"Laaaame." Calls Sombra, kicking up sand at his heels as punishment for daring to be so dorky, sitting upright on her elbows. "Locus is right: we're not your tesoros, Taylor. We're friends. Equals."
She is, after all, precious to no one.
"You need a flower crown."
And with that she curls her fingers, distorting the digital projection of her own habitat by directly tapping into the code itself - all superficial byways. A few moments of careful thought (what flower would suit him? what do flowers even look like instead of just the image in her drunken mind?) and she manages a mostly stable projection of what looks like a circlet of gold roses. Well— rose-ish. More like a memory of what they should look like but it's close enough.
no subject
She is, after all, precious to no one.
"You need a flower crown."
And with that she curls her fingers, distorting the digital projection of her own habitat by directly tapping into the code itself - all superficial byways. A few moments of careful thought (what flower would suit him? what do flowers even look like instead of just the image in her drunken mind?) and she manages a mostly stable projection of what looks like a circlet of gold roses. Well— rose-ish. More like a memory of what they should look like but it's close enough.
"Eh."
#Nailedit.