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| The Sandvich Hunt; Contest 001; RED/BLU | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jan 14 2009, 11:23 PM (902 Views) | |
| Admin | Jan 14 2009, 11:23 PM Post #1 |
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Administrator
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Map 1, courtesy of Jose Aparecido Map 2, courtesy of Jose Aparecido The Spyvich walks liesurely in his natural habitat; 2Fort sewers. Normally, as a creature that is negatively affected against the soggy effects of water, he would avoid a place such as this... but, there are worse dangers than mere water. One example of such is the dreaded Heavy. A chill runs down the Spyvich's spine in rememberance of the cry OM NOM NOM NOM! With a sigh, the timid Spyvich peaks his head out for a second, curious of what wonders lay outside. Nodding his head, he thinks to himself, "What a ruddy place. Not even a bloomin' foodcourt!" Oh well. Resigned, Spyvich crawled back into the sewer. Perhaps there's a warmer spot here at this base. Or a Sandvich in danger... At both RED and BLU base, alarms started to blare. "Attention recruits, there is a Sandvich on the loose. There is a Sandvich on the loose! The Sandvich is armed and dangerous. Capture the Sandvich alive for questioning. This is imperative." The announcement cut off with a crackling fzzzt, the alarms remaining on. Spyvich rolled his eyes at this (not that anyone would be able to see such a simple gesture). "... What complete and utter shite," he spat. |
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| Ludwig Fuster | Jan 15 2009, 10:17 AM Post #2 |
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You arrive at 14:30 and I at half past two.
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Had been napping. He spent the entire night with a nose buried in Ibsen’s dark family drama and slept just a few hours in the morning. Now, that nobody was in need of medical attention - of one where a paper cut ended in an amputation, Ludwig went to his room to nap. And he would’ve slept until somebody came to kick his doors down… how short-lived. The alarm sent him into a fit of panic and confusion in which he tried to get dressed and tripped over his own shoes. ~Halt!~ Drawing a deep breath, he calmed himself and listened to the announcement. He finished getting dressed and opened the doors of his room to look up and down the corridor for any other BLUteammates that might be running into action – to capture the… sandvich? He raised his eyebrow skeptically – was this some ‘enhancement’ to make snack times more entertaining, interesting? Or a dietary measure? First burn calories THEN eat sandvich? His stomach rumbled – expressing its opinion on the matter and reminding Ludwig bitterly that it had nothing to work on since dinner. Sighing he hoped somebody would pop up soon so he could joint them in pursue of the Gabelfrühstück [midday snack] that was announced to be armed. With what? Toothpicks? Peanuts maybe? Must be mustard ~Chuckle~ The scream of the alarm started to turn annoying and he grabbed his bonesaw at least, having rest of his weaponry in the mediroom. |
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| Georges Cordell | Jan 15 2009, 04:37 PM Post #3 |
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Dead Center
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Cordell always woke up early in the morning to tend to the 'garden' growing in his closet. The alarm shook him out of his lax state of mind into one more concentrated... but upon listening closer to the words of the announcement, he merely shook his head in disbelief. "Foutre (f**k)... What is the meaning of this rubbish?" A sandvich. Armed and dangerous? Only in the hands of a Heavy. Otherwise, it's just a useless slop of meat between two slices of bread. Snort. Grabbing his rifle, he heads outside into the corridor, looking up and down... only to see the medic, Ludwig, doing the same. Hmpf. The young boug (boy) looked utterly lost. This wasn't any of his concern anyhow - everyone has a job to do, and his placement was far-range shooting. Cordell wouldn't be doing either of them a favor by swooping the young medic under his arm and taking care of him. With a curt nod to Ludwig, Cordell passes by the medic's personal room, heading for the sniper deck. If the sandvich was outside, Cordell could take aim from there and... well, alert someone he guessed. Can't outrightly shoot at a sandvich and expect it to remain in one piece. What was Georges even thinking?? Nahh, he could stand guard from the sniper deck and make sure to pick off any RED if they attempt to run over here, or prevent them from searching for the morsel. Yeah, that would work. Assuming that RED were notified of the sandvich as well... Edited by Georges Cordell, Jan 15 2009, 04:39 PM.
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| Bertha Biggums | Jan 15 2009, 07:50 PM Post #4 |
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"You'd make a lovely corpse"
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"WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP!" Bertha hammered on MacKeane's door furiously. "As usual," she thought, "I'm the only one ready for duty. Useless loafers!" Frustrated from the lack of response, she moved onto Molly Jones' room, giving it three firm knocks. "Molly Jones. Are you up? Molly Joooones~!" For the better part of her evenings, Bertha spent her time in the sick bay's corpse storage, hovering over strange pieces of decomposing flesh and making notes for private research. Often, she'd find herself cooped up in there until the wee hours of the morning, finally realizing the time and catching some sleep before the day's new work. When the alarm had sounded, she was already awake. Impatient, Biggums began pounding on the door fiercely. It was part of her typical behaviour, as she didn't like being kept waiting; when she wanted something, she wanted it now. This would be no exception. As exhausted as she was from lack of sleep, she missed bits of the announcement and believed there was an enemy BLU on the base. Perhaps the others have heard it as well, so Bertha wouldn't have to waste time explaining what was going on. With an armed enemy BLU running around here, her life was in danger! Didn't anyone else care about that?! Idiots! Edited by Bertha Biggums, Jan 15 2009, 07:51 PM.
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| Molly Jones | Jan 15 2009, 08:21 PM Post #5 |
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APEX PREDATOR
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Molly usually rose with the roosters, when there were roosters to wake up with. When there weren't, she still tried to stay in tune with Mother Nature's cycle. The only reason it took her so long to respond to the banging on her door was the time it took her to douse her all-natural herbal substance and grab Sammy and Libbie. She slammed the door open with so much force that her action sent her helmet wobbling on her head, smacking into the bridge of her nose, and she snapped to attention in "present arms" stance, Sammy at the ready, glaring blindly into the darkness inside the helmet. "PREPARED FOR DUTY!" |
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| +Hugh MacKeane+ | Jan 16 2009, 06:14 AM Post #6 |
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Ye call that dancin'? I saw people on fire move better than that!
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The reason there was no reply for MacKeane’s room was the simple fact that the pyro was not in there. Actually, already far ahead, outside roaring ~cough~ ‘MHRRRMHHHing’ and waving his flamethrower above his head threateningly. ~SANDVICH!~ Sandvich out there and heck did he enjoy sandviches just like he would his haggis. Had he slept… well, aye. Went to sleep early and had his 7 hours until a rather… idiotic dream ruined his peaceful rest. Details were not important, but he knew if he met a sniper today, he would die on the spot in utter shame – in shame of laughing too hard to the point of pissing himself. Dreams were a curious thing – one would fly with winged pigs or sink in purple quick-sand or have his anxieties turned into the most ridiculous sights ever behold. Aye, a sniper in a tutu dancing kazachoc on a slab of wobbling green jelly to the music of sheep baaahing was indeed a ridicule most killing. So, where is the rest of them? The Sandvich is not going to come for their natural charms alone! "Hudda hudda huuh!" |
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| Ludwig Fuster | Jan 16 2009, 07:09 AM Post #7 |
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You arrive at 14:30 and I at half past two.
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Opening his mouth when the sniper passed him – since he wanted to say something, but he shut it tight again. Instead of waiting here like a Dummkopf, he set for his mediroom at a fast pace. Wondering where was the rest of the Erdenwurms [human worms], he slammed the doors of his office opened and grabbed the Medigun and his favoured syringe gun. Looking at his wristwatch he continued his run through the corridors and banged on a couple of doors yelling: “Ist zere no trottel around zis Militärstützpunkt!?! SCHNELL!” Stops by a door opened a crack – the demoman’s room and sticks his head in rudely in search of any living internally tortured soul to drag outside and have as a bodygua~COUGH~ to heal of course. “HALLOOOOOOOO?! Tagwache!!!” [waking-up time] Edited by Ludwig Fuster, Jan 16 2009, 07:13 AM.
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| Jose Aparecido | Jan 16 2009, 04:42 PM Post #8 |
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just ze is fine :c
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Carioca had started screeching as soon as the alarms had begun, and if Zé had been able to sleep through the one he certainly couldn't sleep through the other. This was not very good for his hangover. Not that his hangover was very good for the situation, either. "Hush, querido, my head wants to explode, and this is not what my job is..." He held one hand out to the parrot, who at least stopped making noises in favour of nibbling on his fingers, while scrobbling with the other hand for his flak jacket and a bottle. A hair of the dog, they said, yes? Maybe it would help. He'd downed a few gulps and put the bottle away, freeing him up to work the fastenings on his vest and start grabbing at his supplies, when his door cracked open. Carioca immediately started screeching again - "HELLO! Who's there! Be quiet!!!" "HUSH, querido," Zé repeated to the bird, and then made an apologetic face at the doctor while he finished picking up his equipment. "Very sorry to be late - what do they say we are looking for? A sandwich?" |
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| Bertha Biggums | Jan 16 2009, 07:56 PM Post #9 |
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"You'd make a lovely corpse"
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Bertha pinched the bridge of her nose, making the subtle implication that Molly smelled like a dirty hippy. Even if not physically dirty. They were a menace to society, with their peaceful protests and... weed habits. Granted, Molly seemed a bit different from that stereotype, but they're all the same deep down. Dirty hick is a dirty hick. Oh well, Bertha can serve Jones up with a side dish of fries sometime later: For now, she can protect her~ "Err... riiiiight. Ms. Jones, if you could lead the way, it seems that a BLU has invaded base here... and. Well. I don't know where he is." The other looked utterly ridiculous. It's best not to make Molly angry for now, as the helmet in front of her eyes surely makes it impossible to aim properly. Lord. Perhaps it would've been better to stick with trying to wake Hugh up. He was an idiot all the same, and not at all understandable... But Hugh would never dare raise a weapon in her face. A twisted grin spread Biggums' lips. "If you could lead the way, Ms. Jones, I'd be happy to follow," said the medic in her sweetest voice, barely containing the venom behind the words. |
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| Georges Cordell | Jan 16 2009, 08:19 PM Post #10 |
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Dead Center
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@The Sniper Deck He'd made a short detour for the cafeteria first, stealing a pot of coffee for himself. Georges would've preferred whiskey, but after a while... it kinda throws off your game. Settling himself down, the sniper thought he'd enjoy a relaxing day of sandvich spotting. This was not the case though, as something clad in red latex caught his eye. A pyro. Waving his arms around like... well, as if the poor peeshwank had formis in his suit. Hmpf. Mighty kind of the pyro to make himself such a pleasing target. Zooming in with the sniper lens on his rifle, Cordell aimed his shot a few feet away from the pyro, as a warning shot. He's not a barbarian, after all. It was only fair. Weh, weh... no matter how much Georges consoled himself like this, it didn't help his conscience. A pyro has no way of getting to him, so fairness is hardly a term that can be applied here. Next time. Next time Cordell will aim a bit higher. PTCHNK. (Peeshwank = runt) (Formis = ant) (Ptchnk = horrible attempt at gun sfx, baww) |
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