albinomilksnake | OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

If asked, Amélie hadn't been sure what Sombra was going to do with that little ultimatum she'd issued. At the very least it would tell her a lot about why Sombra had decided to bother her. So when there was no response right away, Amélie let it be. As she waited, she grabbed a towel presumably to dry the ends of her hair.

But that was when the knock came. A genuine smile touched her lips; Sombra must want something from her enough that she actually wanted in Amélie's good graces.

Turning to the door, she unlocked and opened it, eyes running over Sombra to take in her form. Smoothly, Amélie wrapped the thick, fluffy white towel about the shorter woman's shoulders, up about her neck, hand reaching out to brush snow from the multicolored locks.

"Come inside out of the snow. I will make hot chocolate and turn the heat up." Spoken as if they hadn't had the conversation through the door that they did; it was in the past now.

"You—"

Oh.

It's a warmer gesture than she'd expected. More human, maybe. Which isn't to say Amélie wasn't human— even considering the changes Talon made to her physiology— she is, beneath the rest of it, still herself: Sombra's observant, it's her driving focus, and she knows how to see the little details. How to compile fragments into a larger, more complete picture.

Underneath all the coding, the restrictions, the reconditioning— Amélie LaCroix is still in there.

"Gracias." The delivery a bit off-balance, said more out of surprise than sincerity, her fingers settling around the edges of the towel.

"I didn't think you drank hot chocolate."

"You have spent at least a day in Paris and you did not notice how there is chocolate on every street corner?" Amélie chuckled as she tucked a piece of her own hair that had come loose back behind her ear. "Of course I drink Chocolate Chaud."

"Shoes off," she said after kicking her own off. Amélie wasn't about to suffer having to avoid wet footprints inside. Making her way to the kitchen, she retieved a pan to set on the stove and began collecting the ingredients. Milk, heavy cream, pieces of high quality semisweet chocolate (no cocoa powder here), brown sugar and vanilla.

"I believe my taste for hot chocolate is the least of what you have discovered about me today. Are you going to tell me the real reason you have come to Paris?"

"I've been a little busy watching something else." Is the response Sombra gives, busy stooping down to toe off the boots she'd brought along with her for the ride: civilian clothes don't happen all that often anymore - she's been too busy, both for herself and for Talon, and more often than not she still sports neon that telltale violet even on her days off.

But they're a long way out from any missions or allies, and she didn't want to be spotted right away as a familiar silhouette. Otherwise there wouldn't be shoes, and little damp footprints all over the house would be an inevitability.

Instead, the boots are set off neatly to the side; she keeps her heavy waistcoat on, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear, flashing the edges of telltale circuitry. Propping herself in the doorway to watch, arms folded, comes afterwards.

"Intel gathering. You know how it is."

An irritated cluck of her tongue rose up in response, Amélie setting the carton of milk back down on the counter a little harder than necessary after pouring a generous amount into the pan. Intel gathering. In Paris.

"They are supposed to leave me alone this week. No surveillance, no one hovering over my shoulder, watching my every move." Despite the clipped nature of the words, her voice lacked the anger others would possess. "I have been coming here for the last few years; now they decide to check my loyalties?"

She broke pieces of chocolate off into the milk, turning the burner on so it can heat and melt. "And they sent you." Because why else would Sombra be there gathering intel? Had Amélie not discovered the transponder in her pocket, would Sombra have even revealed herself?

That pale gaze of hers shifted over to Sombra, seeing her still in that coat. "You can adjust the thermostat to your liking. It is normally kept well below your liking." Amélie doubted Sombra liked it at eighteen degrees Celsius.

"Nobody sends me anywhere I don't want to go." Sombra pointedly corrects, sounding more serious than usual as she turns on her heel to hunt down the thermostat— tracking the hum of electricity like a moth to a flame. "Not even Talon."

Especially not Talon.

By the time she's turned up the heat to something more her style (read: unseasonably warm) and returned, she's tugged the towel high over her head.

The hum of the heater kicking on filled the silence of the room as Amélie mulled over that declaration. It was true that Sombra went where she wanted, but sometimes she just needed an excuse.

"That is not a denial, Sombra."

One hand stirring the mixture in the pot, the other added cream to it along with the brown sugar and vanilla. Her attention was fixed upon it, careful to not let it boil and make a giant mess. There was something very practiced and natural about the whole process, an ease in which Amélie made the hot chocolate. She didn't even measure the ingredients.

"I'm here because I want to be here, hermosa." This time, Sombra sells it straight: eyes half-lidded as she watches Amélie work with an unfixed, distant stare.

"Nobody asked me to do this."

Not Gabe, not Talon, not some interested third party. It's not often that Sombra has the opportunity to claim direct credit for her actions, no matter whose interests they serve— she wants to make sure that point gets across.

That was definitely something of note, though it also brought about a blooming of confusion. It was a relief that Talon was abiding by their agreement, but it made more questions rise in wake.

"You had the burning need to know what I do on Christmas?" Amélie stirred the chocolate concoction, spoon drawing out a brown mixture that looked almost as thick as ganache. A wordless gesture was made toward the cabinet where mugs could be found, an indication that Sombra should acquire a pair.

"Or have you been following me longer in a more undetectable manner?" It was hard to hunt a hunter.

"It's not like I've got anywhere else to be."

Sombra is, after all, isolated. Alone by choice and necessity: she knows she can't get stuck in the rut of having anyone else at her side, it'd be too easy, too compromising— and she was never any good at connecting with anyone else unless she was pulling at the strings for a reason. Those threads are so easily tangled. Cut off entirely. She still looks out for Los Muertos sometimes, does what she can to keep them supplied and tipped off, but if they fell tomorrow? You wouldn't see her fighting on the front lines. She's not their hermanita anymore.

Which might be why they've grown on her, the other members of Talon.

They're the only tangible thing she has left.

"Either I'm here with you, or I'm scoping out some other target." Said offhandedly as she goes to fetch a pair of cups from the nearby cabinet, admiring the craftsmanship with a curious eye. "And I know which one sounds more interesting."

The spatula was drawn up until the chocolate dripped off it in a thin slow stream, allowing Amélie to swipe her finger through it. Bringing the digit to her mouth, Amélie licked the chocolate off as she turned back toward Sombra, tasting the concoction with a little hum of satisfaction. It was just the right balance and almost ready.

"So I am a 'target', am I?"

There was a quirk of her lips at the end to accompany the light ribbing, picking on Sombra's word choice just because she could. And it shook her a bit out of her hollow melancholy from earlier. It was going to linger for a while longer, but even Amélie had to admit that having Sombra there made the day a little easier to bear.

A quick turn of the dial reduced the heat so their soon-to-be-drink wouldn't burn, and she put away what was left of the ingredients. One must always be neat and clean as they went. Someone could learn from the example. Cream and sugar went into a small metal bowl Amélie pulled from the freezer, quickly turned into whipped cream by hand with a whisk, nice stiff peaks formed. It was going to be the finishing touches on the Chocolat Chaud.

Of course, it needed a little taste test. One finger of whipped cream went into her own mouth and, without even thinking about it, Amélie presented Sombra with some on another for her to taste. She wasn't even watching the shorter woman, eyes focusing on the mugs, free hand reaching for them.

Edited (late typo and phrasing fixes) 2017-04-25 14:16 (UTC)

"Aren't we all?" She asks, mouth tugged into a cool grin to match the twitch of Amélie's own fleeting little smile. Talon could flip the switch on all of them in an instant; Sombra doesn't like to pretend otherwise.

After all, she knows what it is to get caught without a contingency plan.

But instead of focusing on that, Sombra leans in when Amélie offers a taste— tongue set to cream, then cool skin— as casual as putting her mouth to foam floating over coffee. The quickest, easiest pass.

Some people dislike human contact. Sombra only dislikes attachment.

And yet there Sombra was, having followed Amélie to Paris of her own volition. Attachment held them all, one way or another, to things they would rather not. Sombra to her and Gabriel, Amélie to the ghost of her former life, Gabriel to his once best friend. Good thing there was fresh whipped cream to distract them both.

Amélie's eyes rocketed back to Sombra when the heat from her tongue passed over her skin. The contrast in temperature was so great that it caught her off-guard, so unused to such warmth. It was one thing to have the heat of a hand upon her, especially with those claws of Sombra's... It almost made her drop the mugs she'd snagged with the other hand.

"It is good?" Asked while taking her hand back so she could properly pour the thick chocolate mixture into the mugs and then add a very generous scoop of cream - overflowing the mug practically - on top of each. Taking both mugs, Amélie headed into the other room to settle down upon the couch, the heater having warmed the room to something more tolerable for the Mexican woman.

"You tell me." Sombra coyly exhales, spurred on by the instantaneous snap of Amélie's attention.

Following along behind her like a cat searching for cream, she isn't far behind: a few steps, nothing more, sinking down onto the opposite end of the couch without seeming to mind the idea of personal space. Already it's warmer (improving by the second), and Sombra tugs the towel off without pretense— flicking open the collar of her coat a moment later.

"C'est magnifique," Amélie replied maybe a little fast as she pretended she didn't hear that tone in Sombra's voice. "Of course. I did make it," she added on to make sure it was the whipped cream they were talking about.

Handing Sombra's mug over, Amélie took a sip of her own... and ended up with some of the cream on her nose. She wiggled it in discomfort, eyes warning Sombra to not say a word about it, before wiping it away with a knuckle. The chocolatey concoction was quite rich and delicious, Amélie sinking back into the couch comfortably.

She might be relieved to find that Sombra only watches her from over the lip of her own cup, fingertips gently curled around it— despite the heat and sweetness that coils in the air, the hacker only seems interested in observation. Indulging while Amélie is somewhat distracted, downplayed when she isn't.

Eventually, once it'd be overtly apparent that she's keeping her own sharp eyes trained, Sombra dips into the whipped cream where it's faintly melted, sipping away in small little rounds.

"Ask your question," Amélie said after a few more moments of silence. "I know you have one."

It wasn't Sombra's style to just silently follow someone around and keep an eye on them; she wasn't Gabriel. If she was watching someone that intently, it was indication that she was sorting through her myriad of questions. What other reason would Sombra have for such scrutiny?

"Otherwise we will sit here in silence until the drinks are done or you decide to remove your coat."

"Maybe I don't need to ask." Is the response that comes naturally, her thumb reaching up to wipe a touch of chocolate from the corner of her mouth.

This is, after all, a vacation— she chose to come here, and her reasons for anything, observation or otherwise, are personal. Even in boredom or isolation or restlessness, whatever has her here, curled up in slowly-spreading warmth, Sombra always has a reason for taking action.

Or, in this case, not.

That garnered a slight tilt of Amélie's head and a raise of her eyebrows. "Suit yourself. You are the one that likes to talk." Almost as though Sombra simply liked hearing her own voice. "Silence is an old friend of mine."

Even on this particular day, Amélie was comfortable without conversation. She was used to having no one to speak with - she didn't even talk to the headstone - though usually she was just sitting by the window watching the snow fall and the rest of Paris pass her by, continuing on its way as though she had never ever existed in the great city, had never danced under the lights.

But that was all so long ago. She should stop wondering what things could have been like. The thoughts always made her feel wrong in a way she couldn't explain.

"Wasn't always."

There, at least, is the point of her observation, revealed at last. As usual, Sombra takes to the indirect path— the most nebulous tactics— to get what she wants.

It'd be easy to believe she slipped the translocator into Amélie's pocket, hoping for it to be found.

"Incorrect. Silence always has been an old friend. It just used to be a different kind of silence."

The silence of intense focus on something, so much that all outside distractions faded away and it was just the music, the moment, the beauty. Amélie had the discipline to shut everything outside of herself away and excel. Now she shut everything inside herself away behind a locked door that she didn't have the key for, able to hear it from the other side if she focused hard enough, was in a place where it had a little life to it.

Much like Sombra had been before she knocked, cheek against the wood while a claw-like nail scraped along the grain...

Another long sip, sweetness coating the back of her tongue— she was always prone to bitterness and spice, but there's something addictive in the richness of this drink, and though Sombra's slow to finish it, she hasn't put it down just yet.

"Different how?"

She has to ask. Wants to see it for herself: the microexpressions— or the absence of them— what still lives beneath the surface of Widowmaker's thoughts, and how close they come to breaking through. Cold and aloof, she pretends to feel nothing.

Sombra knows better.

It wasn't so much that she did feel something as much as Amélie knew how she was supposed to feel in various situations, could remember what it was like, that the abject disconnect she experienced between what she knew and what was could only be dealt with through bypassing the emotions. Only such a flawed and experimental procedure could produce something of such bizarre beauty. Talon really did craft the perfect weapon at the time, for no one picked at the edges, worried the loose threads... no one cared enough to look at the woman the weapon had been crafted from.

Clearly, Talon hadn't predicted the problems in their design that would come with placing Sombra and Widowmaker in close proximity, in having them work together for more than a mission here or there.

Amélie took another sip of the hot chocolate, licking the liquid off her lips as she leaned forward to set the mug down on the low table in arm's reach. "It was temporary. Situational. A..." She folded her hands in her lap, one finger worrying the groove between her knuckles. "...an exertion of my will. Like a moment in time and then I would let it all rush back in again and surround me."

She only felt that now when she killed. That moment as the life left her target was like the invigorating deluge of a waterfall. Breathtaking and refreshing. Powerful. Highly addictive if it wasn't for that vast well of willpower Amélie possessed.

Edited (typos/incorrect details discovered like a week later orz) 2017-05-15 00:24 (UTC)

OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

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thanks DW I never got this notif and I've been dying of thirst for the last three days.....

bad DW no biscuit