la_sombra: (Default)
[personal profile] la_sombra
She'd hacked for three days straight to catch him - Port Authorities, camera feeds, vehicle black boxes, you name it. Jesse McCree was a man who didn't want to be found by anyone and after having been trained by Blackwatch operatives, she understood why Talon put her on this job.  Kind of a shame really - she'd always admired how hard he tried to live his life on his own terms. However it was her neck on the chopping block, so in the end, she made sure of his capture. Talon broke him down after a few weeks of interrogations and a few days of violating the Geneva convention, and then they built him again. She'd been the one who moved his file from elimination to conditioning to keep him alive; a half-life rather than nothing at all.

Sorry, Vaquero.

 Despite her curiosity, she hadn't had the stomach to keep an eye on him in the beginning of his recovery. Dodging Reaper was a problem, she hadn't expected him to flip quite so badly when he found out that 'Agent Deadeye' existed, Sombra suspected that if he learned too quickly that she'd had a hand in McCree's conversion she'd catch a shotgun blast for the trouble. Time healed everything it seemed and by the time Deadeye had been cleared for fieldwork, things were almost...normal.

Which is why Sombra is owlishly watching "Deadeye" clean his revolver. 

"Que onda?" she offers, leaning against the nearby wall.


witchofnewmarais: (Default)
[personal profile] witchofnewmarais

New Marais?

She is a city of antiquity, pulled forward into the modern age by enterprising businessmen and generations of men and women who know the truth about life. She wears a crown of faith, the bell-towers of the cathedral, St. Ignatius rising high above the skyline. The bones of the city are strong - sprawling plantations for a spine, graveyards and abandoned parishes for ribs. Ville Cochon with it's money and it's lusty red light district is New Marais' womb, where poor and rich alike come for the thrill of skin and innovation. The Swamps are her tears, where those abandoned by the police, the cloth and the people make their homes, drowning under the pressure of men and the floods that no one seems to want to protect them from.

Her heart has got to be Ascension Parish. It was beautiful once - but gentrification is a bitch and a half and as more and more people never came home, the loneliness began to get to New Marais and began to rot her from the inside. Her blood - her people- are sick as ever, battered by crime and sickness, waterlogged from a flood long since past and and the burning sky from The Beast's approach. The city has never seemed so weak.

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Den of The Beast

December 2016

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