TeamFortress 2 RP (now accepting players)

[Zorak the Mantis]

This is going to be a play by post style RP, the story and advancement of the plot will be entirely player driven. There is no set story, so anything can happen.

If you would like to join this game please send a PM to Zorak the Mantis and Mallefunction with a short writing sample, which character you would like to play, and an introduction.

Here are a few guidelines for the RP;
- There is no minimum or maximum times you can post in a day.
- Players are not limited in post length.
- Don't spam the thread, try to consolidate posts if possible.
- Try to keep posts relatively clean, a t least in accordance with the Escapists policy.
- Players are expected to remain in character while posting. Any out of character text can be placed in brackets like so: [this would be out of character]
- Many of us have RP'd together in the past so there will most likely be inside jokes and references to a previous TF2 RP.
- Any questions can be directed towards Mallefunction or myself.
- If you are not a part of the PR please refrain from posting on this thread, thanks
- Also we are the Blu team, deal with it.

Heavy - MetroidNut
Medic - Mallefunction
Pyro - Zorak
Engineer -
Scout -
Sniper - Pappytech
Soldier -
Demoman - pending
Spy - Benndak

***************************RP stars below this line********************************

Pyro sat and gazed at the small television across from his bunk. It crackled with static as the film began playing. He sat up leaning towards the screen like a child watching cartoons. The lights in the room flickered and the old cot was creaking under his weight. Pyro payed no mind and grinned under his mask, silently quoting the intro as it played.

Space... The final frontier...

*BOOM*

Pyro lept into the air, startled by the sudden noise. He landed on the concrete floor next to the bunk. The light's suddenly cut out and the TV screen faded to black. Pyro let out a muffled curse as groped in the darkness for his flamethrower.

His thick gloved hands ran through his various belongings under his bed as he searched; rubber ducky, sledge hammer, Spock action figure, random boot... ahh, there it was. He breathed a sigh of relief and pulled out his trusty weapon from under the bed.

He fumbled with it in the dark and then hit the ignition switch.

*FWOOSH*

The room light up with an orange-yellow glow as the pilot light of his flamethrower ignited. he pointed it towards the hallway and walked out to see what had caused the power outage...

The Blu Team's base was relatively simple, 4 stories of connected hallways that housed various living quarters, armories, testing laboratories, and workshops. Pyro decided to head over towards the Heavy's room which was located just down the hall.

As he approached the door he swore he could hear a faint noise. It sounded almost like... muffled thunder. Curious, Pyro edged closer to the door, weapon at the ready. He prepared to breach the door with a concussion blast when suddenly he heard it again. This time it was clear, his Russian compatriot was clearly enjoying his nap...

Pyro sighed and contemplated waking him. He put his hand on the door and began to open it.

"I vould not do zat if I ver you Herr Pyro."

The Medic gestured towards the door. "Heavy Veapons Man can be razzer... grumpy vhen voken vrom his nap."

Pyro shrugged. "URH GUHRSS YUHR RUHRT. DUHR YUHR KNUHR WUHR DUHR PHRHUR URZ UHHRT? URH WUHRZ WUHRHURN STURHH TRURK!"

The medic sighed. "I do not know. But it iz probably for ze best zat you take a break from vatching zat Star Vars constantly..."

"STURHH TRURK!" Pyro interjected.

"Vatever..." Medic rolled his eyes and continued "Look ve need to see vhy ze power iz out. I cannot continue mein studies vis out it. Come along, let us go und see if ze Engineer haz un answer..."

Medic started down the hall and Pyro waddled along after him.

 

[Pappytech]

"No, Dad, it's not like that... I'm making 12.5 million a year for pete's sake!... I don't have a beard because I shave; it's a personal choice..."

The Sniper collapsed onto his flimsy cot, wincing as the rusty springs squealed in protest. In one hand he grasped his customary pair of horn-rimmed glasses, their lenses clean and unblemished. His other hand gently rubbed the bare bridge of his nose, attempting, and failing, to assuage the oncoming migraine. A red telephone receiver was tucked into the hollow between his shoulder and neck, one end tightly pressed against an ear, the other hanging just below his stubble-coated chin.

"Dad, I... Dad... Da... Would you put Mum on the phone?"

A single incandescent bulb hung from the ceiling, its aging filament buzzing as electrons flew through the copper. A few pale shadows of light fell upon the small room, illuminating the four concrete walls, a shelf loaded with a few select classic titles, and a table covered by a plain white cloth. A disassembled rifle lay upon the table, a rag coated with polish resting on the perfectly maintained scope.

"No, I'm quite happy with my current job. I enjoy... Oh, piss off! I never..." The light suddenly blinked out, at the same moment the phone's earpiece stopped spewing rage filled speech.

"...Hello? Dad?"

Years of abandonment and attention issues rose up through the Sniper's mind. Memories flashed through his thoughts, long-forgotten images and sounds replaying without rhyme or reason. A hand-drawn picture, scrawled in crayon and pencil, lying torn on the floor, the happy family of three torn apart. A beloved pet rattlesnake, its stuffed hide displayed on the mantle, its cooked meat sitting on the table. Another birthday gone by unnoticed, with nary a card or gift to mark the occasion.

A single solitary tear slid down the Sniper's cheek. Then he realized that the power was out.

"What the bloody hell... Spy."

Rising to his feet, the Sniper walked out of his small room, stumbling through the black halls and darkened rooms. Whatever was going on, odds were the Spy had something to do with it.

 

[MetroidNut]

The Heavy Weapons Guy slept on the floor. This should be obvious. If the Heavy Weapons Guy were to sleep in his bunk, where would Sasha sleep? On the floor, that's where. And that would be disgraceful to such a glorious worker of the proletariat as the Heavy. Fortunately, he was well-accustomed to sleeping on the floor, having been alive, Russian, and not Josef Stalin during the ruthless dictator's rule of the Soviet Union.

Not that he sought sympathy; in all honesty, he simply didn't care about the tough times of his childhood. It was all in the past, and to the Heavy Weapons Guy, the past might as well have been imagined for all the difference it made. It was an important attitude to develop in his line of work.

Heavy failed to notice the power going out. He slept right through the Pyro's semi-coherent screams. And yet, he awoke only moments later. It was impossible to describe exactly why, but for whatever reason, he was suddenly and absolutely certain that his beloved Sasha had been disturbed from her slumber at some point in the recent past.

With remarkable grace given his enormous girth, he rose to his feet, checked his minigun to confirm his suspicions, and punched down the door of his room.

Rather than go through the always-frustrating process of attempting to translate Russian thoughts into English words, he decided to scream incoherently. He was fairly certain this would get the gist of his message across.

 

[Mallefunction]

Medic walked along the hallway partially blind thanks to the darkness of the compound. Eventually he felt his way to a door and he turned the handle. "Herr Engineer!? Ah you avake?" he asked, opening the door. Suddenly he felt a solid smack to his ear, knocking him into the wall.

"Oh...sorry Doc. Thought you wuz Spy creepin' again." Scout laughed and then lowered his bat. "Hardhat is down da hall." Medic groaned, forcing himself to stand, "Vhy no, Herr Demo..zat is not for drinking..." he mumbled, somewhat loopy. He fell back onto Pyro, nearly crushing the stout fire-starter against the wall. Scout blinked and frowned, "Shit...Didn't think I hit 'em THAT hard. Come on doc, get up." Medic just lolled his head to the side, staring at Scout with a confused look on his face, "Herr Scout...vhy ah ze five of you?"

 

[Zorak the Mantis]

Pyro pushed the German doctor off of him and picked up his weapon. He started to say something and then he suddenly came to a realization...

Could this Scout be an enemy SPY?! he thought

Pyro didn't have time to deliberate over such a trivial thing. The great Captain Kirk wouldn't hesitate to blast an enemy spy, so why should he. There was only one way to find out...

The stout arsonist raised his flamethrower and squeezed the trigger.

*FWOOSH*

A gout of fire illuminated the hallway and covered the Scout. The light reflected off of the Pyro's mask as he laughed out loud.

"HUAHUAHUA"

He let go of the trigger and before him the Medic looked on in utter terror at the charred remains of a RED Spy...

 

[Pappytech]

Sniper shuddered as a horrifying noise filled the air, a blood-curdling cry that chilled him to his very bones. It was a familiar sound, one that could often be heard on blood soaked battlefields, wafting over dusty craters and broken, burnt corpses: The Pyro's laugh.

Right, well, if the Pyro was laughing, then that meant one of two things: Either the REDs were attacking or the masked maniac had finally turned to teamkilling. In either case, it would probably be a splendid idea to investigate the weapons situation.

Rifle? Half disassembled and lying on the table in his room.

Machete? Strapped to his waist, as always. If there was one thing life had taught Sniper, it was to never go anywhere without a sharp object capable of cleaving a man in two.

Shield received from Mr. Hale? Slung across his back, providing a solid defense against bullets and backstabs.

SMG? ...Dammit, he had left that one up in the attic, while he had been on lookout duty.

Sighing, Sniper slowly unsheathed his blade, the cool scrape of metal against leather calming him slightly. Alright, let's see here, plan is what? Get to attic, grab gun, ?, profit. Yeah, that sounds good.

Slowly, Sniper began making his way upstairs, navigating the darkened halls, his machete at the ready. However, he halted outside of Spy's room, the sound of someone rustling through a locker emitting from the open door. Peeking his head in slightly, Sniper spotted the dim glow of a cigar lighting the room, the acrid smell of smoke filling his nostrils.

"Oi, Spy? That you?"

 

[Mallefunction]

Slowly pushing himself back onto his feet, Medic looked over the charred remains of the enemy spy and then back at Pyro in utter confusion. "How did you know it vas a Spy?"

The firestarter just shrugged and mumbled as he always did and Medic nodded, not really understanding anything the Pyro was saying, but going along with it anyway. "Yes, I see. Vell now...ve haff a mess on ah hands. And a possibly missing Scout."

He rubbed the pulsing egg on the side of his face and groaned before taking out his saw, the only weapon he had brought. "Herr Engineer! Achtung! Ve need zeese lights on!"

 

[Zorak the Mantis]

Pyro stood there gazing at the charred remains of the enemy spy. The sweet smell of the recent fire filled his mask and he breathed it in. A smile played out across his face as he stood there for a length of time. Suddenly he realized the medic had run off ahead...

The squat arsonist waddled after the healer, wondering where the rest of his team could be...

 

[Pappytech]

Hmm... it seemed the Sniper was faced with a conundrum of epic proportions. Should he assume that the man standing before him was, in fact, the actually BLU Spy? Or should he bet that this was just a RED Spy in disguise?

"So, Spy. How would you react if I told you I knew who was behind the razing of Versailles?"

Depending on the Spy's answer, his identity should be somewhat obvious.

 

[MetroidNut]

Fire and brimstone. It lit up the night streets of Paris for miles upon miles, and equally so it blotted out the sky in a thick cloud of ash and smoke. Smouldering debris would occasionally crumble to dust with an altogether-too-telltale crack. If one was lucky, it would collapse and topple over upon itself. If fate did not particularly care for any particular individual...well. The screams have thinned for now, but that sound still rings true in my ears.

That beautiful, beautiful sound.

Heavy stirred from his slumber-like state of pleasant recollection. Incoherent screaming often devolved into reliving such happy memories. So did minigunning. Little wonder that the two were among the Heavy's favorite activities. Still, one could hardly live in the past when there was a problem in the present - specifically, the investigation of a caper. The Case of the Soon-to-be-Violently-Deceased Fool. Yes, that would do nicely.

The first thing to investigate was capability. Who possessed the espionage skill to sneak into the hibernating Heavy's abode and disturb his beloved Sasha without awakening him from his deep, deep slumber? The answer, of course, was "everybody". So everybody was guilty. Case closed. But alas, the lumbering Russian was fully aware that in murdering everyone, he would be robbed of the pleasure of looking with certainty into the eyes of the asphyxiating man who had so foolishly touched his gun.

Next up, then, was motive. The Heavy doubted very much that someone had gone to all the trouble of sneaking into his room (and risking his wrath) purely to tamper with a minigun. No, there had to be a more devious motive at work, and the assailant must have simply brushed Sasha en route to (or in flight from) his objective.

What, then, was that motive?

The Heavy felt a slight tremor of hunger in his stomach. He re-entered his room and reached for his Sandvich.

But it was gone.

 

[darkraven28]

i know this is probably late but i'll be the scout (wait should i PM you before i post on here)