[centre][img]http://i.imgur.com/kGHg8zV.png[/img]
[h3][color=414054]♜[/color] [color=979BAE]R E I N H A R D T   W I L H E L M[/color] [color=414054]♜[/color][/h3]
[sup][color=414054]Interacting with; [color=AB08B4]Sombra[/color] [@MiddleEarthRoze]
Mentions of; [color=C54C2A]McCree[/color] [@Solo][/color][/sup][/centre]

The air on the mountain was fresh, crisp and a little harsh on the throat but Reinhardt didn't mind. He pulled in mighty lungfuls of it and admired the view; the sun was barely cresting over the sea of clouds and mist hugged the foothills far below. It was a glorious sight, worth rising before the dew had properly settled, dressing in darkness and silence before running up the mountain with a heavy weight attached to your back. In fact, worth exactly that, the German reflected as he unclipped the sled full of armour from his waist. In his younger years, such a run would've barely slowed him down and he would've been ready for a few dozen push ups at the top. As it was, it took all he had to not bend over double and wheeze.

Instead, he carefully settled down next to the sled and selected the right shoulder plate. A recent run-in with a group of armed bandits had left a charred smear of black on the pristine gunmetal grey of the metal and he'd be damned if he'd let such a hoodlum leave a permanent mark on his armour. Out came the brush, the polish, the scourer, the file and all the kits that kept the aged crusader plate looking as well maintained as it had the day he was issued it. Admittedly, it took more than dogged determination and polish to keep the mechanics of the suit running, but then that was why he had a squire.

The squire in question was sleeping in the van a long way below, having barely stirred when he gently suggested that she might like to accompany him on a brisk morning run. Another change, he mused, methodically working at a rent infused with superheated ash. When he'd been a part of the real Overwatch, he wouldn't have stood for such laziness. Jesse had tried to feign sleep once but had learned his lesson when Reinhardt had simply laughed, tossed the teenager over his shoulder and done the run carrying the young cowboy still dressed in his boxers. The next time he gently suggested a morning run, the young lad had sprung to attention, saluted and scrambled into his training gear in record time.

[i]The scamp can't be quite so young now, I wonder what he's up to... cracking heads and making trouble, I'll be bound. There's a man not destined for the quiet life, not unlike myself.[/i] The thoughts were comforting, though skirted the edge of being depressing. Thinking of Jesse meant thinking of someone else, someone who'd been close to them both and had taught the boy everything he knew with secrets to spare... No, better to focus on the marred plate in front of him than get mugged down that memory lane. One of the grooves was clogged with soot and carefully working a finger through it to dislodge the dirt was both oddly satisfying and helpfully distracting.

Still, his mind was inexorably drawn back to the past, as it always was these days. He was wallowing in memories, happy and sad, when a beep from the armour in the sled brought him back to reality. Sorting through the different pieces, he found the helmet and carefully put it on. The blipping notification in the HUD told him he had a message from an anonymous source, signed only as '- S'. [i]So[/i], he thought grimly, [i]the spider wants to talk. Perhaps it was a mistake to agree to communicate with her, but who else is doing anything to protect Overwatch these days?[/i]

[quote][sub][colour=AB08B4]
[b]TO: Hammerhoff[/b]
Carson City. Cowboy needs some help. Be a good tank and help the ninja extract him - they could use the fire power. Not to mention the hammer.
It appears to be quite the "Mexican stand-off" over there.
- S[/colour][/sub][/quote]
Slowly, almost reverentially, he took off the helmet, placed in back into the sled and replaced the cleaning equipment as well. With the same steady pace, he pushed the sleigh to the lip of the plateau he was on, staring down at the far off shape of Rocinante, the van he and Brigitte used to travel from place to place. Without shifting his gaze, he unclipped the Comms device from inside the helmet and tuned into the vehicle's PA system.

[color=979BAE][b]"Brigitte! Arise! We have a quest!"[/b][/color]

Silence was the only response for a handful of seconds, as the girl was nowhere near her mic and had probably just been jerked from sleep by the sudden noise, but then a tired and angry voice responded.

[i]"I already told you, I don't want to climb that stupid hill!"[/i]

[color=979BAE][b]"Ha! I have already done that and cleaned my armour too! No, I mean a [i]real[/i] quest! We are going to Carson City, an old friend is in over his head."[/b][/color]

[i]"... Oh. Fine, shall I drive Rocinante up to meet you?[/i]

[color=979BAE][b]"No, I am coming to you. Turn her around and open up the back!"[/b][/color]

Without another word, Reinhardt leaned his weight on the sled forward. With terrible purpose, it overbalanced over the ledge and started to slide forward. The Crusader Armour's weight quickly made it pick up speed, the air whipping past his face. Faster and faster he raced down the mountainside, trying to steer by shifting his weight from side to side and to wrench the sides of the sleigh by the straps. As is always the case, his descent was far faster than his ascent but this time it was more exciting too. The run up had been tiring, the ride down was death defying and thrilling.

In the distance, he could see the van. It was speeding along parallel to his path, clearly Brigitte trying to line them up. She had correctly guessed his intentions, bright young thing that she was, and hadn't even tried to talk him out of it. For a fraction of a second, he heard another voice in his head, scolding him for such a reckless, needless stunt. After all, he could've run back down again, couldn't he? No need to risk his life in such a way, just to show off? The voice was familiar and he missed it greatly, but for now he blocked it out. It hadn't been heard outside of his head for too long to have any good advice to offer, and was a mere echo of the real thing.

Rocinante was close now, straight ahead with its rear doors open and its ramp down, bouncing on the uneven ground. Skillful driver that she was, his squire was in the just the right position so now the execution was down to him. Waiting until the sled was about the crash into the bouncing ramp, he leapt across and used his own weight to stabilise it. A second later, he jumped again, this time over the sled as it came crashing into the back of the van. The immense mass of its load seemed almost too much for the old girl to handle and for a few second, it seemed to be about to spin wildly out of Brigitte's control. Then, with a groan and splutter, the engines signalled their acceptance of the burden.

As return of the vehicle came back to the squire, she glanced back at Reinhardt's sweating, grinning figure lying atop his armour.

[i]"Well, now that you've terrified every living thing in the area with your carrying on, what's the plan?[/i]

[color=979BAE][b]"Go to Carson City, rescue Jesse, drink to our victory."[/b][/color]

[i]"Ah, I see. You've got the big picture and I'm handling the unimportant details, like where your friend actually is, right?"[/i]

[color=979BAE][b]"Yes, well deduced my squire, you'll make a knight yet! Now give me some peace, I must don my armour!"[/b][/color]

Brigitte rolled her eyes. The old man could be so very oblivious, his mind probably already planning out a heroic speech or reliving the last time he'd pulled the cowboy's fat from the fire. Still, she'd seen him throw himself in front of gunfire for others enough times to know his heart was in the right place and still found something funny in his knightly airs and graces. She still wasn't sure that he wasn't secretly messing with her, but didn't mind playing the part of the loyal squire at all. He was clearly a man in need of some company, some companionship and when they had met, she'd been in need of some structure, some purpose. He liked action and purpose, not planning and details, while she'd rather be in the van than on the field.

So she span the wheel to put them onto the road proper with one hand and tuned into the local police band with the other. If she knew Jesse McCree (she didn't actually know him at all, she'd just heard so many of Reinhardt's stories) then he'd be attracting an awful lot of bullets and attention. Another day, another gunfight...