The voice may come as a surprise, but thankfully (?) it's not that Morrison's chalk outline suddenly grew a disembodied, Australian-accented voice. No, that'd belong to you-know-who, standing behind Reaper and wearing nothing but pyjama pants and a lightweight, matching sleep-hoodie, hands stuffed into the hoodie's pockets. Because why not.
Junkrat looks down at the chalk outline, and mutters a half-disappointed "Oh," at it. "Ya were talkin' ta that bloke," nodding his head towards said spot on the floor. He takes a few more steps towards it to lean over it and inspect it in detail. Then, he looks to the left--the right--taking in the biome's scenery without commentary.
He leans towards Reaper, the back of his hand up to cover his mouth as if to spare Reaper from the potential embarrassment in front of an audience. "Ya know they don't actually do that, roight?" he whispers loudly. "Urban myth. Contaminates the scene and all that."
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The voice may come as a surprise, but thankfully (?) it's not that Morrison's chalk outline suddenly grew a disembodied, Australian-accented voice. No, that'd belong to you-know-who, standing behind Reaper and wearing nothing but pyjama pants and a lightweight, matching sleep-hoodie, hands stuffed into the hoodie's pockets. Because why not.
Junkrat looks down at the chalk outline, and mutters a half-disappointed "Oh," at it. "Ya were talkin' ta that bloke," nodding his head towards said spot on the floor. He takes a few more steps towards it to lean over it and inspect it in detail. Then, he looks to the left--the right--taking in the biome's scenery without commentary.
He leans towards Reaper, the back of his hand up to cover his mouth as if to spare Reaper from the potential embarrassment in front of an audience. "Ya know they don't actually do that, roight?" he whispers loudly. "Urban myth. Contaminates the scene and all that."