#warwaited

❝ -mean it was the 80s, dude. Coke was SO good back then, it was hard to keep track of all the evil shit I was doing. And not like the cut-rate coke you can buy these days from 'Joe Crossfit' on his way to buy some oatmilk-flavored condoms.

Folks were l i t e r a l l y making bombing runs in Cessna twin engines from San Pedro to Medellín at like 3:30 in the fucking morning for top-tier snow. Just to bring it back to private island manses just beyond the horizon all on the promise of free bumps and fuzzy boxes. ❞

Today, as one might notice from the wall of sound emerging from her, was one of Echo's good days. She was being showered in positivity!

Managing to wrangle an ENTIRE BUSINESS WEEK out of the office? Silver tongue was still shiny! And all it cost her was the promise to cut back on property theft and sexual harassment. Eas- Uh... Not so difficult!

Finally making good on her (self-imposed) plan to start cutting back on her daily regimen? So far no valleys! Nothing but peaks and positivity keeping her afloat. The wings also helped, admittedly.

But to cap it all off! Soaring over the waves, her best friend in her arms, on her way back to MOST DANGEROUS GAME ISLAND. (Not the actual name of the place, but - Once they landed on the beach, it would make a lot more sense.) Not to kill. Or Hunt. Or sleep off a bender. But to make her aforementioned best friend happy.

Fuck good, this was one of Echo's GREAT days!

another sunrise, another morning; with light rain beating down on faded cloth.

the pitter-patter of drops battered down up old streets; bustling with monks and impoverished alike.

the crackle of fire, the sizzle of great pans and the waft of spices and sauces streaming from the buliding.

one monk, among the handful, was busy moving bags of ingredients when he spotted her;

a woman, ducking through a crowd; before slipping past crates and walls to take cover.

it was hard to tell if she was escaping the rain or something else.

A new embodiment to the current of the steady streets wasn’t something common. 

As though it were a duty that’d been spread across his own shoulders, the archer kept an uneasy eye on the streets within Tokyo. Keeping them clean, free of the uncontrolled forces of Hashimoto warriors; the Yokai could only do so much, and Hanzo only knew so much when the word of such had been from those that were much younger than himself.

It wasn’t an entire distrust— hesitance, perhaps. The feeling similar to that of something being blown out of its own proportion; this wouldn’t have been the first time that it’s happened. Where something so little was just that; irrelevant, and less than worthy of investigating. Threats often made themselves clear, known— and that was what Hanzo dealt with.

Those that carried themselves with purpose, a vile intent that would inflict a greater harm on lives that were far too innocent to be involved. It was a narrow minded neural link, the assembly of dangers and what seemed to come out as the superior to the rest. 

Hearing of someone that was all purple, moving liked they’d been taught under the greatest of warriors— that was something that piqued his interest, while also having him question the durability of the mouths that had spoken such. The sightings never seemed consistent, though that could’ve also been due to the time that a member of the Yokai decided to indulge him, to place the seeds of what was to come if he hadn’t stepped up to do anything about it.

And that was an implication that he didn’t want to exist, regardless.

Against his better judgement, he’d decided to see for himself what the clan was talking about. Everything about it was far from his normal rhythm, the typical places that he would dote; this called for alleys, seclusion, taking a ride on the subway system. Each time he’d gone to investigate, find clues, he’d return with empty hands and an agitated spirit.

One that required rest, rejuvenation to try it all again the next day. Because for each day he hadn’t found this alleged purple being, the more he considered how pressing each report had been. 

It’d transpired in an evening, for him. The muted streets of Kanezaka danced with the underlying illumination of the buildings dawning either side, branching into a network system of alleys that looped and threaded themselves together. The disturbance of what sounded like fighting was unmissable at that time. A shuffling further down had caught his attention, hastening the muffled tap of his own footing as he’d picked up his pace. Edging himself near a corner of an alley, he’d finally spotted them. Or something akin to what had been described, anyway.

Purple, moving at an irregular pace; a whirlwind that almost seemed to reflect itself in a radiant glow against the shadowy encompass of the grain before himself. A hand withdrew his bow from its holster against his back, the other steadying itself against the thin of an arrow as he quietly, unknowingly approached the scene. 

What was happening here?

The door wasn’t locked. It never mattered. By the time the hinge gave under a slow push, he was already inside, boots quiet against the floor, coat dragging faintly behind him. The place was small, lived in, not his.

He took it in with a glance. Decent. Quiet. Off the grid enough. An apartment like this for a single name, an easy job, a fair trade. He set a weapon down on the table like it belonged there. Then moved through the space without hurry, without permission, gaze dragging over what was hers and deciding none of it mattered.

The smell of food lingered and that got his attention. A container was opened without asking. He took a bite, pausing only briefly as if weighing it. No reaction, just a quiet decision. It was worth finishing. Only then did his voice cut through the room, low and certain. “Tell me about the man you want dead.” He took another bite, gaze drifting as if the answer was already overdue. @warwaited

All things being equal, Jack is probably the only person who has enough care and experience in equal measure to be concerned about going after this woman right now. The higher ups have other stuff to worry about and frankly don't have the hands-on to understand how criminals work ; people who hide in plain sight only to disappear when anyone's paying too much attention to them. The only reason Jack went looking for the mystery-new-citizen-without-official-details-or-shit-who-some-people-think-is-a-rumor-anyway is her students.

If this girl's been hanging out in the maintenance tunnels during her off time ... some of the students, being teenagers, sneak out at night. Jack isn't gonna have HER KIDS running into someone dangerous. Just because she's training them and they know how to handle themselves doesn't mean they're not still kids and they're her fucking responsibility.

But seeing this person closer, with the body language she's giving off — Jack doesn't think she's the outlaw she was worried about this girl potentially being. She looks lost, defensive, someone who's just trying to survive. Not a hardened career criminal trying to hide out somewhere. When her eyes follow the spark that lights up this woman's body and the stance she takes, Jack's mind flashes back to Teltin, and everything that came after she escaped ; being used, tortured, knives in her flesh and needles in her veins, hands on her, bruises. Learning how to bite back, and then taking that too far. The first thing she thinks is that this girl's another biotic.

... Doesn't quite fit, though. Something seems off. At the very least, Jack's grateful no hits are being thrown yet. She recognizes the hesitation to trust, the need to PROTECT ONESELF, and she feels a pang of sympathy for this girl.

"Oh, uh, yes, I've heard that one."

Not Winston's favorite, as far as classic human adages go. He's no good at making peace with impermanence, and telling himself that his troubles are only temporary doesn't make him feel any better when he's failing to solve a problem. Mostly it just frustrates him further.

arin   shrugs.   if   rakatak   is   honest   to   her   word,   then   who   is   pocket   to   try   and   * dictate   how   she   talks?   they   give   a   shrug,   free   hand   in   their   pocket   as   they   look   back   towards   rakatak.

❝ i   respect   that   you're   honest   to   what   you   need   to   do,   and   that   you   * don't   shy   away   from   it.   not   a   lot   of   people   are   as   honest   as   you,   and   that's   something   that   speaks   a   lot.   i   suppose,   anyways. ❞

they   shrug   again.   she   has   a   lot   more   guts   than   * they   do,   anyways.   one   day   they'll   get   that   brazen   -   to   unapologetically   pursue   what   they   perceived   as   their   right   as   someone   who   had   been   thrown   out   of   time   and   home   by   a   * single   gunshot.   one   day.