[centre][h1][color=orange]Erika Striker[/color][/h1]
Location: Overwatch Base
Interacting with: Whoever happens to be around, Lucas and Mercy
[hider=Courtesy Gif Hider][IMG]http://i1294.photobucket.com/albums/b609/kick767/Macklemore%20-%20Downtown%20-%20Imgur_zpsyhafm2w2.gif[/IMG][/hider][/centre]

I'M IN A B BOY STANCE, I AIN'T DANCING

I GOT YOUR GIRL ON THE BACK GOING TANDEM

CAUSE I'M TOO DAMN QUICK, I'M TOO DAMN SLICK

WHOLE DOWNTOWN YELLING OUT "WHO THAT IS?"

[color=orange]"LIKE POW!"[/color] Erika skidded into the kitchen, nearly slamming into the counter as she tried to regain her balance, arms flailing wildly before--

[color=orange][i]WAIT NOPE THAT'S A KNIFE THERE DOOOOOOON'T HIT THE COUNTER![/i][/color]

With a speed that would make a god AI proud, her brain analyzed its options, decided using a pyrokinesis blast to right herself would be distinctly bad--Angela bought organic, phosphorus free bacon for a reason, and you know fire in the base was frowned upon--and latched onto the nearest option, grabbing onto Lucas' shoulders as she slid past the refrigerator, just in time to avoid smashing her hip against the wall. 

She winced, then blinked twice and let go of Lucas, stepping backward quickly and sitting quickly on a stool, grinning sheepishly from ear to ear to a magnitude that would surprise anyone--who didn't know her. [color=orange]"Uh... What's up, y'all? Beautiful morning, ain't it?"[/color]

Luckily, she was fully dressed. In street clothes, admittedly, but dressed nonetheless. Would have been a lot more embarrassing if she'd pulled that crap in her pajamas. She untied the shoes from her belt loop while she waited for a response and slipped them on her sock feet, almost seeming to sigh in relief as she felt the traction of her tennis shoes on the tile floor of the kitchen.

[centre][h1][color=silver]Peacere Kovalyov[/color][/h1]
Location: Talon Base
Interacting with: Sampson, whoever else[/centre]

The clattering soon resolved itself to a mechanical figure, walking with a deliberate stride through the corridors of Talon's Los Angeles facility. It went silent as he stopped, only the slight buzz of the cloud of nanites swarming in the mechanoid body's storage tanks making a sound. There was a crick and a whirr as his head rose, photoreceptors observing both Sampson and the dog impassively, evidently deliberating on something. A long pause seemed to stretch, before the omnic self-designated as Peacere Kovalyov finally spoke. [color=silver]"Good afternoon, Sampson DuBois. Am I to assume you have been asleep until this hour?"[/color]

The Omnic's morning had gone pretty much as normal. Clothing was unnecessary, so he had not gotten dressed. Rather, he had meditated, gone for a walk, and was patiently waiting for orders while continuing to walk around the base. Socializing, as it were. Humans seemed to trust him more if he spoke to and greeted them more often, though he didn't see how that had much of a bearing on his ability to perform on the battlefield.

The intel he gathered on their capabilities, however, was in fact useful.