[ He's a man she would know better than her own brother, if she had one. She looks him over, missing nothing. The strain at the corners of his eyes. The way his fingers curl around the cardboard of the six-pack. Sometimes he needs her, or she needs him, in a way that's more than the professional solidarity they show to the public eye. More than comrades in battle, even. Pushing herself upright, she steps out of the way and gestures him in. It's only a little mocking. ]
Make yourself at home.
[ Her office is neat, but not excessively so. It's lived in; there are pictures of Fareeha and of various Overwatch members from younger years. The two chairs in front of her desk are made of worn wood, a rare sight in the world of gleaming durasteel and bulletproof glass they inhabit. Ana shuts the door behind him.
Locks it.
The click is audible and deliberate. She takes her time turning around, though, willing to let him set the pace for now. ]
no subject
[ He's a man she would know better than her own brother, if she had one. She looks him over, missing nothing. The strain at the corners of his eyes. The way his fingers curl around the cardboard of the six-pack. Sometimes he needs her, or she needs him, in a way that's more than the professional solidarity they show to the public eye. More than comrades in battle, even. Pushing herself upright, she steps out of the way and gestures him in. It's only a little mocking. ]
Make yourself at home.
[ Her office is neat, but not excessively so. It's lived in; there are pictures of Fareeha and of various Overwatch members from younger years. The two chairs in front of her desk are made of worn wood, a rare sight in the world of gleaming durasteel and bulletproof glass they inhabit. Ana shuts the door behind him.
Locks it.
The click is audible and deliberate. She takes her time turning around, though, willing to let him set the pace for now. ]