IC INBOX ; futurology

[whatshimadayou]

username: OKAMI

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text, @TARANTO, sometime in grasslands/before the storm

[heavyhitter]

hanzo you gotta help

[whatshimadayou]

Do I?
With what.

[heavyhitter]

babysitting
for god's sake have pity

[whatshimadayou]

I suppose I could manage pity for you.
How long do you expect me to watch Vito?

[heavyhitter]

ideally? the whole night

[whatshimadayou]

Fine.
So long as you come for it in the morning.
What has his temperament been like?

[flashbanging]

[ Hey, it's laundry day. As much laundry as can be managed, in any case. McCree's found a clear stream somewhere in the grasslands, and he's kneeling over it, soaking his serape in the water. His armor, glove, and shirt are in a pile beside him, topped with the Stetson. Eastwood's curled up on the ground nearby, watching with interest.

He glances up, his good hand completely submerged for the moment. ]

Got anything needs washin'?

[whatshimadayou]

[The day has been fairly uneventful, fortunately. The most exciting prospect has been gathering various plants and determining their usefulness before moving on, and leaving a trail for others to follow if they get too lost.

He halfway expects a few idiots to knock down the trail, but no one can't say that Hanzo didn't try.

He goes to reunite with McCree and Eastwood, Suzume traveling behind with a tiny squidge-sized basket in its arms, humming merrily. When he looks over to the gunman, he pauses, glancing over him.

Hanzo almost forgets he had a question.

Right. Laundry? He glances away and shrugs.]

I am surprised you wash. [His tone is flat, but Hanzo is trying to jest.] Yes, that would not be a bad idea.

[flashbanging]

[ McCree notes that pause; that quick glance away. Truth be told, he'd forgotten about his own state of semi-undress; he wonders if Hanzo just finds it uncouth. Ah, well. Can't be helped, now.

He draws the serape out of the water, starts to wring it out. He uses both hands for this, and his prosthetic is enormously helpful, given its unusual strength. As his wrists twist and turn, there's a flash of black and red ink scrawled against his skin, previously concealed by his glove. ]

Aw, honey. That ain't kind.

[ He's grinning, though. ]

I like to keep myself fresh, same as the next man. 'S true that a little dust never hurt nobody, though.

[ He holds out his good hand--the flash of ink, again. ]

Come on over.

[whatshimadayou]

[His eyes catch the sign of the tattoo, and Hanzo frowns in curiosity. Not something he'd expected to see. Then again, he doesn't know what to really expect from McCree. Not having clothes.

Right now.

Hanzo closes his eyes and puts his nose in the air, approaching and kneeling down beside the other man. Meticulously, he begins to undress his kyudo-gi, calmly disrobing.]

When we first met, I told you the tale of the dragons on my arm. The tattoo is of deep significance for my family.

[He soaks the gi in the water.]

What does yours mean?

[flashbanging]

[ No preamble. McCree laughs, but it sticks in his throat, both because of the topic and because Hanzo's suddenly taking off his fancy clothes. Well, no big deal to any of it, right? Deadlock is ancient history. Hanzo is half-naked all the time as it stands.

It's fine. Everything is fine.

He turns his right wrist over. A winged skull, a padlock, chains. Deadlock Rebels, written in banners across the thin, tanned skin. ]

Ain't no family thing, that I can say for sure.

[ He wrings a bit more water from the serape, remembers the day he sat for that tattoo. Barely fifteen years old. Hurt like hell.

He murmurs. ]

Ain't no kind of family thing at all.

[whatshimadayou]

[Carefully, Hanzo watches him now, distinctly making a point to not pay attention the other man's state of undress. It's easier to ignore, alas, when there's a more solemn air now.

A difficult question, it seems.

Hanzo looks over the tattoo, seeing it clearly not. Deadlock...]

You had a difficult history, from what you have told me before.

[Perhaps an understatement.]

What had happened? If you would tell me.

[McCree owes him nothing. Not at all, by this point.]

voice;

[flashbanging]

[ After seeing that post on the network, McCree had gone looking for Hanzo. He speaks into his pocket watch as he walks back through the town, trying to keep his voice light. ]

Hey, darlin'. Where you at?

[whatshimadayou]

Not far outside town. I am practicing.

...However, should you like to meet somewhere, I would not be opposed.

[flashbanging]

Saloon's pretty quiet these days.

[ on account the sudden steep reduction in staff ]

How's about we have a drink? I'll wait up for you.

[whatshimadayou]

Hmm.

[A drink almost always sounds promising, albeit Hanzo doubts he will be adequate company. Eventually he lets out a breath.]

Very well. I will be there.

[flashbanging]

[ McCree's already got whiskey in hand as he sits at the desolate bar, attended--for once--by almost nobody. The few saloon workers left are nervous, skittish, and they approach only to refresh his glass.

McCree taps the empty stool beside him, smiling warmly. ]

Take a load off.

voice; shortly after koltira's network post

[strictdiscipline]

[She monitor's Koltira's announcement, partially because she's irrevocably tied to the matter and partially because she doesn't want anyone to go uninformed, as she had. The replies are all as much as she expects, right up until she hears Hanzo.

She can't fault him for his decision, but.....]

You're lucky. To have the choice.

[whatshimadayou]

...I can only imagine.

I am sorry that you did not. Though I gather perhaps he felt he was doing the right thing. Perhaps anyone with such a power would feel that way.

12/25 | package

[winces]

[ in the morning, hanzo will find a small package waiting for him just outside his quarters. inside, he'll find a white, pouch, holding an assortment of individually-wrapped cookies, both of which were clearly handmade. beneath the pouch is the familiar alastair symbol in its traditional purple.

along with the package comes a simple card that reads:

To: Hanzo
From: Olivia

Happy Holidays! ]

voice; time to make up for my past failures

[strictdiscipline]

[It's been awhile since she's spoken to McCree, and even longer since she's spoken to Hanzo. With the city in near pandemonium, it seems a good time as any to check in on old friends.]

Hanzo? Are you doing alright?

[There's no real reason for the message, only a desire to ensure those she likes are still doing well.]

[whatshimadayou]

[Normally, he would not think too much on it. It's not as if he's the most social, and he doesn't begrudge anyone who might choose to not longer speak to him. He would not demand an explanation from Riza.

But as the days go on, he's become more agitated. Angrier. Hungrier. It doesn't occur to him how far the infection's gone, that he even has one.

He growls in response:]

That is hardly your concern.

[strictdiscipline]

[The answer's far more abrupt than she expects, and the shock (and hurt) of it coupled with her already frayed patience clips her tone more curt than usual.]

You're a teammate. ["Friend" would be more accurate, but something's changed on his end.] Your safety and well-being are my concern.

[whatshimadayou]

[He sneers.] I am more than sufficient at taking care of myself. Perhaps you should be as considerate to our members who are weaker.

[strictdiscipline]

[This isn't like him at all. A clearer mind might be able to pinpoint his anger to outside influences, but her mind's clouded as is.]

What is the matter with you? I've never assumed you to be weak and you know it.