L'Informateur

RP/Ask blog for TF2's BLU Spy. Tracking the tag linformateur.

[buryingthebodies]

Pauling just shook her head with a little smile, an amused chuckle, at mention of the RED team. They were all a mess, RED and BLU. 

"Ugh. Don’t remind me." her derision was still good-natured. "He’s being himself. Attempting to flirt and impress in ways only he thinks are flirtatious and impressive."

[linformateur]

"How... charming," he answered with a slight curl of his lip. "A colleague of mine was recounting how... hopeless he was in winning your particular affections. I'm afraid I might have suffered some secondhand embarrassment." He looked from Miss Pauling to the cigarette case a little expectantly, having been holding it out to her for a minute or so. "May I offer you one so I can at least assert some degree of courtesy? Or do you not partake?"

[buryingthebodies]

"Pfft." Pauling scoffed, lips curling into a smirk while she rolled her eyes. "She’s not that bad. I mean. She’s difficult, and she definitely means business.”

She did hold a great deal of admiration for the Administrator, in many respects.

"And it’s be a sad existence if I was just waiting for a prince." Not that she would mind having one per se.

[linformateur]

"Sounds like a woman I can respect," he replied with a slight chuckle. "Most of the men I work with are... less than serious regarding their professional occupations. Though I will count my blessings that I am no longer affiliated with the RED team -- they have been drinking Teufort's poisoned water for far longer."

He regarded her with a raised eyebrow, a smirk curling his lips as he wordlessly offered her a cigarette from his case. "Sometimes waiting is the only thing you really have to do," he offered, "how are things with that RED Scout. Not really the knight-in-shining armor type, I presume?"

[buryingthebodies]

"No, no they don’t." A cringing smile. "It looked terrible.”

Miss Pauling had a difficult time feeling the age gap that was painfully obvious between herself and most of the mercenaries. Perhaps because she was in many ways their boss. And was generally a more responsible, no-nonsense individual — at least, when she needed to be.

It made her feel older than twenty-six, that was for sure. 

She watched Spy smoke, feeling a bit jealous. She wouldn’t mind a smoke herself, if just to help her wind down before bed.

"No, I guess not. But I don’t intend on turning into Rapunzel, Spy."

[linformateur]

The Frenchman eyed her with a degree of curiosity at her expression, smirking a little at her words.

"Why not?" he asked a little amusedly, rolling his lit cigarette between his fingertips. "You are already at the service of a wicked witch, are you not? I garner the impression that she is honestly terrible -- all that's left is to find you a prince. That's how the story goes, is it not?"

[blauernotarzt-blog]

"We might." He rested his hands on the table, seemingly focused on them for now. There was another silence, punctuated only by him glancing up every now and then, presumably to check if the other was still there.

"What are jou going to do now? Leave?" He eventually asked, frowning. "Leave and tell everyone? Stay and die?"

[linformateur]

"You honestly don't seem to be forcing me to stay," he replied with a dark expression, looking over at him with an even gaze. "Unless you intend for me to starve and die? Because I know that you won't make it easy for me to leave."

[buryingthebodies]

Miss Pauling, who managed to control her reactions during working hours, had, like Spy, let something slide in the late of night. She couldn’t deny the daydreams in her girlish heart of kisses pressed to the back of her neck, of a gentle hand to play through her hair. Spy was certainly not a fulfillment of such fantasies, but the sensation was one of the closer things to it.

Mostly, that weirded Miss Pauling out. 

She laughed, “Even if you said yes, I wouldn’t cut it. I had a horrible short cut until I was fourteen and it’s not happening again.” 

[linformateur]

He managed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he turned his attention down to opening the cigarette case in his hand.

"It would appear that most don't know their own face, especially not at that age," he suggested as he tapped the butt of a selected cigarette against the lid almost pensively.

He wondered idly what he might have been doing when the girl in front of him was fourteen -- working for a world-class organization on multiple levels? Or wasting away in a veteran's hospital comission? He couldn't be quite sure, but admittedly the woman before him made him feel rather old. Old-fashioned was a term he could subscribe to -- at times, he was a firm creature of habit, because why change to new if the old worked fine? But old seemed to be pushing it.

The Spy pulled out his lighter, no longer really able to keep from fidgeting slightly with his hands. He brought the aluminum box to the cigarette now perched between his lips, and flicked the flint to life. He was rewarded with a long drag of smoke as the tip glowed in faint, smoldering satisfaction.

He digressed, his thoughts drifting back to the conversation at-hand. "But it is a learning experience, is it not? You certainly won't know by letting it grow past your ankles and drag across the floor."

[buryingthebodies]

It was a relief to have her hair finally sorted out. She took her hairbrush as Spy handed it to her, expecting him to dart off wherever it was he needed to be. Instead, though, he fixed one loose lock of hair.

Spy’s hand glancing over the back of her neck spun a chill up Miss Pauling’s spine, though it was only minutely noticeable. A tiny shiver. She rubbed her arm to suppress the goosebumps.

Miss Pauling turned to face Spy as he shifted away from her. She chuckled a little at his comment, “Do you think I should wear it short?”

[linformateur]

He gave the most subtle raise of an eyebrow at Pauling's reaction to the sensation on her neck -- he'd be lying if he said it was deliberate, as it was late and he was rather fumbling in his movements. It was a mixture of the nicotine withdrawal and the exhaustion, he supposed, but the observance of her reaction was more than a little... interesting. In spite of it all, he chose to not say a word. It would be easier that way. And quicker.

"Perhaps," he said with a shrug, "you don't exactly exude the Parisian aura I am so obviously accustomed to in the middle of the desert, though. But even so -- I thought you chose to wear your hair how you liked it?"

[buryingthebodies]

"Ha," Miss Pauling took the twig, eyeing it with amused disdain. "I think it might be your victory, but I’ll keep it just the same.”

Pauling didn’t turn around just yet, but she could feel that Spy had just about finished with her hair. Or, enough to where she would release him from the chore.

"Thanks, Spy. If you need to get going, I think I can handle it from here."

[linformateur]

The Frenchman gave her full head of hair one more pass-through with the brush for good measure before passing that back to the woman as well. Before he stepped out from behind her completely, however, he reached up to comb a stray lock from over her shoulder back into its place against the terry cloth of her robe. His fingertips and the very trace edges of his knuckles grazed lightly over the back of her neck, which was still slightly-damp from the hair concealing it from view. He gave a quiet, if thoughtful grunt.

"You prefer it long," he mused before stepping aside and reaching into his pocket to pull a cigarette case from his pocket, taking a few measured steps towards the end of the hall and turning back to regard the woman. "I suppose I'm simply from the era where women preferred it short."

[buryingthebodies]

"Maybe." 

Hm. Places to be. Miss Pauling would’ve felt worse about keeping him from whatever it was he was meant to be doing, but considering his attitude thus far, she really didn’t.

"It’s more just personal preference. For me, I mean. I look how I want to look for me."

It might be different if she were trying to catch someone’s eye. “And, well. For the job, too.” 

She felt the twig come free. Thank God. 

[linformateur]

"I'm sure that's it," he replied with a low hum of stifled amusement. Not that he was one that subscribed to the misplaced belief that there were women that honestly cared only of their own opinions -- he could name more than a few off the top of his head -- he just felt that perhaps they were hard to come by in a place so full of men such as this.

But then again, he mused, the fields here in Teufort were not exactly ripe for the picking with men of exceeding intelligence and character.

He picked up the twig carefully between his fingers and passed it over to her as he combed the tangle through.

"A token of your victory," he declared sardonically, "or a war prize, if you'd rather call it that. You have slain the dragon and now may rescue the damsel in distress."

[buryingthebodies]

"—Because I don’t want to?" 

Miss Pauling’s hair was actually quite long. Long and thick. Cutting it would save the trouble of having to force it all into a bun day after day. But she liked her hair. 

"Ow," she winced. "Just…see if you can get the brush loose. I think I can take it from there."

[linformateur]

"So much value on looks," he tuts, going a little gentler with each pass of the comb when he sees her shoulders flinch.

"I suppose it comes with the job, but I honestly don't understand why so many place beauty as a high commodity," the man muses after a moment, finally managing to untwist the twig the damned dove had worked into the woman's hair. "I'm not one to discuss philosophies this late at night, as I've places to be, but it's too subjective a thing to focus on, don't you think?"

[buryingthebodies]

linformateur replied to your post:tried to streamline and categorize my guidelines…

[ hush princess you are perfect ]

[[ it was wall of text kfhaskf ]]

[linformateur]

[ a wall fit for the castle of a perfect princess

this is strange but i actually enjoy reading people's about the mun things

suffice to say i like them long laughs ]

[buryingthebodies]

Pauling sighed. “Something like that. I think they thought my hair would be prime real estate for a new nest.”

She was she there was a twig. Earlier she found a little length of string that was not purple and thus, not hers. “You can give it a little elbow grease if you need to,” she added, referring to the detangling process.

[linformateur]

The Spy manages to suppress a quiet guffaw at what Pauling was recounting, admittedly finding more amusement in her annoyance than in the event itself. Perhaps, a part of him mused, he needed to get out more.

Or make friends.

"Right," he hummed under his breath as he continued to try and work the tangle through. "Why don't you just cut it?"

[blauernotarzt-archive]

"I tried to see if I could hook myself up to the machine after everyone left, as a sort of precaution." He raised a brow. "I didn’t vork. I got mad. It was broken. Do you need to know any more?"

The man knew of the Scouts, that much was obvious, so he wasn’t going to elaborate. “You know vhose it is. The fresh one is …. the rest is other people.” He said the last bit with kind of an edge to his voice.

"Do you think I particularly like it here, huh?" He tilted his head, quite suddenly. "Because I don’t. I vould vant to leave."

Another heavy pause.

"Is zhat all you need to know?"

[linformateur]

Valery's interest was admittedly piqued by the story, and he listened attentively to the man's fluctuating accent. He kept his face impassive, even as he seemed to work himself into a more irritated state.

Perhaps now was not the time to continue provoking him, the more rational side of him suggested. It would be prudent, he was sure, to bide his time.

"For right now? I suppose," he answered a bit coolly after a long and slightly-tense silence had settled between them. "Are we finished speaking?"

[blauernotarzt-archive]

"Zhe upper levels are mostly collapsed on  zhe ozer zide of zhe base - on RED." He gestured vaguely towards the building that lay across the shallow stream of water crossed by the bridge. "I do not go zhere…"

He nodded upward. “Zhe respawn room here caved in when I tried to - do somezhing. The intel room is still there, I even still have the briefcase.” A shrug. “It’s empty. Zhe blood around here isn’t mine.”

[linformateur]

"Do what?" he prompted with another tilt of his head. His eyes narrowed almost curiously -- part of him sincerely wanted to know what the man was physically and mentally capable of. He hadn't been able as of yet to get a specific read beyond downright mad and fairly lethal, which, in his line of work, meant a good portion of the individuals around him. A good portion of the individuals he worked with.

His lips tightened in displeasure at the mention of the blood. His mind called to mind the picture of it smeared on the wall in flayed, desperate handprints, the way it pooled and coagulated on the floor, and he nearly felt himself grow sick again. In spite of himself, however, he swallowed it all down.

"I have an idea as to whose it was," he managed tersely in reply.

[blauernotarzt-archive]

"You came in here. You should know." He gave a small shrug. "Don’t ask me. I barely leave the bay as it is."

That wasn’t even a lie, really; he preferred the bay over anything else. If that was any clue on how the rest of the building looked like, the Spy could puzzle things together by himself.

[linformateur]

Valery frowned thoughtfully, feeling a little miffed, even, at the man's dismissive tone of voice. In spite of this, he pressed his lips together in thought, his expression wasting no time in darkening to one of disgust. He could only recall the blood smeared on the walls and floor, and the dank scent of the air that caused his hair to stand on end.

"It was... quaint," he mused with a sarcastic tone of voice, his expression sardonic. "Quite homely, if you ask me. But I mean the other levels. Or do you not leave this dungeon?"

[blauernotarzt-archive]

"Not very well. Not at all." He stared at the Spy, his face still pulled into a grimace. The procedure wasn’t nice, and he still found himself having to replace the stitching on his own face every now and then. It was a crackpot idea, and now he was stuck with it.

"How ever did you figure zhat out?"

[linformateur]

Valery gave something of a derisive curl of his lip, the expression probably meaning to be a wry smile. “Intuition, I suppose,” he answered with a mocking chuckle. “But I suppose that’s moot by now, isn’t it? What is important for you now is staying alive and... put together.”

He cast another glance around the med-bay and frowned. “Is the rest of the base now in this state of disarray, too?”

[blauernotarzt-archive]

"You are most welcome." He replied, a little flatly, and then waved a hand. " …. I vas mad at the time. Vell…." His voice cracked, and his face scrunched up. ”He vas. Vhat an idiot. Zhought he could somehov get closer to zhat Übermensch idea he’s been cultivating in his head. Stupid enough to believe vhatever zhat vas, he vent and found anozher medic. Zhen he went out of his vay to drag him out of respavn range and -“

He hissed.  "…. zhe rest is obvious." He ran a finger along the staples on his face, grimacing. The staples hadn’t really helped, and it was obvious he’d be falling apart soon. "Idiot." He said again, growling.

[linformateur]

Valery frowned in thought, attempting to keep his face impassive as he shifted on his feet. “So are you the other Medic, then? How did that procedure go?” he asked.

His eyes quickly caught on to the movement as his fingers dragged over the line down his face, and he suppressed a grimace at the gruesome sight. “I take it you aren’t fond of what he had done to you.”

[blauernotarzt-archive]

"I tell you, I’m not … not a brute." He raised a brow; the word was thoroughly unfitting of the thing he wanted to describe and he wished the other spoke German. He had no idea what a salaud was either but had a feeling that it meant anything but good things.

He raised his brows, both of them, expressing surprise at being addressed as two individuals rather than one, before his expression shifted to being something like a gleeful grin. So it was on, then?

"I find to be human kind of boring, you see. And dying time and time again without staying dead kind of….." He tapped his own head with a finger. "I vas not kidding vhen I called myself zhe Übermensch. Not at all. So."

He added a pause, just for effect.

"Zhank you, zhank you for zhe compliment."

[linformateur]

“Charmed,” he answered with a scoff and a graciously theatrical nod of his head. “I am honored to be both in the presence of and recognized by an Übermensch.”

Valery paused for a long moment in thought, then inclined his head almost challengingly over the table. Maybe if he was subtle enough, he could work a few things out of Klaus... and Heinz. He was not a psychologist, nor did he particularly intend to be one for the man, but he did know a thing or two about information-gathering. He supposed he had many men on both sides of the War to thank for that.

“Tell me,” he began thoughtfully as he tilted his head to regard him a little more closely, “what made you consider doing this?”