Chapter Text
Misha was not stupid.
No matter what his new colleagues whispered about him, or laughed about behind his back-- Misha knew he was far from stupid. The man considered himself exceptionally intelligent in fact, and he had his PhD in Russian Literature. Back in Russia he would even make money by selling poems he would compose.
However, Misha knew none of this would change his new colleagues' minds, just because of the fact he wasn't fluent in English. Mikhail had only started studying the language after the first letter arrived that alerted him he would soon be drafted to be the Heavy Weapons Specialist in the US, so his studies had only begun very recently- and abruptly.
Misha stood alone against one of the commonplace walls observing the “team” that had gathered in the room.
The Spy was a tall, lanky man wearing a red pinstripe suit and puffing on a cigarette while conversing (in a very snarky tone) with the shorter Soldier who was wearing a helmet, (or bucket?) on his head. The man was yelling about America- screaming about all sorts of slop. Misha did not like the Soldier, he was a loud and obnoxious baby man.
The Scout was sat on the couch, fiddling with his hands and drinking a soda that he clearly did not need. The lanky boy was filled to the brim with energy- he always ran amuck in the base. He was a little baby man too. Another man sat parallel from the Scout- he looked like he was drifting off. Mikhail had not formally met him. The shortest man was a Texan, which led Misha not to want to talk to him at all; he would put it off for as long as possible, he knew very well what Soldier thought of him-- and he wasn't ready for any more American hatred.
Misha was glad he was not having to share a room with any of these people, his door was marked with his symbol along with a red cross (which he assumed was the Medics.) He hoped the final few team members was kinder to him, and gave him a chance to prove himself.
They had all met a few days ago but were called to meet their final few teammates; the Pyro, Sniper, Demolitions Man, and the Medic. The first hour within meeting the other men, he was yelled at and had insults thrown at him by the baby man Soldier.
He had called him a communist, russian scum- and other such insults. Misha had to restrain himself from wringing the man's neck. The Scout was annoying, speaking too quickly for him to formulate a proper response. But unlike the other two, the Spy was a cold sort of mean. He was quiet, but he still hurt Misha with his words and pointed questions; mostly about Misha’s weight and size.
The Frenchman was speaking English as a second language but he was much more fluent with his dialect. Misha was not, speaking slowly and with short sentences. He was not nearly as clear as the Spy. Misha frowned at that thought. He wanted to get better.
Soon, Miss Pauling strode into the room- clipboard in hand. The woman had been the one to pick him up at the Airport. Mikhail found her presence much more manageable than his team. The woman was quiet, but spoke clearly. Now, she looked stressed. (She always did.) Upon noticing her, the Scout sat up straighter and put his soda down; smiling goofily at her. She glanced at him and somehow managed to look even more stressed. Misha felt bad for her.
"Er.. Hi guys. So SO sorry for the wait.. there was- some issues regarding the flights. They all made it alive though! Ahah-" She laughed awkwardly and the Spy scowled at her
"So.. should be here after they put some stuff in their rooms.. Oh! Look, here comes the Pyro!"
She smiled as the short.. person (?) came into the room, standing next to her. They were already in uniform, which included a gas mask- that seemingly limited their ability to speak clearly. Perfect.
"Mmrrph mmrr mhrr!" The Pyro mumbled. Misha glanced around the room to see if anyone had understood what they said. Miss Pauling widened her eyes, staring at them- Misha could almost see her eyebags get deeper and her hair sprout grays. The Pyro then waved in a way that reminded Misha of his baby sister. Ну зашибись теперь..
"Uhm. Okay.. Welcome Pyro! Oh, here's Sniper and Demo!" Miss Pauling said, gesturing the two into the room.
The Sniper was another lanky man, wearing a cowboy hat and yellow aviator glasses. The Demoman was a black man, and was wearing an eyepatch. Pretty tall, but still dwarfed by Misha's height.
"Hello.. Ehm. I'm Mundy.. only my parents call me that though. I guess just call me Sniper or something. Don't really mind." The Sniper spoke awkwardly and nudged the man beside him to speak, who swayed a bit and started talking in a thick Scottish accent.
"Oh- uh. 'ello men. I am the Demoman. Ehh.. I- ehh.. Hope w--"
Misha didn't hear the rest, because the final man walked into the room. He also stood beside Miss Pauling nervously and glanced around the room. He was tall. He had dark hair that was peppered slightly with grey... the type of hair Misha wished he had. He met Misha's gaze and looked like he wanted to throw up.