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Combat Mime (Special Forces)
The Combat Mime replaces the Special Forces kit in the French Army, and is a highly capable battlefield asset. He wears the baby blue headgear common to all supporters of Unitedness and of Nations, and it affirms his commitment to the peaceful French way of life. The Combat Mime is able to run and jump with aplomb, and like all kits in the French force, his sprint bar remains full as long as he is headed away from the nearest enemy contact.
His weapons include “le carotte,“ which yields an incredibly witty assault on the target's sense of heterosexuality, and “le vent grande“ wherein the mime pretends a massive wind has sprung up, blown his enemies away, and would have blown him away too, if not for the invisible signpost he caught hold of. This attack is deadly effective, at least to whatever extent his enemies are willing to play along. Similarly, “le cloison diaphane“ in which the Mime pretends he is inside an impenetrable transparent box, protects him from harm, so long as his enemies don't decide to ignore is pretentious flailing, and shoot him. |
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Sommelier (Medic)
Armed with the standard issue French weapon, Derisiveness, the Sommelier also carries a bottle of Beaujolais, which allows him to replenish the spirits of nearby French troops, and embolden their Unwanted Sexual Advance and Racism special abilities. He may use this power either by wafting a boquet under the nose of an ally, or by leaving well breathed flutes around the battlefield for pickup.
Should one of his countrymen fail to surrender in time, and sustain a life threatening injury, the Sommelier may rush to his aid with a cigarette, which will allow the downed soldier to engage in a brief existentialist reflection upon death, before dying anyway, and serving no purpose except to waste yet more of humanity's time.
Finally, the Sommelier has stale corks at his disposal, which he may present to enemies at close range, for their perusal. If they were sufficiently cultured, as a proper Frenchman would be, they would be so disgusted by the musty odor of it, that they would immediately flee the battlefield, but at least the Sommelier has the satisfaction of knowing himself better bred than his foe, before the other man unloads four tubes of buckshot into him.
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