Aw, ¿te asusté?

independent, private, highly selective rp blog for Overwatch's Olivia 'Sombra' Colomar, by Lexi.

an exercise in hubris, machine intelligence, the rejection of moral absolutism, & the effects of untreated posttraumatic stress disorder.

"Hola, Sombra." He tried to push some enthusiasm into his enunciated Spanish, but unfortunately he was in pain and miserable so it wasn't with as much gusto as usual. "This tequila's not curing my headache. Got something to distract me?"

The moment he plops himself down at her table, Sombra predicts trouble. It's an immediate shift away from what she's looking at on screen to reading his tells at the most fundamental level - as if it's some sort of warning.

Sombra despises the sound of loud, sharp, unpredictable noises. So, the sound of someone putting their dishes away very loudly is one very good example, or someone with a jackhammer right outside of the office.

It's a very big experience with such layers. Sombra feels like she should act as if this isn't a big deal to not embarrass her and at the same time, her genuine reaction is nothing more than utter joy. She takes the tupperware like it's made of gold, tilts her head to the side to peer within without removing the top.

Her expression softens, falls, gentles. The smile she offers is very genuine, and it reaches the edges of her eyes. "Nah, no te precupes. It looks absolutely perfect." What a treasure this is, this is her language, the language of culture that you can't quite rip away from somebody as hard as you could try.

She lets out a whine like a child and pouts, stretching out and yawning and blinking sleepily. Honestly, she's not that tired - Sombra's just playing it up for dramatic effect. "I'm tired, angel, ya hace muchos dias since I slept more than like, six hours. Can't you like, die from not sleeping enough?"

Her lips quirk into a smirk and she plucks at the small note, pulling a pen out of one of her pockets to scribble on the note for a bit. Then, she's winking and passing it back to her as if she's very proud of herself. On the note in small, precise handwriting is just 'May I please have the strongest sleeping pill a very intelligent and kind and thoughtful lady can offer', with the other words crossed off.

She's only aware that she's been staring off into space for like three minutes in near total silence after the soldier speaks up. It startles her a little bit - Sombra forgot he existed for a second. Happens sometimes, she just gets stuck in her head pondering some awful unfairness in her life or another.

But also, sometimes, she's just thinking about frivolous things that bring her a little bit of joy.

"A dress I saw at a boutique earlier today on my way here. Pretty thing, backless, in this deep purple that's so my color." This month, her hair color is lavender, and it would fit nicely. It changes often, she's always trying to express herself with fashion and make-up. It's one of the few outlets she has that doesn't involve getting incredibly wasted. Necessarily.