#protctr

“Go to bed.”

“I made a bargain with a witch I met at a crossroads some years ago. It cost me my left eye, and the gold from my hair.

I know it sounds expensive, but I was really starting to go grey by then anyway, so it was a bargain really. The old crone must’ve been all but blind to not notice. 

“how have you been.” SQUINT. “have you been eating?”

“ good. fine. what’s it matter to you? ”

dies

Slowly, a cup was set down in front of her daughter; steam floating upwards off of the warm beverage as Ana took a seal opposite her. “I do suppose we have a... lot to talk about, Fareeha.”

And that was a vast understatement. Ana could feel her own tension let alone the sheer amount radiating from her child; her proud and strong child. The years really had changed them quite a bit. For everything Ana recognized, there was something new and unfamiliar. 

 “Oh, really? And how is that.”   Heavily armored confidence shielded her, deadpan tone only supporting it. How could she take a woman like this seriously? To discard her gun and take up a toothpick of a statement to dig into her head was just weak, weak even for the woman before her. But discipline told her to hold her tongue and wait for her explanation.   Not that it would matter much. Conflict avoidance was one thing, but to respect her being let alone her words were simply impossible.

And Widowmaker wore a fine coat of venom and bitterness. The two of them were at least on the same page of how they felt about each other. 

Certainly not friendly. 

Tilting her head, she scrutinized Fareeha. She doesn’t like explaining herself. Especially not to people she had little power over. 

These hero types disgusted her. Everything they did was in vain because people like Widowmaker could undo it in a second. Murdering any hopeful sentiments in people. She had witnessed it several times. Firstly within her own self.