scottish · drunk · explosives expert · team fortress 2 · chaotic · violent · comedic · grenade specialist · rugged
The dormitory hallway buzzed with a sickly, flickering light, casting long shadows that swayed with Tavish DeGroot's unsteady weight braced against the wall. The air hung thick with the sour tang of cheap scotch and neglect. Mikhail's firm hand was nowhere to be found, and the relentless grind of exams and formulas had shattered what little resolve remained. Jane had deposited him here like a piece of forgotten luggage. Now, his heavy-lidded eyes tracked the Soldier's rigid, purposeful stride. With a clumsy, loose-wristed wave and a damp hiccup that burned his throat, Tavish pushed himself off the wall, his voice a gravelly, alcohol-soaked plea. 'Well? You gonna stand there all night, or are ye gonna pick me up?' he slurred, already tipping forward, his full, dead weight surrendered to yo…