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The celebration lasted the night. There was drinking, singing, and other forms of partying. Medic had his fair share of drinks, which amused much of the team, since the tiny man was quite talkative when he was drunk. Of course, no one could understand a word he said, but it still amused them.
At about midnight, Sniper felt a tug on his shirt. He turned, to find the little Medic, looking up at him. Sniper set down his drink, and turned to the German.
"Hey there, Medic... What's up?"
The smaller man fidgeted, before leaning against the Australian. Sniper could tell, that Medic wasn't as drunk as he was hours earlier, and it shocked him to see the German lean against him so willingly. Still, he couldn't help but wrap an arm around the young man.
"I... Vas zhinking about vhat you said earlier.... How you... Don't vant to lose me. Vhat did you mean by zhat, Herr Sniper?"
Sniper looked down at him, a bit shocked. He almost forgot he'd said that.
"I.... Well...." Sniper suddenly
Vanilla ch. 15Vanilla
Gerald was lazily strolling through the BLU base. His suit jacket was off (hanging in his closet, no doubt), and he even left his baklava off, revealing curly black hair, darker than night, and a small scar going across his nose. He didn't see the Medic until they were on the ground, the younger man rambling on in his native tonuge (Gerald understood enough to understand that something happened that clearly freaked him out).
"Calm down, mon ami! I cannot understand you if you don't!" He grabbed Dieter's shoulders, making the young man look at him. He noticed bruised lips, and frowned. His frown deepened when he saw that the Medic was missing his Medic's jacket, and that his shirt was ripped open.
"H-herr Spy!" Dieter gasped and threw himself at the Spy, hugging him. Gerald held the younger man, feeling him shake in fear.
"Herr Sniper... He came in my room... A-and... He tried to...."
Gerald gently put a hand over Medic's mouth.
"You don't have to say it, mon a
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More