thisavrou_log | ( april )

( april )

Who: Reaper and YOU
When: All of April
Where: Asteroid 276 and other places
What: Catch all for the end of April
Warnings: Shady discussions. There's one general prompt for anyone with enough grumption to climb the tree and stand on Reaper's treehouse porch.

Reaper doesn't spent much time away from his home. In fact, he can often he found mulling about on his porch, contemplating one thing or another, maybe breaking down some sort of alien tech and trying to figure out what makes it tick. Its clear that he's not used to entertaining visitors, given the fact that the ladder up to the top of his home has been broken, leaving it accessible only via strategic climbing or flight of some sort.

Not impossible, but not easy.

Maybe you've come to see if he's managed to weaponize his lizards yet -- there is a collection of colorful species scattered all around the limbs of his treehouse. He doesn't seem to be caring for any of them. Rather, they appear to be sticking around simply due to the fact that his home exists in their territory.

Its a parody of existence, to be certain, but it might be the most benign and normal existence he's ever had. And it shows in the way he can be seen, staring off at nothing with claws twitching, like he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Given Reaper's not-so-distant post on the network, its no real surprise that he spends an extended amount of time on the Asteroid. Genetic experimentation is right in the line of what he's looking for, mostly on how to break it down -- if he couldn't kill Jack with bullets, then the next best thing was to try and force the adaptation that the serum provided to collapse and kill him. Or, at least leave him in a state vulnerable enough that he would be able to finish the job without complications.

He's on the asteroid under the guise of freelance work, but he's been prowling around, talking to any scientist who would spare him the time. Once or twice, he might have even exchanged a bit of wraith tissue to speak with one of the more affluent scientists.

Now, he just needs a method of transfer, and a working sample. But one was more easily accessible than the other. The complete happenstance that he spots Ana running her errands is fortuitous, but he knows after the long years of working with her that if he idles in tracking her too long, she'll pick up on his presence -- wraith or not. So the second she is out of immediate view of others, he descends with the intent of wrapping one strong arm around her's, and the other pressed over her mouth.]

( He manages to catch her off guard, which may end up being the most surprising (and embarrassing) part of it all later. Though Ana knew that he lurked, Jack had filled her in on that, and she'd expect nothing else, she hadn't seen him on the asteroid on any of her previous trips.

Or now, until he grabs her.

Ana struggles the moment his hand comes around her, instinct fighting to free herself from his grasp. When his hand comes over her mouth, the claws coming into view, her efforts double, the butt of her rifle being aimed into where a leg would be.

Gabriel, what the hell are you playing at now? )

[He goes for the side arm he know should be there, but growls in frustration when he finds that it isn't. The snarl that follows is born of pain when the rifle hits his leg, and he buckles slightly as the area starts to smoke ominously, forcefully dragging her down with him.

Rather than answer the unasked question, he opts to release her upper body to instead grab the rifle, one arm still locked around her head, primed to snap her neck if he turned too swiftly in one direction. He's not really aiming to kill her -- but it wouldn't exactly be an unhappy accident.

He's not equipped with the ins and outs of her weapon, so he can't release the clip in any swift manner -- but given how his claws scrape across it, he is clearly most concerned with disarming her.]

( The arm around Ana's head is a cause for concern, though when his claws scrape across the rifle her attention redirects there. He doesn't know it, not well, which is her only point of relief. Ana's first instinct is to toss it, get it from his grasp even if that leaves her less defended.

It's the better alternative to Gabriel getting hold of it, and a sharp push of one arm tries to pry his hand from it -- at least long enough to discard it as far as she can )

[The rifle is thrown away from him, and Ana will feel his mounting growl of frustration and anger rumble straight through his body armor. Were he less focused, he might have released her and dove for it -- but as it stands, he has Ana in a near headlock, which is just as valuable as having those nanites.]

That wasn't very smart of you.

[He holds his ground, opposite hand bracing the lock around her head.]

Where's your shadow?

You mean you don't know?

( There was no way that Ana was going to simply tell him, and while angering Gabriel was not a good idea if she could distract him (or at least his hold on her) she'd risk it )

I thought you were trained better than that.

[He's not difficult to anger these days, and she will likely feel his muscles tighten a little -- but he's not there to kill her. At least, not yet.]

I know he doesn't like to let you wander much anymore.

[A younger, more jovial Gabriel might have made some sarcastic comment about his good looks, but instead, Reaper just moves to put himself between Ana and her rifle.]

You can make this easy on both of us and give me your ammo.

( As uncomfortable as this position is, her feet working fast to keep her level when Gabriel moves them, she has enough left in her to dryly laugh at his request )

I don't intend to make this easy.

( And the fact that he specifically wants her ammo is curious, if worrying. Anything with Gabriel is worrying these days.

There's a few seconds, the slightest fraction of a shift of her body (straightening) that Ana can manage under his hold before she strikes, reaching for his free arm in an attempt to pull it closer, to trap it close to them )

[Something is different.

After a long day of back and forth with planning asteroid trips and communications, Reaper's come to retire to his home. It was pretty obviously his, to anyone who knew him -- and that's what causes him to lower his datapad and observe his space with a more critical eye than usual.

There weren't many people who could sneak up on him, and one of the few who could left almost a month back. Instinctively, he pulls the faulty alien side-arm from his coat and activates it, so that it powers on noisily to warn the potential trespasser.

Some of his methods of dealing with people had needed to be altered, and his general demeanor had shifted a lot after almost seven months of general isolation in a crowded space, but he hadn't changed so much that he tolerated intruders showing up unannounced.]

You get one chance to show yourself before I kill you when I find you.

Kill me? [It's so close to being a laugh that if not for the clipped breath of a scoff hitting the base of her throat, it might as well pass for one.] Mijo I thought you'd be glad to see me.

[The shadows at his back flicker— a digital ripple that dissipates in a rolling wave of violet code— leaving nothing but Sombra in its wake as she lifts a hand, offering the world's most casual little wave. Like they're back home, fighting a battle on all sides (in more dimensions than either he or Amélie could perceive).

After a beat, she adds, pointedly:] I know I'm glad to see you.

[Reaper's turn is slow when he hears Sombra's voice, firearm lowering. His mask is missing -- by now, everyone knew who he was, and in the comfort of his own home, he had no need for it. As a result, she gets the full expression of scorn from his scarred and mauled face. Dark eyes narrow just a little more when she tries to play coy.]

I'm sure you are.

[In truth, he doesn't sound very enthused. After all, she'd essentially left him hanging with no word for months -- he'd seen her name come up, but for all he could guess, she'd forced the matter and hadn't left yet.]

What do you want?

Hijole—

[The word's exhaled sharply, Sombra's shoulders dropping alongside her expression as he wheels around, baring the full brunt of those scarred features— features she only vaguely recognizes from data gathered and cataloged across the years. She's always known who he really was: Gabriel Reyes wore so much of his past, it'd be impossible for someone so close not to.

But knowing and seeing are two entirely different things, and she'd expected—

Well, she'd expected just about anything but this. He was always so careful. So committed to the act.]

Sombra.

[He teeth grit when he says her name, indicating that he doesn't have even a second to spare for her antics today. She'd been all buy useless to him the entire time they were there, and struggling to get work done on his own was not his idea of time well spent, especially when an ally was supposed to be on the game board.

Her surprise isn't enough to offset his irritation. The scars and old burns on his slightly smoking face only serve to enhance just how irritated he already is.]

I'm not going to ask again.

[Sombra adjusts. She's good at adjusting— from day one it's made up the sum of her life, and the girl she used to be prides herself on taking thrown wildcards and tucking them into her figurative sleeve.

But this? What he's asking for is a heelturn in the face of a hurricane. Sure, she keeps pace, but there's no missing the look on her face as she tries to remember why she'd snuck up on him in the first place. The process is stop-start, counting off steps like a checklist. Eventually, her features level out with irritation for his impatience, eyes trained firmly on his own. She'll soak up the view later.]

What I want is to know where I am. [Not maps or information guides: those she's got in spades, and they're no substitute for the real deal.] Figure out what I'm working with.

—Who I'm working with.

[A beat, before she adds, stubbornly stepping forward to close the distance:] Instead I found you.

Edited 2017-04-25 21:39 (UTC)

You're on Kauto, stranded like the rest of the population, and waiting for your turn to go back to your business on Earth. Population is scattered between Regions.

[Said with all the bitterness of a freshly sliced lemon, the growl of his voice tuning itself slightly. Sombra should know all of that already -- and she should know about him. Even slightly unhinged, Reaper's tactical thought process picks up the inconsistencies. Perhaps she had been sent back after all -- with no memory?

His chin tips down just a hair when she closes the distance between them.]

You were here long enough to remember that much.

[It's an assessment that has her snorting in disbelief, convinced for a good handful of seconds that he's joking—

—and then suddenly, shockingly not. Because without the mask there obscuring the set of his features, it's easy to tell exactly how much grim humor he's injecting into any given situation.

She blinks. Shakes her head. Gathers up every ounce of eloquence she has in her for an entirely well-rounded response:]

—what?

[Reaper watches her, waiting for the punchline that he always knows to expect with Sombra. But it never comes. His head tilts to one side, eyes narrowed in a critical manner.]

Your name came up. Guess you left, and then they sent you back. Congratulations.

[And then he turns his back and walks away from her, to go deeper into his home. Its a silent invitation. There isn't much there, and the only light in the entire place is a series of monitors, all which appear to be camera feeds that he hasn't been able to tap into without proper assistance. There are a few vials of some dead skin tissue lined up on the desk, and others with vials of blood.]

[What the shit, vato.

This place? This place right here? Looks like the set of a horror film to someone with a sharp enough stare. She follows because she knows him, but the underutilized feed setup, the vials of blood and tissue laid out...

Yeah, she's staring real hard at them right about now.]

Look, I didn't come here to argue with you, but whoever was using my name? Wasn't me.

Then make yourself at home.

[Said while his back is still back to her. He doesn't have much in the way of amenities, but there is at least one bottle of beer in his fridge from the last party the locals had thrown them. He moves into his kitchen to retrieve it for her.

He was never going to drink it -- it was meant to be a bargaining chip down the line, if required. Judging by the way he pinches the cap off with his claws, he's just looking for something -- anything -- to occupy his hands.]

You figure anything else out yet?

I always do.

[She should be savoring this. The truth of who he is without his mask— the openness of his actions— all the little secrets she never managed to dig up back home while they were both playing the field. Reaper tearing into a chela with his claws and offering it up as easily as if they were both just kicking back. Taking it easy.

But all the evidence scattered around them, the tension would up in his fingertips, it all points to the opposite of relaxation.]

Nothing special. They only just cut me loose. [She lifts the bottle to her lips, pulling a long sip as she opts to pace over towards the desk, clawed fingers brushing over the vials.]

What the hell happened to you?

[He was never like this before. If not for the smoke, the familiar silhouette, the aching cadence of his inhuman voice— she wouldn't have recognized him at all.]

[He sits in the one computer chair in the room and leaves the beaten down couch for Sombra. The response to her question is a simple shrug of his shoulders. If he didn't know better, he might have imagined that Sombra was concerned about him.

But he knows better than that. She knows better than that.]

Wasn't expecting company.

[That's the most he's willing to offer.]

Seriously?

[It's a barbed question, sharp when she lifts one of the phials between her finger and turns on her heel - waiting to make direct (critical) eye contact with a cocked brow as she gives the glass and its contents a noisy little shake.

You're not getting out of this Boulevard of Broken Dreams without throwing her a bone, Gabriel.]

Tissue sample.

[She shakes it enough and it eventually dissolves into smoke. His expression stays entirely neutral in the face of her scorn. He'd been operating on his own long enough that it doesn't bother him anymore.

Her frowns were no worse than Angela's.]

The Asteroid we've been visiting specializes in genetic engineering.

Yours. [Concluded as the smoke coils in its confined space, drawing her attention away from him yet again.

Those internal gears turn, rapid fire as always: a few seconds of silence and all her conclusions keep coming back to there being a reason for it— much like her, he's always been a creature of purpose. She'd have to be blind and dense as stone to start ignoring it now.]

Why?

Its been eight months. Roughly.

[He offers that information, as if it is supposed to answer her question, eyes drifting to the bottle he had given her. He hadn't actually believed it would keep her questions to a minimum, but a part of him might have hoped.]

Overwatch has a strong presence here. Mercy. Tracer. Wilhelm. Amari.
Morrison. All here.

Edited 2017-04-26 00:12 (UTC)

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( Sombra )

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