prismatica | 💍💸👄

I don't believe most games include sweeping passerby onto alien moons, but if you're going to be stubborn about this...
You know where to find me, at the very least.

( For when your dumbass needs to buy things like food and clean clothes.

Is that... dejection? Did you make the happy-go-lucky, overly-affectionate deer lady... sad??? Jack???? )

And how do you know all this isn't just a distraction? Make us complacent?

[NO U DONT GET TO POST THIS AND RUN AWAY]

I think there are far more convenient ways to distract us or make us complacent instead of occasionally turning us into animals and wanting us to be tactile with one another for energy.
If all they ask of us here is to take care of ourselves and all that requires is curling up with someone now and then, I'm not exactly difficult to convince.

( W A T C H H E R. )

It doesn't have to make sense to us. They're aliens. Don't get caught up in it.

They're very humanoid and have many of the same markers of our culture from some decades ago.
Where are you?

I can meet you somewhere, if that's what you want.

Why don't you come by?
I don't know that I should leave the apartment like this.

( "Like this" being "putting off crazy amounts of pheromones" apparently, but she doesn't think it will be an issue with Jack. (Obviously.) Her self-imposed quarantine isn't going to hold very long, but she's trying.

More importantly, she wants to see him. (And hug him. Stubborn!!) )

Like what?

[WHAT HAVE YOU DONE....aside from all the other things that you've done]

( WOW FIRST OF ALL, )

Ah... No one has quite been themselves around me.I think I'm giving something off. I've been so—

( Like, really though, poor Jesse for having to live with her through all this. )

—It shouldn't matter. Not for you.

( There is no kind way to say "everyone's poppin semis just being around me" but she thinks Jack will be fine. )

[He sort of gets what she's dancing around, and perhaps the roll of his eyes is evident in his text message.]

Sounds like you should see a doctor.

That is sound advice, Jack.
Thank you for that.
I'll give them a call right now.

( Ring ring, ring ring, this is your device ringing with ANGELA ZIEGLER scrolling by the caller ID thing. Pick up the phone. )

Are you coming over or not?

( She sounds tired, if nothing else. And she'll leave a message if he ignores her call with just that!!! )

[No he won't pick up the phone, but he will come over. HE GUESSES. Did you think he was going to knock on the door like a normal person? Absolutely not. He's breaking in through the window, again, but this time with much less falling over.

Hopefully.]

( oh my GOD... JACK!!!!

At least the windows are open to help air out the apartment so it isn't as cloyingly sweet, which means it's cold inside and she's bundled up, all her spots tucked away save the ones across her cheekbones, both ears flicking up with interest and one immediately lowering back down.

A moment later, they're both flattened back. As if she needed the help looking worried. She's always managed it just fine before with the pinch of her brows and doe eyes that needed no changes from the moon. That dumb little tail is still straight up and alert, not that he'll really see it yet. At least she isn't surprised this time when she hears the heavy boots landing on the floor and she peeks around the corner to find him there. )

Hey, Jack.

( There is no doubting, however, that she is definitely hanging back from him. Cautious and waiting to see what happens, no matter how badly her insides flutter with the proximity of another person. More importantly, the thought of that rush of chroma if he were to indeed let her slip her arms around him and hug him for a bit. )

How are you?

[Jack, for his part, sees absolutely nothing wrong with this--for all he knows, there are cameras at entrances and exits, and though coming and going through the window might not prevent all surveillance, it will certainly present some. If he's at all apologetic, it's hidden behind his visor.

Because, of course, he's wearing all of his tactical gear as he stands in the middle of the room and Angela comes to meet him.

Her appearance gives him pause, and the tilt of his head indicates that he's looking her up and down.]

Seems like I should be asking you that question.

( Maybe explain that to her as the reason you keep coming in through her window then and she'll move things out of the way!! Geez...

And all the gear to boot. He's impossible. But she watches him look her up and down even through the visor, and she looks appropriately sheepish as her ears flick where they've flattened back, shy, because he has much the eye for people she does, if only sometimes. She can never gauge when he'll see right through her or when he'll remain obtuse. She'll let the blanket fall from her shoulders and fold it to rest over one arm, letting him have a proper look at... well, all of her. She's only wearing a sweater that reaches to mid-thigh and splits down the back, so he'll be able to see the spots at her shoulder(s, one is still covered), her tail, and the way those spots taper up from the small of her back and peek out from under the hem of the sweater, down her flanks.

She turns away to set the blanket over the arm of the sofa and then she steps a little closer to him, still seeming to dread what might happen. )

I'm all right. The physical changes aren't anything I can't handle. Can I get you a cup of coffee?

[It's clear that Jack still sees nothing wrong with walking around in all of his gear--he prefers it, at this point. His identity might not be a secret anymore, but he can still keep his face and therefore his expressions hidden. The less people are able to glean from him, the better, even if those people are arguably the ones who know him best.

Keeping the attention on Angela is not difficult, at least, though at least superficially she seems to have gotten off easy. Is that a tail?]

Only if you're already making it.

[He doesn't want to impose.

( There's plenty wrong with it, but she understands it. It gave him more protection from the over-affectionate in the city (like her, right now), and it's been his only security for six years.

It doesn't stop her from easing her approach, closer and closer, until she's reaching for his hand with enough time for him to look down and draw away from her. If not, she's going to slip her fingertips under his sleeve to curl there, flats of her fingers against his bare wrist. Any little contact she can give him for that sparkle of chroma; she's sure he needs it, and she worries. Very, very much at the moment. She'll use it to draw him toward the kitchen if he lets her.

Yes, it is a tail. And spots down her back, visible with the V-split of her sweater baring her down to mid-back, sure to go further if the way they emerge out the hem at mid-thigh is any indication. )

I am.

( She's not. They're single serve and she doesn't need the extra nerves or edge right now, but he won't know that until she's already made him a cup and she never puts in another pod for the second mug she'll pull down to trick him. She'll draw her touch back as she pads beyond the little breakfast bar and reaches up to get those two cups down, then she's going to pop one of the pods into the machine and places the mug underneath to hit the button.

It's noisy, but that's just espresso makers for you. It thrums behind her as she turns back, counter between them. )

Has anything changed...? Since you've come inside. Someone's described this as— as a heat. I don't know how true that is, but I worry about the chemical output regardless.

I don’t feel any different, if that’s what you mean.

[She’d sort of hinted at that, in a roundabout way. He’s not sure he’s comfortable with the use of the word heat, like she’s an animal, but since he’s not feeling what she is, he’ll let her describe it however she likes. He watches her carefully as she moves to the espresso maker, noting that it’s definitely single-serve, and raising his eyebrow a little.

He’ll let it slide for now.]

I guess the different moons do different things.

[Jack had been hyper-aggressive. This is something else entirely.]

( She doesn't like it either, but it seems to be about the best description. "I'm intensely aroused and seem to be making others aroused" is a bit... you know. But his reassurance has her relaxing, further still that he doesn't seem to be bothered by her fingers curling in his sleeve.

The coffee brews up behind her, and she's stepping back into his space with her fingertips ginger at his waist, testing, before circling him entirely. He probably won't like it, but she's sighing her relief and slumping against him immediately, brow to the tough armor over his chest. The flattened ears relax and droop, tail flicking in idle contentment. )

That's good— I'm really glad. ( ...are the words she chooses, but in the tone she would usually say "I'm sorry, Jack". It seems to be the underlying meaning. ) Just... a minute. If I may.

( Knowing what she knows makes this easier. And that he knows her, as well, sets her mind at ease. This will be alright. Neither will expect anything of the other. Her fingertips curl down under the armor and under his shirt, flats of her fingers against the small of his back, and the relief nearly turns her to jello. Truly, she's sorry for this. )

[She gets closer and for a moment Jack looks like he's going to bolt. He's spurned most physical contact in the years following Overwatch's collapse, for obvious reasons, and though he knows of course that this is Angela, Jack's hindbrain reacts to the approach as if pain is coming.]

What are you--

[She's hugging him. Of course she is, and Jack isn't quite sure how to react. He raises his arms a little but doesn't return the gesture, hands hovering awkwardly. He'd known Angela to be affectionate, sure, but this is a little much.]

You all right?

( Honestly, she practically expects him to, so she's relieved and a touch surprised when she manages to land a touch on him and she gets her arms about him. In her defense, she had warned him, and spoke of hugs repeatedly. The hold she has on him is impossibly gentle and he'd be able to break out of it with barely a turn of the heel, but he doesn't. Her eyes squeeze shut where he can't quite see her face, turned down against his chest, and he's asking if she's all right for the second time, and this one prompts a more honest reply.

It could almost be funny, having the tables turned like this. Her only answer at first is the way she shakes her head no, brow rubbing over his armor. No, she's not particularly, but this is helping. It's not perfect, it's not the release her body's screaming for, but it does much to quiet that desire. Jack's strong-willed; she doesn't think he'd ever relent to something like this. She's not nearly so tough.

The chroma feels stronger than she's used to. Perhaps because it meant something special, just being able to hold onto him in particular. It's a considerable balm to her. Then finally her voice slips out of her quietly, barely even breathed. )

I feel like I'm burning up without this.

( Without contact. She just wants to rest for a change. Originally, this had started out as a way to help Jack. Somewhere along the way that turned into a selfish need of her own— somewhere around "Jack steps in through the window and is close enough to hug", so thankfully it's a very recent and temporary change.

But she also isn't wrong. He could use another hug, after their "reunion". She doubts he's finding any comfort for himself here, platonic or otherwise. )

[He still stands there like he doesn't know what he's doing--even before the fall of Overwatch, military formality was sort of ingrained in his system, making physical contact to this degree something of a rarity. 76 will certainly stay like this if it means it helps her out, but he's entirely awkward about it, even as she feels some measure of relief.]

Should I take the gear off? Does that help?

[It can't be comfortable, nuzzling up against body armor. He hasn't even removed his mask. Still, he hasn't forgotten what he came here for. He's still got half a mind to chastise her for putting his information on the network.]

Did the moon make you post that ad for me, too?

( Angela's aware of that, too, and it only swells during the moon— her worry and her protectiveness, the desire to want to ensure others are taken care of and safe and loved, that they're happy... She worries for Jack the most even on her best days, here, because he's the one rejecting the place they're in so entirely.

He's letting her cling onto him while Jesse's out and resting, away from her, and before she gives into the urges and does something ridiculous ~~like a booty call~~. She doesn't want to burden others. Right now, she's well aware she's burdening Jack with herself.

He asks if taking his gear off would help and it gets the quietest sound of acknowledgement before the coffee maker's beeping that it's finished and her ears flick, spine going rigid and tail straight up, and it's what she needed to extricate herself from him. To go and get his coffee. )

It would, if you... if you don't mind. Staying for a bit. Let me get your coffee.

( It would give him time to undo some latches and scope out the place if he wants, and she opens the machine to drop the pod before putting her cup back under it. Just brew up some hot water and drop in a tea bag, not that a cup of chamomile is going to do anything for her. When he mentions the ad and she's turning back with two mugs in hand, her ears flatten back and she has the decency to look ashamed with herself, or at least embarrassed.

Look. There was no one here to take the phone away from her. )

You... were not the only one I posted for, let's say. Something about this is making me worry about others and I realize I've overstepped bounds in trying to help— you know I'm not...

( She doesn't finish the sentence, but he knows. "She's not that bad." She does still have some issues of caring too much or occasionally pestering, but nothing to the point of all this. That is something that hasn't changed about her (willingly). She is usually so good about respecting another's comfort levels and won't push or pry too hard. She has no real explanation for while she suddenly pushed beyond that degree of respect and common sense. She just did, with good intentions perhaps, but still something she never wished to inflict on anyone. She'll tip her chin for him to sit on the sofa before offering him his coffee. )

[It hasn't quite dawned on him that Angela's asking for relief, because he's still caught up in the complicated feeling of wanting her to be angry at him for his disappearing act. When she steps backward to get his coffee, he nods and starts divesting himself from his gear. It's a somewhat complicated process--first the harnesses, then the jacket, then the body armor. The mask comes off, then the mount that anchors it to his face. When she returns, he's standing there in fatigues and a tight black shirt, all of his guns and equipment and harnesses on a nearby table.]

Better?

[He already knows she'll say yes, but he's not quite finished their discussion about her post to the network. A small frown crosses Jack's face as he sits on the sofa and takes the coffee.]

I'm okay, Angela. You don't have to worry about me.

( There's no room in her life for anger to begin with. It wouldn't get her anywhere and it wouldn't make her feel better or anywhere near good to lash out and hurt him. He's important to her, whether he liked it or not, and he's family to her much the same— Jack was a partial mentor, one of many, but he was her commander. They butted heads but only when it mattered. She was his CMO and he listened to her on matters he needed to. Worked her knowledge and requirements of medical boundaries for injured soldiers into his plans even when it cost him extra hours of prep. She had only ever known him as a thoroughly good man as often as he could possibly be. He made ugly decisions and let emotions get in the way sometimes, but he's only human.

As are they all, the flawed creatures of the world. She hears piece after piece coming off and being set down in a careful stack, the jingle of belt buckles and the slump of old leather and then the dulled click of plate armor padded for comfort and quiet set together. She hears the release of air as she turns back, and she sees him as he removes the anchor and throat protection to set aside at last, all piled tidy on the coffee table.

She can see the cut of his body a bit better this way, without snake scales in the way. That he's still as strong as ever, but that the years and a terribly limited diet hadn't been kind on him. Still, she'd be in his corner, betting on him every time. She passes him the mug and is careful in how she settles beside him, facing him, knees drawing up to press her thighs along his own, digging into the back cushions of the sofa as she lays a tentative hand at his waist to anchor herself before she's leaning in, flat against his front. He'll feel the warmth of porcelain at the shoulder joint where she brings her mug up to sip. It barely tastes of tea yet, but she wanted the warmth even as the chroma wells up and washes over them both, leaving her nerves tingling pleasantly. )

Much. ( She's slumping even further, molding right to him— and though he can't see it, her eyes close, lids heavy. ) You know I always will. You don't seem okay, here. I can't see you being okay here.

( He's going to have to convince her he is, and you know. Good luck there. )

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