BLU PYRO

Hey what’s up ya like dangerous and mysterious masked figures that aren’t spy? Come like or reblog this post because I’m new, I’m BLU, and I’m canon-divergent Pyro. (still working on brushing the theme and google docs up though)

                                    It’s   so   sudden      &      unexpected   all   the   Soldier   can   do   is   laugh.      It’s   a   big,      hearty,      chesty   guffaw,      big   like   he   is,      &      rough   like   his   voice.      The   kind   that   can   only   have    come   from   the   weirdest,      most   explosive   combination   of   surprise      &      mirth.      

                                          All   this   time   silent,      all   this   time,      &      that’s   what   the   Pyro   says   first   !!

                                          ❝   I   bet   he   does   !!      Haha   !!      Poopenfarten   !!   ❞

                 It was probably hard or even impossible to tell from under the mask, but Pyro was elated to see that his joke made the other laugh. While the lumbering, intimidating arsonist seemed scary and oblivious a lot of the time, he did have a bit of anxiety when it came to interacting with his former enemies. He couldn’t remember how many people he’d burned to death, or shot to death, or dismembered with his axe, or just... plain beaten them to death with the end of a mailbox post.

‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒  “This... the ĥot dog?” Tanya spoke carefully with an inquisitive look. Jeremy had been wanting to go to lunch to this hot dog stand ever since the Kurd admitted she’d never eaten one and in fact didn’t even really know what one was. She had mistaken the little art piece for some kind of sandwich with some long shape in the middle, and with how bright red it was, she assumed it was some kind of cherry or other fruit-based product in the shape of a cylinder.

      So she seemed a bit disappointed when a brown log was dropped into a bun and served up with ketchup and mustard. This was just sausage, why’d they call it a hot dog? It wasn’t made from dog meat, was it?

                ‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒  𝐍𝐎,      𝐈𝐓    𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍’𝐓    𝐀    𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓    𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.    Far  from  ideal,    by  any  stretch,    that  was  for  damn  sure.    But  Pyro  was  still  a  force  to  be  reckoned  with  armed  with  the  fire  axe,      &    for  her  part,    she  had  a  shotgun,    if  nothing  else.    They  weren’t  entirely  sitting  ducks  down  here.    But  the  water  really  was  a  hazard,      &    even  if  it  hadn’t  been,    she  understood  why  her  companion  wasn’t  exactly  thrilled  this  was  what  she’d  chosen.

                      ❝  Yeah.    I  think  we  might  have  a  tail.    I’m  pretty  sure  we  got  spotted  back  there.  ❞        &    as  they  both  knew  all  too  well,    it  only  takes  one  set  of  eyes.    Next  thing  you  know,    there’s  about  a  dozen  of  the  bastards  on  your  back    &    you’re  looking  at  either  red  hot  lead  death  or  a  whole  lotta  paperwork  ‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒  or  both.    

                        (    OK,    maybe  not  both.    But  she  couldn’t  imagine  she  was  getting  sent  somewhere  there  wasn’t  paperwork  in  the  afterlife.    )

‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒ “ It̢͜͝'̡͏s͝͠҉ ̷̡͡y̴͏our͝ ̸c͠al҉̕l͟,̧ ̸̀I̵ ̷͠s͝úp̶͝pǫse͏̢̀.̡ “ Pyro’s voice muffled as he continued to keep up with Pauling, occasionally looking behind them to check for anyone that might be tailing them. But it didn’t seem like anyone was coming.

      The firebug seemed unusually less child-like tonight, almost coherent, even. He seemed alert, focused, and professional, for once. He paused for a moment to look behind them again, shaded optics surveying the area, then at the ripples in the water, before bringing his axe up over his head and slamming it down and across. 

      Blood splurted from thin air that splashed and mixed in with the water, and uncloaked a nameless mercenary in a black ski mask. It was the pursuer who had spotted them from before, a hired thug from one of Mann Co.’s competition companies that Pyro and Pauling had just  exited with documents. Pulling his axe out, the body slunk down with a splash, and floated as waves of red spilled into the water.

“ ‘Ay !      Why the fuck you callin’ another man    ‘ daddy ’ ?! ”

                          ❝  ‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒  Incendiaries      &      pyrotechnics,    izzit  ?    Good  stuff  !!    Love  t’    hear  some  about  your  work,    then  ;      maybe  exchange  tips,    yeah  ?  ❞        He  seemed  totally  genuine  in  the  asking,    even  if  he  did  throw  in  a  quick  unstable  chuckle  afterward.    It  was.    Meant  to  be  friendly.    But  friendly  is  as  friendly  does  with  the  likes  of  JUNKRAT,    international  terrorist.    No  matter  how  he  conducted  himself.

                                  He  strode  back  over  to  his  rig,    beginning  a  quick  but  thorough  assessment  of  its  condition  before  he  set  himself  back  to  work,    paying  little  mind  to  the  stranger’s  presence.    Oh,    sure,    maybe  they  weren’t  on  the  up  —  &  —  up.    But  he  didn’t  want  to  be  standoffish  to  somebody  come  to  watch  the  show.    After  all,    you  don’t  survive  growing  up  in  Junkertown  by  being  WEAK  ‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒  or  careless,    for  that  matter.    

                                  Even  if  he  seemed  pretty  flippant.    WAS  pretty  flippant.    There  were  some  pretty  good  reasons  he  was  still  on  the  loose,    too.    

‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒ “H̶a͡ ̛h͠a.̛ Ha͞a̸a.̛.̨. ͡y͢eah.͏ ̧Soun҉d̨s like ҉a̡ ͞b͜last.” The stranger attempted to laugh back, but the enthusiasm wasn’t nearly as jovial as Junkrat’s, nor was it as loud, dude to the gas mask.

       The masked individual looked to the horizon towards the omnic village they had been taking refuge in for a moment, noting dust clouds in the distance, like something approaching. Boy... sure hope all those explosions the Australian caused didn’t make anyone dangerous take notice.