move, rip, repeat

chapter two-when in doubt, play stupid

"Get up."

Emil just about jumped out of his skin at the sound of the rough voice that pierced through his drowsy reverie. The voice was deep, slightly accented, and it sounded like death itself had paid a visit to the source. It also sounded familiar—and not in a good way. Rubbing his eyes, he gave himself a moment to stretch out his sore body and to settle his frazzled nerves. It would do no good to have an anxiety attack right now.

Looking up at the door, he realized, with a sinking feeling, that his earlier guess of who was standing at his door was right on target. Rather than focusing on that tidbit, he decided to wonder just what in the actual living fuck was Reaper doing here. According to what he had gleaned off the lore from fan fictions, the guy standing in front of him belonged to Talon, aka, the enemy. Or at least what was a mercenary working underneath Talon for the time being. He narrowed his eyes. What was a Talon operative doing in an Overwatch base? Wasn't there any alarms he had tripped while getting in here? People that he had to pass by?

He approached the door slowly, eyeing Reaper. He looked about as edgy as he looked in game, if not edgier, considering it actually looked like real leather. How could you even move in that stuff? If there were Hot Topics here in Overwatch, Emil was 300% sure spent at least half or maybe even all of his paycheck there. If he got a paycheck.

As if on cue, Reaper lifted his head revealing a certain white mask.

"Dude, are you a barn owl?" escaped his lips before he could even comprehend what he actually wanted to say. It wasn't his fault that Reaper had just happened to choose that moment look up when Emil had moved closer, giving him a clear view of his mask. And it was a barn owl mask, no mistake about it. In game, it tended to appear like a mix of a skull and a barn owl, making room for heated debate about the mask, especially on Reddit.

Luck seemed to be on his side today, thankfully, as Reaper breathed out a low chuckle as a response to Emil's seemingly immature question. For a second there, he couldn't help but feel a touch of pride. After all, it wasn't everyday a person made a jerk like Reaper laugh without having to die. Which brought him to his next horrible thought: what was Reaper doing here?

As Emil inspected the leather clad man up and down, the McEdgeLord had turned his attention to the panel of sorts that was next to do the door, making it painfully obvious that he wasn't going to be answering with anything useful to any questions. Then again, Emil wasn't supposed to know that Reaper was with Talon. Emil wasn't supposed to know a lot of things about this world. Play stupid.

"Since I doubt you'll be answering any of my questions about why that soldier asshole threw me in here, I'm gonna point out the clicheness of your mask." He shifted his weight over to his right, hip jutting out and his arms crossed. "I was like, super interested in the mythology behind owls in certain cultures for some reason a few weeks back. I think it had something to do with a friend or whatnot."

A wall of silence was what it was met with, but it was to be expected so Emil didn't miss a beat.

"I learned something cool though. Owls are a sign of death, or rather, harbingers of death would be a better way of phrasing it. Especially in Mexican culture."

The pressure in the room had doubled, tension growing like a dry sponge in water. Emil had hit a nerve, deadon, while also confirming the reason behind his mask and the man's dramatic-like habits. The urge to start banging his head against the wall began. He knew that this was not a good thing to bring up with Reaper, especially so when he had no escape route. Nibbling on his bottom lip, he knew he would need to fix the mood or otherwise end up six feet under within five minutes.

His next few words were slow, taking his time to choose the right words like a puzzle. "But owls are also considered to be old souls. They bring the power of keen observation. Patience."