[He is not entirely off base. All omnics created with some intention of social interaction are released with some innate protocols- a certain level of grace, a particular eye for repetition, like any machine. But for the most part Zenyatta is letting the music guide one long limb after another, as if each and every process were part of its syncopated beat. He feels, and the feeling moves him to strange and wonderful new places.
And then the man stares at him with widening eyes- they are not so dark as they appear, he realises, a golden brown at their heart- and he blushes, the faintest shade of shell pink, and his heart warms.]
More than you think. [His voice laughs for him, bright with affection.] You are doing splendidly.
[Hanzo, who has not a single drop of formal training in dance, finds it difficult to follow along simply because of the way his mind works. He tends to think 2-3 steps ahead, analyzing things as he goes to make the best decisions during battle. Dancing seems so different.
Less structured, more loose. Movement based more on sound and instinct than selecting a target and hitting one's mark. Thankfully this music managed to do away with about 40% of his tendency to over-consider, and it's enough to make him light on his feet and amenable to the movements.]
Perhaps you should focus more on dancing than speaking if those are the things you will say.
[Oftentimes flirting went right over his head, yet others, like now, he finds sexual meanings in the most benign words.]
[That is not the first time Zenyatta has heard such a sentiment expressed, though it has been a while; he simply shakes his head, the motion loosing a newly-snipped bloom from his neck. One hand shifts to rub absently at the spot, already tingling oddly.]
I understand. It seems that my kind begin as weapons in a great many universes other than my own- I only hope that we are given the chance in yours with which we have been blessed in my own.
[At any rate, it's not Dell's fault that his only experiences have been negative. He glows benevolently back at him.]
Then I hope you will allow me to call you a friend, Engie- short for "Engineer", perhaps?
Well. [He pushes the word out with a sigh.] Most of the ones tryin' to kill me were programmed to kill me specifically. So unless you were made by a fella named Gray Mann, I ain't too worried about you.
[Engineer chuckles lightly at that. Long story short, he's not stupid. He figures Zenyatta probably isn't a threat. But he also just got out of a long war against a man with a lot of robots and a LOT of free time.]
You sound like a wise 'bot, though - if you don't mind my sayin'.
[For now, Engie decides to cut the blooms first. They didn't seem to bother Zenyatta, at least. If they decided to spray something in HIS face, though, they'd both have a problem. He tosses them to the ground he works.]
Engie's just fine, partner. And yep - short for Engineer.
[Those first twitches could almost be a trick of the light, were it not for the hands Zenyatta has on him. He can feel the tic and strain of muscles beneath his touch, fighting against themselves to move- slowly- agonisingly- with effort. But move they do.]
It is the red flowers. Prolonged contact induces paralysis, but it is curable. [He's already working on it, stroking both hands up the man's raised arm, beneath his sleeves.] You are already showing incredible resilience, my friend, but you must be patient.
[ Call it fascination, call it morbid curiosity. Try living 30-odd years in a world where earth and bark have overgrown metal and chrome, where humans are fairytales and the last vestiges of humanity reside in fading books; even the idea of a plated humanoid is bizarre to him, though not unwelcome. You know what they say about cats and curiosity.
Zenyatta manages to sway over to Bardo while Bardo's hands are full with half-laced flowers and colorful offerings. It's obvious that the catman (because that's basically what he is, isn't he? a human with superficially feline traits) doesn't know how to respond to something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, if the slant of his brows and the upwards soar of his tail have anything to say about it—
—but it's rude to stare, and ruder still to be uncouth about it. Bardo is too old to act like a hapless teenager, after all.
A beat, and he reaches into the pile in his arms and pulls out a mostly-finished flower crown. Perches it on Zenyatta's smooth, well-polished head. ]
—Enjoying yourself?
[ As if they're friends, instead of a catman and an omnic that's just met for the first time. Smh. ]
[ He wasn't particularly keen in taking part in much of the festivities; Hal was more interested in seeing the culture of his new (hopefully temporary) home, and also the figurehead monarch. But when there was a dancer that really, really stood out, he actually stopped to watch.
A robot. Not a little helper one, or a manufacturing robot, or a cyborg, but... well, maybe it was a cyborg. They could look like anything, with multiple arms or inhuman head armor. But they weren't created for art - only war.
This was fascinating.
He got all wound up with excitement as the automaton came close, blue eyes all wide and sparkling with delight. ]
[Hanzo had no bracelet to protect him from the effects of the moon, so when he was suddenly graying and becoming furry despite being perfectly fine not so long ago he's confused and so..angry. His fangs feel sharper, his tail fuller, and when he looks at his hands they look more like paws. The urge to drop onto all fours is strong. It's painful when his bones and muscles in his hind legs change to appear more wolflike but when the worst of it is over he's thankfully able to stand up straight if he wants to.
He catches a scent in the air that is so familiar that he turns to face Zenyatta as his tail swirls around him and catches his attention.]
You. What is going on?
[Hanzo moves closer, sniffing him openly without any reservations. He smells different than usual, and what's that? A tail?]
This is worse than last time.
[He's nearly all beast by now, and it seems to be getting worse as more of his hair lightens bit by bit without stopping.]
[She decided that one of the best ways to learn about the history was to get involved. Vietnam isn't always comfortable in being in the public eye, but it is her line of work. And fighting is something she's comfortable with.
Still, fighting is something and her body is still fleshy.]
Excuse me! [She saw him tending to another at the moment. While her wounds would seal up faster than most, it doesn't mean it's instantaneous. Besides, she was curious.] Someone said that you were tending to wounds?
[ it likely won't take much for zenyatta to realize who his dance partner is. even as they sweep him up after he's bowed, beginning another section of the dance, he can likely see the glow of machinery beneath the dragon's unitard.
and, even if he misses that, the laughter that erupts shortly after should be very familiar. ]
I must say we make quite the pair!
[ genji says it hushed but knows that zenyatta will hear him, as he spins his master around, making the floral outfit shine. ]
[As someone who can only see through a gridwork, Zenyatta only seems like the outline of a very lithe person at first. But then, add to the metallic sound of fingers around the mala, the lack of breath, the way he seems to stay impossibly still.
Mamoru is the kind of person who finds himself unable to consider he can afford to ever be relaxed, so he snorts when he's coaxed closer.
Religion and Mamoru don't really mix, but there's something to be said about the powers of meditation.
Not that this guy really indulges much in it, but reaching a flow state has come very easy to him since he was a kid. At first, because Mamoru had to - attracted to a way to step away from his grief. Afterwards, because of the exhilaration that it would provide. The sense of purpose he sought.
Still, nowadays it's not something he actively seeks. He shakes his head.] Wouldn't want to interrupt your count.
[Zenyatta would be among the last to question the depth of Dr. Ziegler's capabilities, but even he has to admit that, when it comes to the complex inner workings of an omnic body, it is probably better to speak to an engineer.
Or, more specifically: the Engineer.
What he may lack in specific expertise he makes up for in ingenuity, that much is clear to Zenyatta. In fact he rather suspects that Engineer has been looking for an excuse to take him apart, and that his request for a tune-up had not been entirely granted out of altruism, but that scarcely matters.
He perches contentedly on Engineer's work bench, pants discarded over the back of one chair, legs crossed in an effortless lotus. Technically speaking he is naked, but panelling keeps him modest and somewhat sexless.]
How would you prefer me, my friend? [He suspects that the man's usual subjects are somewhat less helpful.]
[If there was anything about Zenyatta's nakedness to be awkward about, Engineer doesn't mind it. It's not a strap-on hot-glued to a robot crotch (long story, but Scout and Demoman thought it was hilarious), nor anything else, so it's fine. The Texan steps up to Zenyatta with a small clipboard in hand, eyes dotting between it and Zenyatta as he scribbles something down. For once, his goggles were sitting just above his eyebrows.
Nothing scathing. He's just taking notes, things to keep in mind between now and any future tune-ups. While Zenyatta was right - his acceptance to do this wasn't entirely altruistic - he did feel like something of a doctor. Well, hospital doctor. He's already a doctor eleven times over anyway.]
Uh--[Weird way to ask that, but okay. Engineer finally looks all the way up.] Can you, uh... uncross your legs? Please.
[That's also weird way to ask something. Engie pauses, then chuckles to himself and shakes his head.]
Sorry. I ain't used to being talked back to when I do this.
[His tune-up work was usually... less sentient than this. Not counting the bots he came up against in the war back home, who were usually either chatty, dead, or chatted themselves into a screwdriver through the cerebral core. It was usually Scout bots.]
Guess for starters... can ya give me the basic run-down about yourself? Anything specific you want me to go on, check over, etcetera? Think you told me a little bit before, but...
[He tapped the clipboard with his pen.]
Helps me keep the important stuff in mind for later.
In caring for our new charges, it seems that we risk endangering our own health. I would therefore like to invite those among you struggling to keep up with your egg's demands to join me in a safe and relaxing environment for tea, meditation and the replenishment of chroma if necessary. Sexual intimacy is not a requirement.
[So reads the message Zenyatta had left on the network the previous day, along with a time and the address of a teahouse, a sixtieth floor establishment with an indoor garden of which he has become rather fond lately. The large, bright space he inhabits now, waiting, seems ideal; the staff were unobtrusive, the city noise locked behind thick walls and screens. It was as private and peaceful a space as he had discovered in Lunatia.
The room itself puts Zenyatta in mind of one of the Hanamura gardens Genji had shown him on his phone once or twice. Sleepy alien blooms loll around a central pond, genetically modelled (or so he has been told) to produce the most soothing aroma. To Zenyatta's olfactory sensors it seems to lie somewhere between lavender and patchouli, enough to make him nostalgic for monastery life. Perhaps that was why his previous meditation sessions here had been so unexpectedly fruitful, bringing him closer to the Iris than he had been in weeks...
Now, though, he remains fully conscious. The low table before him already bears a steaming pot of tea and a number of cups, one of which has already been filled with green liquid, though Zenyatta has yet to touch it. If he did that he'd have to take his hands off of the egg that sits in his lap, nested between his crossed legs, and that would be unthinkable.
Any visitors will have to forgive him if he is somewhat distracted when they enter. He's still in the marvelling stage.]
[ Kousetsu sees the message and finds it...rather intriguing. To find another who is interested in meditation and tea it's a hard thing to pass up and not go to see.
So Kousetsu arrives some time afterward his own shimmering blue egg cradled delicately and safely in a pouch across his chest. He looks to be looking for the one who made the announcement when he happens across Zenyatta. His interest is immediately piqued, he's never seen anything quite like the other before...so he can't help but be drawn to something new. He'll give a courteous bow before looking at the other. If he notices the people staring he doesn't comment or even care to be honest. He's carrying with him his own prayer beads, the egg, and his attire is that of a Buddhist monk. So overally they're both sticking out rather spectacularly, aren't they? ]
I apologize for disrupting you, but there was a message saying to meet here. Do you...happen to know who it was who sent it? [ His voice is deep, and soft, as he speaks slowly to Zenyatta. He exudes calmness in a way, his presence serene and soothing despite what he is, a sword, meant for killing and harm. One would never be able to tell with the way he carries himself. ]
[There were some things, Zenyatta had reminded himself as he pored over his third draft, that simply could not be adequately expressed in writing. Regret, remorse. The desire to fill the recipient's body with eggs. No, when it came to certain matters one could only discuss them in person, preferably somewhere private- their living room, for instance, with a cup of fragrant tea in one's hands, and an apologetic bent to the angle of one's head.
Given what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, he should perhaps have requested a different beverage.
All things considered, Dr. Ziegler has done well not to let her initial pleasure upon seeing him visibly lapse the moment he made his request, though goodness only knows what is going on in her head. He places his mug to the side with a dainty clink.]
The eggs I have... produced on my own so far have been little more than hollow shells- I do not believe they have any risk of truly impregnating you. Nonetheless, I understand entirely if you are not comfortable with the prospect.
[Even if every inch of his body sings with need, a warm haze of hunger seeming to trail him wherever he goes, and with the current object of his desires settled in front of him it takes a magnificent display of self-control not to throw himself at her feet.
Yet when he speaks there is no draconic influence in his voice: only a soft, almost plaintive kind of coveting that leaves his voice razed and husky.]
( Perhaps he should have, because she doesn't have timing down to brew tea properly, and she has to set her own cup of coffee down to the request and try not to shift her legs together where they've canted to rest against the sofa's edge, nearly knee-to-knee with him. She had the feeling this would be a sexual sort of request from the way he'd prefaced it, and it would already be her first time with an Omnic, as it were. She'd never made a connection with anyone before to get to this point, and she'd be lying if she said there wasn't an attraction between them simply for being kindred spirits and their connection through Genji, both with a deeper understanding of one another painted favorably by their dear friend between them.
Maternal instinct is still keyed up high for her and she hadn't realized nearly how much she'd want even the phantom of a chance until he'd put it forward to her, even as he goes to explain— they're sterile, of course. As is she. But it didn't stop the heat from rising in her cheeks or the arousal already throbbing slow and needy between her legs. For anyone else, any other reason, she may have the decency to feel ashamed. )
No, I— I can't conceive, even if that weren't the case. ( She was already holding his free hand; contact came easily to them to begin with, and she doesn't so much as flinch when he makes his request, nor does her expression shift into much of anything other than aroused with the darkening of her eyes, pupils expanding, bottom lip catching between her canines as her thumb smooths along cool metal fingers. ) ...I want to see, first. But I'll do what I can to help alleviate this for you.
( Her head tips to invite him back to her bedroom, away from the fine blue velvet sofa they sit on and where they can close the door in case Jesse returns and happens upon... well, Angela with anyone, regardless who it may be. He had a bit of a possessive streak and it wouldn't do to invite his wrath on anyone she cared about due to her own negligence.
If this was a side effect of their "blessings", or if it's simply a need that's cropped up in him with no rhyme or reason, it doesn't change the fact that he's pent up for it, whether it's some sort of primal need or simply physical discomfort if he isn't able to release whatever is building up inside of him— it wasn't as though his body were made to expand or shift. He's solid metal, and it didn't give to change.
So she'll take his hand between both of hers and lean in close, where she can press her brow to his. To the warmth of those glowing lights lined up so tidily, leaning into the texture of his voice as he all but sings his need to her, and she can hear the inflection of that tone for what it is. So she stands and draws him with her, staying close. )
[In hindsight Zenyatta supposes he should not have expected the first time to be the last. The high of a successful mating- for a certain, specific value of success- has lingered for a day or so now with no signs of abating, a fleecy sort of feeling akin to afterglow, yet there lingers still within him the same hunger. The same urgency, calling him on.
This time, however, his subconscious is the one to provide the candidate. His meditations are filled with long, inky hair fanned across sheets, with a strong back arched in compliance, with dark eyes glazed and satisfied and full lips parted.
He visits Hanzo that very evening.
The moment he is able Zenyatta puts his arms around the man and holds him tight, faceplate buried in the expanse of his chest, firm and yielding and reassuringly masculine to his addled processor.]
Hanzo... [The name is muffled by sheer muscle and fabric, but glows even so with his affection, an earnest little ember in a fire that otherwise lives on sudden, lascivious intent; even as one process feeds back the memory of gentle touches, another suggests what a receptive body the man has, how potent a father he might make in a fruitful breeding.
It is all quite impossible, and more than a little ridiculous. But that does not prevent his modesty panelling from retracting almost the instant they make contact, or his phallus- thicker, faintly textured now- from pressing into Hanzo's hip half a second later.]
[That time had not been his first, but it had been special to him in other ways. Whenever he is left to his own devices he finds himself thinking of it. Usually when he is alone in bed and cannot sleep. He's on the verge of doing exactly that when the monk visits.
He's quick to invite him inside and offer a seat so he is comfortable, but instead he's greeted with a chestful of face. Hanzo cannot resist the urge to chuckle as he leans into the embrace and slides his own arms around Zenyatta in turn.]
Zenyatta?
[For a second he wonders if something was the matter. Then the scent of the omnic's arousal hits him hard. He's very familiar with the scent by now, and his suspicions are confirmed when there is a firm press of his arousal against him.]
It is not absurd. Tell me how I can help you. [Hanzo assumes Zenyatta has come to him for more of what they did last time, and he has no reason to resist. He shifts his body so that the monk's phallus presses right against the center of his belly instead.]
[It is perhaps difficult to imagine that there might be any common ground whatsoever between Zenyatta and Soldier: 76, but the omnic has discovered at least two already. One is patience. The other is sheer, dogged determination.
In truth he was half expected to online his optic sensors and find himself alone in the very room that 76 had left him in during their last meeting. That they had settled almost immediately on the man's great, disciplined body curved in the same image of carefully cultivated stillness had made him happier than he perhaps should have been.
As he had said afterwards, it represented the beginning of a journey for 76, a difficult first step; what Zenyatta kept to himself was how glad he was to find that his new student had laid himself open for long enough to meditate. But the real surprise- and the real pleasure- was having his invitation to wind down afterwards accepted.
Admittedly, "getting a drink" isn't something Zenyatta does on a regular basis, or indeed at all. But the recent discovery that the bars and restaurants here do serve something akin to oil from their home world has warmed him to the suggestion, and as they settle at a quiet two-man table he is relieved to find he recognises the range on offer from his visit to the casino.]
May I have the honour of picking up the tab? I hardly need the chroma I generate, beyond the bare minimum. [And he suspects that 76 is hardly an active producer himself.]
[If someone were to tell 76 weeks ago that not only would he be dabbling in meditation, but also agreeing to go out to a post-mediation drink with an Omnic, he would've thought they were joking. It's not exactly what he expected to be doing, and he still doesn't think he's any good at meditation, but at this point he keeps coming to the lessons just to see if he can have some kind of breakthrough. Jack is tenacious, and it seems wrong to give up on it so easily, even if progress is slow.
But today there had been progress, and it puts him in a good enough mood not to say not to Zenyatta when he suggests some kind of celebratory drink. He is even surprised to learn that Zenyatta can drink.
Doesn't mean this isn't a little awkward, though 76 is trying to indulge it for now. It helps that they're in a quieter area, seated towards the back, though 76 still looks around like he's charting every exit and going over contingency plans in his head. Zenyatta speaking up about who is paying seems to shake him from his own thoughts.]
You don't have to do that.
[Though he has a feeling Zenyatta will insist, Jack tries to wave him off.]
[There is- as the ceaseless blare of system alarms cannot fail to remind him- damage of some kind or another to over eighty-five percent of Zenyatta's frame. Scuffs and dents, wires pulled dangerously loose, the near-runic gouge across one half of his face-plate left by a Korokiel's glancing spear. He catalogues each injury with his hands and fixes what he can, then promptly dismisses it.
While he still functions, there is always someone worse.
By the time Team Beta is swept back to the moon base by these new, ill tides the place is overrun. Vierge jellyfish still swarm, their tentacles suckling against his LIFE suit wherever they can reach, even as he enters the transport vehicles he had previously thought an oasis in the middle of the chaos; Korokiel prowl in the silent, eerie way of sharks in the darkest oceans, their own among them with glazed eyes and an unquenchable thirst. But they must regroup if they are to overcome Tempeste. Any shelter is better than none at all.
It does not surprise Zenyatta to find a friend here, among the shattered monitors and sparking consoles. He can only hope that the cornflower eyes he knows lie behind the visor that gleams at him through the flickering darkness recognise him as an ally rather than an enemy- or, indeed, as prey.
He holds still, half-expecting to be shot on sight.]
Are you injured?
[Distantly, he registers a new alert. There is blood in here, somewhere. His body can smell it.]
[76 is a little worse for the wear, but being part of Alpha team has kept him from the brunt of the attack. Team Beta unleashes the queen and then it's all chaos, but at least he hadn't been right on the front line when that had happened. All he can do now, however, is fight back, taking out as many jellyfish and korokiel as he can, avoiding tentacles and, as it turns out, other moonblessed. That's what takes him deeper into the base, even though such a thing might be inadvisable.
He's leading with his gun first, any and all sounds nearly setting him off. The flickering lights don't help, and as soon as he hears the sound of metal footsteps, it's only his own discipline that keeps him from pulling the trigger. He recognizes the voice before anything else, and he lowers his rifle only a fraction.]
Nothing I can't handle.
[There's suspicion in his voice, like he's not sure whether or not to trust that this is Zenyatta, and he gives the omnic a good look up and down. Even with the life suit, he can tell that Zenyatta's likely been in combat.]
[Given that he has, in the not so distant past, both expressed his distaste for and offered to work in the various divisions of Hanzo's would-be pleasure palace, Zenyatta supposes that he ought at least to pay it a visit.
Obviously, he is far from innocent. He has seen brothels before, met the humans and omnics alike who staffed and frequented them- more often former, most of whom nursed decades-deep wounds and ill wishes in what was, inevitably, a place of harsh and inescapable necessity. But the very last thing he should do, he knows, is bring his own preconceptions into what he knows is meant to be an altogether different scenario. This place is perfectly voluntary. The dancers he passes are not here because they have nowhere else to go, in theory, and they are well-paid and watched over by Hanzo and his entourage of security staff.
And while he is still not entirely convinced, Zenyatta has to admit that the most profound sense of discomfort-come-relief that the place inspires within him comes when he finds the reception desk empty. He does not know if he is prepared- tonight, at least- to see the side of Hanzo more usually reserved for the Shimada clan and its kind.
With no plans to moonlace or appreciate the dancers twirling and grinding about their poles, Zenyatta takes himself to the bar. Perhaps he can be forgiven for not immediately recognising the bartender and his broad, strong back, turned to him as it is; it is rather dark in here, and he is distracted.]
[Slow day at the bar itself, and honestly Reyes was prepared for it because Hanzo had already said the bar job here would likely be slower than his part-time. He was fine with that, it gave him a little time to himself, get a feel for this place. Watch who came in and out from his position; it was honestly fortunate, here he could watch fellow Moondblessed in a way.
Have a circle of information, as the other was more a position to keep a finger on the pulse of activity on Level 3. Could definitely come in handy for Flux, more so when there was a bracket of 'protection money' collectors. Evened out.
That and he... kinda liked the relaxed atmosphere he could sink in to here. Get the bar fixed how he liked it, easier to add a little flair if needed. His attention did get caught at the familiar voice, setting down a clean glass and turning, hand rested on the counter.
Well then.]
Haven't seen him yet, but he does drop by the bar whenever he's in. Can wait here if you'd like, Zenyatta.
Trick or not, Enji was hungry for more of the chroma he was getting through their interaction. It wasn't easy for him to come by even with people he knew very well. His personality just didn't allow for it to happen without a fuss, but this omnic had found him and through no perceived threat from a curious inorganic being he'd lowered his defenses and let Zenyatta explore him in ways no one has or may never again.
So although he recognizes that this isn't the ideal situation, he allows it because he needs the contact and the chroma that comes with it. Perhaps he even enjoys it on a less transactionary level.
He clenches his jaw when he threatens to let out a telling sound in response to the attention to his nipple, and the tentacle that sneaks past his waistband to find him already half hard beneath. Enji moves back until he's supported by the wall of a building behind him. They're far enough into the darkness of the alleyway that the people who pass by the well-lit street nearby don't ever notice them.
"Human anatomy is sensitive to this kind of stimulation," he warns, but taking into consideration the tone of Zenyatta's voice just now he has a realization. "You already know that, don't you? You know exactly what you're doing." Enji whispers, but still makes no movements to stop the monk. "I need the chroma, so I won't stop you.."
And Zenyatta knows it, can sense with every nervous twitch of the man's body, that he is exploring (for want of a better word) virgin territory, and the thought is a spur in his side- feeling each boundary recede beneath his touches, one after the other. Equally intoxicating is Enji's cock, rapidly stiffening in the strong, silky clutch of his tentacle. With an almost lazy pump from base to crown he pulls it free in all its fat, reddened glory, eyes visibly brightening at the sight of it peeking over his waistband.
"I am somewhat aware, yes," Zenyatta sing-songs, and it is almost adorable that Enji thought at any moment that he must be educated in the art of pleasuring a human body. Even moreso that he thinks such a pitiful defense is fooling anyone but himself. "But if that is the only reason... I suppose I should be sure to make it worth your while, should I not?"
There it is again, that almost playful tug, but this time the tip of his tentacle curls itself against the slit in Enji's dick, lick over it again and again. Simultaneously, another tendril is taking full advantage of the array of options presented by the man's new state of undress; distracted from squeezing and tugging on those plump nipples, it winds around Enji's back and then lower, mapping every muscle and dimple until it reaches the firm peach-softness of his ass.
Zenyatta shivers. "Do not tell me you are untouched, Enji? A strong, beautiful man like yourself?"
[Loss, regret, fear... some things are better communicated silently. The way that Hanzo softens into his arms speaks more clearly to his pain than any explanation ever could- and even if it did not, Zenyatta knows only too well how deeply this particularly bullet has nestled within the both of them, because he feels its presence sharpen with every passing moment.
Hanzo's upturned face stares into his own, and Zenyatta can only hold his cheek and touch their foreheads together, as if the contact might share with him even a fraction of his affection.]
No amount will. But I am sure you knew that.
[This is not the first time he has lost Genji, after all. He sighs softly.]
This separation will not be so permanent as you thought the first- we must both remember that. Until we are reunited, we will always have one another.
[There is something else, too, he wishes to say, an urge that writes and rewrites its coding in his vocaliser and prioritises itself above all other functions. With their pain still so raw it seems both the best and the absolute worst possible moment to speak.
And yet.]
... I will be here for you come what may, Hanzo. I- [a small skip, his processor slows, freezes] I love you.
[Zenyatta's words were always comforting even when he isn't in the mood to be comforted. So he listens to what the monk has to say, taking it in as much as he can when he's distracted by how dizzy he feels all of a sudden. He does catch the statement clearly that they'd all be reunited eventually. That was true.
Hanzo sighs. While he feels like he's lost some part of himself in the absence of his brother, it's true that it's very different than when he'd believed him dead by his own hands. He'd mourned and agonized over it for months before he made the decision to separate himself from his family Perhaps it was shortsighted of him to see this as an absolute loss.
Again, Zenyatta's synthesized voice catches his attention, taking him from his thoughts. What his brother's master says causes him to push away from him, sitting up as straight as he could. He doesn't know what to say, and can't piece any thoughts together to form a coherent response. So all he gets is:]
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hanzo - arrival log i
[He is not entirely off base. All omnics created with some intention of social interaction are released with some innate protocols- a certain level of grace, a particular eye for repetition, like any machine. But for the most part Zenyatta is letting the music guide one long limb after another, as if each and every process were part of its syncopated beat. He feels, and the feeling moves him to strange and wonderful new places.
And then the man stares at him with widening eyes- they are not so dark as they appear, he realises, a golden brown at their heart- and he blushes, the faintest shade of shell pink, and his heart warms.]
More than you think. [His voice laughs for him, bright with affection.] You are doing splendidly.
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Less structured, more loose. Movement based more on sound and instinct than selecting a target and hitting one's mark. Thankfully this music managed to do away with about 40% of his tendency to over-consider, and it's enough to make him light on his feet and amenable to the movements.]
Perhaps you should focus more on dancing than speaking if those are the things you will say.
[Oftentimes flirting went right over his head, yet others, like now, he finds sexual meanings in the most benign words.]
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fin
engineer - arrival i
[That is not the first time Zenyatta has heard such a sentiment expressed, though it has been a while; he simply shakes his head, the motion loosing a newly-snipped bloom from his neck. One hand shifts to rub absently at the spot, already tingling oddly.]
I understand. It seems that my kind begin as weapons in a great many universes other than my own- I only hope that we are given the chance in yours with which we have been blessed in my own.
[At any rate, it's not Dell's fault that his only experiences have been negative. He glows benevolently back at him.]
Then I hope you will allow me to call you a friend, Engie- short for "Engineer", perhaps?
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[Engineer chuckles lightly at that. Long story short, he's not stupid. He figures Zenyatta probably isn't a threat. But he also just got out of a long war against a man with a lot of robots and a LOT of free time.]
You sound like a wise 'bot, though - if you don't mind my sayin'.
[For now, Engie decides to cut the blooms first. They didn't seem to bother Zenyatta, at least. If they decided to spray something in HIS face, though, they'd both have a problem. He tosses them to the ground he works.]
Engie's just fine, partner. And yep - short for Engineer.
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jotaro - arrival i
[Those first twitches could almost be a trick of the light, were it not for the hands Zenyatta has on him. He can feel the tic and strain of muscles beneath his touch, fighting against themselves to move- slowly- agonisingly- with effort. But move they do.]
It is the red flowers. Prolonged contact induces paralysis, but it is curable. [He's already working on it, stroking both hands up the man's raised arm, beneath his sleeves.] You are already showing incredible resilience, my friend, but you must be patient.
ARRIVAL .002. ; HARVEST BOON
▶ PROMPTS
>here.
1. shall we dance ?
Zenyatta manages to sway over to Bardo while Bardo's hands are full with half-laced flowers and colorful offerings. It's obvious that the catman (because that's basically what he is, isn't he? a human with superficially feline traits) doesn't know how to respond to something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, if the slant of his brows and the upwards soar of his tail have anything to say about it—
—but it's rude to stare, and ruder still to be uncouth about it. Bardo is too old to act like a hapless teenager, after all.
A beat, and he reaches into the pile in his arms and pulls out a mostly-finished flower crown. Perches it on Zenyatta's smooth, well-polished head. ]
—Enjoying yourself?
[ As if they're friends, instead of a catman and an omnic that's just met for the first time. Smh. ]
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man fuck words who needs em
i need em to love zenyatta!!!!
1
A robot. Not a little helper one, or a manufacturing robot, or a cyborg, but... well, maybe it was a cyborg. They could look like anything, with multiple arms or inhuman head armor. But they weren't created for art - only war.
This was fascinating.
He got all wound up with excitement as the automaton came close, blue eyes all wide and sparkling with delight. ]
Oh... hmm.
[ Is he supposed to do something here? Uhm... ]
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3. the beast
He catches a scent in the air that is so familiar that he turns to face Zenyatta as his tail swirls around him and catches his attention.]
You. What is going on?
[Hanzo moves closer, sniffing him openly without any reservations. He smells different than usual, and what's that? A tail?]
This is worse than last time.
[He's nearly all beast by now, and it seems to be getting worse as more of his hair lightens bit by bit without stopping.]
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logic as flirtation
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ringside!!
Still, fighting is something and her body is still fleshy.]
Excuse me! [She saw him tending to another at the moment. While her wounds would seal up faster than most, it doesn't mean it's instantaneous. Besides, she was curious.] Someone said that you were tending to wounds?
well hello stranger!!
HEELLOOO goodest cutie!!
vibrates at
HEHEHEHEHE
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shall we dance?
and, even if he misses that, the laughter that erupts shortly after should be very familiar. ]
I must say we make quite the pair!
[ genji says it hushed but knows that zenyatta will hear him, as he spins his master around, making the floral outfit shine. ]
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ringside
Mamoru is the kind of person who finds himself unable to consider he can afford to ever be relaxed, so he snorts when he's coaxed closer.
Religion and Mamoru don't really mix, but there's something to be said about the powers of meditation.
Not that this guy really indulges much in it, but reaching a flow state has come very easy to him since he was a kid. At first, because Mamoru had to - attracted to a way to step away from his grief. Afterwards, because of the exhilaration that it would provide. The sense of purpose he sought.
Still, nowadays it's not something he actively seeks. He shakes his head.] Wouldn't want to interrupt your count.
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engineer - a tune-up
Or, more specifically: the Engineer.
What he may lack in specific expertise he makes up for in ingenuity, that much is clear to Zenyatta. In fact he rather suspects that Engineer has been looking for an excuse to take him apart, and that his request for a tune-up had not been entirely granted out of altruism, but that scarcely matters.
He perches contentedly on Engineer's work bench, pants discarded over the back of one chair, legs crossed in an effortless lotus. Technically speaking he is naked, but panelling keeps him modest and somewhat sexless.]
How would you prefer me, my friend? [He suspects that the man's usual subjects are somewhat less helpful.]
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Nothing scathing. He's just taking notes, things to keep in mind between now and any future tune-ups. While Zenyatta was right - his acceptance to do this wasn't entirely altruistic - he did feel like something of a doctor. Well, hospital doctor. He's already a doctor eleven times over anyway.]
Uh--[Weird way to ask that, but okay. Engineer finally looks all the way up.] Can you, uh... uncross your legs? Please.
[That's also weird way to ask something. Engie pauses, then chuckles to himself and shakes his head.]
Sorry. I ain't used to being talked back to when I do this.
[His tune-up work was usually... less sentient than this. Not counting the bots he came up against in the war back home, who were usually either chatty, dead, or chatted themselves into a screwdriver through the cerebral core. It was usually Scout bots.]
Guess for starters... can ya give me the basic run-down about yourself? Anything specific you want me to go on, check over, etcetera? Think you told me a little bit before, but...
[He tapped the clipboard with his pen.]
Helps me keep the important stuff in mind for later.
waves hand vaguely about tech
THIS WORKS
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this is an appropriate icon right
absolutely it's perfect
excellent
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QUICK TAGBACK because I had this in my head
i love he
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dragon eggs; for kousetsu
In caring for our new charges, it seems that we risk endangering our own health. I would therefore like to invite those among you struggling to keep up with your egg's demands to join me in a safe and relaxing environment for tea, meditation and the replenishment of chroma if necessary. Sexual intimacy is not a requirement.
[So reads the message Zenyatta had left on the network the previous day, along with a time and the address of a teahouse, a sixtieth floor establishment with an indoor garden of which he has become rather fond lately. The large, bright space he inhabits now, waiting, seems ideal; the staff were unobtrusive, the city noise locked behind thick walls and screens. It was as private and peaceful a space as he had discovered in Lunatia.
The room itself puts Zenyatta in mind of one of the Hanamura gardens Genji had shown him on his phone once or twice. Sleepy alien blooms loll around a central pond, genetically modelled (or so he has been told) to produce the most soothing aroma. To Zenyatta's olfactory sensors it seems to lie somewhere between lavender and patchouli, enough to make him nostalgic for monastery life. Perhaps that was why his previous meditation sessions here had been so unexpectedly fruitful, bringing him closer to the Iris than he had been in weeks...
Now, though, he remains fully conscious. The low table before him already bears a steaming pot of tea and a number of cups, one of which has already been filled with green liquid, though Zenyatta has yet to touch it. If he did that he'd have to take his hands off of the egg that sits in his lap, nested between his crossed legs, and that would be unthinkable.
Any visitors will have to forgive him if he is somewhat distracted when they enter. He's still in the marvelling stage.]
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So Kousetsu arrives some time afterward his own shimmering blue egg cradled delicately and safely in a pouch across his chest. He looks to be looking for the one who made the announcement when he happens across Zenyatta. His interest is immediately piqued, he's never seen anything quite like the other before...so he can't help but be drawn to something new. He'll give a courteous bow before looking at the other. If he notices the people staring he doesn't comment or even care to be honest. He's carrying with him his own prayer beads, the egg, and his attire is that of a Buddhist monk. So overally they're both sticking out rather spectacularly, aren't they? ]
I apologize for disrupting you, but there was a message saying to meet here. Do you...happen to know who it was who sent it? [ His voice is deep, and soft, as he speaks slowly to Zenyatta. He exudes calmness in a way, his presence serene and soothing despite what he is, a sword, meant for killing and harm. One would never be able to tell with the way he carries himself. ]
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dragon transformation; nsfw, oviposition; for mercy
Given what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, he should perhaps have requested a different beverage.
All things considered, Dr. Ziegler has done well not to let her initial pleasure upon seeing him visibly lapse the moment he made his request, though goodness only knows what is going on in her head. He places his mug to the side with a dainty clink.]
The eggs I have... produced on my own so far have been little more than hollow shells- I do not believe they have any risk of truly impregnating you. Nonetheless, I understand entirely if you are not comfortable with the prospect.
[Even if every inch of his body sings with need, a warm haze of hunger seeming to trail him wherever he goes, and with the current object of his desires settled in front of him it takes a magnificent display of self-control not to throw himself at her feet.
Yet when he speaks there is no draconic influence in his voice: only a soft, almost plaintive kind of coveting that leaves his voice razed and husky.]
If you are willing, Angela... I need you.
give egg
Maternal instinct is still keyed up high for her and she hadn't realized nearly how much she'd want even the phantom of a chance until he'd put it forward to her, even as he goes to explain— they're sterile, of course. As is she. But it didn't stop the heat from rising in her cheeks or the arousal already throbbing slow and needy between her legs. For anyone else, any other reason, she may have the decency to feel ashamed. )
No, I— I can't conceive, even if that weren't the case. ( She was already holding his free hand; contact came easily to them to begin with, and she doesn't so much as flinch when he makes his request, nor does her expression shift into much of anything other than aroused with the darkening of her eyes, pupils expanding, bottom lip catching between her canines as her thumb smooths along cool metal fingers. ) ...I want to see, first. But I'll do what I can to help alleviate this for you.
( Her head tips to invite him back to her bedroom, away from the fine blue velvet sofa they sit on and where they can close the door in case Jesse returns and happens upon... well, Angela with anyone, regardless who it may be. He had a bit of a possessive streak and it wouldn't do to invite his wrath on anyone she cared about due to her own negligence.
If this was a side effect of their "blessings", or if it's simply a need that's cropped up in him with no rhyme or reason, it doesn't change the fact that he's pent up for it, whether it's some sort of primal need or simply physical discomfort if he isn't able to release whatever is building up inside of him— it wasn't as though his body were made to expand or shift. He's solid metal, and it didn't give to change.
So she'll take his hand between both of hers and lean in close, where she can press her brow to his. To the warmth of those glowing lights lined up so tidily, leaning into the texture of his voice as he all but sings his need to her, and she can hear the inflection of that tone for what it is. So she stands and draws him with her, staying close. )
I am.
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dragon transformation; nsfw, oviposition; for hanzo
This time, however, his subconscious is the one to provide the candidate. His meditations are filled with long, inky hair fanned across sheets, with a strong back arched in compliance, with dark eyes glazed and satisfied and full lips parted.
He visits Hanzo that very evening.
The moment he is able Zenyatta puts his arms around the man and holds him tight, faceplate buried in the expanse of his chest, firm and yielding and reassuringly masculine to his addled processor.]
Hanzo... [The name is muffled by sheer muscle and fabric, but glows even so with his affection, an earnest little ember in a fire that otherwise lives on sudden, lascivious intent; even as one process feeds back the memory of gentle touches, another suggests what a receptive body the man has, how potent a father he might make in a fruitful breeding.
It is all quite impossible, and more than a little ridiculous. But that does not prevent his modesty panelling from retracting almost the instant they make contact, or his phallus- thicker, faintly textured now- from pressing into Hanzo's hip half a second later.]
I- am going to ask you to do something absurd.
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He's quick to invite him inside and offer a seat so he is comfortable, but instead he's greeted with a chestful of face. Hanzo cannot resist the urge to chuckle as he leans into the embrace and slides his own arms around Zenyatta in turn.]
Zenyatta?
[For a second he wonders if something was the matter. Then the scent of the omnic's arousal hits him hard. He's very familiar with the scent by now, and his suspicions are confirmed when there is a firm press of his arousal against him.]
It is not absurd. Tell me how I can help you. [Hanzo assumes Zenyatta has come to him for more of what they did last time, and he has no reason to resist. He shifts his body so that the monk's phallus presses right against the center of his belly instead.]
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we can call this whenever :B I am satisfied lol
ayyy we done
for soldier: 76
In truth he was half expected to online his optic sensors and find himself alone in the very room that 76 had left him in during their last meeting. That they had settled almost immediately on the man's great, disciplined body curved in the same image of carefully cultivated stillness had made him happier than he perhaps should have been.
As he had said afterwards, it represented the beginning of a journey for 76, a difficult first step; what Zenyatta kept to himself was how glad he was to find that his new student had laid himself open for long enough to meditate. But the real surprise- and the real pleasure- was having his invitation to wind down afterwards accepted.
Admittedly, "getting a drink" isn't something Zenyatta does on a regular basis, or indeed at all. But the recent discovery that the bars and restaurants here do serve something akin to oil from their home world has warmed him to the suggestion, and as they settle at a quiet two-man table he is relieved to find he recognises the range on offer from his visit to the casino.]
May I have the honour of picking up the tab? I hardly need the chroma I generate, beyond the bare minimum. [And he suspects that 76 is hardly an active producer himself.]
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But today there had been progress, and it puts him in a good enough mood not to say not to Zenyatta when he suggests some kind of celebratory drink. He is even surprised to learn that Zenyatta can drink.
Doesn't mean this isn't a little awkward, though 76 is trying to indulge it for now. It helps that they're in a quieter area, seated towards the back, though 76 still looks around like he's charting every exit and going over contingency plans in his head. Zenyatta speaking up about who is paying seems to shake him from his own thoughts.]
You don't have to do that.
[Though he has a feeling Zenyatta will insist, Jack tries to wave him off.]
I have enough.
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for soldier: 76
While he still functions, there is always someone worse.
By the time Team Beta is swept back to the moon base by these new, ill tides the place is overrun. Vierge jellyfish still swarm, their tentacles suckling against his LIFE suit wherever they can reach, even as he enters the transport vehicles he had previously thought an oasis in the middle of the chaos; Korokiel prowl in the silent, eerie way of sharks in the darkest oceans, their own among them with glazed eyes and an unquenchable thirst. But they must regroup if they are to overcome Tempeste. Any shelter is better than none at all.
It does not surprise Zenyatta to find a friend here, among the shattered monitors and sparking consoles. He can only hope that the cornflower eyes he knows lie behind the visor that gleams at him through the flickering darkness recognise him as an ally rather than an enemy- or, indeed, as prey.
He holds still, half-expecting to be shot on sight.]
Are you injured?
[Distantly, he registers a new alert. There is blood in here, somewhere. His body can smell it.]
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He's leading with his gun first, any and all sounds nearly setting him off. The flickering lights don't help, and as soon as he hears the sound of metal footsteps, it's only his own discipline that keeps him from pulling the trigger. He recognizes the voice before anything else, and he lowers his rifle only a fraction.]
Nothing I can't handle.
[There's suspicion in his voice, like he's not sure whether or not to trust that this is Zenyatta, and he gives the omnic a good look up and down. Even with the life suit, he can tell that Zenyatta's likely been in combat.]
You don't look so good yourself.
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gabe - an omnic walks into a bar
Obviously, he is far from innocent. He has seen brothels before, met the humans and omnics alike who staffed and frequented them- more often former, most of whom nursed decades-deep wounds and ill wishes in what was, inevitably, a place of harsh and inescapable necessity. But the very last thing he should do, he knows, is bring his own preconceptions into what he knows is meant to be an altogether different scenario. This place is perfectly voluntary. The dancers he passes are not here because they have nowhere else to go, in theory, and they are well-paid and watched over by Hanzo and his entourage of security staff.
And while he is still not entirely convinced, Zenyatta has to admit that the most profound sense of discomfort-come-relief that the place inspires within him comes when he finds the reception desk empty. He does not know if he is prepared- tonight, at least- to see the side of Hanzo more usually reserved for the Shimada clan and its kind.
With no plans to moonlace or appreciate the dancers twirling and grinding about their poles, Zenyatta takes himself to the bar. Perhaps he can be forgiven for not immediately recognising the bartender and his broad, strong back, turned to him as it is; it is rather dark in here, and he is distracted.]
Is Hanzo Shimada here at the moment?
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Have a circle of information, as the other was more a position to keep a finger on the pulse of activity on Level 3. Could definitely come in handy for Flux, more so when there was a bracket of 'protection money' collectors. Evened out.
That and he... kinda liked the relaxed atmosphere he could sink in to here. Get the bar fixed how he liked it, easier to add a little flair if needed. His attention did get caught at the familiar voice, setting down a clean glass and turning, hand rested on the counter.
Well then.]
Haven't seen him yet, but he does drop by the bar whenever he's in. Can wait here if you'd like, Zenyatta.
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tentacle stuff continued
Trick or not, Enji was hungry for more of the chroma he was getting through their interaction. It wasn't easy for him to come by even with people he knew very well. His personality just didn't allow for it to happen without a fuss, but this omnic had found him and through no perceived threat from a curious inorganic being he'd lowered his defenses and let Zenyatta explore him in ways no one has or may never again.
So although he recognizes that this isn't the ideal situation, he allows it because he needs the contact and the chroma that comes with it. Perhaps he even enjoys it on a less transactionary level.
He clenches his jaw when he threatens to let out a telling sound in response to the attention to his nipple, and the tentacle that sneaks past his waistband to find him already half hard beneath. Enji moves back until he's supported by the wall of a building behind him. They're far enough into the darkness of the alleyway that the people who pass by the well-lit street nearby don't ever notice them.
"Human anatomy is sensitive to this kind of stimulation," he warns, but taking into consideration the tone of Zenyatta's voice just now he has a realization. "You already know that, don't you? You know exactly what you're doing." Enji whispers, but still makes no movements to stop the monk. "I need the chroma, so I won't stop you.."
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"I am somewhat aware, yes," Zenyatta sing-songs, and it is almost adorable that Enji thought at any moment that he must be educated in the art of pleasuring a human body. Even moreso that he thinks such a pitiful defense is fooling anyone but himself. "But if that is the only reason... I suppose I should be sure to make it worth your while, should I not?"
There it is again, that almost playful tug, but this time the tip of his tentacle curls itself against the slit in Enji's dick, lick over it again and again. Simultaneously, another tendril is taking full advantage of the array of options presented by the man's new state of undress; distracted from squeezing and tugging on those plump nipples, it winds around Enji's back and then lower, mapping every muscle and dimple until it reaches the firm peach-softness of his ass.
Zenyatta shivers. "Do not tell me you are untouched, Enji? A strong, beautiful man like yourself?"
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continued
[Loss, regret, fear... some things are better communicated silently. The way that Hanzo softens into his arms speaks more clearly to his pain than any explanation ever could- and even if it did not, Zenyatta knows only too well how deeply this particularly bullet has nestled within the both of them, because he feels its presence sharpen with every passing moment.
Hanzo's upturned face stares into his own, and Zenyatta can only hold his cheek and touch their foreheads together, as if the contact might share with him even a fraction of his affection.]
No amount will. But I am sure you knew that.
[This is not the first time he has lost Genji, after all. He sighs softly.]
This separation will not be so permanent as you thought the first- we must both remember that. Until we are reunited, we will always have one another.
[There is something else, too, he wishes to say, an urge that writes and rewrites its coding in his vocaliser and prioritises itself above all other functions. With their pain still so raw it seems both the best and the absolute worst possible moment to speak.
And yet.]
... I will be here for you come what may, Hanzo. I- [a small skip, his processor slows, freezes] I love you.
[The universe inhales.]
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Hanzo sighs. While he feels like he's lost some part of himself in the absence of his brother, it's true that it's very different than when he'd believed him dead by his own hands. He'd mourned and agonized over it for months before he made the decision to separate himself from his family Perhaps it was shortsighted of him to see this as an absolute loss.
Again, Zenyatta's synthesized voice catches his attention, taking him from his thoughts. What his brother's master says causes him to push away from him, sitting up as straight as he could. He doesn't know what to say, and can't piece any thoughts together to form a coherent response. So all he gets is:]
Why?
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