legionworld | Movie Night VII: The Spinoff

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Movie Night VII: The Spinoff

Who| Wash and anyone who cares to join
What| Movie Night!
Where| The usual lounge
When| After Resistance Is Futile/An Eye For an Eye and the subsequent food fight
Warnings/Notes| None?

There's something to be said for a return to normality, though they're not really there yet. The food fight was a good way to decompress; now it's time to trot out the usual tradition of snacks and old cinema.

Chairs are arranged, blankets laid out, and the usual line of tables is piled high with standard movie snacks and drinks, though they're far less carefully arranged than usual. There are blank tables next to the spread, for those who wish to bring snacks to share. The usual poster is outside the door, with a summary of the movie, its MPAA rating, and the customary Movie night is neutral territory note. New this time is a handwritten note next to the summary that reads It's parody. It's supposed to be weird.

The movie tonight is Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

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After Amélie had finished painting her toenails and the movie started, she watched the beginning with her feet directly out in front of her from where she sat on the floor to make sure they dried properly. Once that was done, she adjusted her seat so she was more comfortable and was able to reach out and snag a cookie from the plate Marjara had in hand as the elf passed by.

With a somewhat warmer (for her) smile and a wink, she popped the bite size treat into her mouth. Hopefully, Marjara had put more than one on her plate.

Oh, she loaded up. She still looks scandalized by the theft, before flopping down alongside Amélie in order to share the rest of the goodies she's taken from the snack table.

"I would have thought people found this sort of thing too quaint to make movies out of," she remarks, before taking a bite of one of the cookies herself.

"You will find that humans will make movies out of anything," Amélie replied, helping herself to another cookie. "This is a very, very old film in my world - about a hundred years old or so. And yet, the comedy remains classic."

"So you still like those sorts of stories? Castles and knights and quests, things like that? Sounds a little romantic, even if they're just poking fun at all of it," she remarks with a teasing smile.

"Tales of heroic feats never go out of style. It just changes attire like most things do, to fit the times." The Legend of King Arthur, the Overwatch cartoon that was made post-Crisis... everyone loved a hero.

"There is a wistful little desire in all but the coldest of us to romanticize knights in shining armor - either to be one, or to be courted by one."

"Maybe."

She tips her head considering for a moment, that smile turning wry. "I think I might be more the former, to tell the truth. There was never time to wait around for a heroic knight to show up...and most of the knights I knew were under my command or on the enemy lines. It puts a damper on the idea of romance with one."

"I think I prefer you in leather as opposed to plate mail," Amélie replied after a little hum. "As dashing as the Crusaders were, knights tend to not live long." They made excellent targets.

"Would you have become a knight had you lacked a talent for magic?"

"Technically, I am a knight. There was a branch of specialized magic for people who wanted to lead from the front line, and those who practiced were called Knight Enchanters. My friend Vivienne was one as well."

She quirks an eyebrow at the leather comment, humming quietly to herself before offering another cookie.

"More chainmail than plate armor, though."

What could she say? The woodsy look worked on Marjara, even if Amélie generally preferred much higher class. Must be an elf thing.

"Chainmail is vulnerable to projectile weapons." Accepting the cookie, Amélie gesticulated a bit with it before finally eating it. "Especially guns. You are lucky you do not have them in your world. There would be no more knights."

She gave a little sigh. "And every world needs a stupidly heroic knight in some manner. It gives children hope."

"They'd find some way around it. That's the way it works. New weapon discovered, new way to counter it invented, so and so on forever and ever." Marjara flutters her hand dismissively before tucking herself in at a lean against Amélie's side, appreciating the slightly cool presence pressed up against her.

"You say that. Most of the heroes I grew up hearing about died awful deaths. I don't know if 'hope' is the right word."

"Yes, Kevlar and bulletproof glass were developed. And then guns got larger in caliber with armor piercing ammunition--" Amélie suddenly paused when Marjara leaned against her before she continued, the only reaction that she had been surprised. "Developed to render it moot. Luckily for most, that ammunition is rather expensive."

It was telling how Amélie made no move to separate herself from the elf. She did murmur in a low voice that wouldn't carry, "You are going to get cold." But she left it at that.

"You forget that children are young and stupid. They think they are invulnerable and should the worst happen, death is worth it for the adventure, the heroism, the idealism and justice. It is hope that they can make something of themselves. I do not know about elves, but no human child grows up wishing to be an accountant, a government official, or a basic programmer." Or an assassin. "They want to be crusaders, soldiers, doctors saving lives. They get that from these stories."

"Elven children are mostly just worried about being wiped out by the nearest human settlement, for the most part." She pauses before nodding in agreement. "But yes, there are certainly those who want to play hero and save the world."

She hadn't been one of them. It had simply fallen into her lap and for lack of any better option, she'd chosen to push forward. That...that wasn't the same. It wasn't the stuff of legends, the stories people made of such experiences.

There's a weight to her when she leans back into Amélie again.

"...don't worry. I tend to run warm," she replied, absently, and it was true enough. That little body radiated quite a bit of heat. Perhaps a side-effect of the more tangible portion of her powers at work.

It felt... nice. The body heat of another against her. Sombra did it sometimes just for the cooling affect Amélie provided, given the hacker also ran warm thanks to her cybernetics, but this was different. She had the oddest sense that the elf simply wanted to lean against her because it was her.

"So you do," she murmured before clearing her throat a little. "Are humans really that much of a threat to your people?"

"You know the monsters parents tell their children to get them to behave? Humans, in most cases."

And yet here she was, tucked against one of the more dangerous sort without a second thought. Maybe after so many encounters where she should have died by all rights, that fear no longer existed in her.

There were so many worse things to be afraid of, in the universe.

"Omnics, in my case." There must have been some kind of human-elf war to cause boogiehumans to exist for Marjara's people. Amélie wasn't going to ask; it wasn't important and would kill the mood.

Speaking of mood, she found herself in a conundrum. What should she do with her arm ? She could just leave it where it was, trapped by Marjara, but then it would eventually call sleep. Should she move it? But if she moved it, the elf would just stop leaning against her; Amélie didn't want that to happen. The obvious solution was to drape it across the back of the couch, but that would suspiciously come across as putting her arm around the elf. Not only would that potentially be too forward, they were in public.

So, Amélie just left her arm there, flexing her fingers a little before they began to idly toy with the closest piece of fabric.

"We have one on the team now. Have you seen him?"

She shifted a bit, craning her neck to get a look at wherever Zenyatta had gotten to, before resettling herself again, still quite comfortable to lean against Amélie in the meanwhile. If the woman was uncomfortable, she hadn't really made a sign of it yet. Of course, she'd be happy to move.

But until then...

Following Marjara's gaze, Amélie took in Zenyatta. Now that she's seen him in person as opposed to just over the omnicomm, something became very apparent to her.

"Same series as Mondatta," she commented as the elf settled back down. The realization had distracted Amélie just long enough that she lost the chance to adjust her arm placement without either drawing attention to it or being awkward. Oh well.

It dawned on her that she should clarify Mondatta. "One of my greatest kills over a year ago. He was the leader of the Shambali - an omnic religious group. Our new teammate is one of them."

Amélie felt no need to hide her kills, save for one, and Marjara generally didn't judge her for being an assassin. It was one of the things she liked about the elf.

Killing religious figures might cause someone else to bat an eye. But it's par for the course in her world. Enough people wanted her dead, certainly, and she wasn't even Andrastian.

"Is there going to be an issue?" With him. With her. Either way, she'd rather be braced for what's coming than not know, even if all she does is raise an eyebrow at the taller woman.

"No." There wasn't any hesitation in her part. She didn't know Zenyatta, but she did know enough about the Shambali to be certain about a few things.

"I was never publicly identified as the shooter. It was eventually attributed to Talon, but we have many agents." Though Widowmaker was the only one that could have made that shot.

"The in omnic doesn't know, and even if he did, he wouldn't retaliate. The Shambali are pacifists." That last word was spoken with disdain. Pacifism went against everything Talon was based on.

"Physical retaliation isn't the only way to cause problems. Just the quickest."

But if there were cause for concern, surely she'd look more concerned than she does. After a moment, Marjara resettles herself, head tipping into the curve of her shoulder. "He seemed alright to me, when we spoke. I don't think he'd be the sort, but you never really know..."

That got an amused little smile. "You aren't worried about me now, chérie? Don't be. With Tracer gone, there is no way he will know, unless those who know better than to tell do so. Or one of those Legionnaire Legacies is done about me." Which would be extremely bad.

Before Amélie could voice the reality of what a Legacy on her would cause, the sniper needed to move her arm. She could endure if she had to, like she did on missions that had her contorted into very uncomfortable positions, but this wasn't like that. She didn't have to endure; she had a choice.

Shifting with a hum, pulling her arm free from between them, Amélie shook her hand a little before looking down at Marjara. Tentatively, she laid her arm down along the cushions of the couch that served as their backrest.

"...is this alright?"

Edited 2017-09-20 18:54 (UTC)

"I'm not worried that you can't handle yourself," she replied, slightly defensive. And no, that wasn't denying being worried as a whole. But there were certain kinds of worry that weren't easily banished by things like logic, and while Amélie could remain calm and collected under pressure? Marjara would smolder, waiting for the need to ignite at a moment's notice.

Huffing faintly, she shifted back, allowing the movement of her arm before re-balancing herself against her side. A tiny smirk curled at the corner of her mouth.

"What do you think?"

"You look awfully comfortable," she replied with a chuckle. That had been a silly thing to overthink, and now her arm wasn't numb anymore.

"Perfect for..." Stealing the last cookie off the elf's plate. Which Amélie just did.

"Thief." She huffed, as though mortally offended, before smiling and nudging Amélie with her shoulder. "Now I have to get up and get us some more."

Just when she'd gotten comfortable, too.

"I have been called worse," Amélie replied just before popping the cookie into her mouth. "At least no one was shooting at me during this latest heist. Aside from the looks you give me."

Her eyes traveled to the table of snacks before looking back. "That was the last one; you would have had to get up shortly anyway. I would promise to keep your seat warm, but we both know that would be a lie."

Movie Night VII: The Spinoff

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