comingupexplody | CATCHALL/OVERFLOW FOR MEMES

From:

There had been bets taken on how long they would last, Mako and Jamison- Roadhog and Junkrat, people murmured, but using those names now that they were officially part of Overwatch seemed wrong to Zenyatta. Regardless of how distant the pair seemed, regardless of the less than pleasant circumstances of their induction, they are now a team. First names, real names, should pass between them as easily as any other words.

Not that, he supposes, the conversations he's had with Jamie have been particularly easy, or even what he'd qualify as conversations. By turns rude, mocking and outright aggressive, Jamie has done an excellent job of shutting down every possible opening Zenyatta makes without crossing the line into violence- even if he's obviously itching to pull that particular trigger. And Zenyatta's been trying to make openings whenever he can. Zarya's distrust has melted over time, and even Torbjörn seems to look upon him with a certain respect these days, but Jamieson Fawkes is a singularly stubborn individual. Certainly, he can understand why. But...

It's late. They've spent the better part of three days chasing Blackwatch agents out of the area, and every one of them is exhausted; Zenyatta can feel his joints protesting, loose and overworked, his processors clogged with excess memory just waiting to be purged. Maybe that's why he finds his mind turning the events of the day over and over again in his mind like a precious stone, and it's Jamison and his manic grin that he finds winking back at him. He'd refused healing three times today alone. More than that, Zenyatta could have sworn that a few of those grenades were launched in his direction.

This time, against all logic, Zenyatta does not resist the pull of his instincts. He moves softly, stepless, to the room in which he knows he will find Junkrat, surrounded by traps and bombs and scrap, and knocks three times.

From:

comingupexplody

Junkrat is, indeed, currently sitting amongst a pile of parts, a half-assembled mine in front of him. He's currently attempting to solder some wiring--

-- and then someone knocks at his door, and he jumps half-out of his skin, throwing the chunk of mine across the room. Fortunately, he hasn't yet set it up to be live, so it bounces harmlessly against the floor, but just that is enough to earn a muffled scream of rage from him.

"I'm tryin' ta build bombs in here, ya drongo! Watch out who you interrupt after hours!" He picks himself up, stomping over to the door, his peg digging angry scuffs into the floor; he throws the door open with a bang, opens his mouth to say more--

... and then he stops, fiery eyes narrowing dangerously.

"What the fuck are you doin' here?! 'Cause I sure don't remember requestin' anymore scrap for the pile just yet!"

From:

tekhartha

Not for the first time, Zenyatta finds himself grateful to be inorganic; had he the muscles to tic he'd probably have flinched at the first sign of that mine, even if hindsight makes it clear that it's nonfunctional. The last thing he needs right now is to give Jamison a reason to think him easily intimidated.

Because of course that's the route the Junker heads down first. That gargoyle posture makes it easy to forget how tall he is, over six foot of wiry, radiation-hardened muscle and guts. Even without explosives he'd more than make do if he took it upon himself to dismantle an omnic. His olfactory sensors detect gunpowder, grease and soot. A dangerous combination, considering.

But Zenyatta simply laces his fingers together, the picture of absolute complacency.

With anyone else, he might apologise for the intrusion. But there's about as much use in apologising to Junkrat as there is in asking Hanzo for the time of day. "I wanted to speak to you privately." His gaze settles on Jamison's scowl, even and undeterred. "About today. May I come in?"

Edited Date: 2016-11-22 08:56 pm (UTC)

From:

comingupexplody

Oh. Today. Eheheheheheh. His only regret is that he missed, honestly. He can't help but smirk a little at mention of his earlier attempts to rid the team of that piece of scrap forever.

But then the bot asks if it can come into his room, and he snaps right back into a scowl, taking a thumping step back to grab the edge of the door in his hand.

"Piss off!" He has every intention of slamming the door right in his face unless he gives him a reason not to.

From:

tekhartha

Is there really anything he could conceivably say to convince Junkrat to keep this door open? Zenyatta doubts it very much, which is why he does the next logical thing instead: he grabs the door as well, right underneath his hand. As much as he's sure Junkrat would love the slam it shut on his fingers, he's going to have trouble overpowering the dangerous combination of titanium servos and sheer willpower.

Before the man can argue, he forces the door open just a little more and makes to edge around his body.

"I will, once we have spoken." Calm, but firm, as though he were speaking to a wild animal about to strike. What is it they say about rats and corners? "Five minutes. I need no more of your time than that- and while I am in here," he adds, tantalisingly, "I will respect that I am in your territory, and obey your rules. Within reason."

It's a very small trump card, but a trump card nonetheless, playing to Junkrat's ego. He may well let his guard down somewhat if assured that he's still in control.

From:

comingupexplody

Junkrat freezes-- and he turns to look at the machine, standing bolt upright for once, all six foot five of him towering over Zenyatta, staring at him with a gaze that may as well be literal flame. Hatred, manic rage, something that may be fear cross that burning gaze of his, his breathing shaking.

For a beat, he's entirely silent, as though considering what he should even do. When he finally does speak, his tone is shockingly icy, a kind of anger that very, very few people have earned from him.

"Fine. But you take one step outta line, and you're as good as fucking dead, you got that?"