legionworld | [OPEN] You're Out of Touch

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[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!]

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So much flexibility offered by technicalities. [ Keeps life interesting for both of them, honestly. He rolls over to prop a hand on his cheek, squinting at her with his good eye. There's a subtle pulse of color- a faint flicker of green in the depths of his pupil. Delta checking in. A quick discussion of how much to say- how much of their hand to tip.

How much trouble this could net them.

But it's- Azucar. It's Sombra. Someone they've chosen to trust, someone that's trusted them in turn. They're not about to break that bond now just cuz she's younger and sharper and angrier than anticipated. ]

I'm a thief that was shot for stealing private military equipment and going AWOL. Also treason. The playing by the rules thing is a very recent development, Mija.

[That's better. Infinitely, indescribably better. It shows in how her shoulders settle down, in how her facial features relax by almost imperceptible degrees.]

You're trying to cover up your past. Avoid suspicion.

[Like her. He has to be— it'd explain how they came to know one another, how her future self (still the weirdest thing to even consider) decided to trust and work alongside him.]

Trying to make up for it. The people here in the Legion? Aren't the people that I fought for back home. They're actually pretty decent which took awhile to sink in.

[ Weirdest damn thing ever, but. They'd tiptoed around this conversation before. Kind of nice to actually settle in and have it outright. ]

We get along because we're both hackers. Stealth oriented operatives with a middling grey kind of morality to what we're doing.

Doesn't look so grey from where I'm sitting, amigo. [Stepping in to drag her out of the spotlight, scrubbing up her handiwork, bringing her here— working to undo his past: those aren't the actions of someone willing to dwell in the in-between anymore. The questionable, the hungry, the certain.

It's not her needling him, it's her telling the truth.]

They have rules they need to follow to do their job. Sometimes shit needs to get done that bends or breaks them, that's what I mean. You don't really get it when you're older either.

[ He's not terribly surprised that she doesn't get it now. ]

You don't have to. Unless I'm just a puzzle to pick at which- well it's not the first time that's happened and at last you're cute and share your tequila.

[She heaves a tired little sigh— wearier than the time she's burned getting situated: it'd started before she'd found herself adrift here, and it's carried on and on... so much thinking, so much planning, pushing herself to adapt and understand everything that's beyond her, because it's the only way she'll do more than survive.

A beat later, she slides forward in the sand, sitting finally at his side.]

So, what's the endgame.

Save the collective multiverse, don't die. Stick around to keep doing that if possible. [ He shrugs. ] You? Fucked if I know. We're...friends but you don't always tell me what you're doing or what you're playing at. I'm the schmuck that believes you actually enjoy my company and that whatever you're doing probably won't get me killed.

[ Probably. It's more blind faith now that he looks at it, now that Delta considers things-

But they've been through and seen plenty. Found shades of truth in the evasions. Then again being through trauma leads to bonding and it's not always the healthiest and now his mind's running wild in circles that lead to nowhere. He drags a hand down his face. Sighs. ]

I dunno. There's a lot I don't know.

[His distress isn't exactly intangible: it's not her responsibility to manage— not directly, anyway— but Sombra was never one for tormenting anyone that didn't somehow deserve it. She shrugs, attention mildly drifting away from him towards the sea, cheek falling to rest against her open palm.]

You should know.

[It sounds offhanded, but anyone that knows her well enough knows that's how heavier topics are played out.] If you don't have an escape plan, the world's gonna swallow you whole.

That's how I ended up here.

This isn't the kinda shit you escape Pequeñita. The whole universe is gonna end. Every universe is gonna end. Your home, mine, people we've met, people we'll never know- you either fight to stop that- or you don't.

[ He's already tried the running from it gig; and they'd had this talk. Right now he's got too much reason to stay. ]

Besides. I don't have anywhere else to go. We're needed here. All you gotta do is tell me goodbye if you bail.

How do you know?

[It's an earnest question, her brow furrowing by degrees behind a few wayward strands of vibrant pink hair: weighing her options, trying to gauge how certain he is that this is all that's left to them.] I've lived through the world ending before.

Maybe this is just a bigger scale; maybe not everyone would bite it.

How many people dying justifies a 'wait and see' mentality? Oh, it's only a few dozen. A few hundred. A few billion. No skin off my back.

[ He can't operate like that- it's why he ended up with the dogtags, the baggage, the scars. ]

It's coming. You don't toss around a word like 'oblivion' lightly.

Well, shit.

[What else is there to say? Trying to fathom something like that isn't easy: it takes time, takes gravity and consideration, and where she is right now it all seems so far and looming there's not even a slim chance for that. She knows it. Won't waste time pretending, and won't waste his weary patience patronizing what he's been through.

From there she exhales, leans back into sand that feels— for all intents and purposes—
disturbingly real, tucking her arms behind her head.]

It's why I stick with the Legion. They don't wait and see. They aren't like the military back home- they care. It's...different. Better.

[ And worth holding to. Worth pinning his second chance at living on; a long crazy ass gamble he needs to hold to in order to stay sane. To give himself purpose. He gives her a moment, gives her five or six before fishing around in his pocket for a flask and offering it over. Not good Whiskey but, whiskey none the less. ]

And this is why I come here.

[Sombra doesn't say anything to that, but the flask is taken up regardless: she pulls a long sip— no reaction to the flavor or its bitter attempt at scalding her throat (she burned years and years with Los Muertos; if she never kept pace with the best of them, she'd have never heard the end of it).

She watches him carefully out of the corner of her peripheral vision, silence all too heavy.]

You cared about her, didn't you?

Still do. Hence the hustling you out of potential trouble.

[ Whether that'll stick, whether that'll matter? It's not the first time he's put his money on the wrong number. There'd been shades of this pointy, hungry woman under the sugar and the smiles. Taylor thought it might be enough that he'd found her interesting. That he wouldn't mind getting to know the person under the mask, if the mask was more than a hair and name change. ]

I owe her.

[The lid's capped on, her expression constant: no flickering signs of shock or wariness at his confession— she wouldn't have brought it up if she didn't suspect it.]

This might be permanent, you know that?

Then I'll just drink with a twenty year old and keep you out of trouble till you're as much of a badass as she was. [ He shrugs, eyes on the stars. ] It won't take long.

Good to know you're right about something. [There's a mild chuckle on her end, flask passed back towards him with a toothy little grin. From there she settles down into the sand, burrowing like the feral little creature she is.]

Did you really scrub off all that paint?

Yep. [ He pops the P on yep, swigging from the flask without so much as an eyeroll or a sigh. Helping a bro out is important, even if the bro is now a feral little thing with bright eyes and brighter tattoos. ] Most of it. I'll probably have to go back around, you were a productive little hoodrat.

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[OPEN] You're Out of Touch

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