Team Fortress 2 fic: "Workplace Relations" Part 1
This is cross-posted to TF2Chan.net.
Fandom: Team Fortress 2
Pairing: Demoman (Tavish DeGroot)/ Miss Pauling
Rating: Pretty PG, maybe borderline M. Steamy but not porny (yet).
Author notes: I wrote this partly because the Demoman doesn't get enough love. This is my first time seriously writing a woman character in any great detail, let alone from her perspective. It may all go horribly wrong. I also don't bother with accents, although the Demoman is a Scotsman with a thick brogue for those unfamiliar with TF2.
Credit to Tantarted's "The Day the Entire Team Went Grocery Shopping" for the opening's setting.
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Workplace Relations
The Demolitions expert Tavish DeGroot whistled idly as he pushed the shopping cart down the aisle. He was browsing powdered milks when, out the corner of one eye, he saw a familiar face at the other end.
“Miss Pauling,” he called out, “I was unaware you shopped here.” he said as he strolled up to where she was standing.
The slightest hint of crimson crept across Miss Pauling’s face before she was able to put on her professional face. This mainly involved standing up straighter and putting her chin up somewhat. She was a little reluctant: she’d been enjoying her weekly slouch. “Of course I shop here, mister DeGroot. There’s barely a service station for miles around, this being the middle of nowhere and all.”
“All I meant was that I figured this place’d be out-of-bounds to you, owned by that B.L.U. corp. or something.”Tavish picked up and examined a jar of instant coffee with disinterest.
“No, it’s more sort of neutral. Woolworths manages to keep themselves outside all the messy RED-BLU business.” She paused, letting her eyes settle on the Demoman’s muscular hand as it gripped the handle of the shopping-trolley. “Wait a moment, if you think this place is a BLU company, why would you shop here?”
“Like you said, lass, it’s the middle of fucking nowhere.” He put back the cheap coffee. “That and I don’t really give a damn.”
Miss Pauling smiled, letting her guard down a moment; very unprofessional. The Announcer, her boss, always told her that she needed to be harsh on the men to prevent her from forming any kinds of silly attachments. Still, it was her morning off. She could afford a measure of familiarity. Also, she had just realised that she was rather short, while the Demoman was quite tall.
With a hint of a stutter, she asked Tavish if he could get down a coffee jar from the top shelf above her. As he reached up, standing quite close, she caught a whiff of something that could have been aftershave or could have been the smell of yesterday’s battle. Musky, manly and carrying a hint of brimstone.
Tavish snapped his fingers in front of Miss Pauling’s face. “I said, was this the one you wanted?”
She shook her head to clear it. “No?” he asked, “Which one then? This one?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, not looking at it, “The exotic one. It’s a bit like you I guess.”
The demoman lifted an eyebrow and curled his lips, “What? It’s black and Scottish?”
Pauling’s eyes widened as she realised he must have made some kind of hideously offensive remark then she focused on the jar he was holding. It read: Saxton McHale’s Black Label Instant Coffee: So strong it’ll knock your sporrans clean off!
“Um, yes,” she confirmed, “Yes, that’s exactly how it’s like you. Black and Scottish, ha ha and all that.” She watched him drop it into her basket. She watched him very carefully, as the muscles in his powerful arm flexed in all sorts of subtle ways to do something just for her, just as she’d asked. “Thank you, Mister DeGroot.”
“It’s no problem,” replied Tavish, returning to his idle amble along the aisle.
Miss Pauling considered standing still for some time, but swiftly decided that no, it would be unprofessional to watch a co-worker’s muscular and probably inebriated backside as it receded down an aisle. Therefore, she did what was only appropriate: with a few hurried, silent steps, she caught up to the demoman and adopted a brisk pace, power-walking past him. He would watch her backside recede and that was the only proper conclusion.
Fandom: Team Fortress 2
Pairing: Demoman (Tavish DeGroot)/ Miss Pauling
Rating: Pretty PG, maybe borderline M. Steamy but not porny (yet).
Author notes: I wrote this partly because the Demoman doesn't get enough love. This is my first time seriously writing a woman character in any great detail, let alone from her perspective. It may all go horribly wrong. I also don't bother with accents, although the Demoman is a Scotsman with a thick brogue for those unfamiliar with TF2.
Credit to Tantarted's "The Day the Entire Team Went Grocery Shopping" for the opening's setting.
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Workplace Relations
The Demolitions expert Tavish DeGroot whistled idly as he pushed the shopping cart down the aisle. He was browsing powdered milks when, out the corner of one eye, he saw a familiar face at the other end.
“Miss Pauling,” he called out, “I was unaware you shopped here.” he said as he strolled up to where she was standing.
The slightest hint of crimson crept across Miss Pauling’s face before she was able to put on her professional face. This mainly involved standing up straighter and putting her chin up somewhat. She was a little reluctant: she’d been enjoying her weekly slouch. “Of course I shop here, mister DeGroot. There’s barely a service station for miles around, this being the middle of nowhere and all.”
“All I meant was that I figured this place’d be out-of-bounds to you, owned by that B.L.U. corp. or something.”Tavish picked up and examined a jar of instant coffee with disinterest.
“No, it’s more sort of neutral. Woolworths manages to keep themselves outside all the messy RED-BLU business.” She paused, letting her eyes settle on the Demoman’s muscular hand as it gripped the handle of the shopping-trolley. “Wait a moment, if you think this place is a BLU company, why would you shop here?”
“Like you said, lass, it’s the middle of fucking nowhere.” He put back the cheap coffee. “That and I don’t really give a damn.”
Miss Pauling smiled, letting her guard down a moment; very unprofessional. The Announcer, her boss, always told her that she needed to be harsh on the men to prevent her from forming any kinds of silly attachments. Still, it was her morning off. She could afford a measure of familiarity. Also, she had just realised that she was rather short, while the Demoman was quite tall.
With a hint of a stutter, she asked Tavish if he could get down a coffee jar from the top shelf above her. As he reached up, standing quite close, she caught a whiff of something that could have been aftershave or could have been the smell of yesterday’s battle. Musky, manly and carrying a hint of brimstone.
Tavish snapped his fingers in front of Miss Pauling’s face. “I said, was this the one you wanted?”
She shook her head to clear it. “No?” he asked, “Which one then? This one?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, not looking at it, “The exotic one. It’s a bit like you I guess.”
The demoman lifted an eyebrow and curled his lips, “What? It’s black and Scottish?”
Pauling’s eyes widened as she realised he must have made some kind of hideously offensive remark then she focused on the jar he was holding. It read: Saxton McHale’s Black Label Instant Coffee: So strong it’ll knock your sporrans clean off!
“Um, yes,” she confirmed, “Yes, that’s exactly how it’s like you. Black and Scottish, ha ha and all that.” She watched him drop it into her basket. She watched him very carefully, as the muscles in his powerful arm flexed in all sorts of subtle ways to do something just for her, just as she’d asked. “Thank you, Mister DeGroot.”
“It’s no problem,” replied Tavish, returning to his idle amble along the aisle.
Miss Pauling considered standing still for some time, but swiftly decided that no, it would be unprofessional to watch a co-worker’s muscular and probably inebriated backside as it receded down an aisle. Therefore, she did what was only appropriate: with a few hurried, silent steps, she caught up to the demoman and adopted a brisk pace, power-walking past him. He would watch her backside recede and that was the only proper conclusion.