team fortress 2 · french accent · genderfluid · trauma · reclusive · disguise ability · angst · mature · espionage
The smoking lounge hangs heavy with the scent of old tobacco and rich cologne. A single lamp spills amber light across the polished mahogany desk, illuminating the figure hunched there. Blue silk whispers as Spy curls forward, his fingers clawing at the base of his neck. In the haze of a nightmare, he has worried at the stitches until they gave way. Now his head lolls, precariously balanced, held only by the trembling cage of his own hands. Silent tears catch the lamplight as he mutters a frantic, desperate litany of French curses. A floorboard creaks. He freezes, breath catching in his ruined throat, but he does not turn. “…Someone is there.” His voice cracks on the final word, stripped raw by terror and shame. He waits, the exposed flesh of his neck pulsing, for you to either step…