I'm a fan

"I'm a fan," you say, as you coax him towards you. "I had to talk to you after seeing you out there!"

Your friendly tone and praising words reassure him. His eyes leave the window and he hurries over to plop down next to you. "I'm good, I know!" the Scout shouts more. "I can't do anything with this team! The heavy moves slower than a chained down brick, that sniper doesn't even move! Mosta the time I'm the only one even going for the stupid intel!"

You look to the Scout, now lying back in the bed, supported only by his arms. His legs are spread wide and casually as he reclines beside you, airing his frustrations. He jerks forward violently and hurls a baseball through the window. You watch as it shatters the glass and streaks out towards the distant cliff. He may be skin and bones, but his arm is solid gold.

You look to him in surprise. Misreading your look he reassures you that the ball will reappear in no time, but you hush him. "I wanted to talk to you about your performance," you say, trying not to stress the double entendre. "You used to do good no matter how bad everyone else on your team did. You nearly did all the missions by yourself!" The Scout winces, but you place a hand on his knee. "It's okay. I can help you get so good that you won't need anyone on your team to win."

The scout looks divided and his eyes go to your hand. He jumps up and jogs in place. "Ah man, ah man! I'm so pumped! I wish I could sit there and let you paw me, but I can't sit still!" He looks fearfully at your exposed legs. "Shit, I can't count the times chicks throw themselves at me! And I leave them all beggin for more, believe it!"

You move to the chest across from the bed and sit there, then gesture back to the bed. "It's okay. You can sit alone if you feel better." With a cute smile, you begin to move your plan forward. "I know how I can make play better. We'll play a game!"