#firexiisms

@firexiisms

Now, Chevali liked fireworks. With all the pretty colors that sparkled and dazzled as the deafening booms rang in her ears. These fireworks were... not so colorful. Really they only had three colors. Red, yellow, and orange with the black from the smoke if you decided to count that. And as the rubble began to rain back down onto the ground, Chevali spotted the detonator. What a strange man but hey, he had good choreography.

She couldn’t help it. She applauded him.

Falling from the sky in a fiery ball of death seemed like it would attract the wrong kind of people.

Harold stumbled out from the flaming wreckage, coughing and waving the smoke from his face. Only when he managed this did he plop down on the grass under him and look around.

Angela would never understand how someone who looked as malnourished as Junkrat could be a wanted criminal, but then again...she had seen weirder more ‘impossible’ things in her career as a doctor, so it was likely best to keep such an opinion to herself. Though...there was one thing that did bother Angela: how the hell did he manage to lug such a large tire around like it was no problem at all? 

It was something that she’d often wanted to ask, but never had a rhyme or reason to do so. She’d just watch from afar and try to make educated guesses on the matter at hand. Though, the thought of his tire drew her attention to his love of explosives and something that worried her near constantly. 

“Herr Fawkes, I strongly suggest you use more care in where you set off your bombs or grenades. I do not want my valkyrie suit--or you--to be hurt. Do you think you can take such...destructive items elsewhere?”