meadowlarklogs | [open and closed prompts]

Sniper didn't have much free time these days. Time not spent working on the Durcell campaign was spent working on backup plans in case they blew the election. It wasn't exciting work—titillating board members was a distinct downgrade from hanging off the arms of world leaders—but the quantity of work had its own sense of satisfaction.

The fighting rings were engaging and easily accessible. Sniper had not competed themself since that one time with Loki, on a whim. There would be no pulling that off again with their face becoming more recognizable around town, and around the Petrov's establishments especially. Even just spectating, they wore a hood. A common accessory, the weather being what it was.

They recognize Jack instantly: the scars on his face had made him an automatic object of interest for Sniper. The scars were covered now by... some weird metal visor, but Sniper recognized the silhouette, the white hair. They jostle easily for a better spot, leaning forward eagerly.

Edited 2019-08-08 21:44 (UTC)

When in the ring, 76 is pretty good at drowning out whatever's happening outside of it. Getting caught up in the things that people yell out, the heckling and the cheers, would only lead to unnecessary distraction. Even keeping in mind that there are so many eyes on him, that there's a certain amount of money riding on his head, isn't worth considering in the moment.

His opponent is a few inches shorter than him and a whole lot thinner, which probably makes Jack the favorite. Not that he's about to underestimate the guy. Someone this lithe is going to have speed and agility to make up for it, and there's also a chance that at least one of his limbs is a very convincing prosthetic.

What some of his opponents haven't fully grasped is that Jack isn't playing entirely by the rules. Even though he's tall and built like a truck, he's also got speed on his side. It's not exactly a fair fight, but that's usually the case here in the fighting rings, and there's no reason for him to pull his punches when there's money on the line.

It doesn't take long before he's got the other guy pinned, squirming under the pressure he's putting on his throat until he taps out. "Soldier: 76" is announced as the winner; as far as stage names go, it's not the worst.

Soldier: 76. It certainly has an allure, especially for Sniper, coming as they did from a world without official soldiers and armies. It made Sniper that much more interested to get the story behind his scars. Sniper's theory that the Displaced had played special roles in their home worlds was becoming more and more credible, and they had always loved a good war story.

Maybe if Jack refused to spill Sniper could challenge him to a round. It was a wistful thought; too bad they couldn't simply hop the divider and put themself in the ring. There would be no playing around with Jack: he moved surprisingly well for his age and size. For Sniper, who relied on speed and technique to compensate for their own slight build, it would be an actual challenge.

No-one stops Sniper as they duck through the crowd to head back to the makeshift locker room for the fighters. Even if the security doesn't recognize them with the hood up, they have an air of confident authority that says they're right where they should be.

They're waiting for Jack when he enters, hood down. They wave, smiling.

"You're in good shape for your age." It wouldn't be much of a surprise in Sniper's own world, where even a 50 year old looked twenty, but Jack had all the normal age markers.

Jack isn't expecting to come across a familiar face in the locker room of all places, and he looks Ojiro up and down, assessing what their reason is for being here. Do they want something? Are they just here to bother him?

It's true that Jack has more or less aged like a normal human even with his enhancements, but physically he's got a lot more endurance than someone his age should, to say nothing of the strength, speed, and so on. It's the sort of thing that's already earned the attention of other fighters in the ring, so it isn't too surprising that Ojiro has noticed too.

"Thanks," he says, mainly as a way to brush off the observation. After removing his visor and setting it on a nearby bench, he grabs for a small towel and begins to wipe sweat from his face and neck, then draws it back through his hair. There are no actual shower facilities here, so that's as good as it's going to get for now.

"Were you betting?" Some of the Displaced have taken to betting on each other, and it does make for good money. Jack wouldn't be that bothered to find out that Ojiro had thrown their credits behind him.

Edited 2019-08-16 02:03 (UTC)

Running across Jack here was really a stroke of luck. Right now Jack was just a collection of interesting observations: mysterious scars, practical, careful but with uncareful hobbies. They wanted to fit all the pieces together and see the connecting parts. Because Jack seemed fun, and useful.

"No. I need to keep my nose clean for a few months." Sniper settles on the bench next to the visor: close, casual, reaching for the object. Moving the conversation along. "What's this do?"

Jack definitely hadn't given Ojiro permission to touch the visor, and given that it's an extension of him in a lot of ways, it has him going tense almost immediately. He's tempted to snatch it away from them, but forces himself to keep his hands at his sides.

"Tactical visor," he responds, but his tone is clipped. If there hadn't been anyone else here, he might have changed out of what he's wearing and into his usual street clothes, but for now he just grabs for his jacket and pulls it over his sweaty shirt. "It has a targeting system and can pick up on heat signatures."

Not much use when he still doesn't have a gun, but wearing it is habit at this point. It's always doubled as a mask.

Ojiro clocks the reaction out of the corner of their eye, and keeps their examination of it brief. Putting it on would be a little too rude, so they'll have to take Jack at his word for what it does. "Good branding," they comment as they set it down. It can't have much other use, in a hand-to-hand fight. "Was this standard gear for soldiers in your world?" It wouldn't surprise them, flashy as the visor was.

Branding? That hadn't been Jack's intention, but if the visor gives his in-the-ring presence some more gravitas, he isn't going to argue with it. He isn't looking to get too much attention; just enough to get people curious about jumping into the ring with him so that he can rake in some more credits.

Given how unhelpful Gabriel's been with just about everything, he's got to get his hands on extra funds somehow.

"No," he says, shaking his hand as he reaches down to grab for the visor. "It's experimental tech, only a few were made. But it's come in handy a few times. Not so much here, but back home."

With nothing to fidget with, Sniper gets up, giving Jack some space while they walk the room. "You must have been in a unique position. What is it you were doing, back home?"

There's a pause, and Jack crosses his arms, one hand still gripping onto his visor where it settles against his side. He's got no reason to answer all of Ojiro's questions, and they've been asking a lot already.

He narrows his eyes at them. "What's with the interrogation?"

It might be nothing more than simple curiosity; it usually is when it comes to the Displaced, or the refugees. But he's still allowed to question it.

Sniper swings around in their pacing to come back to Jack. Eyebrow quirked and a keen, amused light in their eyes. "What's with the defensiveness? I really don't get the rest of you; you all act like your life before this was some kind of government secret." A private joke, since Sniper's life was a government secret. They walk closer, within arm's length, not put off at all by Jack's defensive body language. "It's common sense to know the background of people you work with, especially with all the risky stuff we do. For all I know you're a crap shot without that visor."

"And anyway, haven't you ever stopped to think about we all have in common? Why us, rather than someone else? It seems like more than a coincidence that so many of us are competent and experienced."

Parts of Jack's life had also been a government secret, at least for a time. Certain details of SEP still remain locked down, unknown to the public, but it had eventually come out that certain members of the original Overwatch strike team had been the result of a government program. He doesn't give a response to that comment other than a vaguely amused grunt, though.

"I can tell you I'm a good shot even without it. But sometimes when you're working on your own, it's better to have a trick up your sleeve." He shrugs, not convinced that he needs to explain more about his situation than that.

He's more interested in what Ojiro has to say about why they'd been the ones to end up here. It's a conversation he'd had with Daisy over the network not that long ago. "I have, yeah. I was somewhere else before this, a planet called El Nysa. It was the same thing, where people had been brought there from all kinds of different worlds. And like here, it was people with experience, or at least the imperative to be helpful."

It's why he'd always thought there was more to the Natha's claims.

"Right. They saved you from a 'storm'." Sniper still couldn't wrap their head around a storm that was a serial planet-killer. "What sort of things did the people who saved you want you to help with?"

Right, Jack had already mentioned some of this to Ojiro. That had been back when he'd first arrived here, fresh off the boat so to speak, and so a lot of it is a blur.

"Usually they wanted help with whatever was going on down on the planet, whether it was investigating something, searching for parts, or training up for a potential threat."

Jack shrugs. He'd been there for two years, so it's not something that's simple to boil down into a few sentences.

"And so? How do you think it is they got so many useful people?" Sniper's genuinely curious. Their own theory is vague from lack of data, but very much a product of their own world, where influential personalities were the greatest resource.

"In that case of the Natha..."

It's something that Jack's put some thought to before, though he hasn't had to consider it in detail for a few months now. He sighs and crosses his arms.

"If our worlds really were destroyed, or at least on the brink of it, and they had the power to rescue some of us from that, then my guess is that they prioritized people they thought would be useful."

If he thinks about it with a detachment from any personal feelings about it, Jack can admit that it had been the practical, strategic choice.

"But how did they know?" Sniper presses. "Were you a public figure? Was everyone? If we want to apply the same logic to why this god or whatever took us, how did it know we were 'useful', and what does it think we're useful for?"

The question about whether or not he was a public figure gives Jack pause, but only for a moment. He does have an answer to this, and it has nothing to do with how well-known he may or may not have been, back home.

"It seemed like the Natha had some amount of telepathic ability." He still remembers the nametags they'd been given, back when they'd first landed on El Nysa. They'd been stapled to their shirts and couldn't be removed no matter what they did -- which was unfortunate, given that they put personal details about them on display.

"I'm guessing they had a way of getting insight into each of us, so that they could decide who to grab."

He's got a sour look on his face as he shrugs. He was never a fan of the Natha and he never will be.

Sniper, unerring ad their name, is hard to shake. They are interested in the details of selection, but they're interested in Jack, too. They're good at multitasking. "So Natha had every choice in the world and he chose Jack Miller. Why?"

There's a moment of pause, not just at the forward question, but at the last name. Not the correct one, but the fake one he'd picked here as a means to protect himself. There is some comfort in knowing that he's at least got that to keep close to his chest.

"Guess because I'm a soldier," he says with a shrug, an attempt to be casual. "And if I've survived this long, it must mean I'm not half bad at it."

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[closed to Soldier: 76]

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