legionworld | ¿Mmm qué dices?

Entry tags:

¿Mmm qué dices?

Who| Sombra, Widowmaker, and a spooky, spooky ghost
What| sometimes you assume your best friend has no heart, and then you're wrong, so you have to apologize....sort of
Where| Talon Beach House™
When| post movie-night
Warnings/Notes|NA

She didn't know.

Or maybe she did— maybe she'd always suspected that Widowmaker carried more of Amélie Lacroix under her skin than she ever let on— picking at healed scars with curiosity in her every movement, eager to see if they'd bleed again. Sometimes even Sombra can't tell where her hunger for knowledge ends and the rest of her begins. She was shaped by it, lived by it, survived because of it...and nearly lost her neck for it, too.

Like Gabriel's starved hatred and Amélie's crippling programming, the truth of it is, she's as fragmented as the rest of them.

But she's also decidedly more grounded. Less scarred for her flaws, and she can tell when she's crossed the line as far as her partners are concerned: that the vulnerability and emotion she'd somehow stirred needs appeasing. They're not enemies, after all.

So Sombra turns up a little later, after having said goodnight to Lena and triple checking her defenses, slipping in through the back entrance with a small gift in hand from the Legion World cafeteria— boxed and wrapped with a holographic sticker of the Eiffel Tower. She'd have gone for ballet slippers but it seemed a little offensive considering the circumstances, and they don't make sniper rifle stickers, apparently.

What a waste.

"Ya llegué~." Called out as she toes the door shut behind her, listening in for any telltale signs of life as she makes her way through narrow halls towards the common room.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Right."

About what she'd expected, honestly. Which is why she doesn't push it, slipping carefully around the corners of Amélie's peripheral vision, one hand perched on top of the little gift box, tapping at it like it might somehow spark interest where Sombra (for the moment) does not.

"Listen, about that..."

A tepid start, she waits to see if there's a glance, a twitch— anything that might clue her in as to whether or not Amélie's actually paying attention.

Caring little for whatever Sombra may have in hand - she assumed it was whatever candies her and Tracer had been eating earlier - Amélie didn't make any move to look up or even acknowledge her presence. The only indication Sombra got that she was even listening was the slightest pause of her hands before she put the final bullet in the cylinder and moved to the next.

Sombra was going to have to make an honest effort to get Amélie to look up at her.

Fair enough.

Maybe it's part of being Talon that the words 'I'm sorry' never seem to want to come up naturally in conversation, regardless of what's been done or what's at stake; maybe it's because she didn't learn to say them when she was young enough without it being a con, because truth be told, the only thing Sombra associates an apology with is insincerity.

Restitution, on the other hand...

This time she moves in close, padding across the open space between them without hesitation, setting the little box down across the top of Amélie's rifle. It's no more than five inches across or tall, only moderately heavy, the little sticker on top glinting brightly in that low, low light.

"I got you something."

Lo siento. Even Amélie knew that was what should come out of Sombra's mouth. She also knew how foreign those words were in the other woman's mouth, so she wasn't expecting them.

Her hands pause yet again as the box was set down within her visual range, the sticker catching her attention. Her lips pursed a moment; she wasn't going to just let Sombra buy her way out of this. She did set down the items she had in hand to reach out and open the box. It wasn't going to fix this, but a tiny part of her was curious what Sombra thought would win her back.

She likes to think this is better than 'lo siento'.

The lid, once lifted away, draws back to reveal a delicious looking cupcake, meticulously constructed with lace patterning that mimics spider webbing all around the edges. French vanilla, lavender and lemon cake underneath— if she ordered this directly from the Legion cafeteria (and not as a delivery made from a third party through them) it must have been a painstakingly precise process.

Not to mention the fact that the order had to have been put through while she was still on her date with Lena.

"Tadaaa." Sombra hums, her voice a low, lilting purr.

Good. Sombra had known the moment she stepped over the line, judging by the look of the cupcake. Too bad it wasn't enough. Closing the lid on the box, Amélie set it aside.

"I will eat it later," she replied, finally gracing Sombra with words. Empty and devoid of any emotion at all. A hand pulled the long tail of her hair back behind her shoulder, then...

Click. Click. Click. More rounds into the cylinder.

"Mm."

Tapping her chin, Sombra bites her lip in agreement— seemingly unfazed by the moderate dismissal she's currently being offered. "There was something else, too..."

Feigned pondering turns to pacing, turns to muttering. "...what was it. What was it."

"I could've sworn I had it right—" She lifts her opposite hand, holding it out above Amélie's careful work, fingers unfurling to reveal a thin, sythetic bracelet. "—here."

Spoiler alert: it's a fitbit.

If Amélie wasn't set on not giving Sombra any emotional reaction, even a feigned one, she would've sighed in mild annoyance at this display. She may have even urged her to get to the point. But a sniper had unparalleled patience; she would wait Sombra out.

Her eyes flickered up to take in the electronic device, noting its apparent purpose, for a moment before shifted her attention back. Still, she didn't bother to give Sombra the courtesy of actually looking at her.

"And what use is that to me? Aside from showing how regulated my sleep is compared to you. It is not even my preferred color."

Edited 2017-04-24 18:31 (UTC)

"But it is someone else's." Sombra purrs, using her thumb nail to turn the band flat against the palm of her hand, proudly displaying Tracer's limited edition, entirely personalized brand.

"Literally."

That, at least, might be enough to win back Amélie's attention. And if it isn't? Well, that's where her wellspring of ideas runs dry. Stealing from her supposed romantic interest is, after all, about as much of a risk as she can afford to take without completely decimating her cover.

Again, Amélie's hands stilled and her eyes moved back to look at the device and what was far more evident now that Sombra had it properly displayed. A heavy moment hung in the air before she set the ammunition down upon the bed and a single, well-manicured nail was drawn down the length of the band. If this really was...

Finally, Amélie graced Sombra with her gaze. "Oh?" There was the slightest bit of life in that one word, but then her lips tugged down a bit. "Regifting is quite uncouth - even for you."

A calculated jab aimed to push Sombra into telling her the tale without having to ask for it. And continue to display her displeasure.

"Is it technically regifting if she wasn't using it in the first place?"

As Amélie scuffs the length of the band with her nail, Sombra reaches forward with her other hand, overturning Amélie's and setting the device there — solidifying the exchange.

"The way I see it, anything she left out in that safehouse of hers is fair game."

Dusting her hands of her appeasement, Sombra steps away, fingers curling contentedly in midair. "Trust me when I say that place was like a graveyard of old memories and junk: hard to tell what was real and what she had installed into the Legion's system. I don't even think she'll notice that it's gone."

Or at least not for a little while. Long enough for Sombra to feign innocence.

"It is regifting if she gave it to you and then you gave it to me," Amélie replied, draping the device over her wrist to see if it would fit. Tch. Tracer had tiny wrists. It was a good thing Amélie had no plans to wear it.

"But if you simply took it..." She wove the band between her fingers and rose to her feet, drawing close to Sombra. "It is not nice to steal from your girlfriend."

To that, Sombra only has one answer, folding her arms behind her back and tucking her chin down— the absolute picture of innocence— though the viciousness in her voice suggests something else entirely.

"I know."

Only one action taken tonight is one that she intends to take back, and it isn't this.

The tone prompted Amélie's own lips to curl up into that conspirator's smirk she tended to get when they were both being nasty toward the same target together. She caught herself before it became fully fledged, returning to proper resting bitch face. Sombra almost had her there. But not yet.

Amélie leaned in a bit, nostrils flaring, before making a displeased sound in the back of her throat. "I can smell her on you. Go wash up, then bring my brush in here when you are done." She turned away, free hand pulling the tie from her hair, and surveying her walls for the perfect place to hang the fitbit.

"I will consider forgiving you."

"'Wash'." Sombra repeats, lip curling like she's just been asked to scrub the floors.

Somehow she imagines she could shower a hundred times and it still wouldn't be enough for Amélie's perfect, perfumed, absolutely exacting standards. Which might be why she's currently trying to see just how much she can get away with without completely undoing all her efforts tonight.

"That is what I said." Amélie looped the hair tie about her wrist and ran her hand through her hair. "Despite the mess you prefer to live in and the stench of the clothing I collect off the floor, I am positive you clean yourself at least every other day." Which was good enough that Amélie didn't mind Sombra touching her.

"But normally you do not smell like Lena Oxton." She gave Sombra a scathing look - cleanliness was next to godliness - before her expression shifted back. "At the very least, get out of those clothes. I will not suffer her scent upon my bed." Which was exactly where she was going to gave Sombra brush her hair. Then she would forgive her.

"But you'll suffer her belongings on your wall."

It's a critical little huff: she'd taken a shower before going out, taking another one right after seems excessive— but if this is what it takes, it's what it takes. That, and Sombra's fairly certain that Widowmaker isn't wrong. She'd been huddled up against Oxton for hours, that kind of thing is bound to rub off.

"The wall is not my bed," Amélie replied. "And where else would I display it?". A trophy belonged on the wall. She may not have claimed it herself, but it was part of the joint effort of destroying Tracer.

"Now go. And do not forget my brush."

"Mm." She grunts, dully accepting the last portion of her penance— if only because it's a one-time deal, made for the sake of the team.

So, reaching into the pocket of her coat while Amélie's back is turned, Sombra tugs out one last little pear candy droplet, popping it into her mouth on the way out the door towards her own section of the safehouse, passing through Gabe's territory along the way. All things considered, it shouldn't take long: fifteen, twenty minutes tops if she decides not to rush.

A little time to relax after all that forced saccharine sweetness.

Amélie glanced over to watch Sombra head off, glad that there wasn't going to be any further debate about it. She would have accepted a change of clothing, but if Sombra is going to shower? All the better.

Turning back to her wall, that fitbit was going to get tacked onto it like the trophy it definitely was. Maybe she'll be able to add more things to her wall as time went by. It wouldn't take Sombra long to return, so clearing the ammunition off her bed was going to be priority, loose hair hanging about her like a cloud.

After Sombra passes by his room, Reaper creeps into the common area in a slow and lazy roll of black cloud, like he'd just been meaning to casually pass through.

"Milking this for all it's worth?"

Referring to getting Sombra to brush her hair. Now that's just unnecessary, but it's still amusing to see Widowmaker boss Sombra around. Aside from whatever gifts Sombra had presented to her (from what he can see: that colorful box earlier, and something that looks like a digital watch sporting a color scheme that he knows neither woman would appreciate.

He almost sighs in disbelief. This is just going to bring about more trouble, in his opinion, but he's not their dad. They can do whatever the hell they want as long as they take the proper precautions in not getting their secrets found out.

Amélie glanced over at Reaper as he drew near. "She owes me this," was the reply. "It is simple penance, non?" Besides, she was of the belief that Sombra enjoyed brushing her hair even if she wouldn't admit it.

"Better than what I could demand."

He could've segued into the point of this conversation with something a little subtler, but he never really did enjoy beating around the bush if it weren't particularly necessary.

"What did she say?"

"Nothing worth repeating," came the easy reply.

Amélie certainly didn't want to give voice to the series of texts that lead to Sombra crossing the line. It was over now and the little hacker had made up for it. Once her hair was brushed - an indulgence Amélie rarely got to take advantage of - this would be laid to rest.

And hopefully never to rise again.

Yeahhh, he didn't think that would fly, but while there was nothing gained, there wasn't much lost either.

"I trust this won't be an issue."

He knows Widowmaker can keep a lid on her feelings, and ultimately her own agenda should she have any. But Sombra on the other hand... if she witnessed something as extraordinary as truly upsetting Widowmaker of all people, Reaper gets the feeling that their curious little hacker may end up trying to pry a little more. Perhaps not directly from Widowmaker, but...somehow. Who even knows with that woman?

He could be wrong, but he never lets any pinch of paranoia go unattended in some way or another.

Edited 2017-05-03 07:07 (UTC)

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject