In Need of Assistance? (TF2)

Thirty-Eight: Party Crasher

        The doorbell rings, and I set down the pumpkin in my hand to go answer it. Confetti barks from her spot on Miss Pauling's armchair, my roommate shushing her rather aggressively. She's still not that happy about the fact that Confetti is here, with us, in America. I think she might warm up to her soon. Miss Pauling and Heavy shift the couch to the side more to give us extra space in the living room given that the team plus a new face will gather at our apartment for a get-together. Medic invited her, and he won't tell me her name until she arrives so we can meet. He left momentarily with Sniper to run to the grocery store given that he's cooking the last meal for the team's version of Oktoberfest! in our kitchen.

Much to my surprise, the party was Miss Pauling's idea. She never gave me a reason why, but it sounds like this is a tradition for them anyhow. They've obviously never had it here because then we'd have met prior to me getting the job, so this is all possible by me being in on the secret that Miss Pauling works with contracted killers. Looking through the peephole, Sniper and Medic are back from the store. I open the door to let Robin Hood and Marilyn Monroe into my house.

"Accomplice, you didn't tell me that Sniper was banned from the store," Medic says as he sets bags down on the table and flattens out the skirt of his white dress. To be honest, I wasn't all that surprised when Medic showed up in the dress. He looks absolutely stunning in it, way better than I ever could. He wore the low v cut and everything, displaying his upper body muscles as I believe he went out and got a dress to fit him specifically. I think his confidence is something we should all strive for as a six-foot-tall man is standing in my kitchen and wearing heels be taller. He's a glorious being to look at, and he even knows how to do his makeup better than I do with fire-engine red lipstick and bold mascara, slightly styling his hair to at least have a curl in his bangs.

I don't think it'd be too odd to ask him to share some of that confidence. I shrug. "I can't tell you what I don't know."

"Why is that?" Medic asks.

Sniper cracks open a beer with a bottle opener he took off of the fridge and picks up Confetti with his open hand when she sits at his feet. "Best we don't talk about it, mate."

"You also walked in with a long-ranged weapon, Sniper, I wouldn't put it past them to do such an action."

Sniper grumbles and pokes around in the other bags. "Tonight, I'm Robin Hood, Doc."

"All you did was change your hat and start carrying a bow with arrows around. You're still Sniper," I oppose.

"Any other night in this get-up, I'm the Huntsman. Not tonight, Luv. Robin Hood. I have reclaimed this beer in my hand from the rich in the name of the poor," he rambles before taking a swig.

"You're soon going to run out of fictional characters that use a bow as a weapon, Robin Hood," Medic taunts as he starts the stove, tying on the apron I left out for him so he doesn't dirty his dress. "I'd suggest a different costume next year."

"Bold of you to assume I'm rich," I cross my arms and tap the toe of my heel on the hardwood floors. The doorbell rings again with Confetti whimpering when Sniper shushes her. I excuse myself to go check. Pyro, Demo, Soldier, and Spy stand in the hall, and I let them in. Pyro and Demo reused their costumes from the corn maze. "Who are you two supposed to be?"

"Don't tell me you don't know who George S. Patton Jr. is, Accomplice," Soldier grabs onto my shoulders and shakes me. "He was the greatest man to ever live and fought our way to victory against the Nazis and the Communists."

"I- I know who he is," I stop him and take a step back. "I just didn't know you were dressed as him specifically. A lot of men wore that uniform and died in that uniform, Soldier, so wear it with respect." It rubs me the wrong way that he put on such valor for a costume, but at least he's not claiming to be him wholeheartedly.