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“Too fast to snipe love?”
“Just playing with you cherie.”
It could be seen as a dance.
They could feel the beat reverberate through the cements grounding caused by both the physical and mental oriented actions of the two women. Shown physically through the way both figures seemed to lean in with every jab, and soften the blow with every aim given and struck. How eye contact never seemed to wane from existence, a brown vivacious gaze never leaving the viciously animate glare of the other. Moving with the rhythm, the melody. Every twirl and every whirl, every spin and every curl. And when hands would graze, hips locking into a pattern while lips remained parsed and pursed in a concentration of their own –thoughts and sentiments would arise. Not to be seen, more so felt, until the night after.
It could be seen as a game.
Of cat and mouse? No. Of prey and predator? Not so much.
More so of a twelve year olds’ beginning to the universe of romance. Every spittle of an insult countered with the confident yet, slightly perplexcually driven comeback of a sexual joke of the matter. Back and forth their games of insults would go, one to other –the other to the one. Their missions would never vary, always going after one another when the other proved to “intrude” on their superiors/morally-related plans.
It could be seen as a last smoke.
Except, multiply that by a hundred thousand thousands. Inhale her addicting scent through every fight, as she moved one foot to the other all around and all to the sides. Sense how it invigorated their ways of thinking and doing, actions and their consequences resting on their weighted shoulders.
It could be seen as a dream.
On the literal speaking, as if both minds were connected, interlaced with each other’s ways of thinking and considering. Deceiving and betraying as their lucidities turned against themselves during the hours of the night, dreams morphing into “nightmares” as the form of one another would invade. Assaulting and plaguing these new notions. New ideas, new reflections being glazed over.
It could be seen as a joke.
Since the two could never really seem to kill each other whenever, and wherever, they had the chance.
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It was seen as a ridicule went wrong.
Because what have I done?
What have you done?
What have we become?
The bullet leaving with an automatic “click” of my hands and I panic god I panic because I don’t know what’s going –on? Her bloodless façade not even watching me as her back hit the ground while her body went utterly limp. What have I done what have I done? Disoriented I can’t think, I can’t comprehend, I can’t read the pages, I can’t write the meanings, I don’t know why or how and why and what?
There’s blood everywhere. On her, on me, leaking all over the buildings flooring.
“Tu ne l'as pas esquivé ?”[You didn't dodge?] I asked in disbelief, questioning the still and silence body on the floor. The still, immobile body. I inquired it because –she always evades me. Me and my bullets. What’s she doing on the floor then? Why isn’t she getting up?
I shot her.
I aimed and actually shot her. She’s dying slowly, very slowly.
I inhale, breathing in deeply and allowing my weapon to slip from my hands while not risking the action of blinking. I had done it, Inspire[breath in], I had completed a needed task at last. Expire[breath out].
Je suis composée [I am composed], squishing down that strange and foreign twist to my gut. Je suis calme[I am calm], biting hard at the loose skin of my knuckles. Je suis composée [I am collected], wiping away at this –what is this? Liquid bothering at my eyes.
This is good, oui[yes].
Her body looked familiar. Funny really, shaped in almost the exact position of another human being. The first one to fall at my hands, my foremost test that had accepted me into Talon’s organization. The way her arms were splayed almost relaxingly, and the way his rested in his sleep. How her head leaned back flaccid while his hardly stirred before and after my fingers locked around it. She’s dying, I can see it in her breath. Faint, but there.
Weaker and fading.
Pathétique. And yet, so fragile.
So I approach the body cautiously.
Seeing things with every step, images and teeth grinning while laughs and giggles hissed at my ears. Fragments of --merde[shit] –get it out. Cognizant –enough. Pieces of sun and a winged angel while contemplation of a vision –non non no no stop already enough with this damned seething scream of predilection--
And I’m running to her.
Stumbling over my own weapon to have done the deed and sliding on my knees to her side. My fingers rake through my hair, pulling and tugging at it as if ideas and answers would come falling out. What have I done? Qu'est-ce que ce foutre enfer ai-je fait?[What the fucking hell have I done?] I scratch over my face, clawing no doubt red welts in my cheeks and rubbing tirelessly at my damp eyes. I’m moaning and groaning and yelling insane crazy fanatical foolish stupide idiot!
Je suis composée.
Grabbing nearby at the curtain sill and ripping it off. Using it to apply pressure at the wound just atop her shoulder and watching as red soaked through. My hands a cold shade of blue now infused with a warm hue of red. Sliding both arms under and around her, I heave her up from the floor and sprinting with shaking legs towards the glass window.
Je suis collectée.
We go crashing out, and I hastily shoot out a wire which causes us to smash into the building façade to us. The brick stings at my affected shoulder which I blatantly ignore, instead focusing on my hold of the wire and the girl. The way her cold machinery seems to be turning a bright shade of red, and the way her low wheezing has now reached my attention. Once the cable lowers us down, I run.
Je suis calme.
Expressionless, I run. Impassive while I struggle for breathing. Emotionless as I’ve been skilled.
Blasting the doors open. Screaming as I enter the warehouse.
“What’s happened?” he yells, ready offensive-wise and rushing over with a blond woman at his side. At the sight of Tracers blood and unconscious form, he immediately snarls and bellows. “What have you done!”
“Reparez-elle![Fix her!]” I motion to her. I’d regret this later, but as if now I didn’t give a- “Fix her please I can’t –I don’t-”
“Give her here,” the blond woman interjects, and I do. Hardly paying mind to the gorilla’s growls I pass her over into the other woman’s arms. The medic to whom I faintly can process a remembrance on.
“Alright, now get ou-”
“No Winston,” the woman says just before disappearing into a room to her left. “Let her stay.”
“But Angela-”
“Stay if you wish,” she now addresses to me. Then she’s gone, disappearing within the room and slamming the door behind her.
I sit on a chair just behind me. The gorilla sits next to me, watching the door as I am.
Embrouillée. Confused.
I sleep.
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…
“What’s wrong love? Got something on your mind?”
I wish I could see her.
Feel her as her hands trail lines of smoldering red hot coal across my spine, releasing and discharging all known tension from the inside and out.
I wish she would watch me.
As I stare holes into the animated sapphire gaze of hers, noticing every crinkle of a smile and every scrunch of her nose. Tickling a ticking time bomb at my chest and bringing a biting sting to my throat.
I wish she could understand.
How I don’t understand.
How I panic at the feeling of a gut twisting –gut wrenching sensation in my stomach every time the image of her puckered lips comes into view and twist into a challenging smirk. I don’t understand, I don’t see why my hands become all but clammy and mind goes numb into autopilot. It’s alarming, distressing and disquieting. Reaction plus a reaction equaling the displacement of an unknown product.
I wish I could understand.
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…
“She just passed out?”
“Yes.”
“…”
“Angela. Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I knocked her out or anything.”
“Winston. Assassins don’t just sleep. What did you do to her?”
“I –nothing. I did nothing.”
“Winston. Tell me.”
“Nothing! Really, I promise.”
“Now.”
“Alright –alright! So I may have sedated her -”
“Winston did I not tell you that she was welcomed to stay?”
“To my defense-”
“No. Not another word. As if now, we are under truce-oriented conditions. Since you sedated her, you take her to the lounge room’s couch. She’ll have a sore neck when she wakes if she sleeps in that position.”
“A –Angela! Think rationally won’t you? This is an assassin. This isn’t the person we once kne-”
“Now Winston. I’m going back to check on Lena.”
“Angela. Angela you can’t be-”
*slam*
“Gah. Women.”
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…
When I awoke, I was alone. In my solitude, on an unfamiliar comforter. A blanket resting atop my form while a pillow was behind my head.
(?)
“Awake at last,” a woman’s voice called out, and at once I was up and reaching for my hidden boot’s blades.
“Oh calm down,” she scoffed, casually coming into my view and sitting on the coffee table. In her hands I noticed were two mugs of a liquid, one in which she offered to me. “We’re under a truce.”
I let go of the blades handles slowly, taking hold of the mug while carefully making sure to not touch her hands as I did. A cautious sniff told me that this was indeed tea, green tea if I’m not mistaken. My typically preferred. Strange that she’d know it –better yet nicely guess.
I sipped at it. Well aware to the fact that if they wished to have killed me, I would have been dead by now. If they wished to have captured me, my current comforter would have been an isolation unit.
(Bonne merde.[Good shit.])
“So you shot her, yes? The bullet I pulled out was no doubt yours.”
I nodded. Confirmation, the events of the moment coming back to vision in fragments. Odd, this woman was looking more and more familiar by the second. Mal à la tête[Head hurts.] –ugh.
“But a job well done, correct?” She sipped innocently at her tea. “So why bring her back to us?”
I shrugged.
“Not an answer dear.”
I shrugged again, refusing to look at her. What was I doing here still anyway?
“The faster you admit to yourself, the faster you’ll understand what’s happening to yourself.”
“Va te faire foutre.”[Fuck off.]
I downed the sip at once, throwing my head back and allowing the scalding liquid to rush down my throat. Once finished, the mug was thrown to the ground, smashing it, and I was sprinting to the window and shooting a wire out. I glanced back, momentarily, halting only from the surprise of her lack of reactions.
“Would you like to know Lena’s status before leaving hun?”
Half out the window, I didn’t move. A sign for her to continue.
She took a sip of her tea. “Stable. She’ll definitely live –thanks to you of course. No doubt you’ll see her zooming by in a week or so.”
I was soaring out the window instantly.
Inexpressive.
Yet smiling.
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…
“What’d ya’ think Ange?”
Angela chuckled, brushing at the girl’s bangs and rubbing at her head. Sights of the assassins paled face when entering, cries and pleas to fix Lena. The blasted doors and complete desperation in her voice. The defense and obvious denial in her attitude after waking.
“Oh she’s so into you.”