#valkguard

"M'tellin' ya Doc, m'fine. Was just...some Talon bastards. I got jumped. Took care f'it. Ain't nothin' serious, angel." Cole gave his best try at a smile, trying in a vain attempt to use his charm on her so she'd stop asking so many goddamn questions...but the glare he was receiving said otherwise.

let me take a look…

Baelor hadn't realized it. Even with the broken glass, the wine pooling around his boots, and the sharp sting of glass embedded in his toughened palm — he hadn't realized that, in his shock, he shattered the beautiful cup holding his drink. Blood and alcohol dripped in equal measure from his wound.

One of his guards stepped forward to interrupt the fair woman's advance. That sudden movement broke Baelor out of his trance. Enough, at least, to motion for his men to leave her be with his uninjured hand.

Let me take a look, she said, and Baelor's heart rose up into his throat. He offered his shaking fingers. The brush of her own, gentle on his skin, brought a flood of memories to the forefront that threatened to overwhelm him.

❝Your dress, my lady ... ❞ he said dumbly, distantly, purple and brown eyes flicking down to the red forming a ring about him. Baelor smiled weakly. The color was gone from his handsome face, and he swayed on his feet. His minor wound didn't warrant this kind of reaction.

She's coming down from the start, lungs still working overtime to catch up with her heart as it hammers away in her chest. There's a thin sheen of sweat that covers her, shirt clinging a little heavier to her skin from the dampness. A thick swallow and Rebecca manages to find her voice -   hoping it doesn't tremble like she does.

       ❝ They're not my best, ❞   she muses, a puff of breath trying to sound like a light hearted laugh. Tired eyes land on Angela, almost pleading.   ❝ I wasn't out for that long, was I? ❞

⸻ °｡ @valkguard.

— @valkguard, prompts.

"Sure," Robert starts, struggling to keep his voice firm instead of mere beats away from laughing, "a little overboard."

The way he's acting, it almost seems like they'd done something normal. But Angela-- no, Mercy-- had been incredible out there. It was almost embarrassing how clever she was, and while Mecha Man had clumsily managed to defeat the big bad, it was Mercy's ability to heal all the civilians in the neighbourhood that made all the difference.

Robert was still new to this, though. In fact, if his father weren't dead, he likely would've said Robert didn't even officially earn the Mecha Man suit yet. Meanwhile, Mercy had been one of those genius interns for the Brave Brigade-- she even came with her own suit and everything. And while overworking herself did a number on her gear, she has a point: she is still alive, and that's all that matters.

Despite the temptation to open his cockpit and speak to Mercy face-to-face, Robert resists. At the very least they had to leave the area first, especially now that the proper authorities were making sure all the injured were taken care of. This is the part where the heroes try to discreetly move away.

"Why don't we go before your shit starts doing more than smoking, huh?"

And just to make sure she doesn't strain her suit's capabilities, Robert holds one of the mech's big palms out for Angela to sit on.

"I'll take you to Dad's lab," he says. "You can make your repairs there."

I know he's gone, but he would've wanted you to keep using it.

INBOX - @valkguard

the commander takes a few more moments to finish reading over the report that's been stacked centered above the other less-organized papers scattered across the desk. he takes a pen, underlines a sentence at the bottom, then finally glances up at her. the folded arms against the doorframe are met with a smile that matches the orange glow of a setting sun, which has stretched from one end of the office to the other. it had been preferrable for him to take advantage of the warm light while he still could, considering that overhead flourescents made sitting in an office all day quite miserable.

"surely not as hard as dr. angela ziegler," jack says in teasing earnest, stacking the papers of the report together and carefully sliding it off to the side. a hand gestures invitingly to the leather chair on the other side of the desk for her to sit down, his own giving a suble creak as he straightens, hands folding on the desk.

God, if he could have admired Angela more, a spotlight might've just manifested from the heavens just for her. She's definitely revered in his eyes and it shows as he watches her. Dac makes no move to hide all this admiration, either. Sure, the staring he could probably be less intense about, and he's trying by looking elsewhere now and again, but he can hardly help it. She's practically glowing.

       ❝ Would you let me buy you dinner? ❞   It's the bravest, boldest he's ever asked her.   ❝ Just once. You could even send me on my way once you get your plate, I wouldn't care. ❞

The coercion is gentle, Anhura's approach delicate, quiet. A fresh and steaming mug of coffee, just the way Angela likes it, is set onto the nearest clear surface for her. She reaches for one of her arms and only just ghosts her knuckles at her wrist for her attention, leaning into her peripheral.

       ❝ Eine pause, Angela.. ❞   Gaze soft, she beckons her away from her work with a small nod.   ❝ Have you eaten yet? ❞

   “i  don't  tire.” 

   it's  human  to  tire  out  -  and  in  moments  reaper  falters  after  he  says  it.  the  near  imperceptible  movement  his  fingers  take.  a  slight  twitch  that  isn't  normally  there.  he  reevaluates  it,  realizing  the  status  that  is  held  by  him,  truly. 

   not  him,  but  it.  hivemind.  a  construct.  artifical  intelligence.  artificial. 

   but  is  he  not  created  just  as  much  as  gabriel  himself  was?  someone  created  reaper,  created  the  program.  isn't  that  just  as  much  being  born?  does  that  not  give  it  the  right  to  be  a  him?  to  live?  even  if  it's  a  bastardization  of  a  corpse  at  this  point,  gabriel's  sense  of  self  locked  far  down  and  away  in  his  own  mind  -  a  torturous  state  of  locked  in  syndrome,  except  with  reaper  piloting  the  body,  keeping  it  alive  with  its  own  nanites. 

   i  don't  tire. 

   the  words  run  through  it's  mind.  his  mind.  does  he  have  a  mind?  what  is  he?  he  hates  confronting  it.  that's  why  he  doesn't.  it's  an  easy  way  to  overload  his-  his  what?  synapses?  code?  all  of  it  is  so  fucking  inhuman.  he  grits  his  teeth.  no  -  gabriel's  teeth.  the  body's  teeth.  what  is  this  but  a  vessel  he  -  it  -  he  could  vacate? 

   yet  he  doesn't.  because  he  loves  gabriel. 

   or  is  he  just  programmed  to  protect  the  host? 

   no,  no.  he  learned  emotions.  he's  rogue  ai.  that's  right.  rogue.  he  can  have  emotions,  just  like  any  other  human.  even  as…  wrong  and  disjointed  as  they  are.  he's  got  every  right  to  be  here.  every  right.  and  no  one  has  any  right  to  gabriel.  they  all  fucked  that  up.  monumentally. 

   that's  right.  only  reaper  knows  what's  best.  reaper  knows  how  to  deal  justice.  knows  that  they  all  have  to  die.  it's  that  simple. 

   hell  -  the  whole  world  needs  to  burn  and  be  restructured.  talon  -  a  perfect  means  to  this  end.  when  they  accomplish  his  goals,  all  he  needs  to  do  is  systematically  take  them  out.  they  elevated  him  to  high  status  within  their  ranks,  he  has  plans  for  each  one  of  them.  it'll  be  easy.  for  him. 

   for  a  conglomerate  of  nanotech  machines  piloting  a  fucking  corpse. 

   so  maybe,  just  maybe…  maybe  he  does  understand  tired.  as  he  thinks  about  it,  the  fighting  he  has  to  do  to  even  be  recognized  as  himself  and  not  gabriel.  everyone  mistakes  his  actions  for  gabriel.  just  because  he  has  the  body  doesn't  mean  he's  the  man  it  originally  belonged  to.  fuck  -  he's  not  even  a  man.  it's  just  the…  the  skin  he's  wearing.  like  some  monster  out  of  a  shitty  b-movie  horror.

   maybe  he  is.  who's  to  say?  he  wouldn't  listen  anyway. 

   “you  getting  tired?”  he  sneers  it  out,  taking  a  heavy  step  toward  her.  she  wasn't  ever  that  bad,  not  really.  didn't  deserve  his  hell,  his  vengeance.  gabriel  would  never  forgive  him  if  he  struck  her  with  intent  to  kill  -  so  he  hasn't.  has  stayed  his  murderous  claws  from  sinking  into  her  neck.  it  would  be  so  easy.  terrifyingly  so  -  if  he  felt  terror.  some  things  are  just  not  in  his  grasp,  nor  does  he  care  to  feel  them.  those  are  bad.  throw  out  the  useless  and  the  bad,  focus  only  on  what  works.