#rvolvd

There is no elegance in the way he fires: the cock of that revolver and the slam of the hammer, focus sharp and deadly. It’s as expected, Hanzo thinks, because he finds nothing elegant about the man even as the range rings with the crack of each well-aimed bullet.

Bam! Click! Bam! Shame - the roar of his shots is enough to disrupt any pretense of beauty, and Hanzo remains ever watchful. “Hmph. Graceless... it suits you.”

Angela was always excited to meet up with Jesse McCree at the end of her ever-long work weeks. Something about their secret get-togethers were undeniably comforting for her. They could talk for hours, and when Angela found herself out of topics, she would talk about nonsense with him just to keep the conversation going.

He was a good man, and she looked forward to seeing him again.

Although, something was off about this location. Something was off about Jesse, about the way he asked her to come meet up with him. She wouldn’t say no, of course. Angela trusted him, and so she walked into the small restaurant with confidence and an ever-bright smile on her lips. A light anxiety in her heart that she tried to ignore. 

Hanzo does not consider himself a necessarily kind man. Perhaps... honest, and righteous, but not kind. And with the local faux cowboy, there is no exception.

McCree is... infuriating. Hanzo cannot stop thinking about him, which is even more infuriating. His traitorous mind continues to travel back to the gunslinger and his cocky, confident smile and swagger, his flirtatious attitude, and how irritating it all is.

Hanzo's lip curls, and an arrow pierces the center of one of the targets he'd dragged up onto the cliff. He climbs up further, synthetic soles finding purchase on stones that regular feet wouldn't be able to grip, perching on the edge of an outcropping to fire down at the next target. Slightly off-center, but still close. He notches a scatter arrow into his bow.

As if to make his day worse, the cowboy himself comes into view around the corner of the path that the targets are placed on. The archer huffs in annoyance, slipping the scatter arrow back into his quiver. He may dislike the gunslinger, but he does not feel like shooting him today. At least not yet.