legionworld | Action

Entry tags:

Action - Open

Who| Fareeha and You!
What| Post mission chillaxing
Where| Little Cairo Coffee Shop in Fareeha's habitation region
When| Post To Have And To Hold mission
Warnings/Notes| n\a

Fareeha had been left with a few things to think about, in light of her mission with Junkrat and a later conversation with Jack. She's inundated with conflicting emotions, none of them strong enough to rule out their resisting counterpart, but enough that there's a constant muzz in her head that she's trying to feel out. She had enjoyed her time with Junkrat, but should she have? Is she letting her guard down too much? But, she's never felt quite so at ease with herself in a long while. The mission itself offered some moral hesitance, and while she went through with it in the end, she wondered what that meant about the stability of her own morals, and what Legion might hold for her in the future.

She's not quite hiding, but she's spending a bit more time at the coffee house in her habitat than on the Legion ship. Feel free to hit her up for a conversation or a free coffee or tea (or milk tea boba, the newest item on the menu!).

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There's a soft click, more felt than heard, and technically, by all definitions of the word: it does explode.

It's not strong enough to cause her any harm--it's just enough to make the two halves of the sphere force themselves open, and if she doesn't have a strong enough grip on either half it might even force itself out of her hand. The explosion scatters an unreasonable amount of hand-dyed epsom salts in the immediate vicinity, yellows and oranges and reds that mutely sparkle like fire in the dim light of the tea house.

One half of the sphere is empty, with the exception of the detonator mechanism and a mess of colorful salt crystals, but the other half is full, flush with black packing foam that has two slits cut into it. Within those slits are safely nestled gold rings, rather simple as far as details are concerned but with settings are designed to look like barbed wire; one is holding a polished lapis lazuli stone, and the other a bright fire opal.

It's not fancy, it's not conventional, but two things are clear: everything between her hands was meticulously planned and every detail was hand-made.

Junkrat sits there, silently, but his adamant grin won't budge as he waits to see her reaction.

There's a click.

There's a click.

In that fraction of a moment before it blasts itself apart, Fareeha's eyes widen with realization that he did indeed give her something explosive, and immediately her mind snaps towards the worst case scenario. She acts instinctively, her mind going blank as she curls herself around it in an attempt to contain the blast, save as many of the other patrons as she can.

But, it's not a white-hot end-of-everything painful death that she'd expected when she felt that click. It was something, alright, but not world-ending. She's absolutely covered in the colored salts, coughing slightly as she realizes she's still in one piece (and properly seasoned for a barbecue). She sits back and looks down at the pieces clutched in her hands - a little dazed and feeling the pump of adrenaline. She looks at the detonation piece and just thinks, Why?

Was this it? Had he been meaning to fool her all along, get her to let her guard down? Was this a warning? Was it a distraction?

Then she looks at the other piece and it takes even longer to fit it into the quiet narrative running rampant in her head.

What is she looking at.

Wait, rings. Rings. Engagement ... rings? There's a slow, subtle shift in her expression; while she hasn't said a word, right now it's clear on her face as she goes from fear and worry to confusion to an even greater confusion, and then seems to settle on something far lighter and more along the lines of bemused.

There's that soft chuckle, rumbling around in her chest before it gains strength. It goes from a chuckle to a proper laugh, and then somewhere along the line trips into a deep-bellied self-perpetuating howl. She throws her head back and just lets it take her, for the first time in a long - long - time, she just goes with it. She doesn't think about who might be watching, or what they might think, or how it's going to reflect on her superiors.

It feels good.

When she finally calms herself down, there are tears in her eyes, but she's smiling - so bright, unfettered, and she takes another look down at the rings. A large part of her reaction was relief; he hadn't actually been attempting to blow her to bits, and a large part of it was realization. What she knew of Junkrat now, and what she saw in the carefully crafted rings and, really, the entire setup, was how this was unashamed, unabashedly him. That he did things without thought to how other people thought they should be done, and there was something very pure and genuine about that fact.

"This is you. This is all you?" She looks at the rings, then up at him, awed and breathless.

He laughs as she protects his "bomb" with her own body. Maybe it could be interpreted as him making fun of her exceptionally even-thinking and reflexive reaction of trying to protect the immediate area from the kind of destruction he could wreck if he wanted to. But he laughs because her response is different -- many people would scream and try to get away, but here she is, trying to protect a bunch of strangers. So Pharah of her. A dark titter in the back of his mind points out that if he really wanted to cause that kind of destruction, one soft body would only provide more shrapnel through broken bones.

And he wouldn't be sitting so close if that's what it was made to do. Sure, he's blown himself to bits before, but it's not an experience he cares to revisit.

His laughter quiets down so that he can practically watch her brain move through all of the different steps to walk from gut instinct to realization of what reality actually handed her. As her own laughter escalates, he's barely a half-step behind her, clutching his stomach and, between the two of them, filling the quiet tea house with tear-jerking, side-bursting barks of laughter.

"All of it!" he practically sings when she finally gets enough air to ask her question. "All for you. Well--" He points at the rings. "The blue one is fer me ta wear."

As the adrenaline runs its course and sinks away, she's sobering up with the reality of what she's looking at. She runs her thumb over the fire opal, his words echoing in her head. He did all this, for her. He wants the blue ring ... to remind him of her, just as she assumes the fire opal represents him.

She's been coming to terms about how she feels through all of this, but she realizes whatever worldless, persisting bond has been growing between the two of them - there's been no deeper conversation. She looks up at him, more serious now, perhaps a little more guarded, as she holds the rings carefully.

"Why me? Was it just --is this just an extension of the mission, or ..." Or has she somehow touched his life the way he's touched hers?

"We're already married, mate, as far as the galactic government is concerned," he says, heaving his shoulders in a shrug. "Figured this was the logical thing ta do, since we--y'know...went through with everything."

He looks away, somewhat bashfully, rubbing the sharp corners of his jaw with his thumb.

"Not like we were leading up to a punchline or anythin', just doin' what felt right, and I'm not about ta stop doin' that. I mean, if ya don't want 'em..."

Now it's time for him to be guarded, even though he's trying really hard to make it seem like he isn't invested either way. Hours were poured into those things, thinking that she'd like them, but she doesn't owe it to him to accept them. He doesn't want her to feel like it's her obligation.

"...then that's fine. I'll take 'em back and we can get divorced. Not--" his voice cracks "--that bigga deal."

She doesn't hand them back, although she doesn't speak for a moment. She's leaning forward, elbows on knees, and lightly running her fingertips over the rings. She can tell he's invested a lot into this - not just by the craftsmanship but his reactions now - and she wants to be very careful, but very clear, in what she says next.

"We went through it all for the sake of the mission, and for the sake of respecting the native culture. Legion put us on that trek. This --" She tips the container slightly, indicating the rings, "This is serious. This is something that a lot of time, and a lot of care went into. I just want to know, that ... this step, this - continuation - has more to do with who I am," She pauses, pursing her lips, weighing the words in her head, "who we are together, than what any superior has asked us to do."

Her voice is soft, slightly chocked itself at the end. Does he truly feel something for her, or was it simply because circumstance thrust them together?

He's quiet while she talks. It doesn't sound like a denial, but he's attentive, just to make sure. When it feels like she's come to the end of her point, Junkrat looks down at his fingers, which have been fidgeting mindlessly throughout her talking, and still are, while he--for once in his life--considers his words carefully.

He knows how he feels, but putting them into words is hard. He kind of wishes they could share memories again, so she could really know how he felt, instead of having to push it through the restrictive meat grinder of language.

"Our job...what our superiors wanted us ta do...it ended when we found that relic. They didn't need us to stay the night, ta fight over which path we should take, ta fight over who gets to make the campfire, ta climb up a mountain and cover ourselves with weird, giant flower pollen. I did it because it was fun--and because ya wanted to."

He finally looks back up at her to make eye contact, to make his real point:

"It had everything ta do with who ya are. What ya are ta me."

And there it was. A small smile grows, and she looks down at her hands for a moment before plucking out the lapis lazuli ring and holding it out to him. "Then I guess we're doing this."

Her chest feels tight. A rush of excitement, to find out the feeling was mutual, diving into an entirely different kind of unknown. "Although, I can't help but think we're going about it in the absolute wrong order."

She'll take it as it comes, at the very least comforted by the fact that they're driven by each other and no other outside forces, however it began.

He shrugs before leaning forward and offering his left hand to her, offering her the chance to put the ring on him herself. They missed the opportunity for a ring ceremony earlier, so this will have to do.

"If ya expected ta follow conventions, ya ended up with the wrong bloke."

Because, again: if she was really bothered by doing things backwards, it was unwise to fall for a backwards person.

"There are a lot of things I wouldn't have done if I had expected to follow conventions." As if the face tattoo alone isn't enough.

She takes Junkrat's hand and carefully slides the ring over his finger. They really are beautifully crafted, and then holds out the canister and her own hand for him to do the same. They were going about this their own way; he'd keep her on her toes and she'd keep him grounded and together they'd have their own little dance.

He takes the half-sphere first to pull the ring out, and the puts it down so he can hold her hand with one oversized mechanical hand and his warmer one actually slipping the ring onto her finger. He won't let her go after that, though--he slips his fingers between hers, his black-lacquered nails on pale fingers contrasting with her tanned skin as he gives her an assertive squeeze.

For all of this talk about not following the standard, at the end of the day, he still gets to wear his ring on the correct hand.

"Ta breaking conventions," he declares with a grin -- a contented one, not one of the ones that threaten to break his face. But a beat of realization hits, and his grin falls into one of startled realization as he lets her hand go.

"What am I doin'?! I can't toast without a drink." It's a more subtle joke than his usual, but the silent punchline is screaming in his joker's smirk: breaking conventions, indeed. "Autta get somethin' ordered before they kick me for loiterin', yeah?"

Not that Fareeha's habitat would ever kick him out.

She makes a mental note to ask him to do her own nails sometime; she could field strip a pistol in record time but she's not sure if she's ever had a manicure ...

She chuckles as he goes off to get a drink, settling back on her cushion and taking up her own tea, watching him and waiting for the moment he sees the newest item on the menu board.

It takes him a while, admittedly, because he is going through all the options before landing on milk tea with boba. His reaction is immediate, hopping delightedly on one peg leg and foot with his arms balled up in fists and held up to his chest as he orders. He calms down while he waits for it to get made--sort of, still bouncing on his heel--and takes a curious sip of it when it finally comes out.

He giggles. Made to perfection!

Junkrat returns to his cushion in front of Fareeha. "It's weird," he says, tilting the sealed cup to the side and examining it. "Not the kinda place I'd expect ta serve this kinda thing."

He takes another mouthful, and he seems like he's totally ignorant that he might be the entire reason why it's there in the first place.

...but after a moment, he looks up at Fareeha with a sly, knowing little shine in his eye when he brings the drink away from his mouth as he chews on tapioca pearls.

Fareeha calmly sips her tea, watching his unfettered joy as he finds and orders his milk tea with boba. By the time it arrives and he's joining her again she's wearing a full on smirk.

That was one shoe dropped, now she waits to see if the other -- and, yes. She grins back at him with a chuckle as he enjoys his tapioca. "Thought you might appreciate that."

"Ya spoil me," he agrees with a full mouth. As if he hadn't just given her a handmade wedding ring he'd spent hours on. "Really oughtta know better than ta spoil rats, mate. That's how they develop behavioral problems."

He titters. Right, like his behavior could get any worse than it has been.

"So, treats for positive reinforcement only?" She grins at him over her tea.

"Somethin' like that."

He winks.

There's something more suggestive here than it sounds.

She raises her brows at that wink, blushing slightly, and choosing not to comment at the present moment.

But it does raise a few questions. She finishes her tea and sets the mug down.

"So ... what now? Do we move to Egypt or Australia?"

"Uh..."

Junkrat practically recoils at the question. Is she asking how they're going to live communally? He holds up his free hand defensively.

"P-p-pretty sure we're stuck on this ship either way...!"

He lets out a nervous laugh.

Fareeha can't help it, she chuckles lightly at his response, and gives him a little wave while she collects herself.

"I was joking, Jamison. I know we're here for the long haul."

Oh, good. He's an awfully private person, despite how outgoing and friendly he is, if the mines surrounding his camper are indication. While he doesn't mind spending a few one-off nights sleeping in the same bed as Fareeha, living together is another story.

He makes a relieved titter.

"In that place--ya got a place that serves food here? Could go fer some Egyptian grub, at the very least."

It's one thing they have in common; she enjoys her time with him, but he is intense. Having a place of her own to retire to if she needs is a comforting thought.

"Unfortunately, I didn't think to add a restaurant. There's the cafe, and the opera house." There are some foodstuffs here but not a full spread. She looks a little sheepish. "Oops."

"Awh, shame."

He shrugs as he takes a sip of his tea. It's not that big of a deal, really.

"Been a tic since I've had authentic shawarma." A beat. "Oh, right, but there's no meat here. Hmm...samosas then? Oooh! How about mahshi waraq inab?"

His pronunciation could use some work--a lot of work--but it's impressive that he can remember it at all.

"I mean--in case ya ever wanted ta add a place here."

"I could make that happen, couldn't I?" She sits back and looks around. She forgot just how much freedom they got in this place, really, but it was her habitat, she should add some more things to make it truly feel like home.

And she's not going to school him on his pronunciation, she just appreciates that he tries. "What about your habitat? Are you going to fit in some traditional Aussie fare at any point?"

"Absolutely not," he immediately retorts, cheerful despite having immediately shut the idea down. "Any Oz-style barbecue in me habitat is gonna be made with me own hands, thank you very much! Don't want some simulated competition makin' people think they can just walk in on me territory willy-nilly."

You know, if the land mines weren't indication to begin with.

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justice_from_above - 2017-05-23 18:17 (UTC) - Expand

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muroieda - 2017-05-24 06:29 (UTC) - Expand

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