That... was not the reaction Zenyatta was expecting, although he holds his ground with little more than a defensive jerk of his hands, half-raised in anticipation of a blow. Unncessarily. Junkrat's already taking his aggression out on some of the precariously-piled scrap littering the floor. What does Junkrat get? Does it matter all that much to him?
Certainly, it does not to Zenyatta. His body is as a cocoon to him, a temporary shell in which his soul rests, waits. But he has the luxury of changing it at will.
He could probe Junkrat for answers, as he would any other member of Overwatch- but he can see how unwise that would be. Instead, he gives a soft, sympathetic hum.
"I do not know what troubles you, Jamieson, but I am sorry to see you so ill at ease." He spreads his hands by his side in a gesture of willing. "If I can help you, please. Allow me the privilege."
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Date: 2016-12-11 08:55 pm (UTC)Certainly, it does not to Zenyatta. His body is as a cocoon to him, a temporary shell in which his soul rests, waits. But he has the luxury of changing it at will.
He could probe Junkrat for answers, as he would any other member of Overwatch- but he can see how unwise that would be. Instead, he gives a soft, sympathetic hum.
"I do not know what troubles you, Jamieson, but I am sorry to see you so ill at ease." He spreads his hands by his side in a gesture of willing. "If I can help you, please. Allow me the privilege."