That laugh is like a rain of gunfire. Zenyatta withstands it, a silent wall of indifference to it and the abuse that follows, blow after blow of it. Nothing in this little diatribe is something he has not heard before but, no matter what Junkrat might think, he is not made of stone. There will, he supposes, always be some tiny, frightened part of him still wincing away from every word, a raised human hand, a threat.
Now, though, he does not wince.
If I only had a brain. That was the Scarecrow, was it not? Zenyatta remembers the film, black and white.
"You may be right," he answers, "but I am here nonetheless, and I would like to settle my differences with everyone here. Continue. What is it about me that you object to?"
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Date: 2016-11-26 09:08 pm (UTC)Now, though, he does not wince.
If I only had a brain. That was the Scarecrow, was it not? Zenyatta remembers the film, black and white.
"You may be right," he answers, "but I am here nonetheless, and I would like to settle my differences with everyone here. Continue. What is it about me that you object to?"