![[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
[Because of that weird rasp, that still reminds her of something she can't quite put her finger on. But yes. The icon also helped. A lot, actually.
But she holds her tongue on saying anything about narcissism. Instead she remains protective of her mice friends, the smallest and largest one who are the two most frightened jump into her open palm, and she covers them gently, petting them soothingly as she continues to unflinchingly hold Reaper's gaze.
Or what she can make of it through that mask.]
If you believe that, it must truly be lonely for you. [Spoken like a true shounen Princess type or whatever.] Look, do you want your meal or not. Because if you are only content to frighten my friends, I will be getting my lunch elsewhere.
no subject
[He's, of course, being sarcastic--that much is apparent. He does have a terribly unique voice, after all--he knows it as well as she does. Though he's yet unaware he's lighting up any reminders for her, though.]
It's not a matter of belief. It's a matter of truth. [And it's not lonely, he'd argue, if he were 12 years old. But he's not, and he is, in fact, a lonely guy. Not that he'd admit that to anyone in the next 50 years.
That aside, he makes an aimless gesture at the stupid machine that even now won't register his attempts at getting it to work.]
Of course I still want a meal. [Otherwise he would have left by now, god.] Whether or not her highness is up for helping such a distasteful man is entirely up to her. Royalty shouldn't do what they don't want to, after all. Isn't that how it works?
no subject
In your universe, perhaps. But in mine...you would not be out of place.
[Not that she'll go into detail. She knows very little of the Druids beyond their mysterious aura and powerful magic.]
And no, it does not work that way. As royalty it is in fact my duty to help those in need. [However, her arms do remain crossed.] Regardless of how rude those in need of help may be.
What do you wish to eat?