Title: Ludus Mundi
Dec. 27th, 2011 05:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cosmic_tuesdaysTitle: Ludus Mundi
Author: Cosmic Tuesdays
Fandom: Team Fortress 2
Pairing: RED Sniper/BLU Spy
Rating: PG
Notes: Thanks to Amp and Kara for cheerleading, and Toxo for beta-reading. Written for the TF2Chan 2011 Secret Santa, from the following prompt: Red Sniper and Blu Spy meet up for Christmas during ceasefire, not realizing that the Blu Scout followed them. Shenanigans ensue.
It was in the rules and on the books as part of the official policy of conduct and behavior: absolutely no meeting anyone from the opposite team outside of a mission, no matter what the situation. Look away, cross the street, turn around and leave. And thanks to Demo forgetting that, they all had him to thank for the extra bouts of orientation movies and meetings with management.
Of course, thanks to all those lost hours, Sniper knew what he was doing was well within his contract. Technically, they were still on a mission; they’d just put down their arms and agreed not to kill each other for two days so everyone could celebrate the holiday without having to keep dodging bullets. If he wanted to use that time for something besides target practice or poker games, then that was his business.
Well, his and Spy’s. And where they were meeting was still in Gullywash’s respawn area, so they couldn’t even get accused of doing a bunk and deserting.
It was a sharp, clear day, with a few thin clouds in the sky and a low breeze just starting up from the West. Bugger whatever the rest of them had to say about where they’d come from, if he could see his breath in the morning then it was cold. Didn’t matter this was a desert; it was still December in America. Sniper pulled his scarf up over his nose and mouth and kept on walking through the little canyons to the agreed meeting spot. Spy was already there and halfway through a cigarette, on a blanket blue enough to match his suit, and he didn’t even wait for Sniper to sit down or give him a kiss to pour him a cup of something hot from a thermos.
“Cheers.”
“Santé,” Spy smiled, and tapped his cup against Sniper’s before taking a drink.
It was black tea, smoky and bitter exactly the way Spy liked it and Sniper was learning to. He wrapped his hands around it as best he could with his gloves on. “So what’s your team up to tonight?”
Spy finished his tea and topped them both off. “Our Sniper managed to procure a goose – I expect you did as well, they make themselves known – and we’ve made plans to roast it.” He took another sip. “It’s as close to a proper réveillon as we can manage out here, I suppose.”
“About the same f’r us, yeah. Demo kept on how it’s not proper Christmas without the goose.”
They couldn’t steal away every day or every night, and until the war was over, stolen time was all they’d have. On days like this, there wasn’t much to say, or any desire to keep on talking when there were other things to get to. When Sniper put his cup down and turned to look at Spy, he smiled and flicked away his cigarette. It wasn’t too cold for a snog, never was. Sniper opened his lips to let Spy in, his mouth warm and ripe from the tea. Spy’s hands slid around to grab the back of his neck, bring him in closer for –
Spy’s head snapped forward, knocking Sniper on the nose and teeth with a sound that might’ve been something filthy in French that came out as more a yelp of pain and surprise Sniper echoed deeper and angrier, both of them tumbling down with a tangle of limbs every which-way, the thermos knocked over to spill the last of the tea into the sand. The interrupting soccer ball bounced one, two more times before rolling off until the BLU Scout’s right foot put a stop to it.
“There’s a dingah for you! So what’s it I’m lookin’ at here, anything I gotta know about? ’Cause if this ain’t what it looks like it’s gotta be somethin’ real –”
“Fils de pute, Scout! What in the name of Hell are you doing here?” Spy folded up his knife and slid it away while Sniper kept a hand on his kukri.
“Nothin’, really, just makin’ sure someone knows where t’find you later, Soldier sent me out ’cause we gotta make sure everyone’s present for rank an’ file whatever for dinner. So what’s it you’ve got goin’ here?”
Spy stood, slowly, and Sniper followed, keeping his eyes on the Scout. “None of your business, now if you’ll scurry along –”
“Christmas truce and if this is what you’re doin’ with the time we got off man you’re even more borin’ than I’d thought you were.” He kicked the ball lightly, jumped up and brought his left foot down on it to pull it back. “If you were at least fightin’ each other that’d be somethin’ but if you’re just sneakin’ off t’talk t’him that ain’t even worth –”
Sniper relaxed enough to let go of his kukri; whatever the Scout had or hadn’t seen, it could’ve been much worse. But he wouldn’t bloody shut up. “Say, where’d you get that?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Like you said, Christmas truce.” Sniper shrugged. “Just didn’t know we had a soccer ball ’round here.”
“Football,” Spy said.
“Soccer,” Scout and Sniper said at once. They each did a double-take that ended with them staring at each other and hastily looking away. Scout spoke first, “Thought you called it football too.”
“Aussie rules football? Nah, that’s somethin’ completely different. Kickin’ a ball around, two teams, no hands? That’s soccer.”
“Whatever.” He stuck his right foot under the ball and started bouncing it on the top of his foot. “It was in one of the sheds ’round the back, an’ I figured kickin’ it around’d be more interestin’ than just waitin’ around, at least it was ’till Soldier sent me out t’find you.”
“You know how to play?” Spy asked.
Scout shrugged. “Been in a few games here an’ there. It ain’t baseball, but nothin’ else is, so what’cha gonna do.”
“I have to say I wasn’t expecting it from you.”
“Why not? Game’s a game, gotta do somethin’.”
“It’s been some time since I’ve played, myself.” Scout kicked it over to Spy, who began dribbling it between his feet with much more grace than Scout had managed. “But it never goes away, does it?”
“Pass it here.” As soon as he got the ball, Sniper passed it back to Spy, who sent it over again. He kicked it back to Scout. “Can’t say it does. You up for a game?”
“Me, him, or us?” Spy asked.
Sniper shrugged.
“Hey, now, that ain’t fair at all.” Scout crossed his arms over his chest. “You wanna play against us, that ain’t fair, there’s one RED and two BLU’s.”
“Would two adults against one child be more to your liking?”
“What? No way!” Scout laughed at Spy. “You’d need at least one more guy to
take me on.”
“You up for what you’re playin’ at?” Sniper grinned.
“Maybe. What’s it you think I’m tryin’ t’say?”
Spy looked to Sniper, who nodded and grinned back. Spy turned to his teammate. “There isn’t nearly enough room in this tiny canyon for a decent game, even one with just two players. To get anything worth our time, we’d have to head back to the base. And didn’t Soldier ask you to tell him where I was? Could you be kind enough to tell everyone, please?”
It took a moment for Scout to get at what Spy was saying, and Sniper kept smiling when comprehension finally dawned. “Say, now that y’mention it, I never did tell anyone where I’d be today. Can’t say it’s all that polite just to do a bunk like that.”
“Not in the least, dear bushman.”
Nobody else had known about the soccer ball; nobody else had been bored enough to go poking around at what the scientists and civilians left behind when the base had to be evacuated for the latest mission. But after everyone learned about what Scout found, they all decided they’d have to get a little more bored the next time around. Neither of the Scouts understood what the big deal was about a single black-and-white ball, and it was more of a hope that it’d get the Demomen and Medics to stop lecturing that their arguments winning them over that finally got them to agree to play.
While the teams were setting up the goals and deciding on the playing field, the RED Spy had his hands full with his team’s Soldier. “So in order for us to ensure a proper victory then I’ve got to –”
“I’ve explained this to you twice already. The strategy –”
“I’ll rush on ahead and clear the way, and the rest you keep them from tackling me and taking the ball.”
“The games might have the same name but they are not played by the same rules. Remember that hands aren’t allowed?”
“Except for the goalies,” Demo shouted as he walked by.
“The what now?”
“The – you, you’ll have that position.” Spy jumped on the opportunity and began pushing Soldier to RED’s goalposts. “Your position is vital to our team’s success, and requires a great deal of attention and skill. You may, in fact, use your hands.”
“If the rest of you don’t want to play it right then it won’t be my fault if you want to kick the ball around like feather-wearing hippies instead of throwing it, but you can bet your post-colonial discourse I won’t make that mistake.”
“Good to hear.”
After nearly two years everyone knew everyone else’s strategies well enough, but battlefield tactics only translated so far – no flamethrowers, no shotguns, no katanas, although the Snipers kept on crowing about their headshots. It was the Medic that covered their Heavies, the Soldiers that stood guard, the Engineers that dashed about as fast as they could. It was still a war on, even for the armistice; it took nearly an hour for the first goal, another for the second, and by the middle of the third nobody was giving any sign of stopping. Nobody to call on them over loudspeakers, no rockets or grenades or knifes to the back – both Spies insisted on being sporting, if they were allowed their weapons there’d be no stopping the Pyros – just the players and the ball. Nothing else mattered, not capping the points, not the outside world, not the color-coded war. For a while, a very little while, there was nothing but the pure and simple game.
They finally called it quits when it started to get dark and even the Scouts were slowing down. There were geese to roast, dinners to eat, showers to take, beds to sleep in. The cease-fire would last through the
morning of Boxing Day, with just a few more hours to go. Everyone parted with high-fives, slaps on the back, friendly insults and genuine cheer and one awkward handshake that ended with a muttered apology between the Soldier and Demoman with neither making eye contact.
In all the mayhem, it wasn’t hard for two to slip away just long enough to give each other a good-night kiss.
“Happy Christmas,” Spy smiled.
“Joyeux noël,” Sniper whispered.
Author: Cosmic Tuesdays
Fandom: Team Fortress 2
Pairing: RED Sniper/BLU Spy
Rating: PG
Notes: Thanks to Amp and Kara for cheerleading, and Toxo for beta-reading. Written for the TF2Chan 2011 Secret Santa, from the following prompt: Red Sniper and Blu Spy meet up for Christmas during ceasefire, not realizing that the Blu Scout followed them. Shenanigans ensue.
It was in the rules and on the books as part of the official policy of conduct and behavior: absolutely no meeting anyone from the opposite team outside of a mission, no matter what the situation. Look away, cross the street, turn around and leave. And thanks to Demo forgetting that, they all had him to thank for the extra bouts of orientation movies and meetings with management.
Of course, thanks to all those lost hours, Sniper knew what he was doing was well within his contract. Technically, they were still on a mission; they’d just put down their arms and agreed not to kill each other for two days so everyone could celebrate the holiday without having to keep dodging bullets. If he wanted to use that time for something besides target practice or poker games, then that was his business.
Well, his and Spy’s. And where they were meeting was still in Gullywash’s respawn area, so they couldn’t even get accused of doing a bunk and deserting.
It was a sharp, clear day, with a few thin clouds in the sky and a low breeze just starting up from the West. Bugger whatever the rest of them had to say about where they’d come from, if he could see his breath in the morning then it was cold. Didn’t matter this was a desert; it was still December in America. Sniper pulled his scarf up over his nose and mouth and kept on walking through the little canyons to the agreed meeting spot. Spy was already there and halfway through a cigarette, on a blanket blue enough to match his suit, and he didn’t even wait for Sniper to sit down or give him a kiss to pour him a cup of something hot from a thermos.
“Cheers.”
“Santé,” Spy smiled, and tapped his cup against Sniper’s before taking a drink.
It was black tea, smoky and bitter exactly the way Spy liked it and Sniper was learning to. He wrapped his hands around it as best he could with his gloves on. “So what’s your team up to tonight?”
Spy finished his tea and topped them both off. “Our Sniper managed to procure a goose – I expect you did as well, they make themselves known – and we’ve made plans to roast it.” He took another sip. “It’s as close to a proper réveillon as we can manage out here, I suppose.”
“About the same f’r us, yeah. Demo kept on how it’s not proper Christmas without the goose.”
They couldn’t steal away every day or every night, and until the war was over, stolen time was all they’d have. On days like this, there wasn’t much to say, or any desire to keep on talking when there were other things to get to. When Sniper put his cup down and turned to look at Spy, he smiled and flicked away his cigarette. It wasn’t too cold for a snog, never was. Sniper opened his lips to let Spy in, his mouth warm and ripe from the tea. Spy’s hands slid around to grab the back of his neck, bring him in closer for –
Spy’s head snapped forward, knocking Sniper on the nose and teeth with a sound that might’ve been something filthy in French that came out as more a yelp of pain and surprise Sniper echoed deeper and angrier, both of them tumbling down with a tangle of limbs every which-way, the thermos knocked over to spill the last of the tea into the sand. The interrupting soccer ball bounced one, two more times before rolling off until the BLU Scout’s right foot put a stop to it.
“There’s a dingah for you! So what’s it I’m lookin’ at here, anything I gotta know about? ’Cause if this ain’t what it looks like it’s gotta be somethin’ real –”
“Fils de pute, Scout! What in the name of Hell are you doing here?” Spy folded up his knife and slid it away while Sniper kept a hand on his kukri.
“Nothin’, really, just makin’ sure someone knows where t’find you later, Soldier sent me out ’cause we gotta make sure everyone’s present for rank an’ file whatever for dinner. So what’s it you’ve got goin’ here?”
Spy stood, slowly, and Sniper followed, keeping his eyes on the Scout. “None of your business, now if you’ll scurry along –”
“Christmas truce and if this is what you’re doin’ with the time we got off man you’re even more borin’ than I’d thought you were.” He kicked the ball lightly, jumped up and brought his left foot down on it to pull it back. “If you were at least fightin’ each other that’d be somethin’ but if you’re just sneakin’ off t’talk t’him that ain’t even worth –”
Sniper relaxed enough to let go of his kukri; whatever the Scout had or hadn’t seen, it could’ve been much worse. But he wouldn’t bloody shut up. “Say, where’d you get that?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Like you said, Christmas truce.” Sniper shrugged. “Just didn’t know we had a soccer ball ’round here.”
“Football,” Spy said.
“Soccer,” Scout and Sniper said at once. They each did a double-take that ended with them staring at each other and hastily looking away. Scout spoke first, “Thought you called it football too.”
“Aussie rules football? Nah, that’s somethin’ completely different. Kickin’ a ball around, two teams, no hands? That’s soccer.”
“Whatever.” He stuck his right foot under the ball and started bouncing it on the top of his foot. “It was in one of the sheds ’round the back, an’ I figured kickin’ it around’d be more interestin’ than just waitin’ around, at least it was ’till Soldier sent me out t’find you.”
“You know how to play?” Spy asked.
Scout shrugged. “Been in a few games here an’ there. It ain’t baseball, but nothin’ else is, so what’cha gonna do.”
“I have to say I wasn’t expecting it from you.”
“Why not? Game’s a game, gotta do somethin’.”
“It’s been some time since I’ve played, myself.” Scout kicked it over to Spy, who began dribbling it between his feet with much more grace than Scout had managed. “But it never goes away, does it?”
“Pass it here.” As soon as he got the ball, Sniper passed it back to Spy, who sent it over again. He kicked it back to Scout. “Can’t say it does. You up for a game?”
“Me, him, or us?” Spy asked.
Sniper shrugged.
“Hey, now, that ain’t fair at all.” Scout crossed his arms over his chest. “You wanna play against us, that ain’t fair, there’s one RED and two BLU’s.”
“Would two adults against one child be more to your liking?”
“What? No way!” Scout laughed at Spy. “You’d need at least one more guy to
take me on.”
“You up for what you’re playin’ at?” Sniper grinned.
“Maybe. What’s it you think I’m tryin’ t’say?”
Spy looked to Sniper, who nodded and grinned back. Spy turned to his teammate. “There isn’t nearly enough room in this tiny canyon for a decent game, even one with just two players. To get anything worth our time, we’d have to head back to the base. And didn’t Soldier ask you to tell him where I was? Could you be kind enough to tell everyone, please?”
It took a moment for Scout to get at what Spy was saying, and Sniper kept smiling when comprehension finally dawned. “Say, now that y’mention it, I never did tell anyone where I’d be today. Can’t say it’s all that polite just to do a bunk like that.”
“Not in the least, dear bushman.”
Nobody else had known about the soccer ball; nobody else had been bored enough to go poking around at what the scientists and civilians left behind when the base had to be evacuated for the latest mission. But after everyone learned about what Scout found, they all decided they’d have to get a little more bored the next time around. Neither of the Scouts understood what the big deal was about a single black-and-white ball, and it was more of a hope that it’d get the Demomen and Medics to stop lecturing that their arguments winning them over that finally got them to agree to play.
While the teams were setting up the goals and deciding on the playing field, the RED Spy had his hands full with his team’s Soldier. “So in order for us to ensure a proper victory then I’ve got to –”
“I’ve explained this to you twice already. The strategy –”
“I’ll rush on ahead and clear the way, and the rest you keep them from tackling me and taking the ball.”
“The games might have the same name but they are not played by the same rules. Remember that hands aren’t allowed?”
“Except for the goalies,” Demo shouted as he walked by.
“The what now?”
“The – you, you’ll have that position.” Spy jumped on the opportunity and began pushing Soldier to RED’s goalposts. “Your position is vital to our team’s success, and requires a great deal of attention and skill. You may, in fact, use your hands.”
“If the rest of you don’t want to play it right then it won’t be my fault if you want to kick the ball around like feather-wearing hippies instead of throwing it, but you can bet your post-colonial discourse I won’t make that mistake.”
“Good to hear.”
After nearly two years everyone knew everyone else’s strategies well enough, but battlefield tactics only translated so far – no flamethrowers, no shotguns, no katanas, although the Snipers kept on crowing about their headshots. It was the Medic that covered their Heavies, the Soldiers that stood guard, the Engineers that dashed about as fast as they could. It was still a war on, even for the armistice; it took nearly an hour for the first goal, another for the second, and by the middle of the third nobody was giving any sign of stopping. Nobody to call on them over loudspeakers, no rockets or grenades or knifes to the back – both Spies insisted on being sporting, if they were allowed their weapons there’d be no stopping the Pyros – just the players and the ball. Nothing else mattered, not capping the points, not the outside world, not the color-coded war. For a while, a very little while, there was nothing but the pure and simple game.
They finally called it quits when it started to get dark and even the Scouts were slowing down. There were geese to roast, dinners to eat, showers to take, beds to sleep in. The cease-fire would last through the
morning of Boxing Day, with just a few more hours to go. Everyone parted with high-fives, slaps on the back, friendly insults and genuine cheer and one awkward handshake that ended with a muttered apology between the Soldier and Demoman with neither making eye contact.
In all the mayhem, it wasn’t hard for two to slip away just long enough to give each other a good-night kiss.
“Happy Christmas,” Spy smiled.
“Joyeux noël,” Sniper whispered.
