Camper-Tan
Sniper watched with narrowed eyes as Celestia gracefully sat down in her chair. Everybody had to stand until she was seated and had given permission to sit. That even included Engineer and Sniper, who were forced to take seats closest to Luna and Celestia, along with the snotty 'Prince' from earlier. He had his hands in his pockets, one gloved and one ungloved as usual, and his head lowered slightly. Now, Desmond Mundy, master of the art of the Lucksman and Jarate, was not a fan of social meals. He liked the post-battle 'let's all get pissed out of our heads' part between both teams, even if that meant it was him, both Engineers and the other Sniper sitting in a corner and laughing at jokes only a camper would understand. Even then, that got boring.
So imagine his displeasure at having a dinner with about 40 foreigners, all Equine, that could stick their noses up so high they could probably hit the Mann Co. sattelites, and having to wait to eat something. Engineer, however, was feeling slightly happier than he should have been. He may have become a tad elated to be sat right next to the one female horse that understood him. In fact, he watched intently at his preferred Equine friend, smiling politely. Sniper was frowning in such a way that even Princess Luna would look like the Pyro in a petrol/sugary delight factory/waterfall of kittens.
"Please," Celestia smiled, "Be seated." All the nobles around the table, heads still literally pointed towards the ceiling, murmured in appreciation, before sitting down. Engineer bowed his head slightly, and sat down carefully, so as not to damage the small chair. Sniper grumbled something and sat down.
'Oh,' he thought to himself, 'I do hope that one's bloody meal is done a tad bleedin' faster. Slow pikeys, even BLU Heavy can push the cart faster than the service here.' The moment everybody/pony was seated, Celestia looked at the two humans with a smile for Engineer and a disdainful glare at Sniper, before frowning further and looking around.
"Might I ask what happened to your mechanical companions?" the Princess asked formally. Both men looked at each other, then back at Celestia. The ensuing shrug was perfectly in synchronization, after years of pretending to not know where the friendly BLU Medic had run off to with the intelligence, or actuay not having a single clue where the Spy had snuck off to.
"Well, ah'm 'fraid we don't know, ma'am." Engineer sighed. "Last ah saw, they were headed into the gardens."
"They were also wearin' some bloody nice hats." Sniper added, before thinking for a moment. "Say, why didn't we put on somethin' to cover our Freds?" Celestia looked terribly confused at the word.
"Pardon me?" she asked. "Is that intended to be rude?"
"Nah." Sniper dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Cockney rhymin' slang. Thieves and burglars used it to talk about crimes in front of the police so they had no bloody Didgeridoo what they 'ad planned. Clever, actually, Shiela." Once again, Celestia looked inquisitive.
"So...you were a thief?"
"No."
"Burglar?"
"No."
"Scammer?"
"For the last bloody time, I'm NOT a bloody CRIMI-" Engineer quickly put his hand on Sniper's arm to calm the Australian down. Sniper quickly snapped out of it, realising a few ponies were looking at him in the process of getting up to kick Celestia in the teeth. He cleared his throat, groaned, sat back down, and placed his chin in his hands and stared out of the window into the darkness outside. Slowly, normal table chatter returned to normal, most likely discussing Sniper's minor outburst. For a few moments, the head of the table was silent. Finally, Sniper sighed, and stood up.
"I'll...go for a walk outside then get back to my room." he muttered, making his way to the door. "Erm...I've 'ad a longer day than you might think. I'll see you t'morrow, mates." And without another word, the Australian put his hands in his pockets, and trudged down the hallway to the gardens. The head of the table, ridden of its miserable tumour, began speaking again.
"Wow." Celestia whistled through her teeth. "I...didn't expect him to get that angry. Touchy subject?" Engineer shook his head, before pouring Celestia a glass of champagne.
"Ahhh, it's nothin'." he chuckled, handing her the glass with his mechanical prosthetic. "He says a lot how he feels like the Badlands took him away from somethin' back in Australia, and he gets like that every time someone insults his heritage in some way." Celestia looked more worried.
"I insulted his heritage?" she asked. "I feel awful, now."
"Well, kinda." Engie replied, dusting away his broken glass shards from where he'd just gripped it too hard. "He comes from a country that was lawless, 'til the English folks arrived. They took over almost the entire world, and when they reached Australia, they managed to restore order. That added a few things into the people there, like Cockney slang, almost what the English language was like then. So, uh, you technically did insult his heritage." That only served to make Celestia feel worse, and Luna more intrigued.
"I should go and apologize, then..." Celestia grumbled, before Engineer stopped her with his hand.
"No need for that, Miss." he smiled. "Sniper may be one of the most depressing men I know, but he sure as hell can sort himself out when he gets like this. He'll probably just wander about the gardens, watch the birds, and then go back to his balcony and fire individual shots from his SMG into the distance to vent his anger. Come mornin', he'll be right as rain."
Celestia attempted to look through Engineer's goggles for some form of comfort, but the hard industrial gaze through polarised lenses made it impossible. Sighing with defeat, she nodded, and the servants entered with the dinners.
Sniper had to remain as quiet as possible, lest the small army of Scouts detect him. They were violently smacking the Robo-MeeM, Robo-Pan, and Robo-Sniper, having no effect but a deafening noise from their frying pans. Both Pyros were nowhere to be seen. The endless phrase 'Need a dispenser here' was normally Pyro's signal to barrel around the corner wearing a pair of googly eyes and shoot space energy all over the BLU (or sometimes, most tragically, RED) Scout, Engineer, Sniper (if he was there), and everything Engineer strived so hard to keep working. The only problem with the idea of assuming the Scouts were friendly was that the robots that were being assaulted by pans were on the same team as the Scouts.
Sniper, on the other hand, was not.
So it boiled down to sneaking around the army of teenage robots, getting back to his room, and putting a jar of piss on top of the door, so when it was opened somebody would have a very bad day. Or if they happened to be on fire, he'd save their life. So win-win, if he could actually get to his room.
If he couldn't, that was a hell-of-a-lot of cast-iron skillets that'd come critting down on his skull, and then he had no idea what he'd do. Would he respawn? Maybe, maybe not. It wasn't something he wanted to try, in case it was the latter. Quietly, Sniper began to move his way through the bushes, barely the sound of snapping twigs escaping under his shoes, before he stopped and realised something.
The robots were hitting each other with frying-pans.
Frying pans were so ridiculously loud when they were applied to a living creature that it was a proven fact that it was impossible to hear any other sounds over more than one frying pan being used repeatedly. After thinking for a moment, Sniper shrugged, and all stealth went out the window as he began moving as fast as possible back to his room. As he closed the garden doors behind him before moving back to his room, he thought of what exactly would be going on back home.
RED Spy sat at the desk, legs crossed as he quietly dozed in the intelligence room. The day had been long and arduous, but due to 'unforeseen' circumstances, both teams were told to stop fighting by the Administrator. That never happened, and Spy took it that it meant he should catch up on lost sleep. The gentle beeping of the computers in the room allowed him to drift to sleep, before it was suddenly shattered.
"SPY!" Heavy called. The Frenchman snapped awake, falling less-than-gracefully from his chair and onto the floor. Growling, Spy got up.
"What do you want?" he snarled. Heavy was leaning down the wall of the corridor ahead, looking pretty worried.
"Where are Sniper and Engineer?" he asked. Spy thought.
"I don't know." he muttered, rubbing some tiredness from his eyes as he leaned on the desk in the dark room. "Did they go home?"
"Njet." Heavy replied. "Sniper and Engineer are not our Sniper and Engineer. Are robots." Spy groaned.
"Yes, you only just found that out?" he sighed, making his way over to Heavy so he could go upstairs. "I've known for this whole week."
"Is not possible." Heavy replied gruffly. "Sniper and Engineer are disappear. Robots are upstairs, and stop working because Heavy punch them very hard."
"I think most things stop working if you punch them."
"Njet. Not all things. Some things do not stop working, things die. Like bear."
"Yes, Heavy, you have explained many times how you punched a bear and it exploded from the inside. This makes it your 500th, and I grant you a sandwich coupon." Heavy smiled.
"Thank you!" he cheered loudly, before running up the stairs, tripping, and landing painfully. The steel stairs permanently bent under the weight, before Heavy jumped back up with a strange 'woop' noise, and then running out the door again to go claim his sandvich. Spy facepalmed, carefully going around the bent stairs so as not to fall. If both robots suddenly stop working simultaneously, then obviously they ran out of batteries.
Either that, or some other entity was shutting them down to prepare for something.
The library back in Ponyville was absolutely silent, save the faint ticking of a clock and strange snorting noise from the Spycrab in the basement. Spike had only just finished mopping up what Twilight said was an extreme explosion of...'ketchup', and that happened over 12 hours before. It took a while, but the tiny baby dragon was soon able to rest the mop against the wall, place his claws on his hips, and look proudly over his work. "There!" he said happily. "All done. That musta been one big bottle of ketchup." He looked at the clock on the wall. "Better get the dinner on before Twilight gets back from the Boutique."
Walking down into the basement, Spike was watched inquisitively by the 'Spycrab' Twilight had as a pet. It was more interesting than Owlowisious, due to the fact it would make ridiculous statements when it was alone, agreed with literally everything you said, and had a funny walk. It was also the only one that the Ponyville Adoption Centre didn't come by to pick up, since Princess Twilight personally signed for its ownership. He didn't have a name though, Spike thought as he put the mop away. He stopped, and looked to the creature. It stared back, tilting its head sideways in interest.
"Yes? Ohohohoho." it asked, taking Spike by surprise. The dragon recoiled slightly, before straightening up.
"Uh...hi?" he began, extending a claw to shake. "I-I'm Spike, Twilight's Number One Assistant." The Spycrab stared at the claw in what looked like confusion, before slowly extending its own arm to greet it with a mechanical whir. Then, it gripped Spike's hand incredibly tightly, and slowly shook it up and down.
Spike cringed at the pressure applied to his throbbing claws, but simply grinned and managed to bear it. "What's your name?" he asked once the vice had released his fingers. The Spycrab stared back.
"My name is Mate." it replied. Spike noticed the strange change in speech when it mentioned its name. Ignoring it, he smiled.
"Well, 'Mate', I think we'll get on really fine." Giving a nod, Spike began to head upstairs to begin cooking. However, it was not to be, due to the fact that there was a pair of strange creatures stood in the middle of the library. One was a much bulkier version of Mate, with a much larger pair of arms, stout legs, and smaller head. It was also sporting the top of an umbrella as a hat, strapped to its head via a bandana of sorts, and had a glorious white beard. It seemed to be in a crouched position, 'hands' tucked into its chest and elbows to its ribs as though imitating a bird.
The other one, however, was quite obviously not a robot. It had the same type of flesh as Sniper and Engineer, but no gloves on its hands. It had a red shirt with two small pineapple shaped objects strapped to it, as well as a pair of shoeboxes on its feet. On its head it had a carboard box, crudely cut out in a foal-like interpretation of a generic robots, and what seemed to be two metallic pipes on its arms that wouldn't look out of place in Twilight's lab. What really caught Spike's attention was the fact it was carrying an ancient Crystalese katana sword in one hand rather than the necessary double grip required for accurate function. It actually looked rather daft.
"I AM A ROBOT." it announced in a failed impression of a robot. "I AM HERE TO TAKE AMERICAN JOBS. I AM A ROBOT FROM THE FUTURE." Spike blinked. He'd seen some weird stuff, since one of his closest friends invited Pinkie Pie over a fair bit, but this topped the list. He looked to the other one, folding both arms over and drumming his claws expectantly.
"And you?" he sighed. The genuinely robotic one stared back.
"Poot." it said quickly, before pecking at the floor as though it were a bird of some description. "PootPoot." Spike grumbled something Twilight would have skinned him for saying, before shrugging and going into the kitchen to start cooking.
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pootbird!? good thing it isn't a flock of poot birds...
Where will the madness end?! Not that i want it to...
When Sniper started thinking about the Frying pan noise, I honestly thought you were about to have him ask why it stopped.
3542280 "It's all gone quiet...
...oh, fuck me, I'm deaf."
3542310 I was thinking more like, he looks up and they're all staring at him.
3542310 I was thinking more like, he looks up and they're all staring at him.
I think you underestimate the intelligence of heavy. But this story IS ridiculous and silly, so I'll let it pass... For now
3542363 But he's a Dyson Force Power Hoovy.
At least, that's how I see him.
"Hey!...............true."
Will the next chapter be Camper-Yam or Camper-Cam?
Oi! Its called a PootisBird, not pootbird.
Start from 0:53 if you want an idea of how it acts
3542464 I do not even know what that is, but I am sure you are wrong :/
for a moment i forgot what kétchup until i had a Vietnam-like flashback of the soldier scratching luna's butt with the escape plan/equalizer.
3545324 That...isn't exactly the whole idea of that part...
Let's just say; less scratchy, more insert.
3544412
Gottam, gottam! Gottam!
*slap* Shut up.
Will you ever find a reason NOT to slap me?
Nope.
Bah.Damned OCs....
CMON UPDATE NOW!
3614822 Calm down, I'm trying to run 5 different stories here, not to mention the fact that my parents wouldn't be too impressed if they found I was a Brony. So I'm writing this, like all of my other stories, on my phones, and going as fast as I can.
Just be patient.
3616187 What? What kind of parents are they? If you're a Brony they can do nothing bout it
3619948 Besides go onto a site like Facebook, asking what a Brony is, and then some idiot my age saying we all pleasure ourselves to horses. Or, alternatively, they can just lose faith in me and let me, and I quote, 'wreck my life how I want.'
I'm hoping for the second one.