Jesse McCree had built up a lot of bad karma over his life so far, and odds were, that pile was only going to get bigger. But bringing coffee to an overworked angel had to mitigate some of it, right? He knocked on the open medbay door with his right hand since the metal left one was occupied by a burning hot mug.
“I come bearing gifts - well, one gift. Careful though, it’s real h-”
He was smiling at the doctor, not paying attention to how he put the mug down, when he felt a familiar twinge in his mechanical arm. McCree barely had time to twist away from Mercy as his arm jerked the mug without his consent, splashing coffee over his shoes and some of her desk. He grabbed the mug with his human hand, fingers searing with the heat, and slammed it down to keep from spilling the lot.
“Aw, shit. Sorry, Angie, it does that every couple weeks. Always the worst timing.”
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"Vhen vas zhe last time you slept?..." Angela would gently inquire, her azure coloured gaze settling upon Genji. She noted everything from the enervate pace of his steps to the uncharacteristic slouch of his stance... needless to say, she was quite concerned for his wellbeing.
✕ | CLOSED.
Tired eyes — he hides them, though not behind an actual mask. The base has lost all sense of comfort & he’s talked about leaving from the start. Indecisiveness is what makes Genji feel ill, what wrests him from sleep, that this body hasn’t freed him from his need for of. Mercy has saved his life, but he’s sure, without asking, that this isn’t for her to cure. The moment she speaks up, at least, he stops pretending not to notice her.
❝ It has been some time. ❞ He doesn’t LIE … ❝ Not that long, though. ❞
@wearecompassion
--
She had no right to be standing here. Kayleigh was certain of that. Tombstones and memorial plaques surrounded her on all sides, but her somber gaze was only fixated upon one, right in front of her:
Here Lies
Jack Morrison
All these years later and the pain and devastation was felt as keenly by the Irishwoman now as it had that fateful day. Time had done nothing to numb her to it. Open wounds had healed into grisly scars ... but scars, too, ached. They had shaped her into a person she no longer recognized. The kind of person that someone like Morrison would have been beyond disappointed to see. Even now, she continued to fail him.
She hadn’t been strong enough ... her attachments had compromised her capabilities as an agent and a soldier. It shamed her to the very core that the death of a single man could leave her so broken. And yet to her, he was far more than just one man. He had meant -everything- to her ... even if she had never found the courage to tell him when she still could.
She had come dressed in more civilian clothing, so as to draw less attention (though the added oddity of her prosthetic legs made that difficult, even without her armor and suit), the hood of her baggy-fitting jacket drawn over her head, hand thrust into the pockets as the shadow of the hood did well to conceal the streams of tears that had rolled down her cheeks as she stared down at the polished marble plaque.
“Y’deserved better than a sorry piece o’ shit like me, Jack...”
Actually still have this blog around for more info, so here: X.
The snow-capped mountains had been painted red. Dead bodies littered the makeshift battlefield, as just nine people managed to outgun and outmatch an entire regiment of fully equipped troops. It was pathetic, really… Years of training, and all it would lead to was this, being slaughtered by such a small fighting force.
Energy sparked around visibly, Vim constantly being pulled out of the air and being shaped into more tangible attacks that cut a swath through the enemies frontline. Clearly, at least one of the nine shadowy people was a strategist, well-versed in warfare. Perhaps. That voice was familiar… He was the one! He was the Marzgraf who betrayed the queendom for personal reasons, becoming a public enemy in the process. Just as he did that, he disappeared off the face of the earth. So this was what he was planning, huh? On coming back and reclaiming the land of his birth to take control of it.
Just as one commander started to rally his troops, trying to urge them to give their life for Queen and country, a spectral wolf charged ahead, ripping straight through the grizzled veteran’s chest, even more scarlet painting the once pure and white snow a different, more sinister hue. The soldiers already started running away, but they were still constantly being thinned out, some were left cut up beyond recognition, bullet holes lined the bodies of some among many other scars of war.
One poor soldier started to crawl away, pulling himself along with just his upper body strength as a blue wolf was ravenously feasting on one of his legs. The man who commanded the creature was short to follow, it was sad, seeing people suffer. He had to do something about it.
The warlord drained the soul of the cannon fodder, severing the last ties that bound him to this life of misery.
“The weak become sustenance for the strong, it’s only natural.”
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