whisper-robot { davina

 

They don't call me father ratmas for nothing.

Reinhardt's head nodded to the radio, passing between slumber and some place more aware -- a working man. It wasn't a concern of perfection, stressing over little details, worrying about exact schedules; he just worried to his bones about the twelve of them. Sombra slept under a guest room, adjusting to mountain life before that of crowded living again, it's what he was suggested so he went with it. A talented woman, to match the other eleven, and that was the thing with innate talent. 

How do you challenge it? 

A challenge of basics, really, Reinhardt thought it over in his office room, scratching and struggling to come up of a list of his own talents. Blocky writing scrawling out nothing better than "wielding large axes" and "breaking blockades" before he realized he wasn't the perfect example. One week of planning, a check list of ways to challenge each of the ready eleven, in little ways of course.

By now he had incorporated many of the add ons some of the kids requested or had he assumed would need: Tracer got her parkour jungle, Jessie McCree got the shooting range. Some of the kids were trickier, for instance, Ame- Widowmaker. A struggle of memory, but he tried his best to go by nicknames; irregardless, he was still convinced she didn't like anything short of funerals and graveyards. Still, he'd try, at least the best he could.

Then there was Davina - not the hardest, at least, not compared to finding something to match Satya's mmm, standards, he's still pondering with that one. He reviewed papers, notes, histories -- a mechanic, an inventor's dream practically; it was impressive. Her age, making play ground toys out of scrap train metal - he was perplexed. How to challenge a child genius, his fingers strumming to the beat of club piano on his granite counter. 

Needless to say, it kicked his ass actually obtaining it. 

A capitolite's toy, some type of game system contraband in pink that they don't allow in the districts -- they all had challenges to overcome. He realized it, half way through picking up whatever games looked the most Davina-y, it looked too much. Reinhardt had his own idea of fun, must've been a generational thing, his fingers too big for the portable system. 

One day went by, a single afternoon, hidden capitolite technology in the form of a child's play thing sat illegally boxed up, wrapped in neon pink paper, he didn't understand Davina. He didn't understand a lot of the kids, Reinhardt noted during the walk -- Genji, Mei, Symettra, Widowmaker, Sombra. And a part of him knew it would be a slow burn, learning as much as he could as fast as he could, he just hoped they knew he was trying, shaking the pink box on his merry stroll. 

Humming and happy, his huge hands knocking a little too heavy on Davina's door; at least he was trying.