[ defend ] Your muse defending mine’s reputation, dignity, or safety for them.
[ Non-Sexual Acts of Dominance || accepting ]
[ defend ] your muse defending mine’s reputation , dignity , or safety for them .
It wasn’t immediately clear what had transpired in the scene McCree had stumbled upon, but it was clear what exactly was transpiring just then at that current moment: two individuals, both of whom Jesse recognized, but only one of which he knew the name of, were locked in a grapple—a grapple which made no mere allusion to either participant’s deadly intentions, as could be gathered by their drawn weapons.
The character whose name McCree possessed the knowledge of was a uniquely upgraded omnic that had been going by the name of Amir these days; he was the one with that tempting ten million bounty on his steel head, the one that might—and had—bring a fellow like McCree to Indonesia. All the posters had warned of Amir being intimidatingly smart, intimidatingly tenacious, and intimidatingly dangerous—but that was no surprise, as one would have to be if they were an omnic that had survived trekking all the way from an Australian omnium, through the unforgiving badlands and their even less forgiving anti-omnic Junker residents, all the way to the north coast to flee the country. Apparently in that time Amir had gained a knack for brawling and killing humans—not that the man the omnic currently had pinned beneath him needed to be told that—and had been employing that skill to do hired work not unlike what Jesse himself did; although Amir also had a knack for being unnecessarily brutal to his organic victims, not to mention sometimes involving innocent ones. Perhaps it was a spitefulness one could possibly understand given his undoubtedly rough background, but it was also a spitefulness that no vigilante worth their weight in salt was going to overlook despite how potentially empathetic he may or may not be.
The figure Amir held the switchblade-like extension of his modified arm to was more of a mystery, but not enough of one for McCree to not recognize his face; that was the fellow hired gun he had met in King’s Row—the one that aimed an arrow directly at his face and remarked how his serape was ‘frayed.’ Oh, what a pleasant surprise—insolence and probable competition.
Still, one could suppose a person in peril is a person in peril regardless of how antagonistic they are—and if one didn’t, one could also suppose they sure were doing a commendable job of keeping that mean bastard of an omnic Amir distracted long enough to line up the perfect shot, so…
When the shots rang out, both Hanzo and his intended mark froze—Hanzo out of startlement as he swung his head to the side to see where the gunfire came from, and Amir out of the seizing his now damaged body. Just as the omnic’s sparking metal carcass began to go limp and weigh down upon Hanzo and the bow he had held horizontally to block incoming attacks, the archer spotted him—there was a man with a gun in the doorway of the warehouse. Hanzo’s expression still appeared to be caught off guard and somewhat alarmed, but his brow was quickly furrowing into what looked to be the beginnings of a glare as something glinted in his eyes - recognition. Still making no sudden movements aside from the heaving of his chest and the leery darting of his gaze between the stranger and his revolver, one might even suspect Hanzo wasn’t completely sure if he weren’t to be the one shot next.
“… Unless you intend to keep me at gunpoint,” Hanzo eventually began in a hushed tone—almost whispering, interestingly—after a long enough period to determine there was no bullet immediately expected for himself. The full-on harsh stare he had worn back at London seemed to be finally reemerging—although it admittedly looked a lot less intrepid now from a man looking back at one on the floor, his breathing uneasy from just exiting combat, and an apparently uncertain future of reentering it again, “I believe I am going to take my leave.”
Hanzo began to ever so slowly attempt to push the now-dysfunctional metal body off of himself, never taking his eyes off the other would-be bounty collector.
“While I am not… ungrateful”—the word sounded as if it were perhaps difficult to say, possibly due to sheer uncertainty of how thankful he should really be to a potential threat, or maybe even out of a mere pride-related personal hurdle—if not both—”there was reason to prefer a relatively silent weapon like a bow in this situation.”
Still not taking his eyes off the other man, Hanzo slowly tilted his chin in the direction of a second door leading into the building.
“He has accomplices.”
