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So when Lena took a the split second to actually look at the cashier affront of her while in the semi-process of handing over a five dollar bill, least to say she was quite surprised.
Quite surprised indeed.
Surprised to the point where she had to slap a hand to her mouth, smothering the loud snort to the best of her ability. It proved to be useless anyway as another stifle of giggles escaped her lips, held back from bursting only by the perilous glare the cashier was making.
“Oi, is that you love?” Lena whispered across the countertop, wary of the civilians surrounding them. “What’n the name of god are you doin’ here?”
To put it mildly, the cashier was not amused one bit.
“I am working.”
“Well I can see that, but why? Talon’s shortening the pay check huh?”
“It’s none of your concern.”
“This is hilarious though!”
“Tracer, it would be wise of you to disappear as if now.”
“Are you kidding me?” Lena grinned, almost looking crazed off this new idea of Widowmaker taking on an ordinary citizen’s job. “I need answers love, and I need’em now.”
“I will not have yo-,”
“I’m not leaving till I get’em.”
“Do not even think abou-”
“Love the change of outfit by the way.”
To describe the current expression of Widowmaker would be fairly easy per say. It was just about the definition of loathing, perhaps intermingling with a sprinkle of hatred and utter humiliation. With a dignified huff, she straightened out her green apron, jingling the smiley face buttons while doing so.
“Please be kind as to give me your cash so I can get on with the next customer. You are holding up the line.”
“Ah of course, of course,” she hurried to say, handing over the money and looking back to wave sheepishly at the frowning people behind her. “When does your shift end then?”
“Do not mock me chérie,” Widowmaker hotly replied back, opening the cash register and collecting the correct amount of change. “Why would I ever tell you?”
“Because you wuuv me.”
Widowmaker had never been any more mortified in her entire life.
“Here is your change,” she responded, deadpanned in both voice and expression. “You receive your order just to the left. Please have a wonderful day.”
Still smiling, she two-finger saluted while beginning to inch her way to the left. “I guess I’ll just have to wait until your shift is over then.”
“Please don’t.”
Lena laughed, a cute and genuine chuckle heard by most people. To Widowmaker however, all that was heard were the evil cackles of the devil himself. She sighed, taking a moment to inhale deeply and massage lightly at the temples of her head. “Pourquoi moi?” [Why me?]” she mumbled to herself before finally glancing back up to the next awaiting customer. He cleared his throat, impatiently waiting for her to begin the typical protocol of restaurants. It was at that given time in point and space where she wanted nothing more than to reach over and crash the heal of her palm into the man’s nose.
She didn’t of course. That would mean an end to her just beginning career.
“What can I get for you today, sir?”
And it’s not that she quit her previous job or anything. Assassination and eliminations really did bring a thrill to her way of life. Almost like a sport, each successful assignment a gleaming trophy nailed to her Talon reputation and public recognition.
However, when it comes down to your head boss being an absolute dunce and threatening to kill her on the spot if he didn’t receive the pleasure he desired, well --
---
“You are joking, yes?”
“Shirt off. Now.”
“It is not even a shirt.”
“Jumpsuit. Whatever. Take it off now.”
Despite the gun barrel to her head, Widowmaker couldn’t help but let out a muffled laugh. Completely amused if she were to be honest. While the man may have been powerful in both physic and overall control, this man also reeked of alcohol. She noticed this, spotting the many bottles of wine sitting atop and around his desk while taking heed to the way his whole body seemed to be swaying.
“Mr. Talon, I would advise for you to put the pistol down. You are not in the right mind to be holding it, let alone make orders at this current point.”
“Take it off-sh-*hic*–Widow.”
“No.”
“Now!”
“Non.[No.]”
“I’m going to count to three! One…”
“Vieil homme [old man], put the gun down.”
“Two…”
“Fuck it. I’ve had enough of this shit.”
“Thre-*BANG*”
---
So, she shot him.
This being the reason to her present situation of being on the run. Any weapon she owned was lying at the bottom of a lake by now, tracking devices for the very reason. Bills for the apartment needed payment, and although robbing was always an option, it was best she stayed on the low radar.
The end result of this all?
“Five dollars and sixty-nine cents.”
Applying to the first help wanted sign to catch her attention. How she got the position? No idea. Suspicions include various methods of seduction and/or intimidation.
Through the corner of her eye she spotted a flicker of movement, glancing to the right to find no one other then Tracer herself. Smiling happily while waving her hands nonstop, seeming to be proud of the seat she had managed to claim within the bustling shop. Widowmaker, spying this, could hardly hold back a gag at the amount of unnatural happiness radiating off her. Why the young girl was happy Widowmaker just couldn’t understand. Couldn’t grasp the actual concept to.
It was all very confusing.
“Oi! Hey –hey over here! S’cuse me sorry, not you. I was talking to her.”
Moving onto the next customer, Widowmaker decided it be best to continue ignoring the girls movements.
“Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey hey! Hey hey hey hey over here! Over here! Look over here love! Hey HEY-”
Widowmaker looked, snapping her head towards Tracer and sending a glare filled with only the purest of hatred. Nose scrunched up and mouth snarling a frown that had Lena giggling madly to.
“What.” Despite their distance, Tracer was easily able to pick up on the deadpanned voice from across the shop. Still giggling, she gave a small wave and grinned.
“Hi.”
“*internal profound screeching*”
…
…
…
She ended up going through the back door.
“Hey, Amelie right? You know the front door is always an option for exits.”
“I don’t care,” not even looking back as she slammed the door in the manager’s face. The alleyway was dank, night sky being dark but not enough to lose her way. The back route she took, thoughts of Tracer already disappearing from her worries as she hit the sidewalk and approached the apartment building.
“Number?”
“I will handle it.”
“Alright. Have a good night.”
Up the elevator she went, uninterested while watching each button flash a gold color until finally halting at hers. Ding, walking out and fiddling with her purses belongings, brushing by an unsheathed knife before grabbing at her keys. Twisting the lock open, she quietly stepped into the room, shutting the door with a swift kick of her foot.
She was expecting quiet. A welcoming need to her aching head.
“Surprise!”
What she got was just the opposite. In fact, being meticulous, what Widowmaker got was an abrupt shock to her heart.
What Tracer happened to receive on the end side of this was a knife slick through her spiked hair.
“Oh boy! You almost got me there love!”
“What are you doing in my house, sale petite garce [you little shit.]”
“Didn’t catch that last part but-” She suddenly squealed, excited and reaching over and snatching up Widowmakers hand. Widowmaker, already pissed off to the point where she couldn’t even feel pissed off to any further extent, evidently gave up on all hope there and then. From the underlying dejection of having to take on an ordinary job to this, it was enough. As she was dragged to the direction of what seemed to her be her kitchen, she casually grabbed her knife off where it had indented a deep mark into the wall and allowed herself to be pulled away.
It wasn’t like the girl was an enemy anymore.
“So I’ll admit, it was a bit rushed. But I saw how stressed ya’ looked, so I decided to cook you a nice lil’ somethin’ something.”
Spaghetti.
Candlelight.
(Since when did she own candles?)
“You cooked me dinner.”
“Yep.”
“You bought those candles.”
“Yep.”
“You are a complete idiot?”
“Possibly.”
“You know I can kill you.”
“Sure do.”
“You know I should kill you.”
“That’s a bit rude.”
“Why are there two plates set up?”
“Didn’t want to let you chow all alone.”
“Darling, why are you doing this?”
Here she grins her special little grin, bright enough to illuminate the kitchens dank corners and even having Widowmaker squint at the slightest.
“Because.”
Oh my god I can’t take anymore of this.
“Sit down and shut up please.”
Tracer clapped her hands together, grin stretching further as she hurried to sit. Nearly falling off the side at first, she quickly straightened herself and nabbed a fork before Widowmaker could say a word, casually twirling it with her fingers.
“So, Wido-”
“Hush.”
“Well gahsh.”
…
…
…
So they ended up chatting it out anyway, much to Widowmakers dismay. If she were to be honest with herself, half the time had her constantly pinching at her skin to wake herself up from “this never ending nightmare” while the other half had her actually talking.
As in, talking. About –shit.
Literally. About the shit of her situation, squeaking couch, leaking ceiling –yeah that kind of shit. Tracer, during her short spurts of rambles, was all ears. Her focus completely zeroed down onto what was being said, something Widowmaker happened to appreciate. It was charming, everything about what Tracer had set up. For only a short time of course, Tracer proving to be too much for her isolated mind and towards the end finally provoking her to kick the young gal out.
“What’d I do?” turning and watching the door slam in her face.
“You cooked me dinner,” she said, just loud enough to reach Lena’s ears from the other side of the door.
“I thought you like it!”
“I did. Now leave me alone.”
She kicked at her feet, sticking both hands into her pant pockets and mumbling under her breath as she turned to walk away. “Bother.” Widowmaker watched her go through the peeping hole at her door, not entirely sure what to feel at this point. Perhaps it would have been better for her to stay. After all, the night during these late hours are never safe for a young darling to be wandering through. Maybe she should call her ba-
No. Was she stupid or something? Bad idea.
(Why did her hands feel clammy all of a sudden?)
…
Nevertheless, when a certain someone entered the shop the next morning, smiling in all delight and waving a bashful wave to her –could anyone really blame her heart for its abnormal skip of a beat?
Begrudgingly (or conceivably not), she smiled a slight and timid smile in return.
It was a start at the least.