[OPEN] there's always more, I wanna know more

[vata]

Who| Sombra and you
What| getting acclimated to her new home— and all the perks that come with it
Where| it's an assortment
When| post scheming
Warnings/Notes| NA


VIDEO CALL: FOR GABRIEL

It's fun, getting sworn in. All the pomp, the prestige, the overwhelming sense of duty— little things you don't get when you sign up as a either child-criminal or a terrorist. She'd said with a smirk that she could get used to this as they pressed the ring against her palm, but in reality, she couldn't: like a too-tight suit it already digs against the high point of her collar, hearing the lengthy list of commandments playing back in her thoughts as a reminder of all the adjustments she'll need to make from here on out.

Not forever, of course, but still.

In the meanwhile, she's done herself the favor of swapping out one false identity for another. The Legion might've done the majority of the footwork for her with a new uniform and an officially documented alias as codename Azúcar, but there's still the matter of getting into character.

And more importantly, making sure her ally knows she's done her part to get established. The omnicom's already been synced to her hardware (and the usual violet paneling that comes flickering to life with a wave of her claws swapped over— as you'd expect— to a matching shade of blue).

"¿Qué tal?."

What's up, Gabe. Hope you're not too busy for a little FaceTime because if you are, she doesn't care.

MISSION MONITOR ROOM

Next stop on the list after getting her stripes? The mission monitor room. Filled to the brim with scrolling feeds, displays, and chattering lines, it's everything she'd expected to find based on a general directory search. Plus there's hardly a need for her to mask the way her eyes wander from screen to screen in appreciation for how cleanly it all functions, not to mention the sheer volume of data being processed at once.

She's a single soul in a sea of bustling activity, tracing her nails along sleek, metallic contours as she passes by - touching only the consoles that are currently left unmanned. Tempting as it might be to tap into them, Sombra's lived through her own mistakes enough to know better than to jump at every open opportunity.

Eventually her pacing slows, squaring off her shoulders at an obviously occupied space and leaning forward just far enough to leave her hovering over her fellow legionnaire's shoulder. "What are you doing?"

Whoever said you can't get information by just asking has a lot to learn about humanity.

SCIENCE LABS

Familiar, sort of. Reminds her of the labs Volskaya prided themselves on keeping ever so close to their collective chest, which means she's treated to a perverse sort of delight in slipping in and pressing clawed hands to the glass barrier keeping her from an unidentifiable hunk of metal housed near the entrance, chassis punctured by glowing, important-looking ports.

Because oh, she could stay here if they'd let her. Wait out the slower seconds by mentally archiving every device, every scientist and which projects they favor. Maybe even swap a few minor details in exchange for either gratitude or respect enough to grant more open access. Still, she's tempered by her own task list, drawing away from the case to set up shop at one of the farther corners against the wall; throwing her translocator a few times and flickering in and out of sight— out of existence— as a test of functionality and endurance. Azure blue streaks of digitized light flitting back and forth with displaced energy. If anything's changed in how her equipment functions, she'd rather know now.

After all, she isn't Gabriel or Amélie - if trouble finds her (which it shouldn't any time soon) putting faith in tech that's been altered could be catastrophic. She doesn't have genetic modification, no super strength or regenerative properties slowing the blood in her veins.

Expect this to take some time: testing only broken by intermittent pauses where Sombra draws up a few digital interfaces that track each set of results for her, letting her manually recalibrate seemingly endless rows of numbers. Also like halfway through she takes a break to wolf down chips and a sort of intergalactic soda, so if you're hoping to take up her spot, you're going to be waiting for a while, compadre.

OBSERVATION DECK

Eventually all the major footwork is done: mapping the Legion's false world, understanding the major landmarks, players and figures - even her abilities are all exactly where they should be, and there's enough security in that to give Sombra a certain amount of freedom. Time to herself, to be herself. If she regrets that— floating a few feet off the ground with her hands folded neatly behind her head, eyes shut, legs crossed in front of an ocean of stars as though she's sunbathing via all the light left in the galaxy— it doesn't show.

"So this is what it's like."

Flight. Maybe not what Reaper exercised in actuality, but she always wondered what it felt like to dart in and out of reality on a whim.

Well— at least until she got her hands on chronal accelerator technology, and even then, it's not the same thing. Not by a long shot.

"Only thing missing now is a nice cold chela."

WILDCARD

[ooc: feel free to riff off of prior prompts if they don't exactly work for you, or make up your own! Sombra's just going to be snooping around for a good while anyway, so it wouldn't take much at all to get her attention.

Besides, getting rid of it's the hard part.]