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Are You a Poet Too?
By : Meowshi
Category: +M through R > Overwatch
Views: 410 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not own Overwatch or its characters, Blizzard Entertainment owns those rights. I am not making any profit from writing this. - Chapter List
“You were foolish to challenge me,” Hanzo Shimada announced from atop his vanquished foe.
Despite his aged, deteriorating knees, he crouched low, silently considering trying to wrench his arrow free from the corpse of the massive robot. Removing a spent arrow from a person was generally pretty easy — unless the tip got twisted up in their innards or dug too deeply into the bone, but removing an arrow from the metal chassis of a defeated omnic was a far more daunting task. The arrowhead tended to splinter and wedge itself into their metallic bodies, making it all but impossible to remove the shaft without it splitting in twain. In the end, he decided to leave his arrow sticking out of the robot. The fletching, rising up from the omnic’s skull-plate like a planted enemy flag, would serve as a grim warning to the Null Sector troopers who came to retrieve the body.
The disassembled bodies of omnic insurgents littered the floor of the destroyed omnium factory. Most of them had been blown apart by pulse rifles or EMP grenades, but a good number of them had felled by steel-tipped arrows courtesy of the eldest Shimada brother. The facility itself had been reduced to burning rubble and green plumes of poisonous smoke billowed into the air from the crumbling walls. Unfortunately, Rammatra had managed to slip through Overwatch’s fingers again, but his remaining generals had either been captured or destroyed. The war between man and omnic was coming to a close, and the promise of peace finally felt like it was within reach.
“Perhaps today, the dragon will be sated,” the aging archer mused as he let his bow fall to his side.
A tall figure appeared behind him and placed an armored fist on his shoulder. Without even having to turn around, he knew that it was Brigitte Lindholm. The girl was his personal liaison to the reformed Overwatch, and although she was only a few inches taller than him in her civvies, she tended to tower over him when she donned her power armor.
“That was so artistic!” the girl exclaimed, looking down at him with a friendly smile, “Are you a poet too?”
“I was … once,” he responded slowly, not sure if he felt comfortable enough around the girl to admit such a thing, “Now I seek peace in other ways.”
“Still sounds pretty poetic to me,” she replied, before taking a moment to look over the destruction of the firebombed omnic facility, “You know, when all this fighting is over, I hope to become a published poet. I want to inspire people with my pen just as much as I do with my mace.”
“An admirable goal,” Hanzo nodded solemnly. The world would need time to heal after the war was done, and although he had only known her for a short time, he could tell that Brigitte was a natural healer. He didn’t doubt the positive impact she would have on the world if given an opportunity to prove herself, though he did wonder what would be left for an old warrior like him once the storm had settled.
The girl's tone grew sheepish and she stared down at her armored boots as though she had noticed them for the first time, “… Hey, no pressure but … would you like to read some of my work? I was going to ask Lucio, but I totally chickened out! He’s a world-renowned, celebrity DJ! I can’t show him my stuff until I’m sure it’s good enough!”
Hanzo paused. He hadn't agreed to work alongside Overwatch to make friends, but it was obvious that the girl was trying to connect with him. To be honest, he was flattered that she trusted him enough to allow him to read over poetry that was clearly important to her. He had spent years alone, living a life of quiet meditation and self-isolation, but Brigitte's friendly demeanor and optimistic outlook made him want to emerge from his shell. He hadn’t even spoken to his own estranged brother since joining Overwatch, but with her, conversations came naturally. How could he refuse her?
“I … of course, I will look over your writing. Thank you,” he finally managed to choke out, unused to offering words of gratitude or kindness.
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