Already choking on my pride [OPEN]

[hellshot]

WHO: Reaper 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.]

Comments

[ichimyatsu]

[He tilts his head at the sound, intrigued in the same sort of way a cat would be when hearing something unusual for the first time. He's not making direct eye contact with the ...eye holes, in Reaper's mask, but he's looking him over a bit more directly, now. Huh. What a weird mask, what a weird person. He doesn't hate him.]

[He chuffs a laugh of his own, because what a fucking Edgelord McEdgerson, and then turns back to the screen and flips through it to order something simple. It's probably fish, and maybe rice, something mild or barely salty but inherently healthful. It's a very Japanese order, whatever it is.]

Why can't you use the machine? [Rather than thank him, he aims to figure out why this is happening, possibly to make use of it in the future. It's like stealing someone's lunch money, but in a roundabout and significantly friendlier way that actually benefits both parties, somehow.]

[hellshot]

[Once the order is put through, Reaper pulls his dog tags out and makes short work of paying for the entire order, as he'd promised. He doesn't even drag it out, or add any weird conditions--he may be an unrepentant asshat, but he's true to his words, at least.

The machine whirrs to life, the automated mechanics making busy work of putting together their food. He frowns under his mask before turning to look back down at Ichimatsu, that question not a weird one, at least.

He holds a hand up, stretching out fingers of his ungloved hand. His fingers are big, but the dark skin covering them is pallid, almost greying, and the skin was pulled tight to bone. And if he even looks closely, there are red, glowing cracks near some of the joints--where bone and muscle can almost be seen through.]

Touchscreens rely on being used by things that can hold a charge. Dead flesh doesn't fall under that category.

[ichimyatsu]

[He looks his hand over and doesn't seem the least bit bothered-- if anything, he looks intrigued. A simple nod is the most response he gives for a minute, though, his own hands slipping away back into his pockets of his parka.]

Pretty talkative for a dead guy.

[hellshot]

[He actually laughs. It's an echoing, raspy thing that sounds nearly more like a bark than a laugh, but. Ichimatsu will get the idea.]

What can I say.

Too stubborn to stay in the grave.

[ichimyatsu]

[He can't help the wry grin that tugs one corner of his mouth. This guy isn't terrible. Maybe Hell in space won't be so bad after all.]

Fair enough. You got a name?

[hellshot]

[Oh, he's terrible. Just in ways that Ichimatsu may or may not mind. He lets out a low scoff, waving a claw-adorned hand at the less excitable Matsu.]

Reaper.

[Turning his head down to look at him:]

Don't tell me your mother gave you all matching names. [Read: and your name?]

[ichimyatsu]

[He quirks one eyebrow, even if it's hard to tell since his deadpan expression doesn't otherwise change.]

"Reaper"? With a name like that, you have the balls to fuss about sextuplets being given similar names? Jeez.

[As an afterthought, he offers a hand. He can't really be sure of Reaper's origins, but somehow a handshake feels more appropriate than bowing.]

Ichimatsu.

[hellshot]

...It's a nickname. If you want my real name, you're going to have to ask nicely.

[This is said in almost a wry, mocking way as he turns his head to look down at that hand offered to him.

He almost seems to consider it for a moment before he reaches to take it--the big, clawed, leather-clad thing almost completely covering Ichimatsu's own.

And it's cold. Nearly like ice.] 'Ichi' and 'Kara', is it.

[ichimyatsu]

[A grin.]

Shame, I'm not great at being nice.

[He starts, but not terribly visibly so, at his hand being basically engulfed in a frozen kappa hand, but just frowns thoughtfully.]

The others are Osomatsu, Choromatsu, Jyushimatsu and Todomatsu, so yes, we do all match, before you ask.

[hellshot]

Then it seems there are some mysteries yet in this life for you to deal with.

[His echoing voice makes the wry tone of this response hard to detect, but it's there.]

Guessing there's some sort of naming scheme there. But my knowledge of the Japanese language is shit, at best.

Used to have a kid named Genji in my sect once. He taught one of my new recruits how to swear. [Lol.]

[ichimyatsu]

[A slight, crooked smile persists on his face, and he shrugs one shoulder. You're all right, Reaper.]

Most of them are weird puns, but I'm not gonna fault my mother for her naming convention when she popped six assholes out of her. This Genji kid sounds like a winner, we are a pretty creative lot sometimes.