❛ you don’t have a choice. ❜ not a winning one anyways, but mirage had always been the reckless sort --- she reasons that’s why they’d gotten along so well. now, though, he’s at risk of losing a match and she wants nothing more than to kick him really hard in the shin. it’s not wise to save her, especially as a sniper had downed her. ( her fault for not wearing a helmet. ) yet all the same, he’s not going to listen to her and she knows he won’t. she’s far too aware that for every word of opposition, it makes him all the more determined. whether it is to prove her wrong, or to prove to himself he can do it is something she doesn’t pretend to know. echo’s wrong, he does have a choice and he’s taking it. dramatic as ever, he sprints, slides and ultimately catches her right before she bleeds out completely.
adrenaline floods her veins, and her eyes open --- a brilliant shade of green as she goes into a brief maintenance mode to see how much external damage had been done. she feels the weight of a med-kit against her leg, then the calloused hand of one certain champion and the color goes back to blue -- an odd mix of the crystalline that denoted surveillance and her own color; she was multitasking. her own hands moving to patch up the more egregious wound that laid in the side of her neck. not hitting the modulator, but still her voice just doesn’t sound right. not quite glitched, but not quite her own either. after a few moments, it looks as if she reset. shoulders lax, eyes shut as she let’s out the faintest sigh. the wounds that are left are manageable, the blood-mixture is rerouted and --- okay.
large eyes open once more, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
❛ c’mon, stay low, i think there’s a zip down there we can use. ❜
she glances at him, rolling her eyes.
❛ thanks, but --- that was dumb. super. dumb. ❜