“Well I can guarantee you Philippe isn’t to blame.” He plugs in the radio and classical music flickers in and out before going to complete static. “Merde…zhe walls are too zhick down ‘ere to get a signal.” Looks like he’ll be cleaning in silence…
“Zhink about it.” Boid pointed his plastic spork at the spy “He'z zhe only vone zhat hatez me enough to vant to do zhiz and iz actually shmart enough to figure it all out.” He started idly mixing up his mashed potatoes. After a couple moments of silence, Boid continued “If you really need muzic to vork, you can borrow my record player, but if you zo much az scratch it, I zvear to Gott you vill live zhe freezer for zhe rezt of your forzaken life!”
*grunting at the smack, he holds the urge to just shoot the Medic and continues playing along, surprised the Medic didn’t realize who he was. BJ’s voice comes out as his own as he yells* OW! It’s shrapnel! It flies everywhere! Just heal me already!
Boid’s eyebrows shot up. They just as quickly lowered to a glare “I didn’t know ve had a French zcout on hand, herr.” He growled.