Team fortress 2: world of magic and random crossovers XD

Barrrrrrrrrrr lol

3rd person

"And what do you suggest?" Spy asked, sitting up and lighting a cigarette. Thankfully, his headache had mostly dissipated, thanks to the aspirin and his partner's handy advice.

"Well...do you like jazz?" Pyro inquired, tapping her fingers together.

"Very much so."

"Marvelous, I know just the place. Follow me!" The woman grinned excitedly and started towards the door; upon reaching it, she held it open for the Spy. Before following suit, the Spy decided to grab his Ambassador and take it along with him as a sort of afterthought. A proper Spy could never be too cautious, even for just a night on the town.

"Don't worry spy, we'll be with you," Crystal whispered as both spy and herself cloaked themselves.

The two stepped into the elevator and after the quick ride down, cut across the lobby and exited through the hotel's ornate doors. Once again, they silently began walking the streets of Park Avenue. They made their way through Manhattan towards West 42nd Street arriving at an area with which Spy was familiar, though not nearly as familiar as the Pyro. Suddenly, she stopped short in front of a lively, bustling bar.

"What are you doing?" Spy asked as he quirked his brow and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"Watch me."

She squatted, opened the unlocked metal doors from the sidewalk, and quickly beckoned for her partner to join her descent down the dimly-lit staircase, making sure to close said door above her.

"Now may ask what exactly we are doing down 'ere?"

"You shall see. My, my, so many questions," she joked in mimickry of the Spy, at which he rolled his eyes.

Pyro knocked on the heavy-duty steel door that was a bit further into the basement, garnering an answer from the man behind it.

"You the cat's pajamas?" came the gravelly voice from beyond.

"Nope, the bee's knees," she answered confidently. There was shuffling, muttering, and rustling before the door creaked open to reveal a towering black man that looked as though he were the love child of the Demoman and the Heavy.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here! If it ain't Little Miss Babs from Queens! How long has it been now?" he asked.

"About five years, I'd say! Good to see you, Fat Cat. How's the club doing, how's life treating you?"

"Mmm, Lord knows I can't complain. My, have you changed! Why, I barely recognize you. Guess you got tired of frequentin' the club with combat boots and yer hair on fire."

"Not exactly," she snickered, "Gotta act ladylike for a certain assignment, and I gotta stay on the DL. Meet my partner, he goes by 'Spy'. Fat Cat, Spy, Spy, Fat Cat."

The two men firmly shook hands.

"Bonsoir, pleased to meet you," nodded Spy politely.

"Likewise. Say...you from New Orleans?"

"Non, I hail from France."

"Oh, a bona fide Frenchman! Guess you don't stand on a corner of the French Quarter in a beret, eatin' beignets and jammin' out on the sax."

"Sorry to disappoint you; I am an accordionist," Spy informed him, tapping the ash from the end of his burning cigarette.

"You are, now? Well how about a good ol' jam with our guys here tonight, whaddya say? New faces are always welcome, and lucky for you, we could use an accordion guy."

Spy glanced at the Pyro, who smiled. Randomly jam with a bunch of people he didn't know, in front of an audience-for free?