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Widowmaker never missed her shot.
Crimson liquid swirled in her glass as she carefully took in the sight before her. Moonlight gracefully set upon the room as people from all around the world - artists, entrepreneurs, connoisseurs et cetera - piled on top of each other to converse and share idle gossip with like-minded snobs.
Just the thought of making conversation with those imbeciles made the assassin snort in disgust, although, fortunately, no one bore witness to her act. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t, in any case. Her attention lay somewhere else entirely.
If nothing else, she could thank the event for being a masquerade, allowing her to slide into the crowd unbothered. Her colleagues in Talon always voiced their concerns over Widowmaker entering a public space where she’d be even slightly in sight, for her blue skin was easily questionable, and with the current events Talon had entangled with, recognizable. Yes, she thought to herself, a masquerade was for the best now.
A tight black dress made its remark around her mauve silhouette, matching black gloves covering her hands and dark tights her legs. Elegant high heels carried her weight, and that night her apathetic stare was covered by a web-like veil – a welcoming touch by O’Deorain. Her purple hair was in its usual long braid, with loose netting covering it to match her masque.
Well-dressed was an understatement, to say the least. Widowmaker witnessed the geneticist get taken away by all things artistry when it came to designing and ordering the agent’s garments. It wasn’t like she could complain, however. Widowmaker enjoyed being a sight to behold.
Speaking of sights to behold, there she was. The assassin squinted her dark eyes a bit, taking in the appearance of her target. There, in a dark red, rather loose gown, stood Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe, alias “Calamity”. Her platinum blonde hair hung above her oddly tense shoulders, its curled strands entwining with each other in a charming manner. Widowmaker thought her to be bald, even if only to slightly humour herself. There were few photos of the Deadlock rebel without her dramatique western hat – it felt invasive to see her without it.
To no surprise, Elizabeth was also wearing a mask. Hers a rather typical one, nowhere close to what could be deemed over-the-top. Made of thick, dark wood with blood-red flowers - roses - painted onto it. Her lips matched both the roses and the dress, Widowmaker noted, the crimson lipstick glowing against the gradually ascending moonlight.
The assassin turned her gaze to the figure next to the Deadlock rebel: B.O.B, her omnic bodyguard and partner-in-crime. He was also finely dressed, presenting himself in a black tuxedo with a round tiny hat on top of his - actual - bald head. Sombra had told Widowmaker the two thieves seldom went anywhere without one by the other's side, and it seemed that night was no different.
The set plan was simple: get close to the Deadlock leader, and inject her with neurotoxins that would later on paralyze her entirely. Widowmaker had suggested just sniping her through a window to get it over with quickly, but Reyes advised against it. Talon was at that point known for their occasional assassinations of people they deemed ‘problematic’, and Widowmaker had grown into sort of an infamous icon among the common people. The deadly spider walking amongst the shadows, ready to place a quiet bullet in the head of some unfortunate soul. No, Reaper had ordered, it’d be too obvious. For all the commotion Talon liked to cause and be known for, this was not one of them. The Deadlock gang had grown into more of a nuisance than an actual threat, messing with any operations the organization had going on in the southwest of the States. Widowmaker was there to make the kill go unnoticed.
In silence, she made her way towards the masked rebel, twisting and turning in order to avoid slamming herself into a lousy fool. Easily done as it was said, and soon enough, Elizabeth stood right in front of her. Not to make them bumping into each other seem intentional, Widowmaker quite literally bumped into the woman, vin spilling from her glass onto the carpeted floor beneath her. She stared at the ground for but a moment before finally lifting her regretful - and rehearsed - gaze to look at the blonde.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, madame,” Widowmaker faked her apology, giving the woman a distant yet polite enough smile. Elizabeth turned towards the agent, in a rather dramatic and irritated manner. Although her eyes hid behind the wooden mask, her mouth certainly didn’t, and those pretty lips of hers had formed into an uglier frown. Rude, Widowmaker mused, not letting her silent thoughts be shown through her webbed veil.
Elizabeth’s displeasing scowl soon voiced itself by an annoyed sigh, but she didn’t push the clearly bothersome act further. She turned to look at her omnic partner, gave him a nod, and then looked back at Widowmaker, slightly less agitated. The rebel fixed her posture, and now their bodies were facing each other, and for the first time Widowmaker could actually see those eyes behind the rosy mask. Elizabeth’s gaze felt cold but not entirely unfriendly; the assassin had seen worse thrown her way.
“It’s alright…” Elizabeth said in response, surprisingly politely, her arm almost motioning a tipping of a hat before she hastily put it back in place. “...miss.” Widowmaker couldn’t help but chuckle as her eyes followed those tender hands of the rebel, noticing the awkward attempt at chivalry. Her gaze turned back towards the woman's red eyes, that polite smile continuing to dwell on her damson face. She took a sip of her vin before continuing.
“So many forms of art, dunked here together…” Widowmaker looked around the noisy room, her voice naturally naive and getting drowned by the rest. A playful mannerism showed itself as the corners of her lips turned upwards before she voiced her question, turning back to the rebel: “What made you come here?”
Elizabeth’s slender eyes narrowed ever so slightly behind the mask. It'd have been extremely easy to miss for most people, but Widowmaker never missed. The blonde's smile was clearly rehearsed, just as hers was, although no fear showed behind it. Only certainty, confidence. She was not intimidated by Widowmaker; be it for being a fool or two steps ahead of the assassin. The assassin naturally assumed the former.
“Oh, y'know… family business.” A lie. “My parents enjoy the occasional visit to see arts and whatnot, and they find it hilarious to drag me along, for whatever it’s worth. It’s always been that way.” Another lie, to some extent at least. Elizabeth Ashe had cut contact with her parents right before turning eighteen, around the time she officially formed the Deadlock Rebels. Not that it was common knowledge, mind you. On the contrary in fact: Sombra had to use at least a few hours to dig the information up from the depths of the Ashes’ archives. Widowmaker recalled a snarky remark from the hacker, hinting at the family wanting their Deadlock daughter erased from their house's history altogether.
“Ah, I see,” Widowmaker hummed, eyeing the blonde. Due to the mask covering at least a third of Elizabeth’s pale face, it was hard to tell what she truly hid underneath. Whenever the assassin tried to guess, she was met with nothing certain, nothing that those crimson eyes would deem true. She felt herself grow more frustrated by the second.
Before she could turn the conversation back on the Deadlock rebel, Elizabeth had asked the same of her; what she was doing there. The assassin remained nonchalant, her head turning to face the tattling people sipping their champagnes and vin.
The lie came out easier than she’d expected, perhaps due to it being nothing but the truth.
“I was a dancer in my youth. A ballerina to be exact,” she started, a genuine smile revealing itself behind her forged one. Widowmaker rarely enjoyed looking back on her life before Overwatch or Talon. Before Gérard’s-
… She digressed.
“Unfortunately, it’s something I’ve long since left behind. I do, however, enjoy talking with those who share my interest in it.”
A smile formed on Elizabeth’s face at the answer, something resembling satisfaction, although distrust still loomed over her. Widowmaker found herself capable of relating to the rebel, surprising herself in the moment. She’d been trained to doubt, to question every move and every sentence spoken out of a victim’s mouth, for seldom anyone would give a direct answer to anything when feeling indirectly threatened. Clearing her throat, she took the reins of the conversation back to herself. “Do you dance, miss…?”
“Caledonia,” the blonde answered without a thought. The assassin’s thin brows arched slightly at the answer. Not one for nicknames, she boldly figured.
“Can’t say I’m a good one but I’ve had my share at times.” Elizabeth’s previously tense shoulders were now more relaxed, her slender hands slightly twitching at her sides, grabbing onto the thin fabric. It revealed an unspoken invitation for the agent’s to proceed with her next move. As if speaking of the devil himself, a slow waltz began to play in the background.
“Well then, madame Caledonia,” Widowmaker began rather dramatically, her gloved arm setting her glass of vin on a nearby tray before reaching it towards the blonde. “Would you care for one now?”
Elizabeth’s settled smile only widened at the invitation, her eyes glimmering even beneath the brooding mask. Despite the joy on her face, she quickly turned to her bodyguard, clearly telling him something. With all the loud noise echoing throughout the hall, Widowmaker couldn’t make out what the two thieves were discussing. Ugh.
The talk didn’t last for long; the blonde shooed the big omnic away before turning back towards the assassin, her beautiful smile intact. “Alright then,” she laid her palm against the agent’s. “-lead the way.”
The touch of the rebel’s hand felt soft yet incredibly firm, despite the black fabric stopping it to an extent. Even the words Elizabeth let out were firm, reeking of nothing but confidence. Like she knew what she was doing – it annoyed the French agent. Targets like her, slightly cocky and arrogant, usually proved to be more trouble than initially worth, and the Deadlock rebel felt to be even more confident than the average asshole. It set a feeling of uneasiness inside Widowmaker.
It didn’t help when the blonde asked her to lead the way, that feeling continuing to fester further. But the assassin shoved it aside with an assuring smile. Whether it was more to Elizabeth or herself, she wasn’t sure, but it certainly did calm her nerves a bit. The blonde was just like the rest of them, way over her head, and too blind to see when the sun was in her eye. When it would blind her in the face of danger.
Together they made their way towards the dance floor. Despite the event itself being filled to the brink, not many of the guests were actually enjoying the waltz. A pity, Widowmaker thought to herself, she’d always found it to be an enjoyable form of art. And this of course made poisoning Elizabeth more a risk than it deserved be. The thought made her curse under her breath. Merde.
Whether or not Elizabeth heard her little cuss, she didn’t say anything in, letting Widowmaker lead her on. What naiveté, the assassin thought, frustration swarming her thoughts. The night would go on longer than she or her colleagues had anticipated, and she wasn’t exactly sure how long she’d be able to hold the polite act. However good an actor she thought of herself, the mere presence of the rebel leader made her uneasy.
A short humph left her mouth as she kept looking around the room to find the most crowded place to dance in, still holding on to Elizabeth’s hand. She must’ve stood there for longer than intended, as she soon felt a thumb caressing her upper hand. Startled by the touch, he assassin turned to see those crimson eyes look right at hers.
“You alright, hun?” Elizabeth asked with an almost teasing tone. As an automated response at this point, Widowmaker rolled her eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh.
“Oui, it’s just… I often have a hard time enjoying a dance if I’m the only one doing it. Empty ballrooms are no fun in my experience.”
“Scared they’re gonna judge you?”
“Of course not!” the assassin almost hissed her answer before realizing it: Elizabeth was toying with her. How unexpected. She seemed the type to push people’s buttons if it made her get what she wanted, from what Sombra had revealed before the mission. Although, whether all she wanted was to dance or something more, the assassin wasn’t sure.
“I just… find it more enjoyable to dance with people around. Nothing more to it,” Widowmaker lied, covering it with a polite smile.
Suddenly she felt a firm grip around her waist, and in seconds Elizabeth’s equally firm gaze faced her. The agent tried to guess her motives in the moment but to no avail. Putain ces masques. She only saw the mischievous smile those blooming lips had formed. If the rebel thought she’d catch the assassin off guard, she’d find herself corrected. Widowmaker kept her cold stance despite her initial surprise, keeping her distant eyes on the blonde. For but a fleeting moment they stood there, face to face - no words spoken for none were needed. Widowmaker decided in that moment that she knew what Calamity wanted. She wanted to dance.
“Oh, determined are we?” Widowmaker whispered, a mischievous smirk forming on her face. Elizabeth said nothing, purely letting out a hum in agreement. “I’ll let you lead the way then.”
Soon enough they were swirling against the warm air in the ballroom. Where Widowmaker’s dress had not been designed for something as elegant as waltz, Elizabeth’s certainly had been. The assassin couldn’t help but look as the rebel swirled in her blood-red dress, the loose fabric twirling around her body like it only listened to her word and will. Their bodies interacted once or twice but never did one step on the toes of the other. She truly was a dancer, Widowmaker concluded, rather pleased with the rebel.
The assassin noticed more people joining in the dance after they had, more and more couples swirling in different directions and filling the dance floor with thrilling laughter and awkward footsteps - interrupted with the occasional shouts of pain as toes were stepped on. This was her chance. She just had to keep the rebel distracted for a short enough time.
“So tell me, madame Caledonia…” she began, her eyes finding the rebel’s mask, her hand slithering down the other’s bare back. “Whoever taught you to dance so elegantly?”
“Taught myself,” the rebel answered back, rather loud and clearly proud. She either didn’t mind the hand sliding down her back or just didn’t realize it; either way was fine with the assassin. “You usually learn a thing or two when your family has you join in on some parties during your life.” She let out an ugly snort, as if her joining any events ever was some sort of a hilarious joke. “Not that I cared for it much… What about you? You said you were a ballerina, an iconic one by any chance?”
Widowmaker hummed back in agreement, “With all the fame ballet has in Paris, I had a few shows here and there. I dare say I was good at it.”
“Oh, I’m sure I woulda loved to see a show of yours,” the rebel shot back, some sort of cold admiration on her face from what Widowmaker could gather. The assassin’s hand continued to trail down and towards herself until it was near a slit revealing her right thigh. She quietly pulled out a needle from under the fabric and placed it by her side.
“So tell me…” the rebel continued, her eyes not leaving Widowmaker’s while they swirled among the crowd. A tranquil tone took over her typical raspy voice, those red lips of hers forming into a serene smile. An eerie sort of anticipation formed in the assassin’s chest. It only grew as she felt soft fingers caressing her back and twirling her braided hair. “Which ballerina do I have the pleasure to share this dance with?”
She shouldn’t say. There wasn't any clear certainty on the fact Sombra had managed to hide everything about her. The hacker's skills were satisfactory but her motives were not. Who knew what she’d give to those who would serve her in the long run. Yet still, Widowmaker found herself conflicted. If not Sombra, then perhaps Overwatch had done enough to cover their failed attempt at saving their precious bride-in-missing. No one remembered her. No one knew her.
“Amélie Lacroix.”
Her fingers gripped the needle tightly. This was it, her chance, her shot. Widowmaker never missed her shot.
“I have one thing to say to you, Amélie Lacroix.” The awfully American pronunciation physically hurt her. Yet she listened in silence. Give the fool more time to talk, the needle would be in and out in a second. Elizabeth would never feel it.
Suddenly the by-now familiar, firm grasp of the rebel wrapped around her right wrist, stopping her mid-act. Even behind her veiled mask, she couldn’t hide the sudden shock revealing itself behind her eyes. She tried to silently pull away, that same polite smile still on her face. Elizabeth couldn’t’ve known. Quietly, Widowmaker dropped the needle down onto the ground. She wouldn’t know.
In the midst of her inner banter she hadn't realized how close the woman in red had gotten to her, until her chain of thought was abruptly interrupted by one single line whispered in her ear.
“I suggest you change your name.”
It was all a fleeting moment, even for Widowmaker. The clock struck twelve, a shattering gunshot rang through the air, and suddenly the room previously filled with only the wealthy was now also filled with armed men. Deadlock.
Widowmaker quickly got out of the gang's way, and climbed a few steps up the stairs leading towards the upper section of the manor. She looked over the area: multiple people with guns yelling and ordering the civilians. Bags, brimming with jewelry of gold and silver, getting dragged across the marble ground out the backdoor. It was all a heist. Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe was here for a heist. Widowmaker groaned at her own stupidity. Putain! What else could it have been? To assume Calamity would instead get intel on a powerful enemy or appeal to the upper class in some attempt to make political connections was obviously an idiotic thought, for it clearly lay outside the rebel's mental capacity.
She let out an angered groan, turning her head all around to see if she’d see the blonde. And there in fact she was, still in that glamorous gown of hers, talking to her omnic friend. Only now her mask was off and thrown somewhere amidst the chaos.
She wouldn’t get out of this that easily, and Widowmaker would have her shot. Quietly making her way through the panicked crowd, the assassin snatched a revolver from one of the occupied thieves, having left her own rifle back at the shuttle. She wouldn’t call Talon, not yet, for they’d only cause more terror and blow her - and their - entire cover up. No, she’d get her kill on her own.
As if allowing the assassin her chance to strike, Elizabeth Ashe parted ways with her trusted partner-in-crime and headed for the bathroom. Imbécile, Widowmaker muttered to herself half-smiling. This would be easy, although a bit delayed. She dropped any expensive jewelry she had - alongside her veil - on the marble ground and followed the rebel.
Despite its infamous reputation as a "force to be reckoned with", the Deadlock Rebels became an easy object to avoid as the French agent slithered through the grounds both unnoticed and unheeded. All of them were too busy yelling at the guests or each other to notice a fine-dressed woman follow their boss into the ladies’ room. What a bunch of amateurs.
Revolver in her right hand, she stepped into the well-lit room, examining her surroundings. It didn’t take awfully long to notice the ash-haired woman right in front of her, dressed in red. A leather suitcase lay next to the woman’s heels, and it seemed the rebel was midway on unlocking it.
“Thought you could get away by setting up a heist, hm?” Widowmaker clicked her tongue, aiming the gun right at Elizabeth's head. “Think again, cherié.”
As if not even caught by surprise, the blonde could only laugh in response. It was a prettier noise, compared to her snort at her lazy attempt at a joke earlier that night, but still questionable. Widowmaker squinted her eyes in doubt, letting her finger slightly press the trigger. The woman would not be cackling much longer.
“Oh, so it is true!” Elizabeth finally chuckled out. “Talon’s own angel of death really is after me. I thought we had maybe messed with you lot enough for you to get out of our hair, but to actually try an assassination?” More laughter ensued. “I guess I really did underestimate you.”
“You really did, didn’t you?” the assassin smiled in return, this one less polite and more vile than her previous attempts. “Talon is more than happy to eliminate anyone who stands in its way, Elizabeth.”
The satisfaction she felt as the name rolled off her tongue was more than any petty attempt at poisoning would’ve done. She liked leaving a mark on someone, even if they would not be telling that tale to anyone else after encountering her. The rebel didn’t seem surprised though, why would she, really? She knew the woman in front of her was sent by Talon, of course she’d be aware of how much they really knew of her.
“Well, color me excited, Amélie.” Touché. First names stung. Widowmaker didn't regret using Calamity’s though. The price paid back by the rebel only fueled the freezing fire within her, the feeling that a spider gets at the moment of the kill. The feeling of being alive.
The agent lifted the revolver, pointing it at the bridge between those beautiful, sharp eyes. They pointed right back at her; surprisingly calm, given the situation.
“A shame really,” an oddly nostalgic approach revealed itself in Elizabeth's tone. “I woulda loved to finish that dance with you.”
The bathroom door abruptly got smashed open. Elizabeth's omnic partner charged in, immediately towering over Widowmaker, and covering her sight of the blonde with his huge arm. Merde, she couldn’t shoot, the assassin thought. A cackle of pure joy could be heard from the rebel's direction, an indication she was more than happy to see the omnic. He quickly - and roughly - pushed Widowmaker aside before grabbing the ashen haired woman in his arms, politely picking up the leather bag as well. To add salt to the wound, he stopped to look at the assassin now lying on the cold floor, tipping his round little hat before actually marching off.
"Better luck next time, angel!" Elizabeth cheered while getting carried away by her partner. Her crew came running right behind, sacks filled with gold dragging behind every man. "Send Talon my regards, and tell 'em the Deadlock Rebels won't so easily be swatted away."
Widowmaker dragged herself up and quickly picked up the revolver. Slowing her breath down, she narrowed her dark eyes just enough to get her aim right. There, right in front of her sat a beautiful woman in red, with eyes like crimson and hair like ash. In that moment, her heart beat.
A quick shot rang through the air, a bullet piercing the area as it made its way towards the target. It hit that pale skin of hers, an ugly wound slicing itself open on her left cheek. Blood soon burst out, staining some of the platinum hair hanging over it. There was no shouting. No screeches of pain. Just two women staring at each other; one with crimson eyes and an equally crimson cheek, the other with a hissing revolver and a continuously beating heart. Widowmaker had missed her shot.
She never missed her shot.