[center][h2]Tiny Nord[/h2]
[h3]Morocco 13:56:55[/h3][/center]

Staring at the mask of the other man, who he was a bit confused about the Irish. "Catholic or Protestant?"

"Catholic." the heavy replied in almost a moment of confusion between the two. 

"Ah, that's good, I hate fighting unionists, I swear to the lord they are some of the most pretentious people, it's like dealing with lion that thinks it's a house cat."

"Aye." the man said as the minigun landed on Tiny's shoulder. "But ya gotta do it, else we all know what happens."

"True, but... I see you're working with the black and tans then." Oliver replied as he nodded a bit, "If it makes the insult better, I did almost go to Notre Dame." 

With that the opposing heavy did once again try to bash Tiny's head, again landing on the shoulder, and with that the conversation seemed to be a flair of insults going both ways, every once in a while there was a moment of clarity within the words being cast back and forth. Most of the slurs and curses, but it seemed as if the two were having 'fun.' By fun, it was an absolute brawl which again went to mechanical fists hammering away at each other. The Minigun was damaged, the axe was stuck, and fists seemed to be the focus.

A swing from below landing in Tiny's stomach plate, replied with the double hands of tiny hitting back of the Irish Heavies head. It was entirely a back and forth, plating being smashed as small arms picked up upon the two once again making plinking noises as they brawled. 

Another lull in the fight came when Tiny's shoulder plate had the other heavy hand shoved between two of the plates, "If ya make it out of this, I swear to god I'll carry around a pint of Guinness case I have to deal with you again." Tiny said before pulling his arm shattering some of the protection on the Irishmans gauntlets, but more importantly, locking him into place. 

Tiny turned and pushed his back against the Irishman's armor, his other hand moving to keep the other arm from moving too much. With that, he pulled the armor up, the gears and motors in his legs strained for several second before the Irishman went forward, both arms turning in ways they likely shouldn't have turned as the man landed on his front. Tiny forced down a bit to confirm that the arms were likely broken, before he slowly stood, feeling plinks as his armor loosened some as his shoulders rolled, letting go of the other man. 

"Can two people fighting not have more than... however long it was to fight without any distractions?" he asked slowly picking up his shield as if his armor was trying to reset with him in it, and also if the man was sore from literally brawling with another tank of a man. "If... Oh yea, Muslim majority country, not a lot of bars around here..."

The man was mostly speaking to himself, but also kinda to the spot on his shield where ducktape remained from the failed experiment with the microphone. With that, the axe was hastily retrieved from wiring and armor, pried out, and the man relaxed as best as he could by pinging underneath the shield and against the compound wall. It was almost a breather if he wasn't getting shot at by likely increasingly large amounts of bullets. It was also a moment to do damage control, figuring out what the brawl had broken.

Not much was too damaged, mostly dents, if anything. The only thing that was a problem was something in his right leg. It always had to be the right leg; he felt as if its mechanics weren't holding up again and that, for the most part, the gear was stuck again. He shifted his leg around and placed the shield on that side of his body.

He pulled his rifle up in his left hand and approached the gate, "I am at half-ish speed until I can fight the right knee again. Enemy heavy is down."

Tiny pulled again at his leg until it and the shield were facing out into the city, and his backside was to the compound; he just listened to gunfire and the pinging; the radio came over his right ear going through the garden, wasn't that the first idea. Well, it was until the resident heavy got in his way. He began to fire sporadically at anything getting close. Surprised still that he was already out of breath, maybe he has been out of the game too long. Naaaaaaa, just the Irish dude, totally just the Irish dude, and also carrying weight with the right leg slightly out.