VEUSA

one of widow’s favorite claims; a broken record repeating always about how crazy chronos is. sometimes it’s a joke, an alliteration widow finds so clever, but moments like this it’s nothing but a harsh reminder of how widow sees her. 

“ you don’t got to say it, ma’am. your actions are plenty loud. “ 

normally the sweat on widow’s brow would draw her concern, but she’s too angry and too far from herself to even register it beyond a passing observation. 

it’s funny, the contrast between widow’s insistence that chronos is no servant in her eyes and the indignation at the way her cigarettes are delivered to her hand. 

she has to laugh. always. 

she has to laugh or she thinks she might break. 

her body feels strange and light as her steps carry her down the hall. it doesn’t help that she can’t feel the phone in her hand. it’s like there’s a lag between her mind and her body, metal fingers plugging the numbers in wrong as she fails to focus on the moment she’s in. 

but she gets it right eventually. just as widow wobbles to her side, breathless even from the short distance, her heart struggling to pump enough oxygen. 

chronos doesn’t reach out to steady her. 

theres a click on the other end, a heaviness of sound that tells her there’s someone listening. her eyes remain forward as she speaks, voice suddenly devoid of any inflection. 

“ agent chronos requesting pick up. “ 

the finality sets in as she thumbs the end button. it’s done. no matter what, now, they will come get her. and nothing that happens after will be good. 

but it will still be better than the woman widow becomes when max is around. and it will always be better than him. 

even without six inch heels to impede her balance, widowmaker still struggles to reach her side without the support of the wall beside her, which she hugs with two outward palms that are clammy with sweat. there’s a noticeable difference in her complexion when she’s like this; color drains and leaves the skin a rather sickly hue of pale white and grey, tinged faintly by blue just around the edges of her lips.

“ don’t leave, chronos. im sorry. please..... you cant leave.” she attempts to stop the call before it ends. her hand outstretches, fingers closing around the phone -- and around chronos’s grip -- just as the line clicks. she can only stare at her in horror. big, bulging eyes.

“ chronos --  no, no no no. no....... no no no no no. call them back. please. i mean, i call -- i can call. please. you don’t want it --- i know, i know, i ---” the words don’t quite leave her tongue the way she wants them to. it is instead disconnected, discombobulated, frantic, the same as her emotions and her thoughts and the way her body is choosing to move -- accelerated and ten steps ahead of where she wants to be. when only five minutes ago she was screaming at her, she now chokes on the taste of her own tears crawling up her throat. it’s a horrible feeling.

“ if they come, then i dont know if i can --- please --”

widowmaker’s breathing worsens with her distress. yet she can still only think of chronos and how she can undo the damage she has done. too late, perhaps.

the way widow’s behavior continues even after max has left always leaves chronos with doubt hanging over her. heavy and thick, clouding her mind. it makes her wonder which version of widowmaker is real. which is true. 

is the woman she loves anything other than an intricate mask meant to toy with her? 

her stomach drops at widow’s reply, her blood chilling. not because it is unexpected, but because it only solidifies her fears; widow doesn’t even make her empty promises when chronos asks to leave. she doesn’t soften. 

all she does is demand. 

“ can’t i? max wants me gone. moira wants me back there. ‘n talon don’t give a shit either way as long as i do my job. or did you forget my job isn’t to be your bloody servant? “ 

chronos can’t suffocate the sharpness in her tone quick enough, her last words biting in a way she knows widow won’t stand. 

but chronos has nothing to lose. and she’s too angry to continue to coddle widow. 

the cigarettes are just another nail in the coffin of widowmaker’s growing distress. and chronos’ growing hurt. 

it’s almost comical, widow’s expression, her bulging eyes, her stammering. she has to suppress a laugh at the absurdity, feeling suddenly like she’s no longer even there, just an onlooker watching a movie- a comedy. 

she feels herself smile, distantly, as she responds. 

“ the lighter’s right there, ma’am. in your hand. you smoke enough you should know how to use it. “ 

now she does laugh, that odd light feeling in her chest not going away. she’s so far away from herself now, so distant from the reality of her anger and widow’s reactions. 

“ ‘n if you don’t you better learn fast. “ 

and she watches herself turn and leave, watches herself walk out and dial a number for someone to come retrieve her for talon. 

sunlight drenches the bedroom, spilling from floor to ceiling windows and onto widowmaker’s languid figure, which begins to tense in ever increasing agitation. she does not move far, merely swinging her bare legs over the side of the bed, feet dangling a few inches short of the tile.

her head juts backward again, chin receding into her neck in disbelief.

“ servant??? i don’t say anything about servant. you are crazy, chronos. crazy!”

one motion of the hand, up to comb through her hair and over her forehead, already glistening with sweat. the other hand grips the cigarettes tightly, crushing the little box worse than the condition chronos had given it to her in. still, no lighter. or so she thinks. she is moments away from yelling again, from jabbing her index finger directly in her face and screaming for the lighter, the lighter, where is the lighter -- chronos, why didn’t you light it for me. where is my lighter. i need my lighter.

“ chronos ---- “

she opens her mouth, only to be interrupted by laughter. a smile. in her hand, sure enough, is the little lighter, gripped so tightly it leaves marks on her palm. she feels humiliated. stupid. overwhelmed. “ oh. this is funny to you? so funny, chronos?? hein? you want to laugh?? ” ( i hate when you laugh at me. )

widowmaker’s hand suffers from small tremors as she dives into the box to retrieve her first cigarette. the lighter, the damn lighter, she wants to throw on the ground. yell. scream. but she doesn’t. because chronos is leaving, and widowmaker instead finds herself scrambling down the halls in a laughable attempt to prevent it. her gait, unsteady and wobbly, makes the pursuit that much more futile.

chronos is careful not to stare as slender fingers run powder over damaged gums. a sight so familiar, but seemingly done by a stranger. 

the flicker of hope brightens again with the little sigh from widow, but a moment later that mocking, foreign tone finds her once more. 

it makes her skin crawl, her spine straightening. 

“ no, ma’am. i have no one. “ 

she’s felt widow’s hurt before, felt the guilt at causing it, but the claim of it now is like a twisted joke, trying to draw out her pain without any shared between them. 

“ not life with you, ma’am. life with him. “ 

and with this person she doesn’t know, this woman who shares her ma’am’s face and nothing else. always lingering even after he’s gone. 

just like his cloying cologne. 

the same argument forms on her tongue, the insistence of widow’s promise. but she lets it fall, swallows it whole and reminds herself that all those sweet words were rotten from the start. 

“ then should i bother ever being here, ma’am? “ 

despite the flatness of her tone, the question is all too real; is it ever safe? will she ever be free from the threat of him?

she doesn’t wait for the response, just mechanically and quickly grabs the box of cigarettes and the lighter, barely holding back from shoving them harshly into widow’s hand. 

many times she promised chronos, distraught over her own behavior in his presence, that she’d never see him again. many times she has broken this promise, just as she will now and the next time and the time after that. every time, regardless of circumstances, he wins.

but to an extent, some of her repeated, futile excuses are truthful. indeed, he also lives within the principality, no further than twenty minutes away by car. most visits are unplanned. sometimes, she thinks he does this on purpose.

still, widowmaker doesn’t know how to answer her question. instead, she responds defensively.

“ i don’t understand the question. where  --- where would you go?? to base?? it’s --- it’s not allowed, no, no, you can’t. no. you can’t -- you can’t do that. “

her head snaps back to chronos, to the box of cigarettes she asked her for, now nearly crumpled beneath the grip of her metal fingers. chronos does not ready the cigarette, does not retrieve it for her and light it, no --- rather she is merely ten seconds away from shoving the box forcefully into her palms.

how horrible. to a normal person, chronos has done nothing wrong. she has simply refused to follow a routine they both know too well. a routine widow never asked her of, but expects nonetheless.

widowmaker’s physical reaction to this small, insignificant gesture is visceral, and it is felt in waves before she even opens her mouth to speak. her eyes seem to grow to the size of pétanque balls. they threaten to leap from her skull, bulging from their sockets as though one more gasp of horror would send them rolling right onto the floor before her. and then, finally, her jaw unhinges and hangs open in shock.

words, at first, are incoherently sputtered in anger, disgust, and disrespect. her voice leaps in octave, screeching hysterically like dry ice to a metal spoon.

“ chronos??? i ask you for -- for the cigarettes, where is --- where is the lighter?? where -- you --- you shove them at me??? i don’t understand. why --- why do you have an attitude with me??? why??”

her hands lift, snatching the box from her and staring at her in horror.

even with widow’s chest bare, with the familiarity of the situation, chronos remains formal and detached, gaze fixed always on the same point. 

any other day and she would be right there at widowmaker’s side. she’d be with her- close and intimate, safe alone together.

but now she can’t trust her. she can’t even trust her own perception. has she been wrong from the start? has every moment of warmth between them been a lie? 

“ you told me- “ 

she has to stop herself, school her emotion again, seal every crack it makes in her voice. 

“ ma’am, you told me you wouldn’t bring him ‘round again. because of how he treats me. you seemed sincere at the time, ma’am. “ 

even with her eyes averted, she catches sight of widow’s movement, the beckoning finger drawing her closer. 

there’s the slightest well of hope within her; that widowmaker will go back to one of her good moods, to the softness she saves for her, to her concern and caring. 

but that hope is suffocated as soon as she steps into the room and smells his still lingering cologne. this home is not theirs anymore. it’s overwhelmed by him and the cruel, cold widow that shows herself whenever he arrives. 

she stops short of the bed, still at attention, jaw twitching at the mocking tone. 

“ you know i don’t got no one, ma’am. but if i contact them, someone will come get me. and i never said i wouldn’t tell you. i just asked for a warnin, ma’am. so that i’d be able to make arrangements. “ 

finally, she meets widow’s eyes, her own still carefully flat, though she can’t quite hide the entirety of the betrayal that is currently drowning her. 

“ i’ll always tell you, ma’am. as long as you tell me he’s comin, i’ll always tell you. “

as chronos approaches, widowmaker slowly lifts herself from her reclined position, upright, back to the nightstand where her fingers find what remains of the white powder. her lips part, middle finger gliding across her gums, exhaling as they numb.

she watches chronos with eyes that are wide, unfocused, swallowed by pupils the size of saucers.

“ ahh. no girlfriend? no special girlfriend? life is so terrible with me that you have to leave, chronos? that hurts me. ”

her body leans closer, still bare and glistening with sweat. the smell of the room is cloying, too sweet, unfamiliar. widowmaker’s perfume suffocates beneath the weight of it, of his cologne, of the stench of sex that has made this room -- their home -- a stranger’s.

“well..... i don’t always have ‘warning’ . you understand? it is not so simple, how you make it.”

she gives a smile, but it does not radiate its usual warmth. it feels mocking, disingenuous, as if he replaced her with someone else.

“mmmm --- “

widowmaker’s expression changes again, quickly, dropping the evil smile that had possessed her features. instead, her hand lifts, gesturing wildly to the pack of cigarettes not even a foot away from her.

chronos’ eyes widen as widow picks up the binder and holds it out to her. for a moment she hesitates, hands stopping short of the folder, afraid for a moment that this might not be what it seems. or that, perhaps, it’s more than it seems; a trick to trap her into behavior that would surely warrant punishment. 

but widowmaker’s face is so honest. 

carefully, slowly, chronos takes hold of the binder. before widow can even sit, chronos is flipping it open and turning through it as quickly as she can skim, though she isn’t sure exactly what shes looking for. after all, widowmaker has already said she doesn’t know how much time has passed. 

her guess has chronos’ brows furrowing, gaze lifting briefly from the pages. 

“ a month? it feels so much longer….. so much longer……… “ 

she trails off, grip visibly tightening on the binder, material bending beneath the tips of artificial fingers. she isn’t sure if her perception of time and reality have really been that warped, or if talon just kept her presence in their grasp quiet even from their own agents. 

either way, the binder holds exactly the information widow said. nothing helpful. except… 

chronos feels a cold fist close around her stomach as she reads a paragraph detailing the failings of the treatments. she’s gotten little glimpses of what is described; the moments without sedation leaving her barely in control or conscious of her actions, but she had no idea about what fate awaits her. 

this time she does not see widow’s smile, and she barely hears her as she speaks. her mind spins as she flips through again and again, trying to find any mention of how long it may be. but there is nothing. and it seems less a holding of information and more simply ignorance even on talon’s part.

finally widow’s voice breaks through and she glances up, blinking, eyes wide and somewhat unfocused. 

“ oh- uh- lyon, huh? that’s nice…. “ 

she’s too distracted to pick up on the blatant lie. though she notices some discomfort from widowmaker, it all just fits into the current overwhelming narrative of her own fear and confusion. 

her voice sounds distant to her own ears, her eyes once again focused on the pages, though not reading any words. 

“ seein you’s been the best thing since i got here…… but i- “

she looks up suddenly, closing the binder with a snap. 

“ ma’am, do you know anythin else ‘bout what it says here? the- uh- well the whole thing ‘bout the effects of the meds? “ 

widowmaker did say she was a medic. so, chronos thinks, maybe she knows more. 

there is a sharp, distinct change in chronos’s behavior, evident enough to make widowmaker begin to regret her decision in giving her the file. it is crawling with confidential material, laden with details chronos only wants to dig further into. details to which widowmaker also does not hold all of the answers. she had no part in her conception, no role in her integration and assimilation into talon’s weaponry. in fact, had she known talon snatched another unwilling girl to join their ranks, she would have interfered.

the binder closes with a snap, and widowmaker’s palms outstretch. she is eager to page through it again, eager to remove it from her grasp. immediately, she drops the small talk.

“ well, i suppose i don’t...... know the exact time, chronos. a month is too short, i agree...... sorry.... but until i speak with the head of medicine, i won’t know for sure how long it was. but i already tell you, i will ask for you. ” her smile fades, and she returns to a more professional role, the one she is supposed to uphold. she’s standing now, arms straight by her side, eyes focused entirely on her subordinate and the discomfort that seems to be consuming her. it resonates with her -- a familiar feeling of isolation and confusion upon realizing what has been done, what has changed and what has been omitted from talon’s designation of their creation.

talon tells nothing to their subjects. only of their missions and objectives.

“ chronos...... “

visibly, the corners of her lips pull just slightly downward. “ yes, i....... i have been warned of your behavior when not sedated -- the higher levels of adrenaline in your body.... whichever hormones or chemicals they give you.... is dangerous to not only yourself, but to others too, past a certain level. longterm, too. i have not seen yet the full effects, but i am told that it will become worse during missions. “

just a fun little character game. fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by. repost & tag away!

tagged by: @khoihuwi tagging: anybody

EMOTIONS / FEELINGS: - resentment - insecurity - contempt - lust - sensuality - loneliness

GREETINGS: - la bise ( not actually a “kiss” -- a light touching of each cheek with a kissing sound ) - simple greeting, hello/salut, ça va - shake of the hand in professional situations and to strangers

COLORS: - blue - white - gold - red

SCENTS: - cigarettes - anise, particularly anise liquor - strong and distinct provençal floral perfume - lavender violet soap

CLOTHING: - high heels, christian louboutin - tight dresses, some skirting the floor, others too short - plunging neckline cut - extensive jewelry, visible cross necklace

OBJECTS: - pointe shoes she can no longer use - birkin bag - her car -- usually driven by a chauffeur or “assistant” - any of her mother’s or possessions, most notably her jewelry - infrasight visor and the widow’s kiss -- though she doesnt like the spider motif pushed upon her by talon

VICES / BAD HABITS: - cocaine - hypersexuality and desire for violent sex - necrophilia - chain cigarette smoker - inconsistent eating habits

BODY LANGUAGE: - head tilted, chin upwards - legs crossed - excessive sniffing  - constant grooming or playing with her hair - leaning forward to listen, wide eyes

AESTHETICS: - sun drenched mediterranean beaches in the south of france - the old port of marseille, hiking les calanques at sunset - high profile social galas, penthouses bustling with crowds of people - dark lipstick, smudged across full lips, vanities dusted with white residue - hotel suites in the early morning, bloodied sheets, diluted ricard -- blue -- on the nightstand

they have told her so little of her own condition. both of the chronal disassociation brought on before talon, and of whatever artificial changes they’ve implemented. she knows the obvious of course; the replacement of her limbs and vital organs, the treatments, and of course the conditioning. but the explanations have always been vague. just cherry picked details in order for her to be able to act in the ways they see fit. it has been obvious from the moment they pulled her from the time stream that in their eyes she isn’t even a person. 

she wonders if reading all that in print would make her feel any better. she wonders if there is even any information tucked in that file that could make a single inch of difference to what her life has become. 

given what widowmaker says, chronos doubts it. 

“ but if you’re my handler wouldn’t they give you more information? “ 

the question slips out unbidden, her behavior growing too bold in the air of comfort widow has created. she only can hope that this feeling of safety is not an illusion. 

“ they must’ve at least told you ‘bout what they’ve been treatin me with? or… did they tell you how long i’ve been here, ma’am? “ 

that is a question that’s been eating at her mind, weighing at her; so heavy in some moments that she feels she can’t breathe. she doesn’t know how long it’s been since the accident. she doesn’t know how much time passed before talon grabbed her. and she has no idea how many weeks or months or years it’s been since the moment she first woke up in the present once more 

it’s a small hope that maybe widowmaker holds that information. 

but even without gaining insight into her own condition, she finds herself enjoying talking with widow. it’s the first real, proper, human conversation she’s had in so painfully, maddeningly long. and widowmaker is… almost sweet. she seems genuine in a way chronos has grown sadly unused to. 

“ been to paris a lot. never really liked it much, no offense. been to lyon a few times too. ‘n i was in nice only once but i loved it…. would’ve loved to go back one day. “ 

her voice trails off, the reminder of her new reality buffeting her like a massive, frigid wave. no more travelling. no more freedom. 

she clears her throat, lifting her gaze in time to see the way widow’s hair falls and frames her face and the way her lashes flutter. and that smile… that smile there on her lips once more. 

she feels herself smile in turn, the warmth in her chest lifting, tugging at the corners of her mouth and bringing about her first expression of joy in what feels like a lifetime. maybe even a few. 

“ i was hopin you’d say that, ma’am. you’re the first person here i like seein. i know you probably only gotta be ‘round me cos of bein my handler ‘n all… but i hope you don’t mind it too much. i’ll do my best to make your job easy. “ 

it’s a promise she isn’t sure she can keep. not with what’s been done to her and what widow is soon to see, given their mission tomorrow. but she wants to believe she stands a chance at keeping this kindness and humanity. widow is the first here to see her as a person and chronos isn’t sure she could handle losing that.

the truth is exactly as she has stated; widowmaker is not trusted with the contents of chronos’s full dossier, only with what is imperative to her role as her handler. how long it has been, she does not exactly know, but she can take a rough estimate. she knows her treatments, the drugs given to her, and her schedule of conditionings. she knows that chronos will eventually face complete mental deterioration, but not for many years. she knows her full name and previous occupation. anything beyond that is kept out of her hands.

widowmaker sighs, reluctantly placing the binder in her hands. to do such a thing is a strict violation of protocol.

“ yes to the first question, no to the second, but my guess is that you have been in the labs for weeks. maybe even a month or so. i can find the exact time out for you, if you like. but for now, look for yourself, chronos -- the contents they give me are mostly medical. i may have higher rank, but i am still below council, and it is not my choice on what information i am given. they keep all of the files, all of them, including mine, with the council. i just dont have that power. it is simple.”

a pause --

“ but i will go ask labs how long -- how much time -- since everything. for you, i go tomorrow. when you meet me for mission in the morning, i can tell you exact time.”

she lowers herself onto the bed, hands splayed out on the sheets behind her. this places herself, unintentionally, at a lower height than her own subordinate. widowmaker looks up at her, wide eyed, attentive. even the smile on her lips seems wider, replacing the somber tone of her words moments earlier.

the mention of paris makes her skin crawl. an aspiring étoile, nineteen years old, sans bac and hopeless. gérard must have pitied her then. memories of the seine at noël grace her mind, place vendôme, the engagement that ruined her life. she even remembers the class she couldn’t even pay for to erase her southern accent.

“ ah, paris, no...... no offense to me at all, i hate it....... i live there briefly, but you know, people were so rude, and .... so many tourists, chronos, so congested, dirty..... dont go to paris if you visit us.”

the next pause feels unnatural, too prolonged.

“ ah! lyon! i am from lyon, actually..... but i have home in nice as well. i promise that you will go back there.”

this is a lie, a big one, and the discomfort in her body language helps to read it as such. widowmaker’s true roots are in marseille, her first language provençal, touching every syllable of her spoken french. chronos has yet to hear that.

she laughs again, leaning forward on the bed, legs crossed one over the other.

chronos’ eyes widen as widowmaker lifts the file from her desk and brings it to her. her gaze darts between it and widow, itching to reach for it, to read it and see just what they’ve said about her, just what they’ve done to her. she’s only been given as much information as they believe she needs, but she knows there’s plenty they aren’t telling her. 

but the moment passes and widow slips the file into a binder and clicks it shut. still, she can’t stop herself from asking, 

“ what’s in it, ma’am? what does it…… say ‘bout me? “ 

the unspoken end to her question, heavy in the air and unmissable, is ‘what do you know about me?’ 

this stranger, this woman she just met who now holds her life in her hands- she knows more about chronos’ condition than she herself does. and no matter how trustworthy widowmaker seems, how almost kind, it is still a terrifying thought. 

but she is somewhat comforted by widow’s insistence that her safety is priority, and the information that she is a medic sets chronos a bit more at ease. the last thing she ever wants to do is willingly put herself in the hands of any of the doctors and medics she has met so far. especially moira. 

“ i’ll come to you first, ma’am. i promise. don’t worry- as long as i’ve got a choice i’d much rather have you takin care of me than any of them… “ 

she wonders for a moment if her comment is too opinionated, too critical of talon, and wonders if this will be the stone on the pile that tips the scale and finally earns her punishment. 

instead, she is caught so entirely off guard by widowmaker’s smile. the way it lights up her entire face drives away any illusion of coldness from her appearance and leaves her radiant. that smile creates a warmth that fills chronos’ chest and overwhelms her. for a moment, despite her artificial lungs, she is left breathless. 

it takes her a moment to respond, so lost is she in widow’s smile. but finally she manages to stumble out an answer. 

“ i- uh- i’ve been to france a lot but the riviera only once ‘n only briefly. just passin through on my way flyin somewhere else… it was beautiful though. “

though it is silent, unstated, her thought is ‘like you, ma’am’. 

she notices the way widowmaker’s expression falters, and just that momentary slip feels like ice around her heart, though she isn’t sure what caused the sudden change in her. 

“ good… i was worried i’d be left alone here… i mean, i’m sure you’ve got more important things, but i was sort of hopin i’d be seein more of you. that we wouldn’t only see each other on missions, you know? “ 

widowmaker understands. she has long sought access to her own dossier, though she knows the contents within would not surprise her -- talon’s dedicated efforts to erase her past identity have remained, consistently, futile. she remembers everything. gérard, the failure of an early marriage. marseille, the old port and the sea, her grandmother’s mas. her ballet students in mulhouse. she remembers the intricacies of that train station, commuting every night until the evening talon cornered her there. not one detail escapes her -- none except for many of the surgical procedures done on her.

“ they don’t give me a lot, chronos. believe it or not, i am not ...... allowed access to all parts of your file. this mostly tells me about your... accident. how i am to handle you. the.... chronal dissociation, i think it is called? they want me to be able to....... manage you once you are deployed in the field. i know a few things about you: i know that you are not here by choice. and i know that ...... well, they warn me of your strength. but that does not bother me.”

neither of us are, she wants to say. the pain of being seized involuntarily and taken here, to endure repeated abuse and violation...... she’d wish it on no one. not even her husband. widowmaker turns back to her, interlacing her hands and offering her a small smile once again.

“ ah, okay. so you go to france before! do you mind if i ask where? i think.... if you like sun and sea a lot, you will like where i live. but just passing through is not enough time there!”

there’s a laugh, gentle, teasing. her lashes flutter, and widowmaker shakes her head, her hair falling over one shoulder, touching far below her hips.

she steps in behind widowmaker, gaze shifting around the room quickly, not wanting to linger and make her new handler think she’s snooping. still, it’s enough for her eye to catch on one of the files splayed across the desk. one with her name. 

no, not her name- the name she’s been assigned like she’s nothing more than a new invention, an object, a piece of property. 

her lips twist down, a sickening lurch of emotion catching at the back of her throat. quickly she tries to suffocate it, to school her expression once more, to try and forget how much she hates all of this. 

what her life has become is not something accepted so easily and it’s hard to kill that spark, that lingering clinging hope that maybe a better future could be waiting somewhere else. 

and the potential for trips outside of base only acts as kindling to that last low burn. 

she waits in that weighted silence, watching widowmaker with eyes widened in anticipation, edged with desperation; after all she hasn’t seen the outside would in longer than she can even quantify. 

her skin misses the sun. 

finally the answer comes and that little fire in the pit of her stomach grows. 

“ whatever i’ve gotta prove i’ll prove. i’ll do whatever they want. whatever you want. i just want to see the bloody sun again. ‘n eat food other than the shite they’ve got here. “ 

a broken edge catches her voice, cracking it as she mutters a soft- 

“ please… “ 

she nods along as widow explains further, wanting to show that she understands, that she of course accepts whatever conditions come with the first hint of freedom she’s been offered (even if purely hypothetical). 

though something catches her attention in what widowmaker says, her brows creasing and head tilting. 

“ you almost make it sound like you don’t wanna be here, ma’am… “ 

she moves closer at widow’s beckoning, though always she leaves that same distance between them, no matter how they move around the room. 

her gaze lingers for a moment on those uniforms, each identical, each obviously nothing anyone would wear casually or by choice. she wonders if her own will be similar. 

as her eyes lift she finds widowmaker watching her and she’s quick to hide whatever emotion or expression that might have found it’s way onto her features. 

“ thank you, ma’am. i know that can’t be ideal for you. but bein alone here…… “ 

she cuts off. shakes her head. 

“ no, ma’am. or- well i s’pose i’ve got one. however long i’m here before you can get me some sort of freedom- will i see you often? or will it be like it has been? “ 

the file on her desk contains information widowmaker would consider extremely confidential. medical history, records, and extensive text on the condition that brought her into talon’s hands. it makes chronos talon’s second experimental agent, as well as the second agent to be initiated involuntarily.

widowmaker would be the first for both. not that chronos has to know.

but her curiosity in the matter isn’t subtle. widowmaker plucks it from the desk and brings it before her, a demonstration of trust. an extension of her honesty.

“ i see you look, chronos. that’s okay -- this is only a file on your condition. i don’t ask for it, but they give me it anyway.  the only information i need from this is how to keep you safe. that is it.”

she sighs, setting it back on the desk and closing the binder with a sharp click.

“ mmm. i dont know if they tell you yet. yes, i am your handler, but i am also lead field medic. if you have emergency, see me first. do not go to the talon medical staff. “

she trusts none of them. infamous for committing medical atrocities, on both herself and on many others. live experiments, torture, and impractical operations are fresh in her memory. 

still --

“ as long as you listen to me, i promise you will see the sun. you know where it is i live, chronos?”

she offers her a warm smile, and it lingers. it reaches every corner of her face, from the corners of her eyes to the apples of her cheeks.

“ i live in monaco. you go to the french riviera before? sunshine all year long, and right on the sea. it is so beautiful..... mmmm, of course i dont want to be here, chronos, when i could be there. here is..... well, is venice, yes? and i think it is dirty..... never mind this base, is miserable. no windows, no ..... charm, nothing. no sunlight.“

she falls silent, and the smile slips. the change is fleeting -- just a second too late and it would have been missed.

tagged by: nobody tagging: anyone

DEFENSIVENESS.

arms crossed on chest |  crossing legs  |   fist-like gestures  |   pointing index finger  |   karate chops  |  stiffening of shoulders  |   tense posture  |   curling of lip  |   baring of teeth

REFLECTIVE.

hand-to-face gestures  |   head tilted |   stroking chin  |   peering over glasses |  taking glasses off — cleaning | putting earpiece of glasses in mouth |  pipe smoker gestures | putting fingers to bridge of nose | pursed lips | knitted brows.

SUSPICION.

arms crossed  |  sideways glance  |  touching or rubbing nose  |  rubbing eyes |   hands resting on hips  |      brows  raising |   lips pressing into a thin line  |  strict, unwavering eye contact  |  wrinkling of nose.

OPENNESS & COOPERATION.

open hands  |  upper body in sprinters position  |  sitting on edge of chair  |  hand-to-face gestures  |  unbuttoned coat  |   tilted head  | slacked shoulders, droopy posture  |  feet pointed outward  |  palms flat and facing outward.

CONFIDENCE.

hands behind back  |  hands on lapels of coat  |  steepled hands |  baring teeth in a grin  |  rolling shoulders |   tipping head back but maintaining eye contact  |  chest puffed up  |  shoulders back  |  arms folded just above navel

INSECURITY & ANXIETY.

chewing pen or pencil  |  rubbing thumb over opposite thumb |   biting fingernails  |   hands in pockets |          elbow bent  | closed gestures |  clearing throat  |  “whew” sound  |  picking or pinching flesh  |   fidgeting in chair |  hand covering mouth whilst speaking  |  poor eye contact  |   tugging at pants whilst seated  |   jingling money in pockets  |   tugging at ear  |   perspiring hands  |   playing with hair  |   swaying  |   playing with pointer/marker  |   smacking lips  |   sighing  |   rocking on balls of feet  |   flexing fingers sporadically

FRUSTRATION.