Overwatch: Talon

A Break

"Merci"
"Hmm?" Mercy hummed as she was lined up next to Widowmaker.
"Uh no, I said merci" Widow clarified.
"Oh" The healer was noticeably embarrassed at her mistake, realising that Widow was merely saying thanks in her native tounge.
Widowmaker carried a tray of pasta and a cup of coffee as she took her seat in the dining hall, where all the heroes were eating and conversing after a close victory against the enemy team, defending a payload on Numbani. Unless your name was Bastion or Zenyatta, in that case you'd were either feeding a bird or embracing tranquility.
"I've...almost...got you..." Soldier 76 grunted as he armwrestled McCree on the neighbouring table from Widow's. "Just a little...more..."
The aged supersoldier then brought the cowboy's arm down on the table with a hard slam, and McCree yelled out. Their spectators then all began making a ruckus.
A black mist surrounded the seat opposite to Widow, and then Reaper solidified on it, sitting in front of her. Widow and Reaper always sat together, as it was either that or awkwardly sit with the other heroes. They didn't get along with them too well, being the only agents of Talon.
"So, what did the Russian and Reinhardt make today?" He asked, putting on a sense of curiosity as he looked at her food.
Reaper didn't have to eat, but this was pretty much how he always started a conversation with Widow. She...at least appreciated the attempts. It was better than sitting silently, she supposed. Though silence never bothered her.
"Aside from boiled poulet?" Widow said as she took up a fork. "Just pasta...but it's okay, I don't mind pasta"
Reaper found an opening for conversation.
"Can you even have preferences?" The wraith asked, intrigued.
She looked at her tray, and then back him before shrugging. Her taste buds worked as normal, but she didn't develop positive or negative responses to certain tastes like she used to. She could eat anything, really. But...preferences? Well...she wasn't sure what to say to that. She...supposed she liked the texture of the pasta.
"I...don't know" She said honestly, beginning to simply play with her food. "I tend to just not think about things like that"
The only preference she really held, was choosing to shoot her targets from afar rather than letting things get messy up close. That was all she was taught to see the appeal of.
"Huh, I'm an undead wraith and even I have likes and dislikes" He muttered. "Do you ever feel...numb in there?"
Reaper thought back to the days where Gerard would talk about some of the good times he had with his wife, Amelie. Although it was never a good idea to discuss Gerard with Widowmaker, he wondered if mentioning the things she did as her older self would spark something in the seemingly emotionless assassin.
"Ugh, I sound so soppy" Reaper thought, disgusted with himself. "It's not your business"
Besides, it was best not to go there, to mention Amelie Lacroix. It would only piss her off, assuming she could even feel anger. Reaper was not intent on finding out the answer to that. He was still too busy getting over the fact that Widowmaker was Gerard's wife, repurposed.
"You shouldn't bother asking me these things" Widow told her companion. "You won't get a straight answer, as even I don't know what to say"
"You're right, my apologies" He said.
She looked down and just simply took a sip from her coffee. Reaper always seemed to ask these sorts of questions.
"It's alright" She assured. "But still, you're awful nosy"
A small smile appeared on her. Sometimes Reaper wondered if her rare smiles were genuine, or if she was just forcing them on her blue face.
"I'm bored" He complained. "The most exciting thing in my life involves killing people, when's the next match starting?"
Her attention was grabbed, looking up at him.
"Hmm, yes" She agreed, but ignoring his question. "The moment of the kill is the most pleasant feeling one can achieve, it takes over all other feelings and it makes you determined to keep going, like a hunger that can never be sated..."
Reaper knew that would get her talking. Like him, Widowmaker appreciated the thrill of ending lives. It was what she was created for, and what she lives for.
"It's all she lives for" He thought, almost pitying her.
At least Reaper had a set goal, a thing to achieve. Widow killed...because it's all she knows, all she was programmed to ever know.
And that was almost sad.
"Emo table alert..." A British voice mocked them, quietly, having overheard their conversation on killing.
Tracer's annoying remark was enough for Widow to simply be sick of sitting in this dining hall...she didn't feel like eating, anyways. She wanted to be alone, like a hermit spider waiting for prey to enter its web. Being alone gave her plenty opportunity to reflect on whatever.
"I'm going to get some fresh air" She announced to Reaper as she stood up, and already walking off before he could even respond.
Reaper was left silently sitting at the table, until Junkrat and Roadhog waddled over to him, in need of help. Reaper personally despises the ridiculous duo.
"Oi, Reapah" The little man asked for his attention. "Where's the bloody milk?"
The wraith calmly turned his head to the explosive expert and his bloated friend.
"It's in the refrigerator" He answered, dramatically.
He then looked back to the route that Widowmaker had taken, before turning into black mist.