What surprised Amélie herself was how receptive she was to - to...whatever it was Zenyatta foisted upon her with a mere flick of his wrist. One would think after a half-life dancing on strings she would be more resistant to someone getting in her head. Then again, it could be more causative than preventive. All Overwatch had done in deprogramming her was leaving the front door to a haunted house unlocked and wide open for scavengers and the curious.
She crumbles the same way anyone falls. There is a ice cold stab low in her stomach as all foundation is swept out from under her before its rushing up to meet her. And like someone falling in a dream, she gasps and startles before fatal impact. Sputtering words and shallow breathes against a metal shoulder.
The embrace that pulled her from the brink had none of the give or radiated warmth of a person. Only there was something distinctly nostalgic about the hum ringing in her ears, and smooth surface pressed to her cheek. To the point of pain.
"Get this- get this off me," Amélie swatted at the orb only for it to come back to her like a tetherball. In her mad scramble she dislodged herself from Zenyatta's embrace. Falling back on her haunches to sit on her heels. Even distraught, her sensibilities would not let her be clumsy.
Chest heaving and her eyes rimmed with a burning red halo there was no pretending she was fine. That this was all something she could laugh off. When evasion and downright cruelty failed her, Amélie suddenly felt so liberated as to almost feel entrapped by it. Enough that she could just speak her mind.
"Gérard..." She started. Legs curled to her chest where she hooked her chin in the cradle of her knees. Line of sight set on the darkening shore beyond the cliff side. "He was always so critical of you, the Shambali.
We met - he and I - my first year at Panthéon-Sorbonne when he was a guest speaker. He hovered around me as a moth to a flame, that I remember most of all. I was a very charmed by it despite the controversy at the time. There's something very attractive about someone with much on their mind, isn't there?"
Amélie sat up straighter and the queue of dark hair spilled from her shoulders down her back like a ink spill down white paper.
"As we got closer I remember he always laughed off the Nepalese omnics in their more nascent years whenever they cropped up in the news," She laughed but the sound was hollow. "Celibates who know nothing of the beauty in the mess they look down on from the mountaintop."
She hunkered down again.
"He would not have a kind for you I'm afraid," She said. "He was very Parisian, after all."
no subject
She crumbles the same way anyone falls. There is a ice cold stab low in her stomach as all foundation is swept out from under her before its rushing up to meet her. And like someone falling in a dream, she gasps and startles before fatal impact. Sputtering words and shallow breathes against a metal shoulder.
The embrace that pulled her from the brink had none of the give or radiated warmth of a person. Only there was something distinctly nostalgic about the hum ringing in her ears, and smooth surface pressed to her cheek. To the point of pain.
"Get this- get this off me," Amélie swatted at the orb only for it to come back to her like a tetherball. In her mad scramble she dislodged herself from Zenyatta's embrace. Falling back on her haunches to sit on her heels. Even distraught, her sensibilities would not let her be clumsy.
Chest heaving and her eyes rimmed with a burning red halo there was no pretending she was fine. That this was all something she could laugh off. When evasion and downright cruelty failed her, Amélie suddenly felt so liberated as to almost feel entrapped by it. Enough that she could just speak her mind.
"Gérard..." She started. Legs curled to her chest where she hooked her chin in the cradle of her knees. Line of sight set on the darkening shore beyond the cliff side. "He was always so critical of you, the Shambali.
We met - he and I - my first year at Panthéon-Sorbonne when he was a guest speaker. He hovered around me as a moth to a flame, that I remember most of all. I was a very charmed by it despite the controversy at the time. There's something very attractive about someone with much on their mind, isn't there?"
Amélie sat up straighter and the queue of dark hair spilled from her shoulders down her back like a ink spill down white paper.
"As we got closer I remember he always laughed off the Nepalese omnics in their more nascent years whenever they cropped up in the news," She laughed but the sound was hollow. "Celibates who know nothing of the beauty in the mess they look down on from the mountaintop."
She hunkered down again.
"He would not have a kind for you I'm afraid," She said. "He was very Parisian, after all."