For Goldrighthand

[snipemare]

It wasn't, exactly, a whim that had her lurking about Akande's apartment. It was a desire. A feeling, crawling under her skin. An itch she finds herself wanting to scratch. A desire she hasn't had for years, ever since Gerard...

She keeps herself in the dark. Waits for an opportunity. It's not like Akande will expect her here, in the dark, waiting in his quarters. She fingers the garotte between her hands. Watches the door like a hawk rather than a spider.

The door opens, and she slinks into position. Just high enough to get the jump on him, leaping onto his back and pulling the wire taut against his neck, her legs wrapping tight around his waist. The fight in Monaco has her blood pumping, the kills in Venice has her aching for this. Her lips brush against his ear, and she whispers to him in accented English.

"The safe word is Overwatch."

Comments

[goldrighthand]

He's tired, but that's no excuse. He's been tired before; even in Talon, especially in Talon, all that means is you need to put forth more effort in to being aware of your surroundings. And in the end?

While he pays for it by not realizing something is dropping on him until he feels the weight, he does, to his credit, try and make up for it.

Akande's first instinct is to whirl and slam himself against the wall. Which he does, but perhaps not as forcefully as he could have. Instead, a few facts process through his mind in the space of a second; the first being that he knows the voice. Widowmaker. And her skill as an assassin is unmatched, but while she would be a perfect choice to send after him...if she wanted to kill him, a part of him notes, she wouldn't have used these methods.

This, of course, is aside from what her words were.

It all processes in the space of one breath and the next. And the next? He's trying to grab on to her wrists and throw her off him, growling in answer to her 'proposal'.

Game on.

[snipemare]

She's breathless from the wall against her back, the weight of the man squeezing against her chest in a way that almost makes her dizzy. What else could she expect from a man like Akande, who was always watching his back, making sure that he would survive? He builds himself stronger with every action, and maybe that is what draws her to him.

She's thrown, and she laughs, feeling honestly giddy. Alive.

Widowmaker is not supposed to feel anything. The fact that she is acting like this, craving attention and desire and the harshness of his mouth or hands is enough to send her back to reconditioning. And maybe after he's had his fun, he will. She is a weapon after all, not a woman with her own desires and wants. All the same, she takes a knife from her holster and aims it at the light.

"Come and get me." She smirks as the world descends into darkness.

[goldrighthand]

Someone else might be worried; this is not how Widowmaker was programmed to act. Certain operatives might even panic, attempting some sort of override or command to try and snap her back within their perceived control.

Akande knows better. He knows that whatever it is, he can ride it out, and it may yet be better to allow it than to try and choke it off. Besides which, she's given him a challenge, now, and what kind of man would he be if he turned it down? If it is a problem, he will determine it and react appropriately. For now...

For now he raises an arm to protect his face from any glass shards, quickly switching to relying on his ears. His eyes will take a moment to adjust to the low light, but if he can hear her moving-

There. He swipes, testing.

[snipemare]

Someone else might be worried, but part of her, deep down, is glad that Akande isn't. She craves small freedoms like this, freedoms to express herself as she sees fit. To express her desires as she wants. And she wants Akande.

The swipe catches her in her side, tossing her across the room again. Breathless, she pulls at her knife again to hopefully slice him. Just keep things interesting for now.
"I see you..." She whispers, sing-song, watching him through the infared visor he hasn't taken from her yet.

There, another thrown knife, just enough to graze his cheek or ear but not enough to cause damage. Come on. It's time to get their blood pumping.

[goldrighthand]

The cut slices along his arm, evoking a soft hiss. The prosthetic is high-quality; that includes pain sensors. Indeed, he would want them given the choice, not out of any masochistic but because of what information it gives. In this case, that she's armed- and only playing around so much.

Good.

The second whizzes by his head, its kiss to his ear enough to still him for a brief moment - and then, he snarls, charging forwards and making a guess at her motions. She'll dodge, no doubt- and he has a fifty-fifty chance, left or right, of getting it right.

He chooses left, moving once he's within two steps.

[snipemare]

There's a smirk on her lips as she sees her knives have bit into his skin, hears the soft hiss and the snarl before he's charging forward. She aims her grappling hook to the left, trying to get out of his way- only to end up flying straight into his chest.

"Quoi-?!"

Not good, not good, she needs to move before he grapples her. With his strength, the moment he has his arms around her this little battle is done. Her arm is still outstretched around him, her wrist caught by the grappling hook.

So she tries to scramble over him, her nails digging into his shoulder in an attempt to climb him.