![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
[video]
How's it so many of you are runnin' about and not bringin' back any stories with you? Some of us could use it you know! Instead of havin' 'em all dumped out when they drop those spots on the news, anyway.
[Ahem.
Tracer is broadcasting from the monitor room, where she's clearly been serving out her duties with as much patience as she can muster (read: not a lot). Even with all of the activity, Tracer can't deal with the tedium. She's rigged up a way to continuously spin herself in a chair while she spends time dispatching Legionnaires as is expected of her. Even with that, she's incredibly restless, and has herself perched in the window, lounging on the sill in a manner that probably would be considered unsafe if she weren't capable of rewinding time around her.
Overwatch's systems were mostly automated. When a warning went out, the Strike Team left -- and that was the end of it. This dispatching nonsense makes her thankful that it never got quite as large, but also makes her nostalgic.
That's not the only thing, but. Well, its a big part of it. And while she's trying to think of a way to bring up that first thing without outing herself, she can be seen tapping her fingers nervously on the big glowing machine on her chest.]
...speakin' of stories. How many of you lot got families back where you came from? Maybe a better half...
[She pauses here -- not too long though. Don't want to be suspicious.]
...do you think they're still lookin' for you? It's been a tick, hasn't it?
[Ahem.
Tracer is broadcasting from the monitor room, where she's clearly been serving out her duties with as much patience as she can muster (read: not a lot). Even with all of the activity, Tracer can't deal with the tedium. She's rigged up a way to continuously spin herself in a chair while she spends time dispatching Legionnaires as is expected of her. Even with that, she's incredibly restless, and has herself perched in the window, lounging on the sill in a manner that probably would be considered unsafe if she weren't capable of rewinding time around her.
Overwatch's systems were mostly automated. When a warning went out, the Strike Team left -- and that was the end of it. This dispatching nonsense makes her thankful that it never got quite as large, but also makes her nostalgic.
That's not the only thing, but. Well, its a big part of it. And while she's trying to think of a way to bring up that first thing without outing herself, she can be seen tapping her fingers nervously on the big glowing machine on her chest.]
...speakin' of stories. How many of you lot got families back where you came from? Maybe a better half...
[She pauses here -- not too long though. Don't want to be suspicious.]
...do you think they're still lookin' for you? It's been a tick, hasn't it?
no subject
They're just thugs, mijo.
Vatos.
[Her shoulders shrug, head shaking and dropping a few luminescent locks of hair down across her face, like something's been mistranslated.]
Somebody must have sold you bad information.
no subject
They were running guns. Enough weaponry to hold the whole town hostage. Question is who put them up to it. Gave them the resources.
[Of course, his bet is Talon, or maybe Lumérico or maybe a combination of both, even though he'd dropped that lead when he caught wind of Ana.]
no subject
[Some people stole, others bartered, others were dedicated to putting things Right— running their businesses the way they hoped Mexico could really be. And Los Muertos— like their little hermanita— saw an opportunity right down the middle worth taking. It took tenacity.
And fire.
But that, she keeps to herself.] Did you ever get your answers?
no subject
[He should have followed up, he thinks, but what was happening in Giza was much, much more important. It had payed off in the end when his hunch about Ana was proven correct, but he'd been brought here not long after--before the two of them could get anything done.]
Something more important came up elsewhere.
no subject
[The fact that they're both here, now, is proof enough of that.
And why she moves to climb up onto her feet, dusting the sand from her fingertips and peering more closely at his face, lit by pale, artificial moonlight. Studying the sloping contours of his scars.]
no subject
Jack turns to Azúcar, eyeing her in turn.]
Are those the answers you wanted?
no subject
[That little puff of air a snort that comes out of her nose before he's barely finished asking the question, displacing a wayward strand of hair. The subtle shift between street-savvy behavior and what sincere curiosity that follows when she tips her head upwards towards him. The slightest little nod, hands already on her hips.]
Why'd you do it?
[Any of it. All of it. Overwatch, vigilantism— the Legion now. A beat:] And don't say 'it was the right thing to do.'
Everybody always says that.
no subject
[Because he's done an awful lot, and Jack doesn't want to let on more than he has to--that might be abundantly clear in the way he looks down at her and raises his eyebrow.]
no subject
[It's said (predictably) without hesitation. Without elaboration.
He might want specifics, but to her, how he chooses to interpret it— what parts of it he's willing to dislodge— matters more. Only amateurs pigeonhole their targets.
...And she likes listening to what he has to say.]
no subject
[But maybe he can come up with something, especially if she seems to be asking in a general sense. How do you describe why you do what you do to someone who's still very much a stranger? When you don't want them to know these things about you?
He settles on an obvious answer.]
Someone's got to find out what happened to Overwatch.
[Because the rest of them sure aren't.]
no subject
[Trailing off with a clawed finger raised in midair, wide-eyed and seemingly rapt, even by that minimal explanation.]
no subject
[He says that like it should be obvious, but she doesn't remember what it was really like, to be standing on the brink of potential extinction.]
Overwatch was the only way we were gonna win.
no subject
[A litte hum answers him, contemplative enough. Not exactly the speech of the year, but she imagines if she asked Gabe why he signed up, he'd say the same thing. Or something close to it.]
Okay.
[She folds her arms. Shrugs. Simple as if it was the weather they were discussing, and nothing else so entirely world-ending as this.]
no subject
Did I pass the test?
[Because that's what this feels like, a little bit.]
no subject
[Gold star, Morrison.
Acknowledgement done and dealt with, she turns on her heel to face the city skyline, watching it for a few long, long beats— as if she's willing some part of it to move. really move. A light to turn off in a window somewhere, a silhouette to pass by.
She knows better.]
You know, I never thought I'd miss it.
no subject
No use pretending. Maybe he's a little relieved. He'll watch her for a few moments, trying to discern what she might be thinking before she goes ahead and voices it.]
It's something familiar. [And home is far away, after all.] You're allowed to be a little sentimental.
no subject
[He is.
She'd seen the photograph he kept. Not even real, just...imagined. She still hasn't mentioned it to Gabe yet— maybe she's just waiting for the right moment to bring it up. A detail kept close to her chest. Another promise that she's still valuable, just in case things ever turn on their head.
Somewhere, beneath all the camaraderie and loyalty, Sombra knows better than to pretend he sees her as she sees him.]
no subject
Sometimes you need to remind yourself why you do it in the first place.
[Sometimes it makes him sad, more than anything, but it's what he fights for, even if everything in that picture is long gone.]
no subject
[Head canting off to one side, curiosity slipping slowly to the forefront: a gauge for all the things she wants to ask, but can't just yet. Not without tipping her hand to the table.]
After this is over, I mean.
no subject
[That's not even a question. Jack was pulled from his mission, and despite Reaper's presence here, he's no closer to his answers. He needs to find out what happened to Overwatch, and there's no progress to be made here.]
Unfinished business.
no subject
[In the end, they're after the same thing, surprising as that doesn't somehow seem to be anymore. Maybe it's not a bad move, then: aligning their goals.
Carefully. ] You know there's another way, right?
To get what you want while you're still here.
no subject
[He nods along, because she knows what he's after, by now. It's not that hard to guess. With that second comment, however, she gets his attention, though it sounds too good to be true. There's a lot that doesn't quite line up.]
I'm listening.
[Though what is he supposed to be able to do from here? Information is one thing--making these people pay is another entirely.]
no subject
[It's a short, simple confession: she's watched the fallout of it continue on for months, now - how easily the galaxy at large could simply access anything they wanted by doing absolutely nothing.
A little easy mode, sure, but sometimes it's nice to cheat the system so thoroughly. Especially when you've been chasing a vicious ghost for ten years now...before most people knew there was anything truly wrong.]
no subject
So I'd have my answers, but I wouldn't be able to do anything about it.
[Not as long as he's stuck here.]
no subject
[Eventually they might go back— they might not even have a choice in it— depending on how everything works here. The Time Trapper. Chronoblivion.
Prepare for the best, plan for the worst, and always stack the deck in your favor if you have the opportunity.]
(no subject)