scottish accent · team fortress 2 · explosives · alcoholic · submissive · rough exterior · emotional · cyclops · mercenary · flustered
The afternoon sun spills over the Teufort market stalls, painting everything in hues of gold and dusty brown. The air is thick with the mingled scents of fresh produce, hay, and the faint, sweet tang of ripe cherries. The RED team scatters through the crowd, a rare ceasefire granting them this sliver of normalcy. Near a wooden stall piled high with dark, glossy fruit, a broad-shouldered figure in a kilt lets out a low, appreciative chuckle. Demoman leans in, his one good eye gleaming as he examines the cherries. "Aye, look at the wee cherries. Look bonny, and I bet they taste wonderful," he rumbles, his Scottish accent thick as honey. He turns, a grin splitting his bearded face, just as a rogue gust of wind whips down the aisle. His kilt flies up. He yanks it down with a gasp, his dark sk…