[ 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. ]
[Fortunately Zenyatta was somewhat conspicuous even at home- even in a world filled with omnics, an omnic monk is still worthy of note- so the attention mostly rolls off of him like rainwater. Still, as far as ways of getting his attention go, planting a flower crown straight onto his head is one excellent way of doing it.]
Oh!
[He stops abruptly, a petal or two drifting idly loose with the movement, to actually take the stranger in. Broad and handsome, Zenyatta is so distracted by the admittedly glorious bouquet in his arms that he very nearly fails to notice that tell-tale... well. Tail. Or the ears, for that matter. For a moment he visibly double-takes, chin jerking upwards as if to check the sky for a stray moon, but, no, the sky is clear. This, it seems, is just the way he arrived.
How fascinating!
Overfamiliarity is almost a way of life for Zenyatta; he simply chuckles, cocking his head playfully.]
Am I so transparent? The atmosphere is really quite infectious. [a brief nod to Bardo's flowers.] I hope you are not working so hard that you cannot appreciate it yourself!
[ It's a strange contrast: organic and inorganic, calm and jubilant. One would think that it'd be hard to read a person from the hard lines of their metal body, but there's an openness to Zenyatta's body language that Bardo appreciates immediately— it would be unfair to attribute the word "convincing" to an omnic, probably, but an anachronistic cat-person has no frame of reference when it comes to politely describing what he's seeing.
The long and short of it is: Bardo smiles. Shoulders relaxed, he shrugs. Petals spill from the crook of his elbow in a multicolored cascade. ]
Ahh, someone has to do the hard work while everyone else has a good time. [ Mock-weary, with a hint of teasing to lilt the corners of his words. ] I'll appreciate everything once it winds down.
[Smiling back is, clearly, somewhat beyond Zenyatta. But somehow there is something in the tilt of his head, the way the angle of his eye-slots shifts with the slightest motion, the glow of his jieba brightening incrementally- they are all the expression he needs.
And how could he possibly fail to return such obvious warmth?]
Ah, yes. Your burden is clearly tremendous. Are you quite sure I could not tempt you to dance, my friend? I am sure someone could watch your flowers for you for a single song.
[Already he is holding out a hand, half-bowed as if in anticipation of a curtsey. The entire city is in high spirits, after all- and if he plays it up a little he knows he can get one or two nearby spectators to jostle Bardo encouragingly, you can't turn down an offer like that!]
[ 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. ]
[Half of the point of dancing is to attract attention, is it not? In this case, yes, it is also an expression of thanksgiving and joy, but Zenyatta would be lying if he suggested for a single moment that the audience's approval was not intoxicating in its own right.
For the most part, he looks out upon a sea of faces without any particular definition. But as he takes a bow a curious flash catches his attention- glasses, he realises. Or, more specifically, the eyes watching him intently and happily from behind them.
How can he possibly ignore that?
Zenyatta all but sashays over, the hem of his skirts touching the ground more frequently than his feet, and holds out one slender, intricately constructed hand.]
Would you care to dance with me? It seems a pity to stop now.
[ That was probably insensitive, so he catches himself by holding out his hand in return. His fingers find the joints and he gives a soft little gasp. ]
[Oh, it's pretty insensitive, but Zenyatta has heard worse from people without the excuse of ignorance that this man quite clearly has. He simply takes his other hand too and pulls him, unperturbed, into the crowd of dancers.]
In my world we are referred to as omnics- but you can think of me as a robot controlled by a fully sentient AI.
[Though it's not a bad suggestion, so points for trying.]
[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.]
[This time- this time, raw and fresh and newborn by moonlight- he scents Hanzo on the wind, and before he is even near enough to see he's reeling with it. Hanzo. Of course it is. Even if he cannot recall it precisely his body remembers, new systems onlining as they retrieve the feeling of rough hands and bloody lips, the smell of copper and sweat and desire.
Hanzo speaks to him directly, and Zenyatta turns slowly, swaying, as if drunk.]
I am- I am not sure. [He sounds different, too, he realises absently, though he cannot account for any change in his vocaliser: deeper, huskier.] The three moons, perhaps. Their influence is... intoxicating.
[Among other things. There is something mesmerising about watching Hanzo's transformation, like watching a time lapse of flowers blooming. He wants to touch it, Zenyatta decides, to see if the remaining shots of black in his hair feel different to the snowy white-
And before he knows it, he is doing just that. The moment he is within arms length he reaches for Hanzo's temple and combs his fingers straight into his hair, grazing along his scalp as he tries to loosen the ribbon.]
[The process is uncomfortable, and particularly more so when he doesn't stop changing and he knows someone is watching. Hanzo trembles at first in response to the fingers in his hair. He wants to pull away but he also wants to lash out at Zenyatta for it. Though not in a violent or threatening way.
He does remember their interactions the night when he was drunk, and how he didn't trust himself not to try anything. Thankfully the omnic had been the voice of reason that time. Now it seems like Zenyatta's moonblessing had a hold of him and it is unlikely that he would be the voice of reason concerning much of anything. Perhaps he should take the role this time.]
It does not usually happen like this.
[Hanzo frowns, closing his eyes for a moment then turns his face to press against the hand in his hair. There is no denying himself the pleasure and chroma that come with the touch.]
[With Hanzo's face tucked warm and safe in the palm of his hand it seems cruel to leave his other cheek wanting for attention; automatically he reaches out and crooks his fingers around one wolfish ear, so delicate beneath the fur, and pulsing with the beat of his heart. How had he resisted before, he wonders? He is so warm, so soft.]
N-no. It did not feel like this for me, either. [Clarity, like a knife, then: they are more bestial than ever, swallowed up by their respective moons. The dreamy quality returns to his voice only a moment later.] Perhaps it was always meant to be this way...
[But-- no. Focus. With great, lingering care- moreso than he suspects is necessary, he simply cannot bear to let Hanzo go- Zenyatta lowers his hands to his shoulders instead.]
We will get carried away, if we are not careful. [Especially if they want to.]
[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?
[The majority of the injuries Zenyatta has seen have been superficial so far, which is no small miracle given how seriously the locals appear to be taking the tournament- they are excellent sports, certainly, but the dedication on show has been nothing short of remarkable.
He is dabbing gently at a man's split eyebrow when he is addressed by a young woman instead, smaller and leaner than the vast majority of what he had to assume were her competitors.
But appearances, obviously, could be deceiving.]
That is correct. Are you injured, my friend? I will not be long.
[She was able to get a good look at him as he continues, and there was something quite soothing about him. That explains why the patient he had were saying quite good things.
She steps aside, making sure he has ample space to continue with his patient.]
I can wait, certainly! My wounds are not severe, but I would hope to stop the bleeding before the next part of the tournament. I usually heal quite fast, but the matches are happening faster than my regeneration.
[If that was a clue on her overall strength, which goes to show, Zenyatta was right to suspect! Her armour couldn't cover her completely because of loose fitting, so she had to remove some of it. Which meant that she had open areas, easier to target.]
[Regeneration? Zenyatta cocks his head at her like a dog at a mysterious new scent, instantly intrigued by what the puzzle with which he has been presented- but first things first.
As soon as his omnic energy has persuaded the edges of his current patient's wound to knit together, just enough to stem the bleeding, the man is up on his feet and shaking his hand in vigorous thanks. The young woman may very well catch that promise of paying him back in as much chroma as you can handle, if you know what I mean before he sweep off in a cloud of self-confidence.
Zenyatta blinks at the space where he sat for a moment, then laughs.]
Well. [He gestures for her to sit down, still chuckling.] For the record, I do not expect anything in return, much less chroma. My name is Zenyatta. What may I call you, my friend?
[ 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. ]
[Even before that tell-tale glow Zenyatta suspects something- the way his partner moves, that sleek, catlike grace, that subtle confidence... by the time Genji laughs he is only confirming his suspicions.]
Genji!
[He is soft and, unaccountably, breathless, but even as Genji sets him on the very tips of his toes he does not hesitate to fall back towards him for a single moment; his arms will be waiting.]
Why did you never tell me you could dance?
[He steps backwards, extending their arms. If Genji is focusing their steps will remain in perfect synchronisation.]
[ genji is enthusiastic in his teasing, but also focused on matching his master's movements. he keeps in step with zenyatta, not too hard with skills like his. ]
But you did not tell me you could dance either!
[ he's seen little dances from time to time, but nothing like this. ]
[This is one of the things he loves most of all about Genji, this glowing, infectious warmth; if his feet touch the ground at all he cannot feel it anymore.]
I had not given it much thought, until I arrived here. Although I suppose you had practise enough, in that sordid past of yours! [He is teasing, of course! But he is also getting carried away; without thinking, he adds:] It is how I met your brother.
[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 does not initially know what to make of Mamoru either, albeit for different reasons. With his tall, lean physique and quiet presence he does not seem like many of the other contestants, showboating even outside of their matches. Perhaps if he could see his eyes he could better understand his intentions, but... all things in time. He has never been overly concerned by first impressions.]
Ah, my mala, you mean? [He raises one hand to touch the floating orb, bouncing it against the tip of his finger.] I do not count them, as such; they respond to my thoughts while I meditate. One may think of it as a kind of feedback loop.
[On cue, the orb pings softly; he withdraws his hand and allows it to return to its usual orbit.]
And I promise, your interruption is a welcome one. Do you meditate, my friend?
[No sense in showing off when there's no purpose to it. Mamoru doesn't find shows of strength just for the sake of showing off productive in any sense of the word. If there were gangs, people meant to do harm, it would be a different matter, a statement. A metaphorical come at me, bro. But it's not really the case.
If anything, Mamoru is using the event to pick up on the weaknesses of those who are contesting. Intel gathering, of sorts.
The system in his sunglasses gives him a NO DATA when he focuses on the orbs, and he's not sure if he's as shocked by it as he is by finding himself unsurprised by the unknown of the people and things that surround him.]
Used to. Found other ways to find my center in the meantime.
[He snorts.] Of all things, I guess I should've expected religion to be a universal concept.
[There is a wry edge to the man's voice that suggests that those other ways are somewhat less wholesome than meditation, and that he might not want to pursue them- but Zenyatta shrugs it off, humming in a tone that could just as easily be in thought as amusement.
Because he is amused, in a pleasant sort of way, by this man and his easy, understated confidence.]
What a reassuring thought! It is true that all sentient life searches for meaning, both within and without. All that distinguishes one soul from another is the name to which they give their beliefs. The Lunatians live by the light of their moons; I am guided by the ebb and flow of the Iris.
[His orbs glow minimally, golden fireflies about his shoulders for a moment or two. Then he turns his attention unerringly to Mamoru.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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Oh!
[He stops abruptly, a petal or two drifting idly loose with the movement, to actually take the stranger in. Broad and handsome, Zenyatta is so distracted by the admittedly glorious bouquet in his arms that he very nearly fails to notice that tell-tale... well. Tail. Or the ears, for that matter. For a moment he visibly double-takes, chin jerking upwards as if to check the sky for a stray moon, but, no, the sky is clear. This, it seems, is just the way he arrived.
How fascinating!
Overfamiliarity is almost a way of life for Zenyatta; he simply chuckles, cocking his head playfully.]
Am I so transparent? The atmosphere is really quite infectious. [a brief nod to Bardo's flowers.] I hope you are not working so hard that you cannot appreciate it yourself!
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The long and short of it is: Bardo smiles. Shoulders relaxed, he shrugs. Petals spill from the crook of his elbow in a multicolored cascade. ]
Ahh, someone has to do the hard work while everyone else has a good time. [ Mock-weary, with a hint of teasing to lilt the corners of his words. ] I'll appreciate everything once it winds down.
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And how could he possibly fail to return such obvious warmth?]
Ah, yes. Your burden is clearly tremendous. Are you quite sure I could not tempt you to dance, my friend? I am sure someone could watch your flowers for you for a single song.
[Already he is holding out a hand, half-bowed as if in anticipation of a curtsey. The entire city is in high spirits, after all- and if he plays it up a little he knows he can get one or two nearby spectators to jostle Bardo encouragingly, you can't turn down an offer like that!]
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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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For the most part, he looks out upon a sea of faces without any particular definition. But as he takes a bow a curious flash catches his attention- glasses, he realises. Or, more specifically, the eyes watching him intently and happily from behind them.
How can he possibly ignore that?
Zenyatta all but sashays over, the hem of his skirts touching the ground more frequently than his feet, and holds out one slender, intricately constructed hand.]
Would you care to dance with me? It seems a pity to stop now.
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[ That was probably insensitive, so he catches himself by holding out his hand in return. His fingers find the joints and he gives a soft little gasp. ]
Wow... are you a cyborg?
[ No you dumbass that's not any more polite! ]
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In my world we are referred to as omnics- but you can think of me as a robot controlled by a fully sentient AI.
[Though it's not a bad suggestion, so points for trying.]
You may call me Zenyatta.
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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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Hanzo speaks to him directly, and Zenyatta turns slowly, swaying, as if drunk.]
I am- I am not sure. [He sounds different, too, he realises absently, though he cannot account for any change in his vocaliser: deeper, huskier.] The three moons, perhaps. Their influence is... intoxicating.
[Among other things. There is something mesmerising about watching Hanzo's transformation, like watching a time lapse of flowers blooming. He wants to touch it, Zenyatta decides, to see if the remaining shots of black in his hair feel different to the snowy white-
And before he knows it, he is doing just that. The moment he is within arms length he reaches for Hanzo's temple and combs his fingers straight into his hair, grazing along his scalp as he tries to loosen the ribbon.]
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He does remember their interactions the night when he was drunk, and how he didn't trust himself not to try anything. Thankfully the omnic had been the voice of reason that time. Now it seems like Zenyatta's moonblessing had a hold of him and it is unlikely that he would be the voice of reason concerning much of anything. Perhaps he should take the role this time.]
It does not usually happen like this.
[Hanzo frowns, closing his eyes for a moment then turns his face to press against the hand in his hair. There is no denying himself the pleasure and chroma that come with the touch.]
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N-no. It did not feel like this for me, either. [Clarity, like a knife, then: they are more bestial than ever, swallowed up by their respective moons. The dreamy quality returns to his voice only a moment later.] Perhaps it was always meant to be this way...
[But-- no. Focus. With great, lingering care- moreso than he suspects is necessary, he simply cannot bear to let Hanzo go- Zenyatta lowers his hands to his shoulders instead.]
We will get carried away, if we are not careful. [Especially if they want to.]
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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!!
He is dabbing gently at a man's split eyebrow when he is addressed by a young woman instead, smaller and leaner than the vast majority of what he had to assume were her competitors.
But appearances, obviously, could be deceiving.]
That is correct. Are you injured, my friend? I will not be long.
HEELLOOO goodest cutie!!
She steps aside, making sure he has ample space to continue with his patient.]
I can wait, certainly! My wounds are not severe, but I would hope to stop the bleeding before the next part of the tournament. I usually heal quite fast, but the matches are happening faster than my regeneration.
[If that was a clue on her overall strength, which goes to show, Zenyatta was right to suspect! Her armour couldn't cover her completely because of loose fitting, so she had to remove some of it. Which meant that she had open areas, easier to target.]
vibrates at
As soon as his omnic energy has persuaded the edges of his current patient's wound to knit together, just enough to stem the bleeding, the man is up on his feet and shaking his hand in vigorous thanks. The young woman may very well catch that promise of paying him back in as much chroma as you can handle, if you know what I mean before he sweep off in a cloud of self-confidence.
Zenyatta blinks at the space where he sat for a moment, then laughs.]
Well. [He gestures for her to sit down, still chuckling.] For the record, I do not expect anything in return, much less chroma. My name is Zenyatta. What may I call you, my friend?
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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Genji!
[He is soft and, unaccountably, breathless, but even as Genji sets him on the very tips of his toes he does not hesitate to fall back towards him for a single moment; his arms will be waiting.]
Why did you never tell me you could dance?
[He steps backwards, extending their arms. If Genji is focusing their steps will remain in perfect synchronisation.]
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[ genji is enthusiastic in his teasing, but also focused on matching his master's movements. he keeps in step with zenyatta, not too hard with skills like his. ]
But you did not tell me you could dance either!
[ he's seen little dances from time to time, but nothing like this. ]
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I had not given it much thought, until I arrived here. Although I suppose you had practise enough, in that sordid past of yours! [He is teasing, of course! But he is also getting carried away; without thinking, he adds:] It is how I met your brother.
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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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Ah, my mala, you mean? [He raises one hand to touch the floating orb, bouncing it against the tip of his finger.] I do not count them, as such; they respond to my thoughts while I meditate. One may think of it as a kind of feedback loop.
[On cue, the orb pings softly; he withdraws his hand and allows it to return to its usual orbit.]
And I promise, your interruption is a welcome one. Do you meditate, my friend?
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If anything, Mamoru is using the event to pick up on the weaknesses of those who are contesting. Intel gathering, of sorts.
The system in his sunglasses gives him a NO DATA when he focuses on the orbs, and he's not sure if he's as shocked by it as he is by finding himself unsurprised by the unknown of the people and things that surround him.]
Used to. Found other ways to find my center in the meantime.
[He snorts.] Of all things, I guess I should've expected religion to be a universal concept.
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Because he is amused, in a pleasant sort of way, by this man and his easy, understated confidence.]
What a reassuring thought! It is true that all sentient life searches for meaning, both within and without. All that distinguishes one soul from another is the name to which they give their beliefs. The Lunatians live by the light of their moons; I am guided by the ebb and flow of the Iris.
[His orbs glow minimally, golden fireflies about his shoulders for a moment or two. Then he turns his attention unerringly to Mamoru.]
Where do you seek truth, my friend?
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