And it's done! I have more time to write now that I've settled in from moving, among other things. On a different topic- my laptop screen is so bright, and it's like, what- 12:31 AM? I want to turn it down, but I'm so tired I don't want to hit the decrease key. Yet, I'm typing this right now. funnyhowstupidityworks.

September 6, Sunday

Creativity is a siphoned resource the mind filters through. It's both an annoyance and a blessing- a sudden thought that spawns dozens of new ideas, designs, and more thoughts. It is a web- so intricately woven together, in which every thought is connected to another, and another, and so forth- possibilities truly are endless. Creativity is a combination of billions of amalgams brought forth from the sensory information our body hoards into the brain from the outside world- and from again, thoughts. Every word we read, every picture we see, every memory and snippet of conversation is a small puzzle piece belonging to an endless plethora that makes up the puzzle of creativity. Not all of them fit together, and one might say that trying to fit two polarized pieces of the puzzle together would end in failure. They are both very right- and quite wrong. You do fail. The pieces cannot fit together, but from those pieces, you create a bridge that fits them both together. From this failure you have drawn out success. To have creativity is to also have inspiration. Inspiration is drawn from ideas that we gain from the outside world- do you see the pattern now, the cycle and web of excellence? If not, that's fine. By reading this simple dialog, your brain is creating puzzle pieces and storing them for you to use at a later date. You will use these pieces when the time comes, and from them, more pieces are birthed and brought forth to continue this cycle.

For the Engineer, inspiration came from a behemoth of a man, carrying an over-sized minigun that weighs approximately one hundred fifty kilograms and fires two hundred dollar custom tool cartridges at ten thousand rounds per minute. When Heavy was finished with the wooden cutout of the BLU Scout, it looked like a pile of wood chips you'd put on a school playground. So? When he went to sleep- she took that fine piece of work apart and copied everything down onto a blueprint. She put it back together too- but accidentally scratched the barrel of it. It was a faint mark- and she was a fool to think Heavy wouldn't notice that.. Sasha.. Had been scarred. Della had run from that room after putting the gun back up in it's place so fast, she was sure she left a trail of smoke.

Now, she was inside of her workshop- finally finished and looking absolutely horrid. On the outside, at least. It was a wooden, rather crooked shack (she'll never ask for Scout or Demo's help for construction again) with a broken window (courtesy of a rogue baseball) and a stained floor (also caused by said rogue ball that smashed open a whiskey bottle). Though, at least the work area was structurally sound. At least for now, it was.. In front of her, lay a heavy caliber tripod sentry, with two gatling weapon barrels on the sides, with ammo belts that automatically feed into the chambers. It fired just as fast as Sasha, but with twice the firepower, and with automated color coded tracking? It was glorious. Alas, the periodic scan only went so far. It had a range on it, and the bullet drop off was definitely a variable to couple with distance.

Luckily, inspiration also came in the form of rockets. Multiple rockets. Four to be exact- perfectly fueled and synchronized to one another, that they would all hit a target at any range, given that target was still. More gun, less problems. The Texan also had a talk with the Medic earlier- and upon a conversation about stress, she learned that the poor German had somewhat of an issue healing everybody at once. He could do it, no doubt, but it was quite tedious, and less effective since the healing done for each burst is smaller than the damage received. And so, with his help, she built a dispenser. He had given her a miniature, downgraded version of the Medigun components to do as she would with. With them, she made a machine that could heal and hold ammunition for later use. All the metal from fallen weapons? Just sick it in the dispenser, and it will sort out the bullets within it, so her team could use it.

Last, but not least, inspiration came in the form of travel. She noticed that in almost all of the battle plans Soldier had shared with her from past skirmishes, that Scout was almost always on the front line. This was due to his obvious speed, and he was much quicker than the entire team. The Engineer needed a way to get her team to point A to point B in a split second. That's when, the file came in from Miss Pauling. Apparently quantum tunneling was reality now. Interesting concept that is- but she had built that too. Now they had a teleporter entrance- and exit. The recharge rate on it was rather slow, but it would save so much distance. And if she could get one hidden behind enemy lines.. The battle would be over within minutes.

All of her work was complete. For now, at least. She had seen a few of her new teammates that she hadn't met yet when she was rushing back and forth for metal and scraps. They gave her an odd look. She noticed she really was the only woman on the team- not that it mattered. Actually, that was up for debate. Apparently, from what the Scout told her, Pyro never took their mask nor suit off. He had said a few more unsavory things about the childish maniac, but she had zoned that out. The Pyro on their team was an oddity- even more so than the Spy (whom was never around- or was he?) Nonetheless, they were a teammate, and she would treat them as such.

The Engineer had to wake early in the morning- somewhere around six or so. She hadn't listened to shoulder, despite him barking into her ear when she was working. The team was going to get together and hold a briefing- so that they could devise a plan together. She had reviewed the map of "2Fort" multiple times, and factored in her sentry's range and susceptibility to damage in certain area, so she had a general idea of where to place the metal tripod terror. As Della walked back into the base, up the stairs, and to her given room, she thought about being shot at. What an odd concept. She wondered how military men woke up in the morning, knowing that someone wanted them dead. Then again.. Apparently, with this job, she would never die. At least, not here. The Texan crawled into her bed with a huff, and closed her eyes, hugging the pillow in a tired manner. She found herself wondering how her life ended up here. She supposed this is what happens when you sign millions of contracts delivered by a woman in purple. Out of season. Is there even a season to wear purple..?

September 7, Monday

The Texan was dressed in her RED uniform, overalls, boots, helmet and glove. The briefing was plain and simple- infiltrate or charge into the enemy base, grab the BLU briefcase, and bring it back to their own. It was a bit too simple- the Engineer had many questions, but no one wanted to answer her. Except Soldier. And even then, it was a bunch of insults and orders that were never really rational thoughts to begin with. Not to mention the way the others looked at her.. She had gotten along well with Scout, Heavy, Medic, Soldier and Demo- but so far, it seemed as if the others couldn't care less about what she did or was. Especially the Spy. The way he observed her was beyond irritating- impolite and rude. As if he was amused and thought he was better. She'd put the wrench on her belt straight through those stained yellow teeth if he didn't check that.

The Sniper barely regarded her at all. Engineer gathered that he wasn't very social- and did not seem one for conversation. Scout had also informed her that he,"pisses in these freakin' bottles an' throws em' at people!" That made her both laugh, and nearly heave her half digested breakfast onto the table. Though, if anything were to be proven, he could shoot. Damn well, in fact. She doubted that people would be standing still on the field. She was confident in his ability from what she read in his file. And then there was the Pyro. Della often found herself back on the mumbling teammate. She was a very curious person and hated (a strong word) not knowing the answer to a question or problem. Or knowing how something operated or worked. She wasn't going to go so far as to be unkind to the masked friend- or be discreetly rude, like poking around in their things or room. But she would watch them closely if she could. And that sounds weird, but hey- you do what you have to do.

Her team was armed with an assortment of weapons- shotguns, pistols, explosive launchers, knives- everything. It made them seem dangerous, to envoys fear into the common mind. And, well. She had a box. An iron toolbox to be exact- but boy did it ever pack the most superior gun on the field. Unless if you counted the Medigun a weapon. She had always been told that the best offense was usually the best defense. In her case, it doesn't matter whatsoever- you usually win when you have an eighty pound gun on your side.

"Mission begins in thirty seconds."

The Engineer tensed up at hearing the Administrator for the first time. All she knew about the old hag, was that she was her boss. And would probably kill her if she failed in the distant future. She wasn't exactly the concealing type- the threats in her information packet described that quite well. She never met anyone that could make a few simple words have her trembling in her seat,mom edge and terrified. Not to mention the added stress of the current situation.

In all honesty, the Texan had nobody to blame but herself for being in this situation. But she knew that as soon as she saw those numbers on her application, she was already hooked. She could finally fix up her old and run down house. Fix up the pens and fertilize the field- have herself a nice living place until the day she died. All at the cost of running into a fray of bullets, explosions, and death.

"Mission begins in ten seconds."

Della took a deep breath. This was it. Her team was no longer sitting on the wooden bench or standing around the resupply closet. Now, they were all around her, hard looks on their faces.

"Five."

She ought to be scared, but she was more angry than terrified for some odd reason. Perhaps it was all the floating testosterone around her. Idiots.

"Four."

She should to make cinnamon rolls if they win this battle. Cinnamon rolls sound fucking amazing right now.

"Three."

With white glaze. Oo. Glazed donuts. Even better! She'll make a recliner and everything while she sits back and relaxes.

"Two."

With two beer stands on the side, that can hold six individual, cold, crisp, and refreshing bottles at her disposal. With a little umbrella to protect from the sun.

"One."

An alarm sounded off- a long drone of noise, and the sliding of a metal door. A stampede of footsteps. And then the first shot- loud and clear, from a rifle, and then a thwip of metal signifying a miss. After that, a few seconds stretched into a soundless eternity.

And all Hell broke loose.