She's hovering. A little because she's nosy. A little because it's easier to ask a question for the umpteenth time and make sure it's heard if she's looming over his shoulder while he works. She's sure he got tired of it by the third question, but he hasn't fully snapped at her yet so— she persists. He'll let her know when he's had enough. He always does.
She stares for a while longer before she finally decides to press his buttons one more time. She leans forward to rest her chin on his shoulder, "You sure that's the way to go about that? I feel like it's not going to work the way you want it to if you do it that way. I mean, if you're aiming for efficiency and all."
(Thinking around the time they were preparing for the battle in act 3 or maybe sometime post s-2 whenever she pops back up in zaun again 👀)
@poisonedpowder
for over twenty years, our boy savior had worn many masks, but none as stubborn as the one he wore when he was focused—chin low, jaw locked, eyes tracking the micro-movements of copper filament like he was reading scripture. today, he was the engineer again. not the myth or the martyr or the boy born backwards through time. just the one with oil on his hands and a god complex in his toolbox.
he hadn’t moved from that corner of the room in hours. knees tucked under the rust-caked table, back curled into the shape of a question mark, hands buried wrist-deep in his latest experiment. wires splayed like veins. screws and synthetic bones waiting to be fused. the syntixi core blinked erratically beneath his palms—his latest volatile heart transplant for a firelight drone.
he barely registered the soft scuff of her boots until the scent of gunpowder-laced shimmer and something sharp-soft hit his nose. she was close. hovering. lingering, in that way she always did when she was bored or suspicious or nostalgic. maybe all three.
he didn’t look up.
"you sure that’s the way to go about that?”
her voice pressed against the slope of his shoulder, chin now resting there like she belonged (she did).
“i feel like it’s not going to work the way you want it to if you do it that way. i mean, if you’re aiming for efficiency and all.”
she's fuckin' with me, right? ekko blinked once. then twice. the filament slipped from his grip, and he reached for it again, voice steady and low like he was talking to the machine—or maybe himself.
❝ efficiency? you actually know the definition of that word, jinx? i think you should define it for me. teach the class something, girl. ❞
he glanced sideways, not with irritation, but with that maddening, near-smile that curled like a fuse just shy of ignition. one nicely cut brow lifted, slow.
❝ ... you know, if you look up, and look really close, you won't see the stars, jinx. but you will definitely see scorch marks. ❞
he finally turned toward the blue terrorist fully, and the overhead light caught the specks of copper in his curls, his hands gloved in a mix of oil and gold dust. there was soot smudged on his cheekbone. he looked tired. and impossibly young.
how, one may ask? good genetics, he'd guess.
❝ if you want to be my little helper, you can hand me the microspanner. if you're just here to heckle my ass, at least gimme a kiss so i can pretend your opinion comes from a place of love and not a timebomb waiting to blow us both up.. ❞
