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thisavrou_log2016-08-14 08:13 am
tinkerhell) wrote in thisavrou_log2016-08-14 08:13 am
Entry tags:
[closed] catch-all
Who: Reaper, Mercy, and Garrus
When: After a terrible Overwatch family reunion
Where: Medbay, and Nomo 14
What: Catch all post. If you'd like to set something up, feel free to PM
Warnings: TBD
( Closed to Mercy )
[Its been a long walk to the medbay, and mostly bloodless thanks to his regeneration factor. Its an imperfect trait, given the way he grasps at the wall to keep himself standing the further he travels. Getting away from 76 hadn't been an easy task, and Reaper was was hardly a graceful loser regardless of circumstance. He had been so close to getting what he wanted, and then to have it ripped from him with one well-placed counter...
The growls that come from him when he rounds the corner into the medbay are not entirely born from pain, but of anger and frustration. A bit of first-aid (and a bag of blood, if he could find it) would take the edge off, but nothing there would heal his wounded pride. Though his steps are heavy and slow, he quiets down when he enters the space -- attracting attention is less of a goal than he had originally anticipated. No questions, no help...just some self care before he retreated to his room to plan his next move. Soldier: 76 would surely be doing the same.
He is half way to the refrigerator before he hears someone stirring from the opposite end of the medbay, and can't help the minor rumble of annoyance. If he had more energy, he might have disappeared in a wisp of smoke as per usual. Instead, he picks a counter to lean against, and tries to look as casual as possible as he turns to wait for the inevitable greeting.]
( Closed to Garrus )
[He's still recovering when he gets back to his assigned quarters.
Allowing Angela to do too much for him might have given her ideas, and he didn't want any of Overwatch any nearer than necessary regardless of circumstance. Company didn't suit a dead man, especially a dead man who had grown accustomed to solving his problems with shotguns that he no longer had possession of. As it stood, Reaper had a collection of outstanding problems, all walking and breathing among him.
Reaper pulls one hand away from his gut to check his bleeding, which seems to have finally stemmed itself. That said nothing for his neck, shoulder, and general dishelved appearance. There was the matter of the separation of his body armor from his catsuit, but he would address that later. He is so busy adjusting himself that he doesn't notice that the space is occupied by another.
When he hears movement past the door, he pauses half-way into the common area, cracking his knuckles in preparation. It would just be like 76 to follow him back here. He doesn't bother with surprise, and instead rasps in his ethereal echo as he rounds the corner.]
Knock knock.
When: After a terrible Overwatch family reunion
Where: Medbay, and Nomo 14
What: Catch all post. If you'd like to set something up, feel free to PM
Warnings: TBD
( Closed to Mercy )
[Its been a long walk to the medbay, and mostly bloodless thanks to his regeneration factor. Its an imperfect trait, given the way he grasps at the wall to keep himself standing the further he travels. Getting away from 76 hadn't been an easy task, and Reaper was was hardly a graceful loser regardless of circumstance. He had been so close to getting what he wanted, and then to have it ripped from him with one well-placed counter...
The growls that come from him when he rounds the corner into the medbay are not entirely born from pain, but of anger and frustration. A bit of first-aid (and a bag of blood, if he could find it) would take the edge off, but nothing there would heal his wounded pride. Though his steps are heavy and slow, he quiets down when he enters the space -- attracting attention is less of a goal than he had originally anticipated. No questions, no help...just some self care before he retreated to his room to plan his next move. Soldier: 76 would surely be doing the same.
He is half way to the refrigerator before he hears someone stirring from the opposite end of the medbay, and can't help the minor rumble of annoyance. If he had more energy, he might have disappeared in a wisp of smoke as per usual. Instead, he picks a counter to lean against, and tries to look as casual as possible as he turns to wait for the inevitable greeting.]
( Closed to Garrus )
[He's still recovering when he gets back to his assigned quarters.
Allowing Angela to do too much for him might have given her ideas, and he didn't want any of Overwatch any nearer than necessary regardless of circumstance. Company didn't suit a dead man, especially a dead man who had grown accustomed to solving his problems with shotguns that he no longer had possession of. As it stood, Reaper had a collection of outstanding problems, all walking and breathing among him.
Reaper pulls one hand away from his gut to check his bleeding, which seems to have finally stemmed itself. That said nothing for his neck, shoulder, and general dishelved appearance. There was the matter of the separation of his body armor from his catsuit, but he would address that later. He is so busy adjusting himself that he doesn't notice that the space is occupied by another.
When he hears movement past the door, he pauses half-way into the common area, cracking his knuckles in preparation. It would just be like 76 to follow him back here. He doesn't bother with surprise, and instead rasps in his ethereal echo as he rounds the corner.]
Knock knock.
no subject
Oh. The way she bristles and stays completely still for a long few moments isn't out of fear or anger so much as a complete inability to decide how to handle the situation thrust in her lap. She'd heard about him; of course she'd heard about him. She barely pulled Jesse back together and that had been an emotional ordeal of its own.
Angela knew he was still out there. Somewhere in the world, somehow— yet she'd never encountered him in nigh on six years, had no idea how he was faring, what he was doing. Now that he has reappeared he's thrust into her life as someone who had beaten sweet, easygoing Jesse within an inch of his life. Jesse, who had practically been raised by Gabriel and had adored him. Loved him. If anyone were to get through to Gabriel as he is now, it would've been Jesse McCree, so what could she possibly hope to do?
For now, approach neutrally and see what happens. She'd heard the faint growling as he'd first rounded the corner and the way he took his steps carefully, body clearly weak. When she stands from her stool and pads over softly from her desk at the back, she watches him hesitate and eventually lean against the counter to turn around. There's no denying that mask, but she can almost feel the shape of Gabriel beneath the coat. She maintains her distance but she's close enough to speak to him without raising her voice, about four beds down as she watches him carefully. ]
You're hurt; how can I help? That refrigerator is for medbay personnel only, but I'd be glad to have a look at you and get you on your way.
[ It's locked, thankfully enough. ]
no subject
He doesn't need or want her help, especially not now. Its too late for any sort of help. Even if his pride weren't involved, she is one of the few who might pose a threat to him if she had ever decided to weaponize her technology on a whim.]
Don't kid yourself.
[There is no visible lock, and so he begins to try and force his metal claws into the cracks in an attempt to break the hinges -- to no avail, of course. Perhaps if 76 had not gained the upper hand so swiftly, he might have had the strength to manage it. But as he is, the most he manages is a few scratches on its surface.
The more he fails, the more frustrated he gets, the more he loops back to the fact that Jack Morrison had managed to beat him at his own game. Again.]
no subject
I'll ask you to stop only once. What is it you're attempting to find?
[ She's staring right up at his mask expectantly, hiding any shred of hesitation or knowledge of him as best she can. Truthfully, after what he'd done to Jesse? She is scared. Not for herself but for what he's become, what would drive him to do such a thing. Surely plenty had happened in their time apart— perhaps even after Overwatch fell and he'd been brought back wrong. She had no way of knowing.
Even so, she can't imagine anything would warrant the brutal violence that he'd inflicted on the man who had been his close and loyal subordinate. Her curiosity and compassion wins out every time. ]
no subject
Reaper turns his head slowly to fix her with the soulless stare of his mask, claws scraping along metal as his hands ball into frustrated fists.
He doesn't push her hand off yet, armor cool to the touch even with the tackiness of old blood staining it. Why bother distancing himself, if he's going to have to muscle his way into what he wants anyway? She is just making it easier for him.]
And if I don't?
[His augments don't provide anything but his various regeneration methods and other bodily function increases -- but he doesn't need an extra sense to tell that she doesn't recognize him.
After all, there is nothing to recognize.]
no subject
I can guarantee you the few minutes you waste answering my questions and letting me get you what you need are nothing compared to the security lock-down that would ban you from the entire bay if you wanted to retaliate when I inevitably have to ask you to leave.
You're being unnecessarily combative when I'm actively seeking to help you.
no subject
[Pause. Its not exactly a familiar sort of way to speak to a medical professional, but it doesn't sound correct. He definitely doesn't want her help, but its more than that. Reaper's mask shifts slightly when his jaw moves to the side.]
I don't need your help. And others won't either, as long as you open the damn refrigerator.
[Now he jerks his shoulder to dislodge her hand with an agitated growl.]
no subject
This ship is on a very strict lock-down and supplies are being rationed. Medications and all. I'll need to record what is needed and why for approval before anything can be removed.
[ The jerk of his shoulder does dislodge her hand but the growl does little to dissuade her, still standing firm— taking a step in front of him, actually, to put herself between him and the fridge. ]
no subject
The spikes of his gauntlet sit dangerously close to her throat.]
Since you're in my way, I'm gonna make this real simple for you.
[He adds the slightest bit of pressure.]
You give me the bags of blood I need to finish transfusing, or I'll find it somewhere else. Your choice.
no subject
The worst that had ever happened was being shot in the shoulder once, and even then she hadn't given over to the demands for supplies. She healed without a scratch. All she does is smile, a gentle and friendly little thing betrayed only by the steel in her eyes. ]
Now, was that so difficult? What is your blood type? One bag or two?
I've already told you, I won't receive access until I've submit the details. It is automated.
[ Angela has never been afraid of him, and she won't start now. ]
no subject
Good. He doesn't let her up, though.]
Two. B negative.
[He didn't need two, but he wasn't going to put himself in a position where he would need come back for more when he did. He hadn't forgotten Angela's stubborn head -- there had been enough times where he had needed to drag her ass away from her work when she refused to leave herself.
But that was another time, and a time he doesn't care to remember.]
no subject
What was left of her dear friend.
Despite the arm at her neck, Angela raises her arm with the MID on her wrist to speak into it. ]
Doctor Angela Ziegler, requesting access for one liter of B negative blood.
[ It's only a few seconds before the system verifies her voice signature and there's the click-slide of the fridge at her back unlocking.
She waits calmly for him to release her so she can turn and procure his two units of blood. She can sense the strength in the arm across her collar that used to bodily grab her by the waist and peel her away from her research, either to a tired laugh or an exasperated sigh before she'd try to spin herself free. "Another hour and I'll be finished; an hour never hindered my sleep." ]
May I? Or would you prefer a waltz?
no subject
Heh. Don't be a smart ass.
[He lets her up after a moment's delay, rolling his smoking shoulders and taking a few steps to the side. With the click of the lock, he is satisfied that he's made his point and takes to slowly cracking each individual knuckle while he waits for Angela to retrieve his prize.
His guard doesn't drop entirely, but if she had wanted to call for help, she would have done so by now. Its hardly shocking to him -- Angela always had preferred to handle dangerous situations herself.]
no subject
His reprimands and warnings do nothing for her. The moment he lets up she's just as relaxed, if a little relieved when he takes a few steps to the side to give her space to reach into the fridge and retrieve the two units of blood before shutting the auto-locking door once more. The crack of his knuckles isn't nearly as menacing as it should be. His shoulders smoke readily and there's curiosity in her eyes, head tipping as she observes his body and hands over the blood. ]
There you are. What should I be calling you?
turns edge up to 11
Equally, he knows that he cannot tamper with any of the medical staff without cutting off his supply to first-aid supplies.
One hand lifts, and he squeezes it, enough to pierce it with the tips of his claws.]
Reaper.
[The bag leaks for a moment, but each drop of it slowly seems to disappear before it can hit the ground or stain any part of Reaper himself. As the blood disappears from the bag, the smoking on his shoulders lessens until it disappears entirely and leaves only scorched armor and torn leather.]
smgdh
"Reaper". Of course, with that getup and all. Gabriel had never been the most creative, but he did have a flair for the dramatic.
It's all those soap operas.]Reaper. [ It feels wrong. ] That is quite the trick. Were your shoulders or back injured? May I have a look?
no subject
[He rolls his freshly healed shoulder and has the capacity and self-awareness to deposit the now useless bag in the trash. Its a momentary stalling tactic while he decides how to answer her second question.]
What do you think you'll get out of it if I say yes?
no subject
[ At least he deposits it in the trash; the proper one, even, marked for biohazard waste. She watches him roll his shoulder and no more smoke seems to be roiling off of him, but even so... ]
I don't imagine I'll get anything out of it other than my own peace of mind, but at least someone will be familiar with your body should anything happen in the future. You have some sort of ability, do you not? That was not smoke from a fire. I would like to visibly ensure you're all right.
no subject
I'm fine.
[But even if that is true, what would be done if it suddenly stopped working? Mercy was a pacifist, generally speaking. If anyone would be able to bring him back and not be hindered by the circumstance, it would be her.]
But if it'll make you back off, you can look.
no subject
That he eventually comes around to it, though, is a bit of a relief. She's already moving to wash her hands and pull on a pair of gloves. ]
Well, I make no promises on backing off. Your coat and armor, please.
no subject
Reaper is impossibly pale -- if it hadn't been apparent that he was already a corpse in one life, it would certainly be clear now.
That is as far as he goes, leaving the various bits of him strewn out on the energy bed. His pale skin doesn't hide the mural of scars that cover his torso, and the sockets of his fabric stay focused on Angela. She would surely recognize something if this was really her.
He'll deal with her after.]
See?
no subject
Even with the mask on and a network of newer scars, she recognizes many others. Her fingertips pass over fine sliver scars at his side and twisting gnarled flesh alike, able to pick out the marks of her own sutures and brain readily providing the memories of making them, fine needle sliding through tan flesh and the colorful curses that had slipped out under his breath only to earn him a chiding.
There is no doubt left in her mind. She swallows thick, the click of her throat audible between them and she feels his eyes on her when she begins to circle him just as slow, trying not to touch. Sure enough, even healed, there's still discoloration over his back, mostly at his shoulderblades. She wouldn't call it bruising— it was more akin to lividity in corpses, and her fingertips brush gently over the edge of one scapula. Her voice is quiet when she finally speaks, tone heavy with sorrow. ]
Oh, Gabe...
no subject
She uses that name that isn't his anymore, and it prompts a low growl of warning. He is immediately at odds with the fact that she had tried to pull the wool over his eyes by pretending she didn't recognize him, as much as he as with the clearly sympathetic tone she uses with him.
It wasn't exactly a secret that he craved attention possibly more than any other person alive. But the familiarity doesn't belong there anymore. He isn't someone to be pitied -- Overwatch made Reaper, and he had welcomed the opportunity to pay them all back for what they did to him.
The glance over his shoulder is not a friendly one, and his tone is sharp.]
He's dead. Don't call me that.
no subject
It was on her head. Swirls of guilt flavor her tone and gentle her touch at his shoulders, seeing the "newer" flesh where he'd been shot, the bruising where he'd been slammed into the floor over and over again. ]
I'm sorry, that's right— Reaper. [ No argument, no sarcasm. Just a genuine apology and correction. ] Are you in pain? You're badly bruised.
no subject
[The skin was tender, but not tender enough for Reaper to give it the time of day. What hurt more was the pulsefire wound in his chest, singed through muscle that had already healed on the surface, but hadn't quite built up the strength to exist normally and thus resulted in a dull aching sensation.
He doesn't think much of her quiet contemplation, and imagines that she's just looking for a way to undo what she had done the first time. For now, he is secure in the idea that no such thing is possible.
Instead, he offers a slightly unseated and private chuckle.]
Takes a lot more than some washed up half-wit to take me out.
no subject
Is that how the blood helped? Here, I'm going to put some heat patches on to help circulation. They should open the capillaries.
[ The placements are careful, easing them onto his skin and pressing just as gently even if he says he isn't in pain, two to each shoulderblade and one on the nape of his neck. She knows what he's done; before their arrival and after. Jesse had come stumbling to her door after all, scared and rent open and hurt. His throat, his head split open, his arm broken. She'd been furious. Still is to a large degree, roiling beneath the surface, but she knows how to control herself. What needs to be done and figure out how to handle him.
Gabriel had never been forthcoming with information when he was upset. He was a man of ire and he held grudges so intensely she knew they were never truly forgotten, even after a fight for forgiveness. He never put anything behind him. He had still been her friend once, and someone she had looked up to. Someone who taught her to be who she was today. This required patience and care and a degree of trust she has to fork over before expecting any in return. She's furious, yes. But more importantly, she is the only person who will be able to help him. Who will help him, because she can set aside her feelings and be a professional, and she knows how he had always craved attention.
Angela could be frightening in the lengths she'd travel to do what needs to be done.
His laugh tips out of him as if it's on its way to careening out of control and her hand remains on one broad shoulder once she's finished, stroking the skin idly. He's cold where he isn't bruised. She couldn't be surprised. ]
It always has. Does this feel any better?
no subject
[He only barely understands how his body works now. Its just a matter of reflex, finding what feels right, and going on instinct alone. So far, it has worked well for him.
The entire process of healing is something that almost feels ordinary, were it not for the fact that he didn't live the Overwatch life anymore. Not much had changed -- depending on his mood, he'd sit still as a stone and let Angela work...or he'd be a pest and shoo her away when he didn't want to be bothered.
Today, the heat calms his temper. He doesn't bother asking why she's trying to help him. He already knows the multitude of answers, none of them anything he agrees with. But that doesn't mean he isn't going to take advantage of her kindness, and her guilt. In spite of the warmth, his shoulders don't relax.]
It feels.
[Very eloquent.]
no subject
[ She'll let that hang between them as she continues to observe him, watching the bruising on the ragged edges she couldn't entirely cover in patches, adding a second hand to the first as she strokes over his skin, occasionally pausing to press her palms over the patches and make sure they're still hot. She peels the corner of one back just to make sure it isn't affecting his skin and smooths it back down when it isn't, settling into an idle kneading that could easily be taken for... what?
Affection for an old friend? A doctor's need to soothe a tense patient? It didn't matter. It's muscle memory and it's a habit and she's doing it nearly without realizing because it's who she is. He's free to try and take advantage of her. It's going to be a strange and invisible game of push and pull from now on.
When he finally answers, it's cryptic. ]
Is that to mean you didn't feel it before? I'm not trying to pry, just understand.
no subject
[He's a walking corpse, after all. Even after a few years of living the dead life, you find new things out. No amount of promised revenge would ever allow Talon close enough to inspect how the regeneration and decay of his body functioned, and so the only way he ever found out how it worked was exploration. But he isn't going to give her an open invitation to experiment on him so long as she's rubbing elbows with his enemy.
He doesn't have confirmation of that yet, but its an educated guess.
He only permits the kneading for a moment. When he realizes that she's not adding anything but comfort, that's when he pulls away from her and reaches for the shirt with his body armor to replace it.
He got what he wanted, and he doesn't owe her any answers or any of his time.]
Takes a lot of pressure. Or a puncture. Or heat.
no subject
That is unforgivable and a large part of her is ashamed. That will not change and it was a turning point to teach her moderation and to realize her own limits even if her intentions had been well-meaning and she'd likely been pressured into trying. It doesn't take him long to pull away from her when he realizes she isn't performing any sort of procedure, though, and he's going for his shirt. She won't stop him but she will walk back around to his front to at least get a look at his chest.
The dips where his flesh was knitting together beneath almost seemed to roil, but she won't reach out and try to touch him. She knows what it feels like when her nanites are knitting flesh together and she's sure the sensation applies across the board. This looks even more volatile and, silly though it may be for him, she doesn't want to cause him any pain. ]
Well. If the bruising doesn't heal up soon, you can always come back and I can put more heat patches on you.
[ She shouldn't feel positive about encountering him as he is. Yet they're able to interact without hostility and as far as she can tell, he isn't terribly angry with her for what she'd done to him. For that she's thankful, even knowing what he had done to Jesse— it was a glimmer of hope. That she may be able to work with him and perhaps even work at reversing what had happened. Find a way to save him. A girl can dream. ]
no subject
[He sees through her attempts to be kind to him -- even if they're genuine desires, he knows just as well that she'd prefer to have him close instead of being distant. But Reaper isn't in the business of being close to anyone. They all wanted him gone, and they got what they wanted.
The fact that Angela has been made to shoulder the guilt for everyone is somehow even more infuriating, even if he doesn't think of her as anything more than an acquaintance these days.
But he'll still get them all back. For him. For her.]
I'll be back for more of those bags.
no subject
[ "That could be fatal", hurr hurr. Gabriel can think what he wants; Angela will always try. And she's stubborn— something he knows all too well. She won't give up without going to war first.
The sad part is that no one had wanted him gone. It could have been reversed. He could have worked it out. It hadn't had to come to what had passed. His assumptions aren't wrong about her wanting to keep him close, but it is more complicated than that. She wants to show him that someone still cares. Someone still wants to help him. Even if it's only herself. It's a twisted and convoluted sort of emotion and she isn't really looking forward to finding where they now stand with one another. He had done despicable and horrible things, and those weren't easily (if ever) forgiven.
Yet on the same hand, he is not himself. He hasn't been for some time. And she just has to be the one to put aside the violence and attitude and try to figure him out. ]
If I'm not here just call me. On the MID. I'll come as soon as I'm able.
[ Don't hurt anyone here. She would get him what he needed and take care of him if at all she could. ]
gah sorry for being so slow to get to this
He just needs a little time to himself, either way. He's settled back into his assigned quarters, sat down and just went back to tinkering and tapping away at both the MID and his omnitool, trying to learn his way around all this unfamiliar technology, still. Garrus has been working away at that in relative silence and the occasional murmur-under-his-breath when he finds himself interrupted by someone at the door, moving into the common area, and ah, of course. These are assigned quarters, and he has to have roommates. Maybe this one will know what a turian is. Maybe.
Garrus lifts a hand in greeting as the stranger rounds the corner and greets him in an incredibly deep, raspy voice. That's a little unexpected. ]
-- Who's there? [ A pause. ] You look like you've had a long day.
[ You look -- and sound -- a little like death. Hahaha. ]
I took just as long to reply so who is the real loser here
For a man that's been confronted with a talking, super intelligent gorilla and omnics, he can't prepare himself to be confronted with an alien. Reaper pauses in the same beat that Garrus does, head tilting to one side as he tries to figure out if he's experiencing hallucinations, or if he is facing exactly what he sees.
The reality of it is that it doesn't really matter -- he might be injured, but Reaper has a hard time believing anything will ever be able to do him in permanently.]
Nah. Just another day ending in "y".
[His mask-line drops to the omni-tool.]
What's that?