Sombra (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vata) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
legionworld2017-06-03 10:53 am
vata) wrote in legionworld2017-06-03 10:53 am
Entry tags:
[OPEN] You're Out of Touch
Who| Sombra and you!
What| there's a small gang member roaming Legion World and causing trouble
Where| everywhere on Legion World
When| eh
Warnings/Notes| NA
I: QIÉN ES SOMBRA
II: TAGGED TURF
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![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
ladyavali for specific plotting!]
What| there's a small gang member roaming Legion World and causing trouble
Where| everywhere on Legion World
When| eh
Warnings/Notes| NA
I: QIÉN ES SOMBRA
[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
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[ This has been an abrupt left turn, off the road, into a cornfield, never to be seen again. He feels something stick in his throat at that look and glances briefly towards Sombra, with a look that says he might be looking for help with this.
Instead, he just reaches for another drink, rather than occupy himself with words. His eyes still look just a little too wide, however. ]
Phone tag means prose
It's too easy to list in her direction, all lean and fine and simmering with a specific kind of hunger. He's out have a good time. Help him make this fun for all of them.
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[Sombra shrugs, easing off the shock of York's transformation without much friction: she's already in outer space, dealing with someone that knows— knew— her future self, with no sign of it returning to the way it was any time soon; the fact that he's now just like them is just icing on the bizarre cake of current events.
She can deal with it.
Her grin turns, tilting back across her bare shoulder to take one more purposeful look at his bare chest - eyes flicking down, then up to meet his stare.]
Which one of us is the table?
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Because he doesn't want their eyes on him, he doesn't know what he'd even do with that kind of attention, but...he's a little curious. He wouldn't mind seeing what happens. But that's just the awkward voyeur in him talking, or maybe the drink, and he quietly takes another swig while trying not to move too much at all. ]
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Then I choose him.
[The swift segue into her leveling her attention at Sam instead, while he tries to shrink away into nothingness at their side.]
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Taylor had said they were friends, all three of them, when they were themselves. What that entailed, how this might tamper with however things were normally, he couldn't begin to guess. All he knows is that the feral look in Sombra's eyes has him looking away almost immediately, gaze darting towards the sand. ]
I, ah.
[ Oh yes. Well spoken, Sam. Excellent rebuttal. ]
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[ He turns to lean in close to Sam, eyes trailing over his face, flicking to his lips. Gauging his posture, his wide eyes and aww. He is pretty shy. It should make him feel worse about trying to drag him into this. ]
It'll be fun. And neither of us will bite. Promise.
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[No matter how unthreatening those words might seem, coming out of Sombra's mouth— and without echoing the promises York's taken to passing out— as she leans ever so slightly closer, it's feral. Unsettling, maybe, depending on how resilient Sam might be.]
Wouldn't kill you...
Probably.
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I'm fine with it.
[ His gaze darts towards York with a firm nod. Alright, so they're doing this. He has no idea how to even start to go about this, but if it means showing Sombra he's not spooked by her, he's not backing down. ]
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[ Be comfy and topless like him- it's warm, it's not terribly windy, it's humid- it's perfect for this. ]
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Passing off the bottle of tequila is secondary, but simple: York gets it without commentary or complaint - she wants a good show, after all.]
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Not the thing to think of at the moment, with Taylor -- York -- nearby and watching, and Sombra eyeing him like she's debating taking a bite out of him. Lying down seems contrary to every instinct he has, but he exhales hard, nostrils flaring, and settles himself back just the same. ]
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[ York's hand snakes out to catch the back of Sam's head, guiding him down gently into the sand. An action that's somewhat at odds with the predatory cast of his smirk, the appreciative glint in his eyes. ]
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Throat.
[ There's a nice little dip in the hollow of his throat that...could work. He's never actually done this before, but if he stays still and trusts York's hands, it should work.
Right? ]
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[ He nudges Sam's head back with a gentle tap to the underside of his chin, leaning down to pour a shot. A small shot, but a shot, settling right in the hallow of his throat. ]
What do you think, Bonita? Me or you?
well I guess this is the point where I should warn for steaminess
[All for one...and one for her.
There's not a second wasted when she pulls herself up onto her heels, climbing overtop of Sam and shamelessly straddling his hips. Love, affection— they're all mistakes designed to ruin even the best-laid plans. But this? This is stupid. It's fun.
And that, she can handle.
Sombra's left hand braces firmly against the underside of Sam's sturdy jawline as she dips low. Catches warm liquid with her tongue where it's pooled in the hollow of his collarbone, lapping it back without swallowing— salt from his sweat clinging to the burning taste— because for that, she turns towards York, her opposite hand dragging him close enough for a kiss that's laden with shared tequila.]
steaminess abounds
Letting Sombra that close to his throat feels like a dare, like baring it to a set of teeth and trusting they won't close on him. He doesn't shut his eyes, doesn't look away, but his pulse begins to rabbit in his throat.
It doesn't slow when Sombra peels away to offer York his share. ]
such steamy, much kissing, wow
My turn. Hey, throat still where you want it?
[ One hand on the alcohol, the other slides through Sam's hair- playing with the strands as he glances down, ready to pour wherever Sam so pleases. ]
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[ His skin feels flush and hot, even as he works to retain anything like a composed expression. It's harder, considering he's been drinking too, and the pleased, hazy-eyed look York gives him makes his stomach give an unexpected twist.
Rather than dwell on that, he shifts his gaze towards Sombra. ]
If it comes recommended.
[ God his throat feels dry. ]
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[Her nails scrape down along his chest as she draws back, resting casually on neon haunches. It might seem like an unenthusiastic review, but there's a smugness in her voice and a curve to her lips that wasn't there before: the slightest little tell.
Her hand slides to a stop near the base of his rib cage, fingers pointedly curling.]
Needs more salt.
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[ It's easy to lean in like he's going right for Sam's throat- but he stops early. Drags his tongue up the line of his sternum to start for the required salt before dipping into the measure of tequila. He sucks, pulling on skin and liquor alike before nosing his way to Sam's jawline, peering down at him for a moment. Barely breathing over his lips before he turns to return the shared shot like Sombra had for him a moment ago. ]
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Sam is a little hazy-eyed himself, staring up in some sort of heated awe, before watching him turn away to kiss Sombra. Their mouths touch, sharing the sting of the liquor, and he...
He wants. It feels good, and he wants to know what that feels like, too. ]
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Don't think it takes much to make him sweat.
[A smooth little exhale let out as her fingers sink lower, skirting the waistband of Sam's trousers beneath her, still giving York the full depth of her immediate attention. Even without the feverish heat of his kiss on her lips, she can still feel the ghost of it.
Or maybe that's just the alcohol. She's not sure.]
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[ He smiles through the sharpness of her bite, taking a pull straight from the bottle before pouring out the next shot. Hollow of Sam's throat and down the line of his sternum- down to the hollow of his navel since that's the game. Voice soft and smokey as sweet tea and whiskey he murmurs into Sam's ear. ]
Now don't move, alright? You'll spill the tequila.
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