[ That gets a sarcastic snort from him, which just sounds tinny and muffled from inside his helmet. ] How long do you have to be here to get one of those, I wonder?
[ It's entirely rhetorical and facetious and he finds himself scowling at nothing when he realizes he had even said it. What was the point in casual conversation anymore? Genji clamps his mouth shut and crosses his arms and he starts to follow after him. He's never been downstairs, he realizes, no point in it. If it wasn't the medical wings or the training area, Genji didn't care much to investigate it.
Genji has another thought as they head down to the basement, that he's essentially leading him to an underground, far off place on base. He could still be plotting something. (He idly thinks that before, this is the kind of thing he would do for the clan. Be charming, invite someone somewhere private, slip a blade between their ribs when they got close.) He sucks in a breath and feels claustrophobic for a moment, stuck in the confines of his cybernetic body and helmet and everything and he damn near just runs off but—
The sound of those damn spurs brings him back to reality and he exhales shakily. No, there's not much subtle about him. And if this is Blackwatch's territory on base, then Reyes surely knows all that goes on. The man might as well have eyes in the back of his head. He doesn't really (and it makes him grate his teeth to even admit it) have any reason to think that he's (what was his name again? Joel McGhee?) in any sort of danger.
Yet. ] They spared no expense for the covert operations, I see.
Long enough that people wanna know your name so they know who to complain about.
[ he sounds mostly amused as he says it, when the truth is he's kind of in a weird spot with overwatch— overwatch, which doesn't want to let on that they pulled a kid from the desert at a skinny seventeen; which is willing to let an awful lot of things go if it means not having to reply to gabe's emails now and then.
the walls of the stairwell turn from pleasant plaster to painted concrete. at the near-bottom jesse pushes open the door to a corridor that's less bright and spangled than the upper floors, to the more nondescript hallways that mark blackwatch's few administrative spaces. ]
And, well. They're good at replenishing the tac gear and the ballpoint pens, but they ain't exactly fitting us for dress blues anytime soon.
[ and sure enough, there's the door—reyes' office, comparable in space and layout to jack's upstairs, just more sparsely decorated. there's a desk that's orderly, and one that pointedly isn't. it's obvious which one is mccree's: there are a couple of chintzy souvenirs you might find in some desert gift shop somewhere, blank postcards from each southwestern state, magnets shaped like jalapenos and sheriff badges, a small potted cactus living sedately under a desk lamp.
honestly, it's practically the desk of, like, a small-town texan banker. ]
[ Honestly it's— exactly what he expected, really. He'd watched plenty of American movies, sure, but he never thought any real person actually was like that. Apparently he was just plain wrong. (He's honestly more surprised Reyes allows it... is that a tiny pumpkin on the man's desk?)
Genji snorts. ] You should branch out on your desk decorations.
[ But wait, no, that isn't why he's here. He claimed there was a mini fridge in the office. Genji looks around the room. ] You better not have been lying about bringing the food down here.
[ he means to sound conversational, but there's a little bit of an honest question in there. it doesn't take a genius to see that genji isn't the trusting type--and truth be told, jesse's pretty sure that he'd bolt from the base first chance he could without so much as a thank you note for angela, if he could count on overwatch leaving him alone. (and jesse wouldn't count on overwatch leaving him alone.)
he's heading to the shared wall between the desks, where indeed there's a mini fridge, a little microwave, essentially a small kitchen for the kind of people who are best left alone. he juts a thumb at the fridge, trails his other hand on the desk and then leans against it. ]
[ ...well when you ask it just makes him seem foolish for even being suspicious. He's sneering a little bit behind his mask and decides not to say anything in response.
Genji slinks over to the fridge and crouches down, opening it up. Sure enough, there are his things; a few little protein and electrolyte packs with a nozzle on top for easy eating. He huffs and picks up a protein one and gets up, closing the fridge door with a foot.
He stands there a moment, eerily immobile. Genji turns to look at him and speaks like it's causing him genuine physical pain. ] Thank you.
[ he's still leaning against the desk, an easy slant, hands planted behind him. he regards genji in silence for a few more seconds. it'd be awkward if jesse knew or cared for awkward. ]
Is it hard to talk under there? [ his voice is lackadaisical. possibly he knows when he's being tactless, so there's a kind of gentle touch to it too. ] 'Cause just now you sounded like you was pullin' teeth. [ see, we can do harmless teasing in blackwatch. ]
[ Genji crinkles the plastic of the gel pack in his hands during the slightly awkward silence, just staring at him. And his shoulders raise up in a physical manifestation of his hackles raising again. ] I don't know. Is this some ploy to see my face? I heard there was a betting pool.
[ He sounds so bitter. All kindness is fake, clearly. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ It's entirely rhetorical and facetious and he finds himself scowling at nothing when he realizes he had even said it. What was the point in casual conversation anymore? Genji clamps his mouth shut and crosses his arms and he starts to follow after him. He's never been downstairs, he realizes, no point in it. If it wasn't the medical wings or the training area, Genji didn't care much to investigate it.
Genji has another thought as they head down to the basement, that he's essentially leading him to an underground, far off place on base. He could still be plotting something. (He idly thinks that before, this is the kind of thing he would do for the clan. Be charming, invite someone somewhere private, slip a blade between their ribs when they got close.) He sucks in a breath and feels claustrophobic for a moment, stuck in the confines of his cybernetic body and helmet and everything and he damn near just runs off but—
The sound of those damn spurs brings him back to reality and he exhales shakily. No, there's not much subtle about him. And if this is Blackwatch's territory on base, then Reyes surely knows all that goes on. The man might as well have eyes in the back of his head. He doesn't really (and it makes him grate his teeth to even admit it) have any reason to think that he's (what was his name again? Joel McGhee?) in any sort of danger.
Yet. ] They spared no expense for the covert operations, I see.
no subject
[ he sounds mostly amused as he says it, when the truth is he's kind of in a weird spot with overwatch— overwatch, which doesn't want to let on that they pulled a kid from the desert at a skinny seventeen; which is willing to let an awful lot of things go if it means not having to reply to gabe's emails now and then.
the walls of the stairwell turn from pleasant plaster to painted concrete. at the near-bottom jesse pushes open the door to a corridor that's less bright and spangled than the upper floors, to the more nondescript hallways that mark blackwatch's few administrative spaces. ]
And, well. They're good at replenishing the tac gear and the ballpoint pens, but they ain't exactly fitting us for dress blues anytime soon.
[ and sure enough, there's the door—reyes' office, comparable in space and layout to jack's upstairs, just more sparsely decorated. there's a desk that's orderly, and one that pointedly isn't. it's obvious which one is mccree's: there are a couple of chintzy souvenirs you might find in some desert gift shop somewhere, blank postcards from each southwestern state, magnets shaped like jalapenos and sheriff badges, a small potted cactus living sedately under a desk lamp.
honestly, it's practically the desk of, like, a small-town texan banker. ]
Tada.
no subject
Genji snorts. ] You should branch out on your desk decorations.
[ But wait, no, that isn't why he's here. He claimed there was a mini fridge in the office. Genji looks around the room. ] You better not have been lying about bringing the food down here.
no subject
[ he means to sound conversational, but there's a little bit of an honest question in there. it doesn't take a genius to see that genji isn't the trusting type--and truth be told, jesse's pretty sure that he'd bolt from the base first chance he could without so much as a thank you note for angela, if he could count on overwatch leaving him alone. (and jesse wouldn't count on overwatch leaving him alone.)
he's heading to the shared wall between the desks, where indeed there's a mini fridge, a little microwave, essentially a small kitchen for the kind of people who are best left alone. he juts a thumb at the fridge, trails his other hand on the desk and then leans against it. ]
Go on, see for yourself.
no subject
Genji slinks over to the fridge and crouches down, opening it up. Sure enough, there are his things; a few little protein and electrolyte packs with a nozzle on top for easy eating. He huffs and picks up a protein one and gets up, closing the fridge door with a foot.
He stands there a moment, eerily immobile. Genji turns to look at him and speaks like it's causing him genuine physical pain. ] Thank you.
no subject
Is it hard to talk under there? [ his voice is lackadaisical. possibly he knows when he's being tactless, so there's a kind of gentle touch to it too. ] 'Cause just now you sounded like you was pullin' teeth. [ see, we can do harmless teasing in blackwatch. ]
no subject
[ He sounds so bitter. All kindness is fake, clearly. ]