Widowmaker (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
araignee_du_soir) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
legionworld2017-10-17 08:39 pm
araignee_du_soir) wrote in legionworld2017-10-17 08:39 pm
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.]
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.]
no subject
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?"
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"...it is easier to find those that condemn deathdealers, not accept them. Especially here among self stylized heroes. What about you? Do you...?"
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"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?"