[ Funny, how easily most are willing to forget the din and chaos of a Quarantine once the plague passes and the corpses are accounted for. The epidemic passes with a scream that turns into a whimper, and self-preservation turns to self-interest in the form of humanitarianism.
People become paperwork. Yeah, it's the daily grind.
Hanzo is— well, Hanzo is working. He always is, posture ramrod-straight and long hair pulled up over his head, tied back with an overlong ribbon that wafts like a pennant in the breeze. He's hard to miss, if only because he looks so out of place among the sick and formerly dying; there's a sterility about him that's broken only by the flash of color coiling up from an exposed forearm (shirt rolled up to the elbow today), the head of a tattooed dragon that continues and ends under his collared shirt.
He turns to Julius, hawkeyed. If he's tired, the only indication of his fatigue is a faint furrow between his brows. ]
—More bodies will have to be burned.
[ okay, well, that's one way to start a conversation. ]
JULIUS.
People become paperwork. Yeah, it's the daily grind.
Hanzo is— well, Hanzo is working. He always is, posture ramrod-straight and long hair pulled up over his head, tied back with an overlong ribbon that wafts like a pennant in the breeze. He's hard to miss, if only because he looks so out of place among the sick and formerly dying; there's a sterility about him that's broken only by the flash of color coiling up from an exposed forearm (shirt rolled up to the elbow today), the head of a tattooed dragon that continues and ends under his collared shirt.
He turns to Julius, hawkeyed. If he's tired, the only indication of his fatigue is a faint furrow between his brows. ]
—More bodies will have to be burned.
[ okay, well, that's one way to start a conversation. ]