Thread: Overwatch, Reaper and Windowmaker (Vulgrim x allycat)

OOC Continuing from the end of the Overwatch short available on youtube called Alive , the following story shows the conflict in Widowmakers mind as she works for the evil Talon terrorist organization that earlier had made her kill her husband. Character backgrounds can be found at playoverwatch.com or Much of the backstory will be made up along the way. From the rear hatch of the aircraft, Windowmaker rested her rifle against her hip and watched as chaos flooded the streets below. The hovering platform spun around as the rear door closed, leaving her in shadow. She never felt so alive as when she pulled off a mission. Tracer made it so worthwhile too. The silly girl could have easily been eliminated, but she wasnt the target. Mmm, hummed Windowmaker, feeling her vapid pulse quicken just a bit. Merci , Tracer, she said in her French accent. And she actually meant it. Her shoulders turned away from the closing door. Her high heels struck the floors metal plates as she found a long empty bench spanning the length of the troop carrier section. None of the crew dared bother her. They always found any excuse to stay up front and at most, use the intercom to mention anything to her. She secured her rifle and dethatched her grappling hook from her left arm, placing the device and her two venom mines into a steal ammunition box. She left her mutli-eyed assassin visor on, latched up and out of the way against her forehead. Now she could relax her mind and review the event. Reaching a hand behind her head, she tugged her ponytail over her shoulder. She took a shallow breath. She didnt need more, even after all the roof top running. She thought of the mission. The Omnic, Tekhartha Mondatta, was dead now. The shot was perfect. There were no flaws. Nothing needed improvement. She smiled satisfied with her mission. Looking down the isle to the control room, she winked at the navigator, who widened his eyes and gulped. She thought, Ha! Men were so amusing. Closing her eyes and leaning her head back, her mind suddenly fell back into memories. She helplessly recalled one particular night in France when she felt love and sadness and dread. She remembered something she thought had been erased from her mind, at a time when she had a different name Honey? said Amlie Lacroix, a tall raven-haired beauty, who started to wonder if she was actually wonderfully alone. Grard? She stepped across the front hall. It felt strange to be the only one in the chateau. Overwatch normally left agents around the property to observe her, ever since her talon capture and desperate escape. They didnt trust her at first. They probably still didnt. She didnt know why. And now with the place all to herself, at least for a few fleeting minutes, maybe she could let herself feel a little romantic. Shed have to hurry though. If Grard was not home, he would be soon. Her hands clasped her skirt at the thighs as she ran up the stone staircase of the medieval home. Normally all the stonework made her feel cold, but that night, she felt her heart race and her desires soar. In the bedroom, she closed the curtains in each quaint little lucerne. Privacy was a must. She walked back to the closets as she reached behind and unzipped her dress. The formal outfit with its long sleeves restricted her shoulders and arms. The skirt, stopping just above the knees and limited her stride to an almost hobbled gait. The zipper seemed a mile long, and she couldnt wait to free herself from the maudit outfit. Once unzipped, she still had to tug her tiny wrists and lithe arms free of the snug sheaths. She yanked and tugged to get her upper torso free. The sleeves peeled down her arms, inverting along the way, but she didnt care about the dress. She had to hurry. She pushed down at the hips and sighed in relief as the garment finally hit the floor, graciously allowing her to step free of its confines. A glance at her forearms, and their flawless untouched skin tone, suddenly clicked her thoughts back to the aircraft just after the killing shot. As the plane engines roared, Windowmaker bit her lower lip. Thinking of her past never helped her. She remembered that night at the chateau. The images in her head just wouldnt stop. She had screamed that night. The grief overwhelmed her. Her body was normal then. Her mind, she thought, had been intact. Years later, her soul was gone. Her skin held a genetically altered blue tint. Her heart barely thumped. She looked at her arm, violated with a spider webbed tattoo with one word cauchemar written in a dark calligraphic font as if penned with an ancient quill. Cauchemar , she whispered, my nightmare for certain. She closed her eyes and critically analyzed her happiness on the fateful night, as if Amlie Lacroix had been someone else. The front door of the medieval hideout banged about downstairs. Upstairs, at a dresser table by the bathroom, Amlie spritzed her bare arms and wrists with a gardenia scent. She paused and listened. She heard only Grard. His footsteps were unmistakable. She bit her lower lip. They were truly alone. She sighed, No guards tonight, my love. Bon ben . Her eyes and smile both gleefully widened in the mirror. She turned on the padded stool and leaned back in her long shear silk nightie, placing her elbows on the table behind her. She glanced down her body, calculating the best pose to take. She crossed her bare legs, giving them a quick shake to let the nighties long slit line up just right. The material slip off and showed her shimmering legs. She reconsidered something. Shoot, she muttered. She rushed over and pulled out some stockings and garters. Then she found some high-heeled strappy sandals. Grard? Im up here. She cringed. Maybe she shouldnt have called out. Her husbands footsteps now came up the stairs, but she could do this. She had time. Then again, maybe not. She rolled up the stockings and slipped a foot into one, then the other. She sat and carefully slid the silk up her legs. She had to hurry. Maybe she could skip the garter belt. No. Shed wear that for certain. Give me a minute! She closed the bathroom door and pulled her panties down to her thighs, away from the stocking tops. If this was going to be a romantic night falling into a sexual romp, she wasnt going to sit there and fight garter straps as she got her panties off. The panties would have to go over the garter straps, not under. She stepped into the belt loop and pulled it up her legs and over her wide hips, letting it settle into the cinch of her waist. The silk nightie fought her the whole time as its slinky material kept sliding down and getting in the way. Im coming! Now she played with the straps and clips, attaching them to her stocking tops. She clipped the front, back, and sides, while her feet kicked about the shoes. She regretted not choosing pumps. At least she could have just shoved those on her feet without delay. The straps she kicked around now had tiny clasps and needed careful work to wear properly. A minute later, the bathroom door opened. Amlie Lacroix smiled at her husband. She let her rushed moment pass and she said, I saw that we were alone tonight. She slid a hand down over her breasts and let it fall over the long slit of her nightie. Im hoping we can take advantage of it, being alone. Her voice almost purred.