In The General Vicinity of the BLU Base

Eric waited for Ian to finish, finding it amusing how nervous he was. She never really got that about him, why he was always stuttering and fidgeting. There wasn't much to be nervous about, they where his teammates, they weren't gonna hurt him or anything. Nevertheless, she chuckled a bit after he finished. In response to Achillie's question, she merely shrugged, not considering that the gesture would be lost on the man. "I'm Eric, the scout," she stated, "Not a whole lot else to say, unless that is, you want me to ramble on about all the bases I've been at for the next hour."

She leaned back against the wall, pondering the question a bit. In hindsight, she didn't consider a whole lot about her to be interesting enough to share. Well, not in her mind, at least. For a moment she considered apologizing in advanced if she was a bit of a bitch, but apologizing once seemed enough for one week. Eventually, all she came up with was, "Oh, I also have birds, too. So if you ever hear chirping or some shit in my room, it's probably them."

Ian was still picking at his pant leg through Eric's introduction, slightly zoned out in his own thoughts. He was shaken from them, however, when he heard the loud 'pop' that was Achille clasping his hands together. He looked up just as the man addressed him personally about... what? Not needing his help?

He wasn't sure how to respond to this. During the short pause he had been blessed with, panic flared up in his chest and tightened around his neck. His eyes widened slightly with his mouth opening a bit to protest, but he couldn't speak. The Pyro continued before he had the chance, anyway.

The second set of phrases made the feeling subside a bit, but it still remained. To the young man, it sounded like Achille was implying that he'd be a hindrance to the Medic... instead of the other way around. Honestly, Ian would have felt more useful being the blind man's eyes on the battlefield than not, but he decided against expressing it -- trying to avert yet another awkward mood.

"...Yeah, okay." He muttered quietly, disappointment lacing the affirmative. "Thanks."

Achille let out a hearty laugh.

"Well thank you! I suppose it must be one hell of a sight after all. It's just a pity I can't see their expressions ey?" He said with a smile, putting his hands on his knees as he lifted himself off the couch and put his gloves back on. "But I'm sure you and Ian here must put the fear in them on a regular basis." There was nothing in his tone of voice or expression that betrayed any hint of sarcasm. While he was unsure of Ian's abilities, it seemed to Achille that with the right amount of guidance and the occasional painful lesson the nervous youth could be turned into quite the soldier. Or Medic if you wanted to get specific about it.

Achille made his way towards the front door, making sure his suit was fully secure and sealed before reaching down to put on his footwear. Once he was content that his boots wouldn't be sucked off his feet by the mud, he grabbed ahold of his flamethrower and checked the weight to make sure he was still on a full tank.

"Well, I'd say I've distracted the both of you from whatever it is you need to do for long enough. I'm going to go and familiarize myself with the battlefield now while I can. Won't due for me to be stumbling around too much during my first engagement here." He paused halfway in opening the doorway before turning back and adding "You mentioned a ceasefire earlier. Is that still in effect by chance?"

Achille nodded and thanked Ian before heading out the front door of the base, shutting it behind him. The rain was still going and had intensified a bit, enough to where even Achille would submit to putting on all his protective gear. Reaching over his shoulder and down into the back of his collar, Achille pulled out the gas mask portion of his suit, securing it over his head until he could no longer feel the rain beating against his flesh. A few standard tests showed no air to be escaping or entering the mask without first passing through the filter. He would be sure to change out the filter at the days end as he always did.

Unlike most of those in the same class as he, Achille had decided not to go for the standard issue gas mask. Instead, he had opted for a lighter model that would allow him to hear without issue at the cost of quite a bit of protection from flames. Achille wasn't exactly sure how it worked as the only differences he could make out was the addition of a thin hood that was attached to both the mask and the suit and the thinner material used in the mask itself. Achille was used to being burned in his line of work so he didn't see any reason not to make sure his strongest sense was being utilized to the fullest.

Pleased that he had gotten to know some of his new colleagues a bit, Achille made one final check of his equipment and began his slow, sightless examination of the battlefield he would be calling home for now. Who knows, he thought as he walked himself along a wall, maybe I'll end up meeting a few more of my elusive colleagues Eric mentioned out here.

Ian wasted no time retreating from the BLU commons to the medical ward. When he entered, he removed the cap from the glass bottle in hand with a small pop and took a swig of its contents. The sweetly sourness of the chilling liquid inside tickled the interior of his mouth, which was definitely helpful in making him feel better.

Without even taking a seat, the Medic put his bottle on the desk and flipped around one of the papers laying on top, now able to glance at it without distraction. And, sure enough, earlier he was just about to study the medical papers of one "Moretti, Achille O."... that is, before he found him right outside in the flesh. It didn't take much scanning of the page to see the notice about the man having lost his sight, and he sighed. That certainly would have been useful to know a few moments ago.

Ian took a minute to reflect on the new recruit. He seemed very friendly, approachable... and, despite how it disappointed him before, he knew the man meant well. The Pyro would be a welcome addition to the team. Hopefully he didn't stay locked up in his room all the time like some of the others Eric had mentioned -- but Achille looked to be too social for that. He decided not to worry about it.

Satisfied with his reading for now, Ian began shuffling the papers neatly into a manila folder. He had to keep documents as important as these organized, after all. He'd just lock them in the file room for safekeeping when he finished here, along with all of the other pieces of team information stored in there. Reaching across the desk, he retrieved a red pen and began labeling the folder tab with a name.

Before he realized it, about two-thirds of an hour had passed since first entering the ward. The folder of papers on the desk had long since been neglected, and Ian had spent the rest of the time shuffling around the room and tidying it up. Stacking bottles, rearranging tools -- the young man had always had a knack for organization, and once he got started... it was difficult for him to stop. Not that he minded; it was one of the things that relaxed him the most, anyway. It only took a little while to get the room back to tip top condition.

Once he was satisfied with his work, Ian decided to finally put Achille's record with the rest of the documents. He picked up the labeled manila with one hand and his now empty lemonade bottle with the other, tossing the second item in the nearest waste bin. Then he spun on his heels to make his way to the file ro-- oh.

Unfortunately for... well both of them, Ian had the worst timing ever. He'd only taken a few steps out of the ward when he noticed Eric turn around the corner, making a beeline for her room. Under any other normal circumstance this wouldn't be a big deal, but this time he happened to run into the Scout sporting a bathing towel.

And nothing else.

Once his brain processed the image being burned into his sights, Ian froze. The feeling of panic that had just recently left got a grip on his neck again, and he could feel the color leaving him. He'd just gotten over his foul mood from earlier and now... this? This was hands down the most awkward incident that had happened to him in the weeks he'd been at Sawmill.

And the worst part? He had to walk past her in order to get to the file room.

Trying, and failing, to swallow the golf ball stuck in his throat, Ian quickly half-walked, half-ran across the hall. He didn't even attempt to speak, unsure of what would come out as a result, if anything. Instead, he kept his eyes focused straight ahead, face locked in a very conflicted expression as he moved. He wouldn't so much as breathe until he'd gotten himself out of this mess.