[The idea of space was not new to Gabriel Reyes, even if he had not taken it upon himself to visit when he was more capable of doing so. Reaper has even less interest in space, preferring to keep his focus on things he could control down on the surface.
He blends a bit with the window, dressed entirely in black with the occasional metal accent catching the light of the starts to give him away. He is a masked man, easily seen when he turns his head to watch an asteroid or two pass. His arms stay folded beneath a long, leathery trenchcoat and his presence is a heavy one to anyone who has a natural sense for danger. Long, silver-clawed gloves eventually crawl out of his coat, scratching at an empty shotgun shell in an almost idle manner.
This one is bad news. There's a tension in his shoulders that doesn't belong in such a tranquil place.]
How does someone screw up enough to land themselves so far away from their home planet in the middle of space?
[Reaper asks his question seemingly to the open air, with a rasp and echo only gifted by unnatural resurrection. And some otherworldly form of chain-smoking.]
the sun in flight
[The dark is a gift to Reaper. When the light vanishes from the hull, a piece of him very nearly relaxes. Under the mask, he even might be smirking just a little. Already, he can hear the nervous breathing of someone unprepared for total darkness, and someone else startling for an unknown reason.
This was more like it.
Eventually, one of the light creatures takes an interest in him in spite of his dark aesthetic. For a long time, they have a staring contest until he grows impatient.]
Beat it.
[And when it doesn't, he reaches out to smack it away. Anyone who had not already noticed his presence might pick up on the snarl of pain when he's bitten by it in retaliation. The snarling continues, followed by heavy steel-toes hitting the floor as he attempts to pursuit the creature -- likely with the intent to kill it.]
Reaper | Overwatch
[The idea of space was not new to Gabriel Reyes, even if he had not taken it upon himself to visit when he was more capable of doing so. Reaper has even less interest in space, preferring to keep his focus on things he could control down on the surface.
He blends a bit with the window, dressed entirely in black with the occasional metal accent catching the light of the starts to give him away. He is a masked man, easily seen when he turns his head to watch an asteroid or two pass. His arms stay folded beneath a long, leathery trenchcoat and his presence is a heavy one to anyone who has a natural sense for danger. Long, silver-clawed gloves eventually crawl out of his coat, scratching at an empty shotgun shell in an almost idle manner.
This one is bad news. There's a tension in his shoulders that doesn't belong in such a tranquil place.]
How does someone screw up enough to land themselves so far away from their home planet in the middle of space?
[Reaper asks his question seemingly to the open air, with a rasp and echo only gifted by unnatural resurrection. And some otherworldly form of chain-smoking.]
the sun in flight
[The dark is a gift to Reaper. When the light vanishes from the hull, a piece of him very nearly relaxes. Under the mask, he even might be smirking just a little. Already, he can hear the nervous breathing of someone unprepared for total darkness, and someone else startling for an unknown reason.
This was more like it.
Eventually, one of the light creatures takes an interest in him in spite of his dark aesthetic. For a long time, they have a staring contest until he grows impatient.]
Beat it.
[And when it doesn't, he reaches out to smack it away. Anyone who had not already noticed his presence might pick up on the snarl of pain when he's bitten by it in retaliation. The snarling continues, followed by heavy steel-toes hitting the floor as he attempts to pursuit the creature -- likely with the intent to kill it.]
You little rat--!