legionworld | [OPEN] You're Out of Touch

[There's something amiss in Legion World— aside from the obvious hiccups in general time. A bright splash of phosphorescent green and pink, flitting in and out of public space. Eventually the little streak of color slows to a halt: runs clawed fingers across pristine walls, over statues and murals and statues without reverence, just an abundance of fixed curiosity, as though it's all so new.

And for her, it really is.

Across her face, glowing body paint cuts the shape of a stylized skull, making otherwise young features look decidedly more vicious. A notion that's punctuated by her predatory posture and the gun resting openly at her hip.

In front of a heroic depiction of the Legion's finest, she snorts to herself, quietly:]

Where the hell am I?

II: TAGGED TURF

[Graffiti. There's a lot of it, all over the less-used Legion World hallways— and the statues, and occasionally the floors. Variations of 'Tierra de Los Muertos' or 'Sombra', and a few iterations of the telltale skull pattern painted across her cheeks. Where she got the paint is anyone's guess, but she's putting it to good use while she can.

After all, why would anyone even waste their time trying to stop her?]

III: WILDCARD

[ooc: Want something different? Let's make it happen! Feel free to go ahead and place your character anywhere on Legion World and I'll have Sombra fill in— or message me on plurk at

ladyavali for specific plotting!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Lena can't help but chuckle. There's more than a few reasons that what she's said ends up being funny -- perhaps the fact that she'd gone some pieces herself, the fact that she preferred to decorate her biome by hand. Lots of things.]

You can paint them with your hands too.

[She gestures to what is on the wall.]

That's how you get on their bad side.

[She won't mention Los Muertos -- not yet.]

'Their'?

[Her fingertips curl downward at that, brow furrowing just slightly. Whoever this woman's talking about seems like trouble— whether good or bad remains to be seen.

Or heard, technically.]

The Legion. The ones who brought you here.

[She taps the wall.]

The one these walls belong to.

So they're the ones that own all databases around here.

[Her eyes flick downwards, attention shifting with a faint, narrow little glint just at the corner. Like an appraiser with something undiscovered laid out in front of them.]

But they don't own this.

[One claw taps the fortified edge of Lena's chronal accelerator, inherently non-threatening— just not super great with the concept of personal space.]

No -- this one's mine.

[Lena opens her mouth to answer, but stumbles on her own thought process when Sombra taps the device at her chest. There's a long and near-silent pause as the gears turn in her head.

This--this is Azúcar. Azúcar was in Los Muertos? That couldn't be right. It wasn't like her at all.

At least, not what she knew of her. Subconsciously, she rubs at the edge of it while still privately considering whether or not she's slowly going insane.]

How--long have you been 'round here?

Just got here. [Sombra shrugs, attention darting upwards again to take in the look on Lena's face: unable to detect what that sudden shift might've been prompted by. As wide a rift in trains of thought as the one cut by time, now.]

Couple of hours, give or take. Finding where they kept their supplies was a breeze. [Said with a cool chuckle, she snags another paint can and gives it a decent shake; back turned and set to Lena, exposing a network of painted bones.]

Something bothering you, amiga?

[She hangs on Sombra's every word, trying to assuage her doubts. Her voice -- she'd been spending hours in Azúcar's company. There was no doubting it. She might not recognize the paint, or the hair, or--anything. But its her.

Her eyes move to the circuitry on her scalp. The pieces are still falling into place, between the nausea rising in her gut.]

Just not used to seein' that sort of hardware on anyone but omnics.

[She nods gently to her scalp. Its a lie by omission. That's not really what's bothering her. Lena moves closer and reaches to put her hand on the can of paint.]

If you just got here, you don't need to be havin' them toss you out straight away.

I improvised what I could. [Her hardware might not be as shiny as something from Vishkar or Volskaya, but as far as she's concerned? It gets the job done better than anything else out there.

And the omnic scraps she pulled from every now and then? They didn't need it anymore.

Still, when Lena's hand falls over her own, that smug train of thought falls entirely short, neck craning to get a look at her from over her shoulder.]

Nobody's tossing me anywhere, hermanita.

Tracer.

[Its a gentle correction, and her hand stays where it is. If she wouldn't end up with paint all over her hand, she might have squeezed a little.]

We're all a team here. So let's skip the paint, love.

[The 'love' isn't as genuine as it usually is, but she doubts Azúcar will know the difference.]

Come on. We'll find your biome.

I know where my biome is.

[York had shown her there almost immediately, and while it wasn't easy to settle into (too much like Dorado, too different to be anything but intentional) it's not as though her future self had ever brought Lena in the front doorstep— she'd done everything she could to make sure they only ever spent time in her apartment or Lena's. Now? Now she doesn't know better. Doesn't care.

That pressure across her hand finally prompts her to stop mangling public property, grip on the can relaxing just barely. Stubborn, to say the least.]

[There's a slight pause of surprise, but its not of much consequence -- her plan of attack didn't change.]

Then lead on.

[She nods her head, and gives her the freedom to have her hand (and the can) back. Maybe the walk would give her time to digest what she was seeing. It was probably wrong of her, to prey on Azúcar's ignorance of the present situation -- but it was also starting to feel like she was being lied to.

She needs to sort it out. Now. If she'd made a mistake, she could apologize later. But that's feeling like less and less of a possibility the longer she spends in the younger version's company.]

You're dedicated.

[It's sold straight, but underneath her stare there's a flicker of amusement at this twig of a woman who's acting the part of a lion: no fear, no hesitation— inviting herself along like she owns the place.

Maybe it's worth seeing out after all.

With a shrug, Sombra concedes, stepping away from the wall and wending her way along the corridors ahead, in through the habitats, expecting she'll be followed. By the time they reach the warm, sandy shores of Dorado, it's been long enough to give Lena all the minutes of processing she likely needed to chew through the silhouette in front of her. The writing on the wall. Timelines and promises and aliases and everything in between.

She runs a few fingers through vibrant pink hair, turning on her heel to gesture towards the salted, iconic shoreline surrounding them...minus LumériCo's silver towers.]

Told you I knew where it was.

[OPEN] You're Out of Touch

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