![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
- animorphs: aximili-esgarrouth-isthill,
- archie comics: jughead jones,
- far cry: jason brody,
- far cry: vaas montenegro,
- homestuck: dave strider,
- osomatsu-san: ichimatsu matsuno,
- osomatsu-san: karamatsu matsuno,
- overwatch: reaper,
- saiyuki: son goku,
- shadowhunters: clary fray,
- voltron: allura,
- yuri!!! on ice: victor nikiforov
Already choking on my pride [OPEN]
WHO: Reaper ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hellshot and OPEN
WHERE: Within the Fleet, some automated cafeteria
WHEN: Various times within the month, whenever he needs to eat.
WHAT: Reaper needs nutrients, touchscreens aren't his friend.
WARNINGS: Possible mention of how horridly deformed he is under his mask. It's bad.
[Dark fingernails tap against the metal counter he's currently standing in front of. If he wasn't wearing a mask, it would be easy to see the look of frustration on Reaper's face with his current predicament, so for now, the only way of knowing that the ghost of a man is pissed off is the wisps of black fog escaping from under aforementioned mask.
He hadn't gone on the previous mission with Sombra, and he had no interest in rescue missions, either. Which meant he hadn't seen the field of battle in little over a month--which meant he hadn't been taking in new nutrients from his surroundings to keep his body from decaying to a point of discomfort. Which meant he had to partake in his least favourite of activities: Eating.
Eating was difficult enough when your face was barely suited for it--but when the cafeteria closest to his living quarters was a fully automated one? It was like a really bad joke. Touchscreens worked when pressure was applied with an electrical charge--human skin was a great conductor for said electrical charge. Dead flesh didn't hold any sort of charge. So this was his predicament. He couldn't eat if he couldn't get the damn screen to work.
Frustrated, Reaper finally turns his head to glare at the individual waiting for their turn after him. He hated asking for help, so instead:]
Work this damn thing for me and I'll pay for your food, too.
[He's too tired for this bullshit today.]
hellshot and OPENWHERE: Within the Fleet, some automated cafeteria
WHEN: Various times within the month, whenever he needs to eat.
WHAT: Reaper needs nutrients, touchscreens aren't his friend.
WARNINGS: Possible mention of how horridly deformed he is under his mask. It's bad.
[Dark fingernails tap against the metal counter he's currently standing in front of. If he wasn't wearing a mask, it would be easy to see the look of frustration on Reaper's face with his current predicament, so for now, the only way of knowing that the ghost of a man is pissed off is the wisps of black fog escaping from under aforementioned mask.
He hadn't gone on the previous mission with Sombra, and he had no interest in rescue missions, either. Which meant he hadn't seen the field of battle in little over a month--which meant he hadn't been taking in new nutrients from his surroundings to keep his body from decaying to a point of discomfort. Which meant he had to partake in his least favourite of activities: Eating.
Eating was difficult enough when your face was barely suited for it--but when the cafeteria closest to his living quarters was a fully automated one? It was like a really bad joke. Touchscreens worked when pressure was applied with an electrical charge--human skin was a great conductor for said electrical charge. Dead flesh didn't hold any sort of charge. So this was his predicament. He couldn't eat if he couldn't get the damn screen to work.
Frustrated, Reaper finally turns his head to glare at the individual waiting for their turn after him. He hated asking for help, so instead:]
Work this damn thing for me and I'll pay for your food, too.
[He's too tired for this bullshit today.]
no subject
You know what, that's not surprising at all. [Jughead has no idea about Reaper's whole... everything, but his tragic backstory senses are tingling. And that's not any kind of anything he wants to get into during a meal time. Don't ask about the now, Jughead. Don't do it.] So is this more of the same or what? Did they even let you keep the mercenary title when you got space kidnapped.
no subject
Don't skip classes and you'd figure that out on your own. [He's not even looking at the teen anymore, staring at the automated cafeteria machine and wishing it would process their order faster. Because if Jughead does get the idea to prod into tragic backstory questions, he was going to ghost the fuck out of there.
(You need to be at least level 5 in his social links to unlock his tragic backstory.]
...............................
No. They gave me a job that is entirely unsuited to my abilities. That will change once I start going on the stupid missions down to the planets below that they offer.
no subject
Oh, yeah, those things. Good times! And way better you than me, honestly.
no subject
[You seem the type.
...]
'Better you than me'. What, did you ditch the job they gave you, too. [WAIT IS THAT AN OPTION]
no subject
[Obviously. Look at this face, he's an innocent.]
Not yet! I'm still benefitting pretty hard from all those free meals they haven't told me not to take yet. I think you can ditch 'em though, if you believe in yourself.
no subject
Amazing. You have people who dislike you enough to plant incriminating items on you.
[Even if he himself found Jughead annoying, he's not an idiot--he's willing to bet the carefree teen made friends easily. And yet.]
...
Free meals sound markedly better than doing a job you're not remotely interested in.
[And yet, if he tried to leave, Sombra would probably pick at him until he came back. Ugh.]
no subject
[Not like their regular principal likes him very much anyway. ]
Yeah? Hey, if you want a hookup to a new job until you get back on your mercenarying feet just say the word, tall scary man.
no subject
[A disgraced CIA plant.]
Must have done something to get under the CIA's skin. [He's almost impressed, but he keeps from giving Jughead a compliment this time. Because he's more interested in that second bit.]
...You've got my attention. Whatever you suggest can't be worse than what I'm already bagged with. [Trust him.
A pause.]
It's Reaper. [Not 'scary tall man'.]
no subject
Well, the place has plenty of openings. Delivery man, guy who stands around and hands out fliers with the hot new burger of the day, assistant manager of standing behind the counter and growling at terrible low-level employees.
[He says all this with .0001% expectation that Reaper would actually be interested. Jughead loves burgers and even Jughead thinks working at a burger joint is mostly garbage.]
no subject
['Jughead.'
He won't be able to see Reaper's change in expression but, boy howdy is it there. You're the one from the network who called him a human knot. He doesn't forget.]
I think I'd rather be unemployed than work as a delivery man or a flier-hander. [Just. Turns his head to give the guy a LOOK, just. Look at him. Can you see this guy handing out burger fliers or deliveries? Noone would take him seriously. Ever.] At least with my current shit job, I don't have to deal with anyone.
no subject
Fair! And an advantage not often found in this job market. Treasure that solitude while you can.
[He says, fully aware that this guy has probably been Unhappy with every moment he's spent having to interact with Jughead. Which honestly makes this whole thing way better.]