( april )

[tinkerhell]

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.

Comments

[vata]

[Her other hand is tucked under her chin to complete the look of absolute, smug satisfaction as she coos:]

I missed you too.

[tinkerhell]

[He growls in irritation but offers nothing further on the subject.]

Find something useful to do in the mean time.

[vata]

[No scathing dismissals, no vehement denial... ]

I could start by hooking up those monitors of yours. See about giving you a real security system for a change.

[Consider it her way of making up for having a little fun at a time like this. A gesture she caps off by pointing a few glowing nails towards his dusty, inactive displays.]

[tinkerhell]

Do it.

[No hesitation. He's been itching to keep eyes on Ana and Jack in particular, since they did the convenient task of housing with one another. Having surveillance set up rather than having to trek back and forth would be invaluable.]

[vata]

Ahorrita.

[Which, considering how she's draped contentedly across her section of the couch, means he'll be waiting at least a few minutes longer.

She wants to help him— and she absolutely will— but she's been stuck treading water ever since she woke up here, expecting the worst. Finding some kind of anchor, some kind of familiarity and low, quiet space, means that she's not exactly eager to do anything but let the heat of that beer simmer in her veins.

That, and have a conversation with those coalesced shadows standing just a few feet away.]

[tinkerhell]

[He knows by now what that means -- and he's oddly fine with it. After months of working alone, struggling just to get traction while also trying to stay off the radar of the command crew, Reaper is admittedly tired. Nothing would distract him from his goal -- but it was nice to know that something was finally going right.

Assuming Sombra didn't get bored.]

[vata]

[A planet this big with so much to explore and understand? Sombra's convinced she'll stay busy for a long, long time.]

So.

[She starts, peeling herself away from back of the couch.] Which part of this place is mine?

[tinkerhell]

Its all mine.

[Just to be clear.]

You can choose any level but the top.

[The rest of the house hadn't gotten used. He'll worry about giving her too much free reign later. Right now -- maybe a piece of him is glad to see her in functional capacity.

Now if they could just bring him Widowmaker, things might start falling back into place.]

[vata]

[She doesn't argue— but she doesn't agree, either. He could wrap the entire place with tape and it still wouldn't change the fact that he let her in the front door. That she's as much a part of it now as he is, unwilling to leave until the job's done. Until they're done.

This place is a detour; that doesn't change the fact that for now, while they're here? It's still about as real as it gets.

She can live with that.]

Second from the top it is. [It's got the advantage of height, establishes seniority— and if Amélie happens to show up fashionably late, it means she'd have to barter for the high ground. Plan your games long, kids.]

You know they gave me some cash just for showing up. [World's easiest money.] I'll head out, pick up some supplies for the system, couple cans of paint.

[One residual stretch sees her climbing up to her feet, nose pinched up for the briefest second.]

[tinkerhell]

[There's a weighted pause between what she says and Reaper's response.]

Paint.

[His tone suggests that he's looking to confirm what she said before he gets cross with her. Not even in his presence for ten minutes, and she already wants to splash neon paint on the walls.]

[vata]

Paint. [Sombra repeats offhandedly, her back turned to him— violet lines limned in the dark. As if there's nothing unusual at all about the idea of making this place more than just livable.

Because spoiler alert, Gabriel: there isn't.]

[tinkerhell]

[Predictably, he growls a reply that's not any known language or word, just a noise of displeasure that's carried out for far longer than it needs to be.]

Second tier only.

[vata]

No seas tan niñato, vato. [Huffed out with a groan as she falls back on her heel to face him again, lips thinning out into a long-suffering line.

This place, no matter how massive, looks about as decayed as—

—well, it looks miserable. And for someone that lives for freedom, for expression and teeth and claws and every colorful, angry aspect of life (y muerte) as far as she can tell, he needs it, too. Maybe not her splashes of neon, but the bones and steel he likes to wear instead. A little grim fury instead of a grim whisper of a death rattle. He's been drowning for too long.

Sombra won't admit it. Not out loud, and not where he doesn't want to hear it (she isn't dense, isn't reckless enough to mistake familiarity with family when she's hardly ever had anything close to either), but there's something low and miserable stuck between her ribs, seeing him so wan. So starved out. Doesn't feel right.

Reminds her of Dorado on the brink.]

Trust me.

[tinkerhell]

[She asks for his trust, and his entire body tightens like a coiled spring. Whoever she was now, the Sombra he remembered couldn't be trusted to keep his interests at the forefront of her mind. The Sombra that first followed him to the Moira could somehow be trusted even less.

For the moment, he has no reason to believe he can trust her as far as he can throw her -- which is pretty damn far.]

You heard me.

[He doubts he can even trust her to follow simple instructions anymore. It would be a good first test.]

[vata]

[He retracts, she bristles— it's like a game of reactions to unfixed catalysts between them: she can't process the disconnect between his perception and her actuality, all she knows is that he's putting his foot down in earnest for a change, and that? That's unexpectedly unfun.]

Whatever you say, comandante.

[Spoken like the bitter pill that it is, she folds her arms, shrugs. If he wants to make it harder on himself, that's his choice. She won't argue against it.

Yet.]

[tinkerhell]

[Better. He shifts his shoulders and settles further into the chair, clearly placated by her choice of calling regardless of any sarcasm she might have injected. At least someone was willing to respect his space, even if it was temporary.

He wouldn't have expected it to be Sombra. Suddenly, after months of forcing himself to work alone, he finds himself cursing Widowmaker's absence.]

Mind your expeditions. We're spread out, but Overwatch is everywhere. Tracer is in the immediate area. The others are farther out.

[vata]

You said someone was using my name. [And that's as far into the subject as Sombra feels like broaching, arms still folded, voice level— the tone she always uses when business is on the table.]

You think they'll know who I am?

[Usually she'd be able to coast along unnoticed— but the network restrictions, the fact that they're so close and she's so far out of the loop in terms of gathered intel.

What kind of damage has already been done?]

[tinkerhell]

They'll know. No point in pretending otherwise.

[He's not happy about it but -- it is what it is. Here, he does seem to finally pause in thought, his lucidity almost palpable as his clawed finger stops tapping the arm of his chair.

Even though Sombra hadn't spoken to him much, he knew that the previous incarnation of her had managed to corner Soldier: 76 somehow. There's a chance she could do it again, but it wouldn't be easy.]

It might do you at least one favor.

[vata]

[Where he seems more himself, she tenses by equal degrees: plans change on the turn of a second, a minute— she knows that— but there are certain lines she's learned to avoid crossing a second time, and somewhere inside her head, a silent alarm is ringing.

she doesn't voice it yet. Hearing him out comes first.]

Go on.

[tinkerhell]

Morrison.

[The name is growled like a hunger that's been left sitting for too long. His claws tighten on the arms of his chair, he sits up a little straighter and leans forward until he is forced to fold his arms and brace himself on his own legs.

If there was ever a sign that his obsession had grown tenfold--]

His tactical visor had been compromised. Made surveillance through it possible.

[vata]

Then I'll start there.

[Another task added to the list. Another fragment of something larger to focus on— though as she turns to leave her attention flicks upwards sharply, impatiently.]

Going back to our world. The memories we make here, [Her expression serious enough to make her look her age for a change: a sure sign that she's dropped the carefree facade. Something exceedingly rare.] —do we keep them?

[Will her identity be compromised is what she means to ask, focusing on the narrow lifeline leading back home and whether or not she'll need to rinse and repeat. Whether or not that grim horizon starts to creep a little closer, still hungry after all these years.]

[tinkerhell]

[Reaper goes back to tapping his chair -- he is pretty sure he understands why she is asking, but he also doesn't really have an answer for her. At least, not a concrete one.

But he has a pretty good guess.]

Given that you apparently have amnesia regarding your stay here, I would guess not.

[vata]

[He gets a Look for that— though it's tempered by the fact that he's giving her good news that runs hand-in-hand with something she doesn't seem interested in hearing.]

Te lo dije, that wasn't me.

[tinkerhell]

I've lead covert ops for the better part of ten years. I know how to identify my own teammates, Sombra.

[And she will have to accept it, or stop trying to pretend it didn't happen and willfully stop asking questions that broach the territory. He isn't going to debate semantics on it. Sombra is Sombra, just like Ana was Ana, regardless of how they came and went -- what they remembered and what they didn't.]

Same thing happened to Ana Amari. Maybe you should go have a chat.

[Said with some cruel sarcasm.]

[vata]

Tch. [Her lip curls, the very picture of the street thug she used to be more than ten years ago now. Patience was never her strongest suit: where she could dig for more intel, she dug— where she saw an opportunity, she took it. But Gabe, no matter what information he's dragging in through the front door with him, is her ally. The only tether she's got left.

Just like she's his.

She's not about to argue with him while he's already at the edge of his sanity.]

Maybe I will.

[Said with an ever-so-bratty flick of her claws as she nears the front door, bowing in feigned deference as her camouflage kicks in, masking her from sight.]