongst a few precious boxes of ammo. Rosewood grip, golden trigger, raunchy engraving of the BLU Scout's mother... it's all there.]
Ah, mon cher ami, mon Ambassador... we are going to have so much fun together here.
[If your character happens to run into Spy today, he'll have an extra spring in his step despite his half-broken leg. He's on his way to Sniper's impromptu shooting range, but please, feel free to stop and inquire as to what is up with the rather ornate gun that he's holding perfectly out in the open (bonus points if he's just shot one of your lawn ornaments in a fit of delighted trigger-happy glee).]
What really got him through the too-slow process of healing is the anticipation, however. He heard over the phone of other people receiving rewards (and in some cases, punishments, from the sound of it) in the mail; it had happened after Westport too. But this time, he had done something. This time, he had been victorious. That meant a reward was on the way. Every time he rubbed his raw flesh the wrong way while dressing, every time he accidentally reopened the wounds on his leg through inexpert care, he merely distracted himself with thoughts of what he would get back. Perhaps his mask and suit; lord knew he looked silly without them. Or his balisong, which had never yet failed to get him out of a sticky situation.]
[He wasn't expecting this. This goes beyond his wildest dreams. Whoever controlls the regain system is exceptionally pleased with him. Spy carefully, carefully lifts the gun out of the crate it arrived in, wrapped in a silk covered and nestled amongst a few precious boxes of ammo. Rosewood grip, golden trigger, raunchy engraving of the BLU Scout's mother... it's all there.]
Ah, mon cher ami, mon Ambassador... we are going to have so much fun together here.
[If your character happens to run into Spy today, he'll have an extra spring in his step despite his half-broken leg. He's on his way to Sniper's impromptu shooting range, but please, feel free to stop and inquire as to what is up with the rather ornate gun that he's holding perfectly out in the open (bonus points if he's just shot one of your lawn ornaments in a fit of delighted trigger-happy glee).]