It had not actually been on his to do list today, to go on a business trip. Now, normally, he'd never argue if Overwatch had it in their head that he had to go somewhere. He was more than happy to do his duty, no matter where it took him or what he was being sent to do.
And hell, anything was better than retirement.
But as it so happened, Overwatch had not actually sent him anywhere. He'd gone out in full armor to engage in battle, had been on his way to the point and...
Then he wasn't in Eichenwald anymore. No, no it was a lot darker... in here. Also quieter, no pings of bullets hitting walls or his armor, no whirring of robots or cries of battle or... much of anything that would say FIGHT GOES HERE.
It was unnerving to see through the helmet dozens of blood red eyes though, dark skinned, white haired people here and there. Were... those elves? Were those elves was he looking at elves what the heck was going on here.
He would have asked but the woman at the front, who was very hard to ignore, her plunging neckline seemed to demand to be stared at, gestured sharply at a far more diminutive figure bound at the center of the room.
"Kill him."
... Wait no what was going on here what had he stepped into this was not orthodox. All seven foot four of the crusader straightened in surprise, his silence a byproduct of that, still trying to wrap his brain around what... the hell just... happened.
Dinin had somehow ended up on Earth. They never figured out how, and Dinin had no clue himself. All he knew was that he was no longer being eternally tortured for losing faith in Lolth.
Although at first, he had not even known that. The years of torture--Dinin had no way to know how long it had been--had taken their toll on him. Dinin had come to the world almost comatose, and had to crawl his way back to awareness. To relearn how to use his body, how to speak again, how to do everything once more.
Without a question, he was taken care of. An alien, they called him. They could have not been more right. Dinin found himself being treated in ways he could have never imagined nor dreamed of. Treated with compassion and caring--two things he still didn't understand.
It had been a jolt of cold water when he had come back to himself enough to remember the stories that were supposed to be true. None of it had been true, as far as he could understand. None.
And then some Dungeon and Dragons nerd had found out about Dinin and realized what he was. Drow. That was how Dinin's stay in the hospital ended; at the end of a dozen police rifles. Hours of interrogations followed. Days, weeks, months of being locked up. His entire life story being forcibly pulled from his lips--or so they thought; there was much that Dinin held back, knowing his life was on the line.
Grudgingly, he was released again when he was able to convince the government officials that he was not a threat. Given an education on English and the modern world, given an apartment to live in, given a stipend, but not entirely given his freedom.
No, he was given a 'guardian' instead to help him 'navigate' the world. A guardian that could bench press him with his finger. Yeah. Dinin knew at once what the guy was there for--to make sure he behaved, and if he didn't, to instantly kill him.
Dinin had no intentions on dying. Like before, he did whatever he had to do to survive. Besides, this 'prison' was far better than Menzoberranzan had ever been. He could deal with this.
Still, he all but gave the cold shoulder to Reinhart as they traveled in the back of a taxi. Regardless of how he felt, Dinin could not help but sneak disbelieving glances at the man. How in the nine hells could a man be that big?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hammernhasslehoff) wrote2017-11-05 06:14 pm
Saving Lil' Kim
And hell, anything was better than retirement.
But as it so happened, Overwatch had not actually sent him anywhere. He'd gone out in full armor to engage in battle, had been on his way to the point and...
Then he wasn't in Eichenwald anymore. No, no it was a lot darker... in here. Also quieter, no pings of bullets hitting walls or his armor, no whirring of robots or cries of battle or... much of anything that would say FIGHT GOES HERE.
It was unnerving to see through the helmet dozens of blood red eyes though, dark skinned, white haired people here and there. Were... those elves? Were those elves was he looking at elves what the heck was going on here.
He would have asked but the woman at the front, who was very hard to ignore, her plunging neckline seemed to demand to be stared at, gestured sharply at a far more diminutive figure bound at the center of the room.
"Kill him."
... Wait no what was going on here what had he stepped into this was not orthodox. All seven foot four of the crusader straightened in surprise, his silence a byproduct of that, still trying to wrap his brain around what... the hell just... happened.
What.
Kill who?
Who are you?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Dinin Has a Babysitter
Although at first, he had not even known that. The years of torture--Dinin had no way to know how long it had been--had taken their toll on him. Dinin had come to the world almost comatose, and had to crawl his way back to awareness. To relearn how to use his body, how to speak again, how to do everything once more.
Without a question, he was taken care of. An alien, they called him. They could have not been more right. Dinin found himself being treated in ways he could have never imagined nor dreamed of. Treated with compassion and caring--two things he still didn't understand.
It had been a jolt of cold water when he had come back to himself enough to remember the stories that were supposed to be true. None of it had been true, as far as he could understand. None.
And then some Dungeon and Dragons nerd had found out about Dinin and realized what he was. Drow. That was how Dinin's stay in the hospital ended; at the end of a dozen police rifles. Hours of interrogations followed. Days, weeks, months of being locked up. His entire life story being forcibly pulled from his lips--or so they thought; there was much that Dinin held back, knowing his life was on the line.
Grudgingly, he was released again when he was able to convince the government officials that he was not a threat. Given an education on English and the modern world, given an apartment to live in, given a stipend, but not entirely given his freedom.
No, he was given a 'guardian' instead to help him 'navigate' the world. A guardian that could bench press him with his finger. Yeah. Dinin knew at once what the guy was there for--to make sure he behaved, and if he didn't, to instantly kill him.
Dinin had no intentions on dying. Like before, he did whatever he had to do to survive. Besides, this 'prison' was far better than Menzoberranzan had ever been. He could deal with this.
Still, he all but gave the cold shoulder to Reinhart as they traveled in the back of a taxi. Regardless of how he felt, Dinin could not help but sneak disbelieving glances at the man. How in the nine hells could a man be that big?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Oh hey I realized I was not spelling Reinhardt right WHOOPS
FOUR MONTHS LATER
A WELCOME BLAST FROM THE PAST