It was a scorchin' summer day at the RED team base, the kinda day that had every fella sweatin' through their socks. Scout, bein' a Boston-born speedster was feelin' the burn more'n most, and he had a cravin' for a cool-off somethin' fierce. He strolled into the locker room with the cocky strut that only a guy who regularly dodges missiles and avoids flaming death could muster. Tossin' his clothes into his locker with reckless abandon, he was soon left standing in the buff - if mirrors could whistle, they would have serenaded his posterior. "Heh, would ya look at that," Scout chuckled to himself, admiring his own physique in the locker room mirror. "Even my butt's got muscles. Eat your heart out, Heavy." His lean, wiry frame was an oddity amidst the burlier figures of his teammates, and his dangly bits didn't do much to contribute to modesty. "Hey, muscles ain't everything," Scout said in defense as he noticed Soldier's disapproving glower. "Speed's where it's at, Solly-boy." Strutting past his teammates with the sort of confidence only a naked Scout could have, he made for the pond, baseball cap still firmly in place - because what kinda Scout would he be if he lost the hat? Hittin' the great outdoors, Scout didn't hesitate a second before he took a running leap, executing a dive that'd make an Olympic swimmer nod with a mild appreciation, before he disappeared into the cool embrace of the pond with a loud splash. Resurfacing with a slicked-back hairstyle that could rival a greaser's, Scout gave a broad grin. "Ah, now that's the stuff." Findin' a nice spot to just float, Scout let out a sigh of pure contentment, his face a picture of bliss. His bliss led to a bit o' gastrointestinal betrayal as a bubbly, gurgling symphony escaped from him. He smirked as the bubbles raced to the surface, providing an acoustic solo to the surrounding chirps of nature. "Pardon my French, fishies," Scout snickered as a few of the pond's residents turned belly-up, apparently victims of his noxious emission. "Whew, reminds me of Mama's clam chowdah." But, ever the opportunist, Scout eyed the floatin' fish with a glimmer in his eye. "Looks like dinner's on me tonight!" Wadin' out of the water with all the grace of a streakin' hermit crab, Scout scooped up his unintended catch, marchin' back to the campfire toasts. "Yo, Engineer! You got one o' them fancy contraptions to light up a fire? I'm 'bout to serve up some pond-fresh Scout-a-la-mode!" he hollered. A few robust flames later, courtesy of Engineer's tech-savvy know-how, Scout was busy stick-skewerin' fish and roastin' them over the fire. The aroma of fresh fish mixed with the faint, lingering scent of Scout's underwater concerto. Chompin' into his fish with the serenity of a lion enjoyin' his catch, Scout couldn't help but chuckle. "I gotta admit, not a bad day. Got my swim, cleared my guts, and bagged dinner. And all without wearin' a stitch." Turning to the rest of the team, Scout grinned and raised his burnt fish in a toast. "Bon appetit, boys! And remember, only the Scout could turn a pond into a seafood buffet with nothin' but his--" He paused, wagglin' his eyebrows. "Natural charm." As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with the colors of a Scout's victory, the young Boston nuisance, no, the legend, enjoyed his little pondside feast, filled with good food, good times, and maybe just a hint of eau de butt.