legionworld

Entry tags:

OPEN

Who| Widowmaker and you! [will match format]
What| Since coming back from infiltrating the Catastrophists, something is visibly wrong with the reclusive spider.
Where| Training Area, Habitat Deck, around Legion World
When| After Ninth Gate
Warnings/Notes| references to nihilism, suicide, and murder (damn Catastrophists), potential for violence, possible talk of brainwashing and torture

Since returning from the mission to infiltrate the Catastrophist cult, Widowmaker had been keeping to herself. She hadn't come out of the mission well, though only those that knew her would be able to tell that her quietness was deeper than normal. Sombra's disappearance hadn't helped at all, leaving Widowmaker to her own devices, her own thoughts, her sinking sense of purpose and direction far too much. She'd been taken off active duty - a voluntary choice given she refused to subject herself to the psych evaluation that had been required of her post-mission - but kept her Legion ring on a chain about her neck. She was being watched by the senior staff, she knew, but whether that was because her mission partner had reported concerns about her conduct during the mission or her own actions was unknown. And unimportant. Widowmaker just needed to figure out what to do with herself - a tall task with the way she was slowly spiraling down.

{Jumping Spider}

Widowmaker had always been secretive about her solo training, making a point of not letting others watch her or holding something back when working with others. She didn't hold back in the field, but she had yet to unleash everything she could do in the field. So, the day she headed into her personal training simulation and forgot to lock the room down, forgot to pick a time when there were less people around, it wouldn't take long for the staffers to start talking about it, watching her from the viewing area, word reaching the ears of anyone interested.

Those that came to watch would find a cityscape of rooftops, varying heights with windows and odd angles. There was a vague resemblance to King's Row, but it could have been any European city from Widowmaker's Earth. Targets would pop up - some moving, some stationary - throughout the scape to create a multitude of difficult shots. Swiftly and smoothly, Widowmaker moved over the rooftop with parkour and her grappling hook, reacting to the appearance of the targets set up on a random algorithm. There was a grace in which she took steady aim - many times from the air - hitting target after target with single shots. All the while, classical music played.

[JS1] Not only was Widowmaker sailing through the course shooting targets through windows, upside down or other unusual angles, she was treating it like a live exercise. It was the only way to focus herself to keep the thoughts that had been woken up inside her during that mission from creeping back into her consciousness. That meant she left active venom mines at various places, hidden from sight around corners, used in the field to cover retreats or alert her to the presence of others sneaking up on her. Anyone foolish enough to enter the simulation for any reason, might find themselves triggering a mine.

The gas emitted by the mine wasn't lethal, only temporarily debilitating, making the victim feel weak and cough, gasping for breath unless immune to gas attacks. But that wasn't the real threat, as the moment the mine went off, Widowmaker reflexively squeezed off a shot from her rifle to strike the one who set the mine off right in the forehead. Luckily, she was using stun ammunition so the worse that would happen was the unfortunate target would get briefly knocked out and have a bit of a headache for a while.

Landing nimbly next to her accidental victim, Widowmaker rest her rifle on her shoulder. "Be thankful I wasn't using live rounds." If sympathy was expected, it wasn't going to be received, though there was an unusual gruffness to her tone. She hadn't even thought before firing, forgetting where she was and reacting like the killing machine Talon had meant to turn her into.

[JS2] It seemed that everything was going well, her skill impressive and solid, and it was. Until the end of her session neared. She had been going for well past the normally recommended training time, running over into time allotted to another Legionnaire, but she refused to let up until she was exhausted. The problem was that her body tended to not reach that point easily, but her mind... That was a different story with how much it was working overtime. Even this amount of strenuous activity couldn't keep her from remembering the things kicked up in her mind by the Catastrophists.

She was doing well, until she wasn't. Widowmaker had grappled herself up a tall building, releasing the line and pushing off from the roof's edge with her feet. Diving backwards in a sailing flip, she brought Widow's Kiss up to draw a line on a far target and fired a perfect shot. But when she put her hand down to catch herself on the edge of the lower adjacent roof, she was off just enough that her grip slipped. There was no cry or anything as she fell, though her eyes were wide as she kicked a foot against the building to try to right herself. A fall from that height would be very damaging, if not fatal depending on how she landed, so falling was not an option (even if a part of her entertained the thought). Out shot her grappling hook, catching the building, and she jerked the line tight and lost her grip on her rifle.

Striking the wall hard with a loud grunt of pain, Widowmaker halted her fall and hung there for a few long seconds as she drew in a few breaths. Lowering herself to the ground, she took a few unsteady steps over to where Widow's Kiss had landed, holding her left shoulder and ignoring the scrape on the side of her face. She sat down heavily by the weapon and spoke the command to end the simulation. With the cityscape dissolving around her, Widowmaker sat there, visor raising and eyes closed, trying to ignore the footsteps of someone approaching her.

{Spider Wolf Tarantula}

Sombra might be gone, but her biome remained. And so did Widowmaker. The beach house had become her home, so she kept living there. She could have moved fully into her own biome or to the meager crew quarters she had, but at least the beach house had familiar scents and the mess Sombra left behind. Of course, Widowmaker cleaned up the dirty clothing and gathered the snacks together to donate to another, but it remained mostly the way it had been left. She wouldn't let anyone inside but Sombra and Reaper (if they ever returned), but the beach was known to others.

[SWT1] There once had been a plan brewing to talk a resort on the French Riviera down on Earth to giving the Legion exclusive use for a couple days so they could enjoy some real relaxation. After so many weeks along this facsimile of the Gulf of Mexico, the sniper had wanted the real waters and sands of the Mediterranean Sea. But with her partner's disappearance, so went that plan.

But that didn't mean Widowmaker couldn't try to enjoy the beach she did have. At least, she should get to wear the bikini she'd bought in preparation for it. Laying out on the beach - the artificial sunlight at least wouldn't burn her skin like the sun would - she had a drink with her and a digital book open before her. She wasn't reading it, but staring out at the crashing waves. Funny enough that there was a second drink poured, complete with a little cocktail umbrella, nestled into the sand next to her. As though it was meant for someone else...

[SWT2] [A trail of smoke rose up in the air of the Habitat Deck. It wasn't indicative of a large blaze - not like Reaper's biome of burning Overwatch headquarters - but something fresh and not normal. On the beach, close enough to the water that it could easily be put out if necessary, was a small bonfire. And standing almost too close to the fire was Widowmaker, sunglassed down and arms crossed. The light flickered off of her glistening skin as she stood there in her bikini and coverups, as she stared into the fire to watch what had once been fabric burn.]

{Wildcard}

[Come at me, bro.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

When Amélie had returned from her mission, she had texted Marjara to let her know she was back and that she would come see her later. Later ended up turning into days. If the elf had messaged her to find out what was going on, there were no responses. In fact, Amélie had barely picked up her omnicom during the time she was dealing with the loss of Sombra and her own mental state.

She had always been fine keeping to herself, but she'd become so reclusive that she barely emerged from the Dorado biome. After her third time dodging her required psych evaluation, she removed herself from active duty and tried to find things to do with herself. But the thoughts kept finding their way back in.

Her kidnapping. Gerard. The dark pit of despair she drowned in when they dragged her from her home with her husband's blood on her hands. The desires to end everything. That last night together before Talon ruined everything. Her apathy power prevented her from actually feeling things, but she remembered what it had felt like. And in some ways that was worse - knowing the way it compromised her while maintaining the logic to know it wasn't affecting her.

It was after a rather nihilistic encounter with an old 'friend' that Amélie realized she needed something. Someone. And all she had left was Marjara. So, she went to the elf's forest, wearing loose linen pants and a long sleeved shirt. Thankful her blue skin hid some of the bruising from the fight she'd recently been in, but the scrapes on the side of her face couldn't be hidden. When she found Marjara, she didn't say anything. She wasn't even sure what she wanted from the elf, so she just stood there, uncomfortably, looking at her with dull eyes.

Was it sad, that she knew exactly what she was looking at? Amélie had never been the most readily transparent person, but despair painted a very particular picture. It hid in the shadows of your eyes, resting on the edge of your mouth no matter what expression you tried to paint over it. She'd seen it too often, on too many faces.

Even here, the cruel twists of fate don't seem to loosen their grip.

Her brow creasing, Marjara lifted herself from where she'd been sitting in front of her campfire. There was no hesitation in moving towards the taller woman to place a hand gently against her arm. No words, not at first. She didn't have to talk about it.

But she had a place here. She always would. Here was safe, or as safe as it ever got. Here, someone cared.

Amélie followed the path of that hand with her eyes, drawing in an uneven breath as the physical warmth from such little contact spread up her arm. A brief tightness squeezed in her chest but then was gone just as fast, torn away from her by her apathy as quickly as she'd had other things ripped away in the past. She leaned forward a bit, almost stepping closer, before her weight settled back on her feet.

Bringing the hand of her free arm up to run through her hair, pushing the loose dark strands back from her face with a controlled motion, Amélie swallowed and decided to focus her gaze for a moment on the ground near Marjara's feet.

"Je suis désolée," she murmured. "I should have told you I was coming over. If you are busy, I can..." Her eyes flickered back up at the elf. "...go."

"Look at me. Do I look too busy for anyone?"

The corners of her eyes crinkled before she tugged Amélie forward. There was plenty of room to be had by the fire, even if padded seating might be a little much to ask for. There was still the natural calming ambiance of the forest, the filtered sunlight dappling the ground through the thick canopy overhead.

"...what is it? What happened?"

Amélie let her feet move, following Marjara's lead, and settled down on the ground by the fire. She angled herself so she could stretch one leg out and keep the other bent, almost hugging it to herself. At the prompting, she shook her head slightly. It was hard to put into words.

"My mission was... rough. Makes me think things I stopped thinking about years ago. And then I come back from the infiltration to find Sombra gone." She was alone in a place that didn't want her. It made it easier for those thoughts to gain purchase.

Leaning back into Marjara, Amélie rest her head against the elf's shoulder and closed her eyes. "Right now, I am only functioning because I cannot feel the emotions associated with the things that mission stirred up."

The details are scant, but there's a ghost of something familiar enough there to empathize with. Comrades ghosting after a mission, finding yourself raw and reeling after certain truths are shoved up into your face, things you don't want to face.

Biting her lower lip, Marjara gives a brief nod, adjusting slightly to allow Amélie to more comfortably lean against her. "Sometimes it feels easier. Not feeling. Dealing with the details and the planning, analyzing what happened, trying to find an answer that makes sense."

There's a pause before those dark eyes shift down towards her. "Sometimes it doesn't."

"I remember how it felt - the last month Amélie LaCroix existed. I think we are lucky my apathy keeps it at bay or I might not have come back, and just stayed with the Catastrophists as one of them." And she was pretty sure Garrus had picked up on how well she had seemed to fit the cult. But that didn't matter right then.

"Part of our trials was to endure emotional pain. This woman tapped into our mind and called forth our most painful memories. Made us relive them."

She shook her head. "It was clearer than I am ever able to recall on my own. I would call them repressed memories, except I know they were purposefully filtered to keep me functional when they took everything else away."

She was rambling, very unlike her, about things she shouldn't talk about. But what was the point in holding fast to secrets that don't matter anymore. Or maybe she was subconsciously testing Marjara's amazing ability to look past what she was.

Tranquil, she thought for a moment, and her stomach doubled in horror. They made her tranquil, that's exactly what it sounds like. But it wasn't the same, not precisely.

She was scrambling to understand in what terms she could, but she couldn't ever know exactly what it was that Amélie was going through. Even so, she was being trusted an intense amount in this moment. She wasn't about to break that trust, even as she tilted her head to look at her as best she could.

"So you remember them now. You just can't...feel them?"

"Correct." She tried to figure out how to phrase things, her voice hesitant. "The details that were missing are there now, like the stale scent of sweat the man that had grabbed me from behind on my way to the limousine after that night's performance, the darkness and wetness that made it impossible to breathe, the inability to move."

Opening her eyes, she stared up at the trees. "I remember praying for Gérard to come save me, begging them to let me go." She had been so weak back then. "But I do not feel the terror, the panic, the pain. I know I should, but there is a void there that is more than my powers. Missing pieces."

Sitting up, she fiddled with her pant leg, making it lay smooth. "I can usually ignore that I am what I am, but this place - away from the doctors - makes it hard."

Painfully familiar. Not for the first or last time, that anger licks up inside her like a flame, that desire to just...tear apart those who hurt. Who see fit to toy with people like pawns and puppets, as though their lives were not their own.

This moment was not about her anger, righteous or otherwise. It was about Amélie coming to terms with what she was, on her own. No Sombra, no Talon, no other lingering influence. The elf's tattooed brow creased.

"Do you want to be something else?"

The question was allowed to linger, with only the sounds of the surrounding forest to interrupt the silence before she spoke again, quiet but firm.

"You're here. You know what you know. You could take that knowledge and be whatever you wanted. You do know that."

"It is not that simple."

If only it was. If only there were options other than Talon. Marjara thought there were but Widowmaker had to return. Amélie... Didn't have a choice. That part of her was never in control, just lingering around the edges, watching and reaching, but never finding purchase.

"There is no other option for me. Things will be better, go back to normal, once I am back in my own world and Talon can repair the errors in my protocols." She shook her head. "There is no other place for me. I just..." A sigh. "I don't know."

"It's alright not to know. Doubt means acknowledging we don't know it all. That there's still room to learn and to grow. Sometimes the things we think are set in stone aren't at all."

Marjara's good hand slid forward to wrap around hers, those slender, elegant digits cool against the warmth of her palm.

"Sometimes something really, really painful reminds us how little we really know about the world. About ourselves. In a place like this, anything is possible if we let it be. But that choice is yours. And it is a choice."

Her head came up at the warmth of the elf's hand on hers. Looking down at them, she tried to quell the tremor in her hand that she hadn't known was there until Marjara touched her.

"Non, chérie... It is not. My mind is not my own."

"Of course it is."

Her thumb traced the back of the other woman's hand before squeezing a little tighter.

"It's in your head. You own it. And no one's around to tell you how to use it. Well, maybe the Legion, but you don't always have to do exactly as you're told, do you?"

The way Amélie shook her head was almost violent. She knew how little of her mind was her own, even if more fragments were back than ever before. There were too many things she couldn't control inside her. Thankfully, most of those had to be triggered, but they were still there.

"You do not understand. Parts have been taken out, as though carved away by a knife, and replaced. There are things I have no control over." She couldn't meet Marjara's eyes. "It is called neural reconditioning."

"...you chose to come here. To talk to me. You didn't have to, you weren't ordered to."

Even as she refused to look at her, Marjara never took her eyes away. Never raised her voice an octave. She couldn't undo what had been done to her, but she could be here for her, help her through this.

Maybe. Just maybe.

"I think you have more control than you think."

If she really thought about it, she did but that was more of an error in the conditioning process than anything else. Neural reconditioning was more of an art than a real science.

"Perhaps, but that does not change what I am. I am a weapon, Marjara. It is like..." She searched her mind for something that might put it into better perspective for the elf. "Like contingency spells? Something later down, many of them, layered over each other, that are set to go off when certain conditions exist. And when they go off, they cannot be stopped."

Amélie looked up then. "I have control... Until that happens."

"What if they could be undone?"

What she heard was 'I've been told to', something she'd always personally balked against. She could understand, after everything the woman had been through, if this wasn't a fight she was willing to take on.

But if she was? If she only needed someone to support her in making that call? How could she not at least test those waters and tell for certain, if it meant her breaking her own chains once and for all?

"They say there are people here who can replace entire limbs. People who were dead that they've bought back from that point. A mind is delicate work but maybe...maybe something could be done." There was a pause, something flickering behind those dark eyes as she leaned in closer. "Would you want to?"

Amélie's eyes went wide and the hand not being held by Marjara started drumming on the sniper's thigh, fingers curled in and the muscles in her arms tight. What the elf suggested would be absolutely terrifying if Amélie could feel such things. It was one instant where her Apathy power really aided her as she otherwise may have physically left the campfire to get away from the situation.

Instead, she managed to keep her eyes on Marjara though her breathing became steadily faster. Unable to recognize the somatic response rising from the chemicals she couldn't feel being released into her body in a classic fight or flight response, her mind whirled at the possibility of what was suggested, of being 'fixed' much in the way she had considered having Sombra do. The difference was that Sombra was Talon and, more importantly, Sombra knew. The idea of letting these people know what was done to her and what she had--

Fingers now digging into the fabric of her pants, Amélie's nostrils flared and she wet her lips, before starting to move her head in what could have been either a nod or a shake before she stopped herself.

"Ou- Non- Je ne sais pas." She squeezed Marjara's hand - accidentally too hard - to stop her own from shaking. "I do not want to be that woman again. She was weak. A victim. The Widowmaker is none of those things." Then she shook her head a little. "But She may as well be an omnic, built on code and programs, designed to kill in an instant. I do enjoy killing... but it is more fulfilling when done by choice, not design."

Eyes closing, she fought to take a deep breath. "I... I cannot have anyone in my mind, Marjara. Not from here. Then they will know what I am, see what I have done, and they will trigger-- They will lock me up." One place or another - it didn't matter; she would still be locked up.

Edited 2017-10-31 20:33 (UTC)

She could feel her quiver, the way she strained to bolt and yet didn't, like a spooked animal under her grip. She made great effort not to wince when that hold tightened, and instead gripped her back with everything she had-- a considerable amount, even given her small stature.

"Are you sure the Widowmaker isn't a victim in her own way? For someone who feels no fear...Amélie, you sound afraid. And you don't have to be."

Unable to grasp her hand any more fully, she instead drew that cool fist up to rest just beneath her collarbone, against the warmth of her chest, the steady beat of her heart. "They may have helped to shape who you are now, but you don't have to let them control your fate. Not if there's a reason to break free of them."

And maybe she didn't have that reason yet, but...

The idea that the Widowmaker was also a victim had never occurred to Amélie, and she wasn't sure how to process that. How could a weapon be a victim? It would be something to think about later, as she instinctively went to refute what Marjara said.

"I am not afra--"

Her voice cut off with the sudden warmth, eyes immediately zeroing on where the elf had moved their hands. Swallowing hard, her breathing kicked up again, the idea of being free - something she both wanted and didn't want - pressing against her emotional barrier. The prospect was too much right then and she was getting worked up again.

But she had something - someone - to focus on right then.

A few long seconds passed then Amélie loosened her grip enough that she could free her hand from Marjara's. Slowly, with a bit of a tremble, she spread her fingers and rest her palm against the elf's chest where it had originally been placed. A heartbeat - strong and full of life. It was something Amélie didn't have and would never have again. If Marjara were to mimic the contact, she would find no pulse. Her heart beat too slow to be felt, barely even detectable by machine. How she continued to live was a mystery.

The steadiness in Marjara held Amélie just enough to halt that rising rate of breathing. Eyes flickering up, the firelight making the ones across from her do that glow thing that was both eerie and fascinating, she made herself release the grip on her pantleg so she could bring it up to tentatively touch Marjara's face. Fingertips resting against her neck, thumb on her cheek, Amélie's brow furrowed a moment before she leaned in to put her forehead against the elf's. From there she just soaked in the warmth, the contact and the scents of wood smoke, leather, and leaves along with the one that always seemed to cling to Marjara, perhaps tied to her magic.

Submerged in that moment, Amélie found it tremendously calming. Each second evened her breathing, settled her nerves and smoothed out the hackles she didn't exactly have control over. It let her think for a moment, really think, and put some important words together as an oft overlooked reality was brought to light.

"I... am not a hero, and I will never be one. I can play the part, but it is just a part. I am a cold woman and my first instinct is to kill not to save," she said in a quiet voice. "I will not sacrifice myself for innocents. I will not sacrifice myself for the greater good; what is left of my life matters to me too much. And there is nothing in this dimension that I care about..." Her thumb ghosted across Marjara's cheek, feather soft. "...except you."

She drew in a shaky breath, eyes closed. "Maybe I am afraid and just don't know it." Eight years was a long time.

Edited 2017-11-01 02:59 (UTC)

"Fuck being a hero."

The word curled off her tongue in vehement tones, her eyes flashing even as their faces grew too close to focus. There was a sliver of her that hesitated, one that couldn't quite believe what she was hearing, the tenderness in Widowmaker's touch--

For her?

No. This moment wasn't about that. It wasn't about her, it was something more important. It was the trajectory of Amélie's life. Whatever this was between them came after figuring out this very crucial piece of the puzzle, and focus couldn't be drawn away prematurely.

So she tried again, wetting her lips. "This isn't about the Legion. It's not even about me. This is about you, Amélie, and you are more than just the weapon they wanted you to be. Do you know how I know that?"

Swallowing slowly, Marjara's fingers slid, from grasping the other woman's hand to her wrist, and gently. Gradually. Guiding it upwards until the tips of those blue fingers could brush against her throat. All without so much as taking her eyes off Amélie for a moment.

"Because if you do truly care for me...I know what a weapon's answer would be to that. You do, too."

Marjara was insane. The only way a person could possibly trust Amélie that much, especially after what all she'd revealed, was if they were crazy. To put themselves in such clear harm's way boggled Amélie's mind. For a moment, at least, as she raised her head up to look down at the elf.

Fingers slid over warm skin as that hand closed over the bared throat. Palm against and about such a delicate neck, the thrum of Marjara's pulse held her attention as her own body went still, expression smoothing out as the spider peered out. It was seen in her eyes, how logic was making it quite clear what should be done. It would be so easy to snap this pretty little neck like a twig and rid herself of the only thing left that could tether her to the seductive whispers of humanity. Take the life and be free of weakness in this place.

It hung heavily in the air, seen in the utter coldness of Amélie's eyes, for almost too long before a breath was exhaled.

"I am an assassin. I like killing people, but I do not kill for the pleasure it gives me. I deliver death for a reason. Sometimes people need to die," she finally said. "Emotions make a person vulnerable. I do not like being vulnerable. You make me vulnerable." Her hand tightened a fraction about the elf's neck. "I should rid myself of you now since you are so kindly offering."

And then her grip loosened, Amélie removing a shaky hand from Marjara's neck. It dropped to her lap, the sniper's head lowering to hang in something akin to shame. "But I cannot - will not - kill another person I care about. If I have a choice. Today I do."

She swallowed hard, a harsher tone entering her voice. "Do not ever do that again."

"Don't do what?"

Put her life in danger? That was a damn near inevitability? Put her life in Amélie's hands? She trusted her, as much as she could trust anyone anymore. Push Amélie to recognize something in herself she seemed determined to ignore or overlook? Well...

There wasn't anything confrontational in her gaze, nor her tone, nor the way she sank back to sit and stared across at the other woman as the firelight licked across the broad strokes of her frame. She let the silence linger there, her skin thrumming where those fingers had, ever so briefly, started to press in.

"Today you do. Today you have a choice, and even choosing not to make it is still a choice. If you decide that you want to embrace being a weapon, tearing out whatever makes you weak and trying to live according to their idea of what you are, then today? That is your choice."

Iron Bull, Cullen, Leliana...all people who'd had the option of taking the easy road, accepting a crueler fate, and choosing to walk through to the other side. You couldn't decide that for someone else. Even now, as Amélie hung her head, the possibility was there, shimmering and tantalizingly real. Swallowing again, Marjara's fingertips reached out, grazing one pale cheek in a gesture that near mirrored the one that had come before. Come on, just look up. Look her in the eyes and tell her this is really what you wanted for yourself.

"If you had today, Amélie, and nothing else...what would you choose to do?"

There was a slight wince, more from surprise than anything else, at the brush of fingers across her cheek. She couldn't remember the last time her face had been touched like that, except... she could, but she was trying not to fall back into the mire of her past. Marjara wanted her to focus on the present and that guidance was welcomed right then.

Amélie looked up, eyes meeting the elf's, as she honestly thought about that question. What came to her as an answer was so sudden, from a place deep in her gut, and the absurdity of it made her laugh a little. If all she had was today and nothing more, she'd...

"Cry."

Another bit of laughter, raw and full of weird wonder followed. "How ridiculous is that?"

The hand that she'd been keeping on Marjara's cheek turned so she could run the back of her fingers down the elf's neck, over where her grip had earlier pressed in. "I really do like killing; I'm very good at it."

Maybe she could find some kind of equillibrium between Amélie LaCroix and the Widowmaker. At least while she was out of Talon's reach.

"Not so ridiculous. A little warranted, I think. I've always felt a little better after a good cry. It's just harder to get to that point, these days."

Biting her lower lip, she let her hand drop to rest in her lap, not an ounce of tension in her shoulders as those cool fingers ran across her throat. Amélie still seemed poised for her to shrink away from that whole 'being a killer' thing.

Really, what kind of hypocrite would that have made her? Chances were her kill count was significantly higher than even Widowmaker's.

"Some people are. It doesn't mean they're the only ones who will accept you for what you are."

Amélie also took her hand away a moment later. "I cannot, you know. Cry, that is. I haven't been able to since..." She gestured at her face, emphasizing the blue skin.

"...it is easier to find those that condemn deathdealers, not accept them. Especially here among self stylized heroes. What about you? Do you...?"

"I used to believe there was a peaceful way to resolve everything. That choosing something other than violence was always going to be the right choice."

Ah yes, the early days of the Inquisition. She'd been permissive, then. Naive. Idealistic. Maybe she still possessed ideals, but there were no longer the clean, pristine things they had been. Perhaps that was why she could look at Amélie after all this without flinching, her dark eyes steady.

"I was wrong. I know that now. I just wish it hadn't cost me what it had to figure that out." Her eyes closed briefly, her head shaking. "But there is a purpose to death and killing. Being good at it doesn't make you a terrible person. Not for the right cause."

And that was wherein the problem laid. So many didn't consider Talon's cause right. It certainly wasn't just, but it was necessary. For all that Talon had done to Amélie, even if she had somehow reclaimed her true sense of self, she would still be loyal to Talon, still do what was needed to be done. Now that she knew where they stood, she mostly agreed with it; also, she wouldn't really have anywhere else to go aside from prison.

"Some people need to die. That is a fact. And the cause is one I do believe in." Both programmed into her and learned. "Even with the mess inside my head."

Amélie looked down at her hands as they rested in her lap, picturing how much blood was upon them. Thick and caked, staining her skin, but all of that could and was washed away, except for Gerard's. That would never go away. She didn't want it to. But...

Her gaze returned to Marjara. "...maybe it is enough."

Maybe this was enough.

"We're both killers, you know."

She reaches to take hold of the hand sitting in Amélie's lap, her large brown eyes softening.

"That doesn't mean we're monsters. Not when what we're doing, what we're good at, could save every universe out there. You don't need to wear a badge that says 'hero' to make a difference for a lot of people, and it's your choice to make this time. I'd say that's enough, wouldn't you?"

You could put whatever label you wanted on it, but that was a quantifiable 'good'. And maybe just what Amélie needed to realize that what she'd become didn't need to be all she was. It could be a starting point for something entirely of her own making.

And she had every faith that she could make that call for herself.

"It's not the killing that makes me a monster, but how much pleasure I get from it, the things I'm capable of doing without remorse or regret." It was going to take longer than just this heartfelt conversation to convince her otherwise.

"But..." She paused to draw in a shaky breath, holding a little tighter to Marjara's hand, as she turned her gaze down to one of the words etched upon her arm: cauchemar. "A monster should have a choice in whom they torment. Whose nightmare to become."

She looked back up, brow creased, as she sought validation. "Oui?"

To be perfectly honest, Garrus hadn't known what he expected to find when he tried track down Widowmaker after their mission together. He figured she was comfortable sticking things out on her own, but things hadn't exactly been clean. It had been rough on him, and, if he was reading the situation right, on her as well. It's entirely possible he was wrong - human expressions and physicality were still a little bit of a mystery to him - but she'd seemed ... different, than her usual self.

It didn't take him long enough to figure out where she spent most of her time. Apparently, she more or less lived out of the biome that used to belong to Sombra up until she vanished - something Garrus was sure didn't help with whatever she might be going through.

He hadn't really known what to expect walking through the threshold. He'd never met Sombra, but knowing Amélie he'd expected something gloomy. This ... this wasn't that. A cool breeze, a clear night sky, gentle but respectable surf ...

This was actually pretty nice.

Then he saw the thin finger of smoke curling up into the night air. Somehow, that was a little bit more in-line with his nebulous expectations. He saw her standing over the fire, and coming a little closer he saw what was burning. It looked like ... clothing?

His mandibles tapped against his jaw. Not the most encouraging sight.

"Well ... this is nice." He said after a moment of silence. "Sorry for letting myself in. I knocked, but ..."

Eyes hidden from sight by her sunglasses, Amélie looked up from the flames at Garrus. They hid the way she narrowed her gaze a little as she scrutinized him. Was he responsible for the increased surveillance on her? The Legion probably thought they were being slick, but she was trained in how to detect and shake surveillance; she was no rabbit.

"Dorado. That's where this is modeled after. In Mexico on Earth." She didn't know if he ever went to Earth in his world. Somehow, she doubted it.

It'd make sense, but no. Depending on how this conversation goes he might talk to someone else about it, but Garrus would much rather talk to someone about a problem directly before going elsewhere. It can be a little messier in the moment, but it usually ends up being less complicated in the long run.

So. Here he is.

His eyes stray from her, wandering up and down the coast line. It reminds him of home in a weird way. He'd grown up in the cities, but every once in a while his family would go to the shore for a vacation. Palaven's coasts are rockier - pock-marked with tidal pools and swirling jetties and eddies - but there's something about the atmosphere here that's just right.

"I might have to pay it a visit some time," He muses. It probably wouldn't happen anytime soon, not with everything he's trying to get done now that he has something resembling pull in the Hierarchy, but he's due a vacation sometime. Something that preferably doesn't involve getting shot at.

His eyes turn to her. "Again, I'm sorry for barging in. I just wanted to check in - see how you were holding up after ... well, after everything." Things hadn't exactly gone cleanly.

"I am fine." No, she wasn't. "As I have said before, I am not burdened by the emotional baggage everyone else is."

She crossed her arms, rubbing the one, almost as if she was cold. "There is a lot I need to do in here, to clean up after Sombra and take care of loose ends. Until that is done, being a hero can wait." There was disdain dripping off that one word, as usual, though she made no attempt to soften her contempt.

"Are you the reason they are insisting on a psych evaluation?"

"Indirectly, maybe," Garrus shrugs walking a little deeper into the circle of light cast by the fire. "I mentioned Ellora in my report, but I didn't make any recommendations."

He pauses briefly before adding, "If it's any consolation, they sent someone to talk to me too." Someone Garrus politely turned away, because while he appreciates the gesture, his insistence that he's fine isn't him putting on a tough front. He's had a long time to deal with these memories and a lot of help doing it. There are still regrets, and pain, and guilt - feelings that are rawer now than they have been in a long time, thanks to Ellora - but they're not pushing him over the edge. Not anymore.

"Sent, you say. They didn't order you to the evaluation, to clear you for active duty?" She muttered to herself in French, picking up a large stick that had been off to the side so she could poke at the fire.

"Then again, I've always been treated differently than everyone else from the moment I showed up. Why should I expect anything different now?"

He opens his mouth and closes it again. There's a part of him that wants to lie to reassure her that no, it was an order and she wasn't getting a sterner hand than him ... but she's probably a lot better at smelling out lies than he is at telling them.

"If you want an optimistic take, they could just be worried about you." He offers. "Have to go through a lot of painful memories, come back and find out someone you cared about is gone ...? Could leave someone in a bad place."

"Of course, they are worried about me," she replied. "But not about my well-being, but the potential damage they think I will do to the team. No one cares about me, Garrus." She paused a moment, thoughts going to Marjara. "One person cares about me."

She turned over one of the more stubborn pieces of clothing in the fire with the stick that didn't really want to turn to ash. "I have taken myself off the active roster. They should just leave me alone."

He likes to think that the Legion is a touch more altruistic than that - that they genuinely do care whether or not she's alright - but that thought had crossed his mind. He'd worry about that too, frankly, if he didn't think she was a whole lot more likely to implode than take it out on someone else. He couldn't prove that of course, he doesn't know her nearly well enough and he's not a psychologist. Just a gut feeling.

That being said, he does briefly spread his arms at the 'one person' comment. He knows that's not directed at him, but nonetheless he's here.

"And I'm sure that they will sooner or later. Maybe not soon enough for your liking, but they will."

There was a difference between caring and caring. That Garrus had bothered to come by wasn't something she had expected, but it wasn't as thought she could open up to him. He would still judge her. He already did. If he knew the things she had truly done and what those memories had been...

The mind suppressed memories for a reason. Talon suppressed specific ones for very specific reasons.

"Somehow I doubt that will happen until I do the eval. I do not like doctors."

Kyou was curious and curiosity was definitely one of his weaknesses. Curiosity was why he'd actually started talking to his stupid friends at school, and look at him now: bending over backwards to keep them alive -- in their home universe and in others.

He should've known it was stupid to be curious about Widowmaker too, but one, he wanted to know who he was potentially throwing his lot in with, two, she seemed to be part of the kind of organization he'd probably be contracted out to work for after supervillain school, and he wanted to know exactly how much of a don't-drink-the-kool-aid shitfest it was possibly going to be be, and three...

There weren't many others here that weren't good guys. Just in general. He felt weirdly out of place and it was jarring after half a year of kind of almost having a place again.

But now he was just annoyed. Gassed and tagged like a chump. Great.

(Widowmaker wasn't the only only one having an off day after that mission.)

While the gas had an effect, and the stun round made his muscles lock up and knocked him over, his healing factor made it so it didn't knock him out like it was supposed to. The effect wore off by the time she got close, leading to him tossing a smoke bomb up so that it exploded near her, and using the cover of darkness to teleport out of her line of sight.

His voice came at her from the shadows. He preferred it there, especially after getting dinged.

"You should make sure your target is actually down for the count before getting in close. Even headshots don't work on everybody."

A real head shot would've knocked him out and ruined his whole day but he still would've popped up again at some point.

Despite his smoke bomb and teleportation, Widowmaker turned her head to look right at the heat signature emanating through the cover that marked his presence. Then she raised her visor and picked up the spent venom mine.

"If this were live and not training, you would not be speaking to me right now. Do not try to school me on things I have been doing for more than half your life," she said with that same gruffer tone. "What possessed you to walk out into the middle of my training field without any warning? This is a closed session."

At least, it was supposed to have been closed.

"Maybe you've been doing them for half my life but I've been doing them for all of it."

The response was a little snarly and he knew she was possibly right but he was embarrassed about being off his A game.

"You left it unlocked. I'm not the only one that's being sloppy today." And he wondered if there was any chance at all that it was for the same reason. It was too awkward to ask anyone on that mission if it was the case, though.

'Hey, how traumatized were you?' wasn't exactly a great icebreaker with near-strangers.

Edited 2017-10-22 01:25 (UTC)

Luckily, Widowmaker was a mature adult and did not rise to the bait and turn this into a who has the bigger assassin dick contest. She'd win and then he'd be insufferable for far too long, falling prey to adolescent posturing and the need to prove he was better. It would just make her life irritatingly difficult for a while and she knew enough about her current state to be concerned about actually hurting the boy.

"Odd. I wonder if someone overrode the lock and opened the session." Because she couldn't possibly be that distracted. "They have been watching me more since the debriefing."

She hit a few buttons on her bracer, deactivating the remaining mines still deployed and began to collect them, moving from rooftop to rooftop, knowing Kyou could probably keep up. "Regardless, it was rather foolish to enter the active area."

He ignored her warning because he refused to admit why he was here, and simply teleported along as she started picking up her mines, moving from shadow to shadow. He knew she could probably pin down his location somehow, but it wasn't about actually hiding from her, just about staying where he was comfortable.

"Yeah, someone would totally go to all that effort to override a lock and then just leave after."

It was looking more like he definitely wasn't the only one that took that last mission hard, and one of the other people who was affected was... wasn't some softhearted do-gooder saving people tied to railroad tracks. Someone else like him was maybe affected, too.

"Everyone has an off day now and again." A pause. "Even people like us. It's just usually we're not in a place where we can actually survive it when it happens. These people are soft."

"I have been training for hours; they may have left after determining I was not going to be killing anyone in here." Disdain dripped from her words as she picked up the last mine and tucked it away.

"And you are right; most of them are soft. They have never seen or been through the things we have." She grappled up to the highest building and sat down against a wall, near an area of darker shadows. A small accommodation for Kyou.

"I would not call the soldiers soft. Just stupid."

"Mmm hmm."

He let the whole "nope, sure wasn't me" go, though. The acknowledgement ("the things we have") was enough for him to do that. He also noticed her taking a seat near the shadows, too.

He blipped there, sliding into that dark space near her, still hidden, far enough to teleport away if there was an attack, but close enough for things to be...conversational. Just two inhuman assassins in the shadows on a roof, chillin'.

With the black uniform and blue skin, he was good at blending in with shadows, but his glowing eyes gave him away.

"Why?"

He was genuinely curious. There were a lot of reasons they could be stupid but he wanted to know the specific ones. He had a lot to catch up on and didn't know many people here yet, and needed a lay of the land. Naturally, he'd find ways to verify anything she told him, but it'd be good to know where to start.

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JS1 (this okay?)

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