albinomilksnake | OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

[Its been a few months now since their arrival, and though he's made plenty of enemies in that time period, Jack has more than enough ammunition to keep him going.

Ammunition in groveling subjects, but also firepower.

The peninsula is dark and dreary even on the best of days, but in a way that even Jack can't bring himself to appreciate. Where Pandora was arid, this place was soaked deep enough that your nice boots sank straight through mud every time you stepped outside. As a result, Jack did not go outside much. He didn't need to anyway, until the fog hit. He's already gone through the majority of his changes, and perhaps the most annoying of them all was his enhanced need to horde valuables.

He doesn't entertain company often for this reason, except for one. His method of contacting her is via an unfortunate nightmare hallucination in the dead of night.]

Look, this isn't freakin' twenty questions, alright? I don't have time to argue, just get your ass back here. Now.

[He's called Nisha after an attempted lifting of said horde. Fending off the attackers hadn't been difficult, but without his usual methods at his disposal, Jack has become frail when taken by surprise. When she finally does join him, she'll notice his glowing tattooed arm is covered in blood.

Unfortunately, at least half of it is his own.]

[ It is not quite strictly, a gathering for herself. Oh, but it is in her honour, of course it always is, but these things never are strictly for her. If they were, Emily would be here. If they were, Corvo would not be so dour. No, these gatherings are always a demonstration. Displays of power not in steel, but in wealth, in prosperity. In the ability to be untouchable. That which as an Empress, she must always be. Above, beyond, she does not bleed unless it is the bluest of blood, that is what they always must think of her.

It does however, get exhausting. Lessons that had become exactness, after awhile. Of holding her head just so, of the curl of her long fingers over the chair that sat just that little bit higher than everyone else. But eventually sitting and nodding and being forced to greet every young lord or lady, as they sighed over the jewels on the bare throat and the way her fingers crooked and beckoned with only the slightest suggestions to make men cower. Such displays of loyalty were important.

They were an opportunity, to make nice in plain view, to show inclinations and declare things without saying as much. Which granted, half the empire knew her eccentricities, her stubborn refusal to adhere. She had an heir that she refused to marry for, and a protector not even from Gristol. It's what made them nervous most often. Which is why they think he's here of course. Just another oddity. An elf, and not even one of her own empire, not that it mattered, she had decided it with her personal invitation, and that meant in all the language she wasn't supposed to use -- they had to shut their damn mouths about it. Besides, whether they chose to believe it, or even if he did, she had business. So she leaves him to be introduced last, not out of snubbing him, but rather out of her own interest that when he's presented to her with her head high, she tilts, smiles once, brief, hardly there at all and lifts her hand to beckon him to her. Then she stands herself ( no one was to help an Empress do anything ) and it's with the expectation that he will give her his arm to take. ]

Inquisitor. Will you take a turn about the balconies me? I require some fresh air.

[ Of course it's an order, but at the very least, a nicely phrased one. ]

Edited 2015-11-14 09:33 (UTC)

[ Her ports are aching again - the low ones, just at the angle she can't quite reach.

It's cold - or heat - or any shift really, that does it - nothing major, nothing serious. An ache in her lower back where the metal doesn't settle to skin right. Where it feels like it's so itchy with the niggling feeling of it, that as she scratches at it - she might scratch her skin.

One more thing to never forgive Jack for, because it's something little, something slight. One more thing she misses eridium for. Never felt anything then - did she? The hum, the buzz, she shuts her eyes tightly against like she must, day after day, and wedges her back against the corner of a hive doorway. Wriggling her back into the sharp edge in an effort to scratch it. The bump of the port as she shifts her weight, dragging it across, trying to get some relief. Just waiting for the kettle to boil in the kitchen, making like a Bullymong. An irritable sigh. ]

Stupid, dumb -

[ Just another day, really. ]

[Most of the time? They leave her alone. She's been with them for too long, contributed too much and left no alternatives. Who else can hack like she can? Who gets the kind of dirt that buys them friends with significant resources and no moral limitations? At six years old she was already securing footholds within Los Muertos— twenty-four years later, too few (that aren't young and stupid, short-lived to say the least) are bold enough to question either her motivations or her actions.

So she works out of her apartment these days. A cramped little studio close to LumeriCo's steadily growing foundation, like a predator nesting near its prey.

Her phosphorescent markings don't glow as brightly lately; attention fixated on those not-so-distant towers. Late nights spent staring at screens until her eyes are raw, sleeping in until there's hardly any daylight left. Too consumed by curiosity (by purpose) to even bother stopping for a second.

The day to day problems? Shipment errors, aggressive negotiations, territorial enforcement— someone else can handle those.

She's got her sights set on the horizon.]

[He'd never really expected much to come out of this, which is why he played half-assed hardball when their agreement had come to an end. She'd been satisfied with his work, which meant that he had nothing to lose and everything to gain, even if it was a couple of laughs.

This woman was something else. She carried herself like she walked on air, played by her own rules, destroyed both suits and omnics from the inside out - how could Junkrat not end up head over heels for her?

Don't call me. I'll call you. Sure--he'd heard that one, a dozen times before. One of the better outcomes, if he's to be honest, because most didn't even give him the chance to daydream and wonder wouldn't it be crazy if they actually did?

So imagine his shock when Sombra changed things up. Well, it wasn't a call, it was a text, and not through a channel that he'd given her for business contacts. An encryption algorithm made specifically for the two of them - it took Junkrat a while to get a handle on it, as software isn't really his forté, but he's a quick enough learner. From there, things developed...well...naturally, to the point that Junkrat didn't care if she was only doing this to manipulate him in some way. Roadhog (or anyone else for that matter) certainly wasn't giving the mentally stimulating conversation that she could--current events, subterfuge strategies, dumb shit celebrities (and politicians) do, what the latest runway displays totally wrecked house, cute animal videos - nothing was off-limits.

Which is good, because frankly, the distance sucked. It was for the best for both of them; they worked with totally different methods, and it could end disastrously if things weren't meticulously thought out beforehand. It stung him pretty bad - but on the other hand, there's some saying about distance making the heart grow fonder...

Roadhog is starting to think that saying has some merit, as he looks over towards his boss as they stand, alone, on an empty landing strip of an independent contractor. Junkrat is grinning and twitching delightedly as if he's about to set off the biggest explosion of his life, but there are no such plans to greet the biplane on the horizon in such a way. He's cleaned himself up, a bit, but under this sweltering Australian heat, it's kind of a moot point.

The hired muscle grunts out a sigh and adjusts his posture. Hopefully they don't make this too long of an affair, he'd rather get home sooner than later.]

Edited (removing repetition/filler words) 2017-02-06 08:59 (UTC)

No.

[ It's hissed, low, as Angel's fingers tap over the holographic screen that she pulled up - her marks and eyes aglow in the sign that she's working - working faster, he had learned, then he could think without hurting himself when she was this far in.

Before them is a screen and they're tracking - other members of the hive, up until everything went to hell and quickly. Choices, they needed to make choices now. About who to save, who to let go of. Because wasn't that how the world always worked? ]

We're not doing that to him.

[ Him - is Steve. Always too bright, Steve, always better than she deserves, Steve. Better than she deserves because she wouldn't even be allowed Felix breathing space. They had to trust him, to make sure he finished his part of the job. That he would pull through so that maybe, just maybe, no one had to die. That this could be okay.

She wants it to be okay, so badly.

Maybe this was why she had requested him to join her team, to sit here in the observation room. To make sure he couldn't do something else he thought was a good idea. Because she trusted him even less than she could throw him:

she trusted him about as much as she trusted herself. ]

Amélie didn't let herself think about what had once been often. To do so would only reduce her efficiency and lead to idle thoughts of things that were better left in the past. Yet, even one as devoid of emotion as herself could not completely suppress memories that hadn't been taken from her. Was it a mistake by Talon to leave them or a calculated cruelty was anyone's guess, but the organization had taken a couple years before they granted her personal leave.

Always taken during the last week of December, Amélie returned to France, using a little safehouse in the heart of Paris. Mostly she kept to herself, enjoying the peace of not having her handlers in constant contact, of having some sense of actual privacy, but on one particular day, a red rose was plucked from the vase on the table and she headed to a cemetery.

She didn't notice the presence at first, lost in the moment before her late husband's marker as she was. But when she cleared the snow away from the stone, ungloved fingers tracing the inscription, the hairs on the back of her neck rose in that unmistakable feeling of being watched. Knowing better than to look around for the source, she continued on with her annual ritual and laid the rose down. It could be her imagination or just paranoia that one of those whom had once been Overwatch would choose this moment to come pay their own respects, so Amélie made the choice to let it go. A lone woman in a cemetery on Christmas likely garnered attention from anyone about.

She felt it again, though, when she continued on to her next stop. The Palais Garnier was closed, no shows that night, but that didn't stop her. Amélie had danced many a year there and knew which door would be unlocked for even when it was closed there was always someone in the ballet company there working on the set. Or the lighting as it was that night. And when she was wandering the mezzanine, stopping to lean her forearms against the rail and look down, she felt the presence of someone close by. Of course no one was seen, but it was an all too familiar feeling.

No outward reaction was given. She refused to give her 'stalker' the satisfaction of being unnerved. As it was neigh impossible to unnerve her, she decided to leave the impression that she was unaware. It was better that way, since sometimes ignoring Sombra made her go away, much like it would one still in grade school. So after an hour or so, Amélie moved on to pass by a hotel not far from the Palais Garnier. It was full of people, many of the women bearing the kind of build she possessed, but she did not go inside. She lingered for a few minutes underneath a tree, even leaned back against the trunk for a moment, before walking away with purpose to return to the safehouse.

When she reached the door, upon retrieving the keys, she found a familiar device in her pocket. When did Sombra put that in there? With a small sigh, Amélie dropped the transponder on the floor outside the door before letting herself in.

"You can knock like a civilized person," she said to the seemingly empty air before shutting the door behind her. And locking it.

[ooc: Took some creative license here. Poke me if you want something changed^^.]

Edited (little things) 2017-04-16 03:01 (UTC)

[ The beast had been spotted some days go, over the body of a young girl. Gore on it's jowls, the thread of tendons between its claws. Wet and smattering in the early morning fog, - the body of a man, and the face of a animal. Nothing that could be defeated easily, and so the village from where the creature had crawled its way into came calling, sent the fastest runner to beg for help.

Uther, high and mighty, and with a kingdom to run, had not of the time he had once had to see to all such matters personally. But now, he did have civilians, soldiers, mages and knights, to call his own. Who would all gladly step forward and as the runner, frantically began to describe what he had seen to the court that listened. It has many heads, he stuttered out, repeating loudly as he could when Uther bayed him speak. Many arms, and each clawed hand holds a sword, the look of uneasiness spread, it devoured, it takes girls, young girls, loved girls, newlywed and beautiful.

And where the those of Uther's court winced, where Manu - now Lakshmi, she reminded herself daily - stood, they hissed in instant recognition. Rakshasa, they whispered, mouthing it in horror, Ravana. Lakshmi snapped at them to hush, swallowing down as Uther - she had come to respect him for how keen he truly could be, turned his gaze to the sound of recognition rather than just horror. It was not unheard of here, in Camelot, to have many come in on the old roman trading routes. Come she had, by invitation not of his courts, but of his mages to share the knowledge of their home with that of her own. Not her alone, but a half dozen that had made this journey. Like the universities of Hindustan, of Rome, of Bagdad, many poured into see what could be learnt in this prosperous place, encouraged by Uther and the Mage King in turn.

For just this reason, it seemed, when strange things, unknown things, walked from one pathway into another. Makes sense then, that if they could make their way here, so could the other creatures of their home. The winding roads of the dark lands, the other world. Stock stiff in that thought, when Uther calls for silence, the boy chattering and a half dozen men all press their voices forward to fight this creature, he holds them all silent in a lift of his hand, and with that same movement singles out their group, gesturing one - any of them it seemed - to speak. You. You know what this is. Not a question, but a declaration for them to reveal that knowledge.

Lakshmi's hand stayed grip to her veil, to see who would and - in that silence, she weighed which one of them could be lost, if this demon was as she thought it was - and in the moment she realised she could not bear any of them going, she stepped forward before anyone could stop her. Pulling out of the ranks, her approach chimed by anklets she wore, measured to come to stand before him and bows her head to her own custom, her hand raising in front of her briefly to raise to her forehead and sweep away again. Light stepped perhaps, but she holds herself absolute and firm when she raises her voice to speak for them all to hear. ]

It is what we call Rakshasa, your majesty. [ Her voice calls out from behind the embroidered heavy red material drawn over her that obscures her face. ] They are devourers, made by the God Brahma. The Demon King, Ravana, was defeated when he stole the wife of the great Hero, Rama. But many linger, still, and their hunger is insatiable.

[ Whispers breakout, she feels them, but she carries on before the question can even be posed by Uther or otherwise, she declares it. ] I will go to defeat it - and find whatever true reason it has come so far and rid your home of this trouble. Alone, if I must, for to its realm is where it must be followed to be defeated. I would not ask anyone to risk their life if they are not aware of the cost.

[ She doesn't expect anyone to follow her, she never has, even as immediately, she hears the cry from the other men and women of her own party that she should face such a thing by herself. Something acknowledged by Uther in turn, that it would not be fitting for her to go in a foreign land without the help of his own brave Knights. But for her part, Lakshmi stays iron-spined and stiff, waiting if anyone else would be fool enough to follow her, feeling the silence around her spread as people realised they would not be facing one small creature. ]

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