[ The lack of hostility is what worries her, quite honestly. Not that she'd ever perceive 76 as soft, nor an unintelligent man that couldn't weigh risk— one didn't live so long with a skillset and scars such as his without the intelligence to know how to survive— but she can't help to wonder how their acquaintanceship came about, if perhaps they were once friends. Fellow trainees in the SEP or the military beyond, before Overwatch. Or more recently, mercenaries who had shared jobs before they went sour.
Angela doesn't know what Reaper's life had been like, and she certainly couldn't get a lick out of 76. His statement is met with a soft acknowledgment under her breath, a mere hum as she settles another sheet over another corpse, still not even halfway through those remaining.
To discuss such things in the midst of such carnage is the closest she's been to queasy in some time. Worry had a way of knotting her up that the most grisly scenes couldn't manage. "You can trust me," and there's that twinge again. That familiarity that plies at the fine webbing of cracks in her.
She can't help but wonder why she feels as though she can trust him. ]
I do hope you're right. [ Then, a little offhandedly in an attempt at casual nonchalance: ] How is your leg doing?
no subject
Angela doesn't know what Reaper's life had been like, and she certainly couldn't get a lick out of 76. His statement is met with a soft acknowledgment under her breath, a mere hum as she settles another sheet over another corpse, still not even halfway through those remaining.
To discuss such things in the midst of such carnage is the closest she's been to queasy in some time. Worry had a way of knotting her up that the most grisly scenes couldn't manage. "You can trust me," and there's that twinge again. That familiarity that plies at the fine webbing of cracks in her.
She can't help but wonder why she feels as though she can trust him. ]
I do hope you're right. [ Then, a little offhandedly in an attempt at casual nonchalance: ] How is your leg doing?