vaqro - Tumblr blog

vaqro · 2 years ago

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[hands] [other]

SEND ME A WORD AND LEARN ABOUT MY MUSE'S PHYSICAL FEATURES . also sent by @veqva .

cole cassidy has proportionate hands to a man of his general stature and lifestyle. his hands were never either too big or too small. his fingers are long, each knuckle knobbly and scarred and calloused, but they are in no way thin. the skin of his palms is often sweaty, especially when he wears gloves of any kind [ and he does so as to keep his fingerprints off his gun and the gunpowder off his fingers ]; skin is dry otherwise, filled with scars from previous scruffles and the handling of sharp objects in his youth.

his nails are short and gently curved, but he doesn’t manicure them otherwise; the undersides are clean from debris and dirt, but the nail beds are ruined by his anxiety driven habit of pulling at his cuticles. the only moments he ever cares about the state of his nails are when he needs to be either jerome mcginnis, the tradesman of a nice canadian family, or jeffrey wayne, the young socialite adopted by a rich family — both would be expected by society to have have well kept nails and their hands soft.

his hands also shake from time to time — never when holding a gun or any kind of weapon, but the alcohol and the cigars from a young age coupled with insomnia make them tremble at times. it used to be much worse when he was young [ pre - deadlock, especially, but wholly pre - overwatch ], the anemia and irregular meals causing a depletion in blood oxygenation and the impression of cold under his skin. he is also beginning to notice small signs of osteoarthritis in some knuckles and his wrist [ along some other places in his body ].

it is interesting to note that for all he can change himself in name and appearance as to both survive and work, his hands are one aspect he can not be so easily modified. he carries his stories there, all of them. these are the fingers which joel morricone uses to write his articles and columns, which jeff and jerome shake hands, the same ones cole cassidy and maverick logann kill people. these are the hands that choked his sister, and there is no running away from that. his hands tell the truth his mouth can not speak.

and since we are already on the topic of his hands, we may as well speak of his prosthetic arm.

for years, cassidy has been secretly assigned to spy on doctor mina liao and her classified project, as to ensure neither were compromised — be it against liao or in favor of a second omnic crisis. spending so much time together, mina and cole developed a secret romance. after the catastrophe that was the mission in rialto, cassidy was sent to oslo more and more often — going weeks and sometimes months by mina’s side in and out of the watchpoint. it coincided that, in one of these visits to the watchpoint, talon invaded and set off a bomb in the building, much like what happened in rome. this time, cassidy wasn’t so lucky as to not be in the direct blast zone of the explosion. debris and equipment pinned him down, and his rescue’s success depended on his arm being amputated in the field.

afterward, he stayed under the care, among others [ albeit in dwindling numbers at this point ], of doctor angela ziegler / @veqva, who oversaw his recovery. a second amputation was needed for the fitting of a new arm. he went through the initial steps of physiotherapy in zurich but didn’t stay for the final fitting for the arm overwatch had developed for him. lost and grieving, cassidy made his way back to the deadlock gorge. eventually, with ashe’s help and knowledge in cyber mechanics, he designed and found a trustworthy medic for the procedure.

ashe could have arranged a clinic or hospital for the procedure, but their status as outlaws made things a lot more difficult. factored in as well the fact cassidy could be recognized in some way as the blackwatch agent involved in the fallout in italy years prior [ it also matters that cole was not in the mindset to accept things without pain. he opted for a riskier procedure because it was less of a risk to ashe and deadlock, and because it would hurt a lot ]. so they recurred to a ripperdoc, a type of medic able to perform away from the scrutiny of legal establishments, at a better price. it is not always guaranteed a painless procedure, and complications may rise. as a consequence, his remaining limb is riddled with scars and suffers from phantom pain on occasion. it is not only worse because the initial port and cyberization were made by overwatch.

the result is a stylized model that is unique to him. chrome plates with a clunkier appearance than the usual streamlines and elegance found in other prosthetics. the arm is slightly bigger than his flesh hand due to an error in calculating, but it maintains the same overall level of productivity. the skull is an aesthetic touch, bright blue eyes powered by an internal battery.

the limb is also designed with boosted strength, speed, and resilience. it never grows tired, and it doesn’t feel pain — while keeping tactile prowess. it is able lot sustain a lot more damage than flesh and bone, the titanium skeleton under the chrome plates strong enough to bash someone’s head in. therefore, while having no built-in weapons or mechanisms, the prosthesis is still quite a force to be reckoned with.

a great advantage of his arm compared to common models is the power injection. while yes, the prosthetic is connecto him through cybernetic nanites, as courtesy of overwatch, the limb itself is motorized. it counts with hydraulic mechanisms and servos that run near silently but provide him all the necessary fine motor skills in his elbow, wrist, and each finger. which means he is relatively safe from EMP blasts and other types of electrical outages.

not to say cassidy doesn’t have fiber and plastic models. they are crucial when he needs to not be recognized. he has a simple plastic white arm and the same one in red. he also counts on a very fragile, rarely used model that is covered in synthetic skin. it is nearly impossible to distinguish between his two and when he is wearing it. he bought the first two models under an alias, and they were relatively easy to install and switch out despite the lack of cross compatibility between them and his original prosthesis. the synthskin arm he bought after a large bounty, in japan. it is relatively new and, again, not used often.

the mismatched weight, however, often affects his gait. his left hip and shoulder are the most affected, which also affects his already damaged knee in attempts of compensation. when able, especially now that he is once more with overwatch, he showers and sleeps with it off so as to not exacerbate his joints further.

#tlacehualli #* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ theory. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤthe revelation of a submerged self .#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ thesis. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤnothing of me is original : i am the combined effort of everyone i've ever known .#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ continuum. ❫ ››› ㅤ time doesn’t erase the demons we don’t see .

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vaqro · 2 years ago

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you know she is there.ㅤㅤwatching you through grates and holes,ㅤup on rooftops,ㅤimmersed in the shadows.ㅤㅤyou can feel her gaze on you,ㅤpertinent,ㅤas the two of you play predator and prey; you,ㅤchanging your faces and mingling with crowds — but only half the time,ㅤand therein lies the problem,ㅤall the times you don’t know where she is,ㅤif she is simply looking or if her rifle is pointed to your head.ㅤㅤnot a new occurrence,ㅤwhat with the price on your life being as high as it is,ㅤBUT THIS IS DIFFERENT.

YOU KNOW WHO SHE IS.ㅤㅤthis poltergeist who haunts your heels,ㅤbreathes down your neck.ㅤㅤyou have hunted her for nearly five years now — single-minded focus on avenging your losses; a tale of revenge: you,ㅤthe hero fallen from grace,ㅤand she,ㅤle fantome bourreau — taking the role of your damnation.ㅤㅤthe stage is set,ㅤthe audience thirsts for adventure…

THE PLOT TWISTS: the one you love is the one you kill.ㅤㅤtoo close range to use her rifle — that alone isn’t your advantage,ㅤbut the years training with genji and your own reinforced limb brought you some expertise.ㅤㅤa bullet to her side,ㅤa broken visor,ㅤpieces of the puzzle falling into place.ㅤㅤthe eyes of amélie guillard look back at you.

you both escaped from that encounter.ㅤㅤnone unscathed,ㅤyou are better off than she.ㅤㅤand now,ㅤwith the secret unveiled,ㅤyou wonder how you could not have seen it before ?ㅤ her kidnapping,ㅤgerárd’s murder,ㅤthe ghost’s re / appearance.ㅤㅤwhat ana saw that had her hesitate.ㅤㅤand why jack was so unwilling to divulge any details regarding her death.ㅤㅤ

[ they removed her legs.ㅤㅤas you tape your ribs in a mingy bathroom stall,ㅤcigar dangling from between gritted teeth,ㅤit is all you can think of : they removed her legs.ㅤㅤthose strong,ㅤtoned,ㅤgracious legs that had carried her to her dreams — and they took it.ㅤㅤwhen you exit the bar,ㅤhaving drank more than enough to ease the pain,ㅤyou leave some compensation for the broken tiles and the peculiar fist-shaped imprint found on the plastic door.ㅤㅤ]

this time when she comes,ㅤLA FANTASMA DE TU VENGANZA,ㅤyou are ready.ㅤㅤyou find yourself looking at her bathed in the setting sun,ㅤin the colors of the desert — a face you know,ㅤbut don’t recognize.ㅤㅤpeacekeeper is trained on her the moment the creature slips into the light,ㅤwhite and silver muzzle aimed to her throatㅤ[ only takes one bullet… ].

you could make an ending of it now,ㅤtake your revenge and be done with it all.ㅤㅤdo you want to hurt who hurt you —

GO AHEAD,ㅤHERO.ㅤㅤPULL THE TRIGGER.

you don’t.ㅤㅤ

you don’t lower your weapon either,ㅤand your finger remains on the trigger.ㅤㅤBUT YOU CANNOT BRING YOURSELF TO SHOOT NOW.ㅤㅤinstead,ㅤyou listen.ㅤㅤa voice you know but in a way you don’t recognize.ㅤㅤyour eyes find hers; unwavering,ㅤdisdainful,ㅤdead ---

when was the last time you slept,ㅤami ?ㅤ the comfort of wool lending itself onto her shoulders,ㅤgentle hands guiding her from gerárd’s bedside.ㅤㅤyou,ㅤdead on your feet yourself.ㅤㅤc’mon now,ㅤlike a -- a pair de deux,ㅤain’t it ?ㅤ par de dos.ㅤㅤsounds about right.

the shape of amélie guillard,ㅤthe essence of someone / something else.ㅤㅤhow many of your friends are still there ?ㅤ what did they do to turn the dancer into the killer ?ㅤ does she even,ㅤtruly,ㅤrecognize you for who you are ?ㅤㅤ[ you would not blame her for saying no on that one.ㅤㅤsometimes you look at yourself in the mirror and you fail at that as well.ㅤㅤespecially now,ㅤalone and hunting.ㅤㅤusing the butchering of others to make a living.ㅤㅤSHE’S NEVER SEEN THIS ASPECT OF YOU,ㅤso no hard feelings for being a stranger to your best friend ]

“on pourrait dire que j'étais triste,ㅤoui.”ㅤyou smirk.ㅤㅤthe french is a test,ㅤbut not of her abilities to speak it ; it took him some time,ㅤbut he learned her language — though the accent is still awfully cowboy.ㅤㅤa little southern just like yours,ㅤmon ami.ㅤㅤhe always gave her a lot less than what he truly understood,ㅤtoo.ㅤㅤto make her laugh,ㅤto ensure she felt safe confessing things to the wind.ㅤㅤit is still a diversion,ㅤthough.ㅤㅤa simple answer to the hard question.ㅤㅤyour aim remains true,ㅤbut in your mind - - -

you are hiding in the cupboard under the sink.ㅤㅤthe house is silent.ㅤㅤmagdalena has stopped screaming,ㅤthe living room eerie quiet.ㅤㅤbut you cannot go and check for her.ㅤㅤyou cannot make yourself move from the cupboard.ㅤㅤit feels a lot like when cuazo left to join overwatch,ㅤthis same weight on your chest keeping you from calling out from the top of the staircase,ㅤfrom grabbing his hand — but also a thousands time worse.ㅤㅤyour face hurts where one of those men struck you hard,ㅤyour right eye refuses to open.ㅤㅤunder your eyelid,ㅤyour mother’s cleaved throat and your father’s body littered with shots.ㅤㅤ isa managed to drag herself with you into the cupboard.ㅤㅤshe’d managed to escape and drag you along,ㅤthe men firing at you both.ㅤㅤyour smaller body escaped into the cubicle with ease,ㅤbut isa wasn’t so lucky.ㅤㅤyou cannot see what happened,ㅤbut you can hear her shuddering breaths,ㅤthundering loud and wet as spring rain.ㅤㅤyou have a hand pressed to her chest and it feels wet,ㅤbut you remember pa saying you always need to keep pressure on a wound,ㅤso you don’t let go.ㅤㅤher hand,ㅤalso wet,ㅤis weak and cold over your own. noise.ㅤㅤfootsteps coming closer,ㅤchains dragging — the men wear chains on their belts,ㅤacross their bodies,ㅤthey walk and it makes noise.ㅤㅤyour heartbeat gallops in your chest,ㅤthe sound so loud it almost drowns the steps,ㅤbut he is focused on it.ㅤㅤstep.ㅤㅤstep.ㅤㅤstop.ㅤㅤisa gasps — your hand on her chest bearing down hard.ㅤㅤturn.ㅤㅤstep.ㅤㅤstep.ㅤㅤstepping closer.ㅤㅤyour other hand moves,ㅤcovers your sister’s face.ㅤㅤshe tenses,ㅤyour legs on either side of her.ㅤㅤstep step step.ㅤㅤstop.ㅤㅤright by the cupboard.ㅤㅤyou stop your own breathing.ㅤㅤten seconds.ㅤㅤtwenty.ㅤㅤisa’s hand goes lax on yours.ㅤㅤturn.ㅤㅤdrag.ㅤㅤstep.ㅤㅤstep.ㅤㅤstepping away. you remove your hand from your sister’s face.ㅤㅤyou nudge her.ㅤㅤshe doesn’t move.ㅤㅤyou push her gently and she does not move.ㅤㅤshe is not breathing,ㅤshe is not… [ㅤyou spend another eight hours in that cupboard,ㅤyour sister’s body on top of you.ㅤ]

the word returns to you through thick fog,ㅤyour own voice now also alien to your own ears.ㅤㅤ“ i imagine her first, ”ㅤand you are thankful for la fantasma’s own wording,ㅤfor it helps you better understand and how to better frame the dissonance in your mind — doesn’t help with grounding yourself.

ㅤㅤso lemme get this right.ㅤㅤyou got odette,ㅤshe is a real sweetheart but a bit naive.ㅤㅤand you got odile,ㅤwho is a major bitch.ㅤㅤcan work with that.

“ i imagine her first, ”ㅤyou repeat yourself.ㅤㅤstay in the present or you die.ㅤㅤyour grip on the gun hasn’t wavered,ㅤbut you tighten it nonethelessㅤ[ grounding yourself with the weight of it on your hand ].ㅤㅤ“ was gerard.ㅤㅤmatar es fácil después de la primera víctima.ㅤㅤ ella te perdonó ?ㅤ debo hacer lo mismo ?ㅤ”

. // 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 / 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘺; you are not perceived unless you want to be, following him a bit each day; memorizing mannerisms, habits, the places he freqeuents. Mandatory, all of it, because he has seen your face, parts of it, & you promised her not to terminate then & there. So you study him instead / learn to avoid his every step. Close by but never in periphery when he shoulders his way through a crowd; from a distance when he puts on a different mask & stares holes into the sky. He acts, you dissect. Back & forth : a known variation, a hunters' pas de deux.

all the while you remain unseen / unheard / unknown. ⸻ you gave your word. You owe her, non? Given how much pain you have been causing twin consciousness lately. Give & take; it is the least you can do : internally state he would not end up in those crosshairs of yours. For now, anyway.

If anything, you ought to at least respect his tenacity / misplaced, manic ambition once sprung onto you with most murderous of intents; acknowledge the fact that he landed a hit & lived to tell the tale [ but relaying the story he will not. It is a secret he will take to the grave. After all, your ilk does not boast : recalls the names, the places, the faces, sometimes all of it. But the exact number, you forget. Taking true pride in it, you do not ]. ⸻ takes one to know one : a killer, purveyor of death & the macabre. Difference being, he is righteous about it. Men look at him & see a hero. Men look at you & see a monster. You do not care, he does.

One evening you make your presence known; to gain knowledge you need. Therefore resting in the shadow spilling from between sun-bleached architecture, creature of quietude & night as you are. The corpse blue to rust-red; you represent apparent contrasts on the superfluous surface, that which will one day rot away & wither, whilst deep down too alike. ⸻ a subjective observation. You pay it no true heed but rather scowl at him with less dulled-down disdain because of it instead.

" were you sad? " ━ cue a pause / a glare as keen as question's implication; there is distance between either, there always will be. There should not be according to recollection but there persistently is [ emotional disconnect; she digs nails into your shoulder & once again begs you to let him know she is here. You won't. It would not make a difference. Repeat it, again & again, maybe Odette will one day understand. Has to, anyway. It will not change anything. Makes it harder for either, even. You cannot separate what has been blended, after all. && she will howl her quiet little agonies because of it / curse you, hate you, regardless. Look at you with such misery brimming in hazel eyes you cannot help but have jaw set to alleviate the pressure 'felt' : in your chest / this deadened heart ━ unavoidable. Well, how much pain have you been causing her lately? ].

Donner et prendre. Tu comprends, Odette?

Hard glare continues to study his : this amber-glint dyed crimson in the dying sun despite the deep-drawn rim of dust-coated hat. There is turmoil in them, fierceness, too. You have traced his steps well enough to make such a statement : there always is. As if lost, forlorn; a shell of a man. Measure how parasitically his guilt has festered then; how viciously & violently it chokes his heart. " ━ after you took your first life? "

she was.

Apathy & impassivity dwell / bleed into accent's melody & twist the familiar into something uncanny. That too something that will never change. No matter how tightly she wraps her arms around your throat; demanding, ever demanding. To be heard, to be seen. Ignore her, will you? : you have done your part. He is alive because you went to Angela instead. You have a frayed, miscolored scar sprawled across the lower bows of your rib-cage to show for it. You spared him then as much as he might be sparing you another bullet now. For her sake & no one else's.

No aggression then, for the time being. You do not move / intend to cast yourself into the abyss yonder should he shoot. He is fast, you are faster; half-shadow, more silhouette than person, with artificial eyes alight & haggard features casting concavities across features that seem iron / sickly / spent. You do not need your visor to sketch out CASSIDY clearly. You have come to realize you never do. ⸻ there is a picture burnt into the back of your skull; a memory. Hundreds maybe. She makes sure of it. As if it means anything; as if you care. " Do not lie to me. Les personnes qui partagent les mêmes idées devraient être honnêtes les unes envers les autres, tu ne crois pas? "

surprise starter. @vaqro

#take this from me pls #femtaile #* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ femtaile : widowmaker. ❫ ››› ㅤ got no human grace﹐ vous êtes des yeux sans visage .#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ euphuism. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤi am shouting at the empty and always running .

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vaqro · 2 years ago

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which tragic death would you suffer?

THE UNFINISHED :ㅤㅤyou die,ㅤhand outstretched towards the sky,ㅤas if to say I'M NOT DONE YET. ㅤㅤthere are so many things you still have to do,ㅤso many goals you still have to reach.ㅤㅤyou've spent your entire life working towards them,ㅤand doing nothing else,ㅤonly to die before knowing what accomplishment feels like.ㅤㅤthey'll say your death was a pity,ㅤthat you had such a bright future ahead of you.ㅤㅤit is one you'll never get to see.

tagged by : @femtaile .

tagging : @tlacehualli , @yunhuntress , @deadlockin , @pravica , @chronal-anomaly .

#dash games.#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ theory. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤthe revelation of a submerged self .#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ continuum. ❫ ››› ㅤ time doesn’t erase the demons we don’t see .

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vaqro · 2 years ago

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tags for my dear @femtaile :

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ femtaile : amélie. ❫ ››› ㅤ you remind me that it's such a wonderful thing to love .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ femtaile : widowmaker. ❫ ››› ㅤ got no human grace﹐ vous êtes des yeux sans visage .

#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ femtaile : widowmaker. ❫ ››› ㅤ got no human grace﹐ vous êtes des yeux sans visage .#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ femtaile : amélie. ❫ ››› ㅤ you remind me that it's such a wonderful thing to love .

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vaqro · 2 years ago

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what does your heart look like?

AN OPEN DOOR, A BURNING HEARTH :ㅤㅤyour chest is wide open,ㅤand your heart is a home.ㅤㅤothers are welcomed in readily and asked to stay.ㅤㅤyou are comfort and love,ㅤeverything you were never given but so desperately want to provide for others.ㅤㅤyou have built this welcoming hearth with your own two hands and won’t see anyone else left out in the cold.ㅤㅤbe careful to not burn yourself out trying to keep everyone else warm.

tagged by : @femtaile .

tagging : @offenseonly , @freedomsbounty , @76es , @deathmarked .

#dash games.#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ theory. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤthe revelation of a submerged self .#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ continuum. ❫ ››› ㅤ time doesn’t erase the demons we don’t see .

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vaqro · 2 years ago

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cole is such a good cook of simple foods, though. he makes stews, soups, bread, pie. he can make some noodles, grill some tofu, and chorizo to go with toast. he may even try to cook something from a friend's childhood if he finds a recipe. but it's all simple. family cooking. hearty breakfast and dinner. a nice cup of coffee to go with it. interesting too is the fact he rarely does it for himself. alone, he barely bothers with some bread and coffee when he doesn't opt for some whiskey and calls it a day. or he needs to be on the move so he lives off whatever he can find on diners and stops.

#the love is stored in the kitchen.#this man is latino ofc part of his love language is cooking #* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ theory. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤthe revelation of a submerged self .

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vaqro · 2 years ago

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isn't she an excited little thing ?ㅤㅤwith her piercing smile and waving hands in hot pink and cyan.ㅤㅤfrom the security of his stetson trim,ㅤhis bourbon eyes see it all.ㅤㅤshe's been enhanced,ㅤif not completely cybernized.ㅤㅤshe is younger than him,ㅤbut not by much.ㅤㅤher english is extremely accented,ㅤand her word choice suggests she is of latine descent.ㅤㅤor,ㅤat the very least,ㅤhispanic in some fashion.ㅤㅤher consonants shiver at the back of his mind,ㅤwhere ghosts like to murmur when he isn't drunk enough to stop dreaming.ㅤㅤbehind her own quirks and color scheme,ㅤshe is not dissimilar to himself.

the cowboy is unable to maintain a straight mask.ㅤㅤWHO ARE YOU ?ㅤㅤwhat have you done?ㅤㅤhe wasn't always fond of remembering the past after a certain point.ㅤㅤarose fully developed as a deadlock leader ;ㅤnothing before that was noteworthy.ㅤㅤyet here he is,ㅤwhisky just brushing his lips.ㅤㅤbank robberies and train thefts ;ㅤassassinations ;ㅤcovert operations ;ㅤundercover ;ㅤreconnaissance ---

— yet none of it tells you how flesh yields beneath a serrated knife,ㅤhow simple it is to rip a body in half with a chainsaw,ㅤor how it feels to butcher,ㅤclean,ㅤshatter,ㅤand slice until your elbows are covered in blood.ㅤㅤnobody tells you about how cotton oil burns your fingertips or how thorns puncture your flesh.ㅤㅤ

he doesn't know how to respond to her inquiry,ㅤso he drinks his drink and tilts his head.

WHO AM I ?ㅤㅤI COULD BE ANYONE.

" que lo realmente quieres,ㅤchica? "ㅤ — ㅤhe smirks,ㅤhis eyes glinting almost dangerously under the shade of his hat.ㅤㅤit is true that he is the one who requires her assistance;ㅤbreaking into military databanks isn't something that every hacker would want to do,ㅤand he isn't on good enough terms with frankie to ask for this level of assistance ㅤ [ㅤor willing,ㅤbecause the cowboy is protective of his mysteries,ㅤto explain his reasoningsㅤ].ㅤㅤhe is not,ㅤhowever,ㅤhere to casually reveal his secrets.ㅤㅤㅤ" you can’t exactly go ‘round asking me for an open book when you yourself ain’t but a stranger.ㅤㅤthat don’t seem right,ㅤdoes it ? "ㅤ

he raises his glass to the bartender,ㅤDAME UN OTRO DE WHISKEY,ㅤAMIGO ?ㅤhis mechanical arm gleaming in the warm lights of the establishment.ㅤㅤeveryone knew better than to call the outlaw out on his own bounty on the border like this.ㅤㅤit is more hassle than it is worth.ㅤㅤhe returns his gaze to her and adds,ㅤ" how ‘bout we re - roll this one properly ?ㅤㅤname’s cassidy.ㅤㅤwhat ‘bout yourself ?ㅤ"ㅤ SOMBRA.ㅤㅤhe already knew the answer;ㅤthey'd been talking for weeks,ㅤbut this was different.ㅤㅤshe would get exactly what she offered.ㅤㅤ[ㅤbut that’s not your name either,ㅤis it ?ㅤㅤthat’s not who you are.ㅤㅤbut who you are,ㅤshe will never find out.ㅤ]

How quaint. She really does feel like she's in a spaghetti Western when the vaquero sits across from her. The edge of her lips quirks into half a smirk and she takes the fancy little margarita glass to sip from it slowly as she considers him.

It is him, of that she's sure - hard to hide from her, especially given how distinctive he is in appearance. The metal arm, for one, is hard to miss. She lets the silence stretch between them for a while, wondering if he was going to be the one to break it first, but he seems comfortable with it. Lazily, both of her arms come up as she stretches - then one arm slings over the back of the booth in one smooth motion.

"Que tal," she finally greets easily, seemingly as at ease in this dingy little corner as she would be at home in Mexico or at Talon's base itself. "Just like we agreed, no need to make things super complicated or anything. Half now, half later, and a little trade, bien?" Her finger trails around the lightly salted rim of the margarita glass and she's still looking at him with sharp and searching magenta eyes - as if his demeanor, his expression alone, could hint at the secrets that lay in his past and within his soul.

What a curious puzzle he was. She takes the margarita glass again and drains it this time, the column of her throat working to swallow the rest of the liquid. Not that there was much left. She did tend to drink a lot, so it took a lot to give her any pause. Once that was done, she sets it down and turns to him again. "I just gotta know. Perdona me, mi abuela always told me I was way too curious, but I'm sure you understand. What's a nice, upstanding citizen like you got to hide?"

Her voice has been quiet the entire time, carefully calculated to not extend between the two of them - accented but clear. A single slit eyebrow quirks and she makes it very obvious that she's looking at him up and down. As if finding him wanting. "Don't tell me. You robbed a bank. Wait..." She's smirking again, as if her own jokes were the height of comedy. "No, I got it. You had to find the outlaw what killed your paw." The fake Texan accent is atrocious, but it's part of the humor.

#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ euphuism. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤi am shouting at the empty and always running .#tlacehualli #sombra tbt.#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ continuum. ❫ ››› ㅤ time doesn’t erase the demons we don’t see .

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vaqro · 2 years ago

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just a little tail at the southernmost point of the iberian peninsula,ㅤsurrounded by water on all three sides.ㅤㅤGIBRALTAR is an arabic name for a british city that speaks a very distinct style of andalusian spanish.ㅤㅤnear the tropics,ㅤand the skies overhead are so blue,ㅤrendered even bluer by the bright hue of the mediterranean sea to the east and the atlantic ocean to the west.ㅤㅤthe watchpoint grants the luxury of peering out and viewing as far as the horizon extends in all directions.ㅤㅤthe wind is dry but salty from the smashing waves against the rocks and cliffside.ㅤㅤboth a desert and a paradise.

IT CERTAINLY BEATS BEING INSIDE ;ㅤit's not a sensation he particularly appreciates,ㅤespecially because an important place like here is always teeming with people.ㅤㅤalthough convenient,ㅤit is unquestionably claustrophobicㅤㅤ—

[ㅤconfessing that one hurt as much as ripping nails off fingers with a pair of tweezers.ㅤㅤhe explained to gabriel,ㅤthrough gritted teeth and a sweating brow,ㅤhis nose broken and bleeding after a well deserved punch to the face,ㅤhow he didn't meet the rendezvous because the elevator broke downㅤㅤ—ㅤㅤand instead of opening it and crawling out,ㅤgabe had to remove him from there shaking and dissociating.ㅤㅤa fear most usually related to prior traumas.ㅤㅤwhat happened ,ㅤmijo ?ㅤㅤthat tone,ㅤhe despised at the time.ㅤㅤthe way the man's look nearly softened.ㅤㅤjefe,ㅤmy life happened to me.ㅤㅤYOUNG,ㅤBOISTEROUS,ㅤFEARLESS.ㅤㅤhow much of you is still that kid ?ㅤㅤ]

—ㅤㅤso unless requested of him,ㅤby personnel or schedule,ㅤhe prefers to spend his time somewhere with fewer people and fresh air.ㅤㅤtherefore,ㅤthere are two places one can always find cole cassidy when in WATCHPOINT : GIBRALTARㅤㅤ—ㅤㅤthe practice range or the observatory,ㅤalongside her.

A BOTTLE OF WHISKEY FOR HIM,ㅤa bottle of wine for her ;ㅤsometimes she brings a picnic blanket for them to sit on,ㅤand other times he wraps his black serape around her pale shoulders to keep her warm.ㅤㅤbeing with amélie is effortlessㅤㅤ—ㅤㅤa friend unconnected to his life at first glance.ㅤㅤher day is filled with ballet,ㅤpaparazzi,ㅤthe next step in her career,ㅤthe next gala with gérard,ㅤcoffee with gabe.ㅤㅤenjoying sunsets with the cowboy.ㅤㅤIT'S SIMPLE IN A WAY THINGS SHOULDN'T BE.ㅤㅤsimple in a way that transports him back to the gorge,ㅤto after - work downtime with julian,ㅤback to the hills with his brother.

they met as young as twenty - three and nineteen might feel when bearing the world on their shoulders.ㅤㅤgerárd's lover,ㅤand he just humble himself.ㅤㅤbut he wants to believe that the first time they met was when she burst out laughing at one of his genuinely unintended jokes.ㅤㅤthey developed a strange friendship from there.ㅤㅤ[ㅤwhen did she become like a sister to you ?ㅤㅤthe meticulous and snarky older - but - younger sibling that you try not to think about too much.ㅤㅤmagdalena was the same wayㅤㅤ—ㅤㅤare you replacing her in your heart,ㅤchico ?ㅤㅤare you seeking another family ?ㅤㅤWHO SAID YOU WERE WORTHY BEING LOVED ?ㅤ]

yet it's a fresh breath of air,ㅤjust like the one blowing from the sea.ㅤㅤhe has no illusions about the work he undertakes in blackwatch.ㅤㅤespionage and covert activities neither humane nor noble.ㅤㅤTHERE WILL BE NO AWARDS,ㅤformal handshakes,ㅤor even a blue beret in his future.ㅤㅤthe cowboy seems unconcerned about any of itㅤㅤ—ㅤㅤespecially the beretㅤㅤ—ㅤㅤand is unsure what he would do with the attention.ㅤㅤhe's fantasized about being a heroㅤㅤ[ㅤthe lonesome cowboy riding off into the sunsetㅤ],ㅤㅤbut that's not how real life works.ㅤㅤcole cassidy ought not to be on the same side as the angels.

[ㅤis this the reason,ㅤthen ?ㅤㅤet ça n'a pas d'importance si tu préfères te réveiller à côté de quelqu'un d'autre que de lui.ㅤㅤhe makes no secret of how difficult it is for him to study languages the traditional way,ㅤand her accent isn't the one he finds on those online courses,ㅤbut having spanish as his mother tongue and knowing body language may offer him a lot.ㅤㅤand it’s of no importance if you prefer to do something with anybody other than him.ㅤㅤthat's as good as a confession,ㅤmon ami.ㅤㅤ]

IT DOESN’T MATTER,ㅤshe likes to say.ㅤㅤbut here she is,ㅤpicking the side of the angels all the same.ㅤㅤthere is no helping who your heart falls in love with [ the bright shine of red hair,ㅤthe texture of misshapen lips,ㅤthe feeling of bone breaking and blood spraying ( … ) THE COWBOY KNOWS A THING OR TWO ABOUT LOVING THE WRONG PERSON ] but there is making a conscious decision to not fuck it up.ㅤㅤand yet here she is,ㅤwanting honesty.ㅤㅤwanting the truth.ㅤㅤla llorona: ahogando a sus hijos y luego preguntándose por qué la abandonaron.

and you love her anyways,ㅤdon’t you,ㅤangie ?ㅤㅤi understand.ㅤㅤ

he grimaces with the next exhale of his cigar,ㅤashes falling onto his serape.ㅤㅤor does overwatch take me for an imbecile ?ㅤㅤ“ㅤever thought maybe it’s about keeping you safe?ㅤ”ㅤㅤhe mutters.ㅤㅤ“ㅤthis ain’t your lane,ㅤis it ?ㅤㅤif i give ya a gun,ㅤdo you know where to shoot to stun,ㅤwhere shoot t’ kill?ㅤ”ㅤㅤa particular skill he learned keeping the ranch safe,ㅤin another life,ㅤhunting the odd predator.ㅤㅤremembers the one time he rode with his father and his brother to down a coyote — but never to kill.ㅤㅤKILLING CAME AFTER.ㅤㅤ

a sigh as he shakes his head.ㅤㅤNOW ISN’T THE TIME FOR ANGER.ㅤㅤthe wind gusts a little colder,ㅤthe sun is setting more and more ;ㅤhis hat remains atop his head though.ㅤㅤthe cowboy ensures to be looking at her when he speaks next,ㅤto meet her golden ambers with his own.ㅤㅤ“ㅤi ain’t likin’ all the secret bullshit,ㅤami.ㅤㅤnever really did.ㅤ”ㅤㅤironic,ㅤall considered,ㅤ“ㅤit do nothin’ bu’ cause a damn ruckus.ㅤ”ㅤㅤon occasion he wonders,ㅤbetween his word placement and accent,ㅤhow much she truly understands of what he is sayingㅤㅤ—ㅤㅤespecially when his voice is heavy with feeling,ㅤ“ㅤsecrets lead t’ nothin’ bu’ betrayal an’ pain.ㅤㅤyours an’ his both.ㅤㅤ‘ers too,ㅤi bet.ㅤㅤte quiero,ㅤmon ami.ㅤㅤdon’ go hurtin’ yourself for love like this.ㅤ”ㅤㅤa hand to her shoulder,ㅤthe muscle there always thrumming.ㅤㅤshe is never not ready to spring into one of her pirouettes.ㅤㅤhe understands that too.

. // 𝘎𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵 / 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘻𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘍𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦; the very things known & loved for what they were : an all-encompassing, vague idea of 'home' / of a comfort that, in this very moment, seems far away. Traveling throughout a part of one's off-season, why, work sometimes demanded as much; when schedule is not full of ballet class, rehearsals, dress fittings, photo-shoots & performances. && yet she finds herself never able to shake a certain melancholy for being here instead of furthering one's career meant something else : another kind of love-bound sacrifice.

The base is situated near a dazzling cliff-side resembling views once enjoyed in Monaco; when the most prominent of small city states' ballet companies had invited her for a collab / when she had spent a good minute glaring across the looming cityscape from high above; mirroring glance cast across the sea now, watching waves ebb & flow, abscond & return in the same vein

[ you are certain there is a metaphor somewhere; one that coils & pulls at heartstrings especially whenever in someone's company; especially after your latest conversation, the one that still lingered, nestled right underneath your steadily beating heart.

Oddly at ease / relaxed, nevertheless, because there is nothing more scathing he could potentially ask. Non, you have long deduced he would not inquire an identity; granted he had not put one & one together already. So it is your turn to ask, you reckon. It does not matter hereby which direction he would choose to allow himself being dragged into / which pas to pick & which included variation to indulge in in-between : sometimes you look at an upcoming part in a ballet scheduled weeks in advance & you know it will leave body sore in the aftermath; still, you love it in equal measure & thus dance it anyway. ━ Such a beautiful allegory, non? ].

" Have they ever lied to you? " ━ surely someone less impulsive would have let such a topic rest; not ask about matters most would merely shake their head to & instead enjoy the whiskey brought by him & the white wine kept in her bag alongside some well-chosen French bread & cheese. Yet she does, knowing that Gabriel had a tendency to complain about similar issues, despite how cryptic he would be when doing so, & that mentor & protégé are close; so she probes, as if she still is not sure whether it is protocol that feels like a blade in her side or merely personal chagrin on Monsieur Morrison's end. ⸻ && as if she is to mirror the last grave conversation they had had, attention flits to fixate him, cigarette tugged in-between right index & middle finger left to burn & ash. " Overwatch, I mean. "

there is a pause; one she deliberately makes to shoot cavalier a wry smile; it burns bright regardless of the topic at hand, finds its way into half-expectant soft glance / the gold specks within it in tandem with one's mien, alight with something akin to subtle resignation. ⸻ she gestures, delicately; a gentle wave of the hand, standing in starkest contrast, to shake the ash off & take another drag, speaking again, once done & a puff of smoke had been exhaled. " I 'ear it constantly. Confidential this, confidential that. And Gérard believes I do not notice. The scars, all of it. "

[ you are being unfair / mean beyond measure; straight forward as you get when you do not feel the need to be charming. Besides, you know who you are talking to. Besides, your tone is gentle, devoid of accusation. Besides, you are tired & you do no want to be polite, you do not want to be secretive. Who cares what you murmur into the wind? Or that you barely touch husband anymore anyway? && yet when you do there is always something new; something cleaved into his skin, readily healed, yet clearly inflicted in a manner so viciously, it secretly has you weep. ]

" Gabriel sometimes tells me ah... détails. So does Angela, even if she... " ━ does never allude [ because she loves you too much to break your heart. Because you agreed on never mentioning husband's name, not once ]. ━ saying doctor dearest's name out loud feels like a confession, so she trails off, has shoulders roll & stand in half relevé for a second's fractal if only to move. Stretch legs a little to get rid of whatever nervous energy sits & nestles ere turning lithe body to fully face him; brisk to bite her tongue & take a last drag, instead, elegantly flipping the dead thing towards the ground & stomp it out with the tip of black flats. No need for high-heels when nobody sees you. " Do they tell you silly stories, too, Cole? Ou Overwatch me prend-il simplement pour un idiot, hm? "

ask turned starter. @vaqro

#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ euphuism. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤi am shouting at the empty and always running .#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ femtaile : amélie. ❫ ››› ㅤ you remind me that it's such a wonderful thing to love .

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vaqro · 2 years ago

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doing timeline thingies as i sit in class, and im also thinking about how idyllic cole pictures his childhood being versus what actually may have happened. while it is true that their farm stayed relatively safe from the main conflict, we are still talking about wartime. shorter provisions, cut classes, and safety drills. its interesting because while normal for us to idealize and romanticize a time prior to trauma, his memory seems to potty specifically around the events of the risis, as if it is something that happened but he was no part of it. there is also the idea that rosa and juan may have kept hischildren, especially his younger two, away from what was happening worldwide — which in turn just just made cuazo enlisting (and dying in battle) all more painful and confusing for little carlos.

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vaqro · 2 years ago

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had to go & read something sue wrote about tattoos and it immediately makes me think of cassidy's own tattoos. i will one day [ hopefully soon ] create a proper overview of his current tattoos, but for now, suffices to say all his tattoos are some form of memento. to people in his life that are no longer here, to parts of his life he's had to abandon — hence why he kept the deadlock insignia on his arm all those years until he lost his arm [ and then went and got himself a prosthesis that is cased like a skull ]. the body keeps score, and he certainly has the scars to tell those stories, but the tattoos are his choice to tell other stories too.

#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ theory. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤthe revelation of a submerged self .

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vaqro · 2 years ago

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he doesn't even attempt to remind her of the way he is drinking his coffee. it's all the entertainment he needs, watching her choke down black coffee mixed with bitter whiskey. and cheers to her for keeping a mostly straight face.

it's moments such as these that pull at his heartstrings — an old guitar that lost tune but still plays with his feelings; she pulls those faces and runs her mouth non-stop and all he can hear is isabela trying to steal some coffee from the pot and regretting her life choices.

[ Maddie and Cuazo have been old enough to drink it and appreciate the bitterness. he wonders if Isa would remain a sweet tooth as she grew older. he wonders if would have less of a taste for it himself ]

his hand finds the handle of the mug again, but on its account. here is where he should comment on her less-than-desirable life choices, and quip about how white american cuisine is the bane of anyone's existence. perhaps even insinuate she should stop going out with white girls like she said she preferred not to over text.

instead, he remains silent. trapped in that little sonnet of recollection. it's some time until he shakes his head; pinches the bridge of his nose to try and ground himself. not use dwelling on impossibilities.

"lo siento. pregúntate alguna cosa?" he does try to sound like himself, but the slip into Spanish is enough of a tell. in the back of his mind, another ghost [ a more recent, more lively one ] reminds me to keep himself together.

he doesn't bother looking up when she sits down, more worried about whatever answers to the secrets of the universe he could find inside his tall cup of coffee — whiskey mixed in, as he told her [ and that's been something, trying to convince the poor omnic gal serving the booth that she could sneak him some neck oil ]. keenly aware his serape has more mud than thread. his beard needs some keeping. he could make use of a real shower.

"ate me an' spat me right out, as cows do to grass. then took his time chewin' me some more," he mutters, still as cordial as ever, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes quite so well. finally leans back, seeing that she is done with her grand entrance and at least three of her five pancakes. he sips at his coffee; didn't want to bother picking through the menu — he can bring himself to eat dairy and eggs if he sees no other option, what he is lacking is the appetite to get something down other than more coffee [ and more whiskey ]

"how's 'em pancakes, chica? ya very american pancakes." the smile broadens into a playful smirk. he knows what she probably thinks — he is not the right sort of mexican [ remembers, half - fondly, her face when she found out he was no guero ], he doesn't do it right. his jaw sets before he has any real conscious control over his own thoughts. no reason to think about things you left behind.

[ no man can walk out on his own story ]

"i'd've asked sum' syrup or butter, but ya seem fine with 'em dry."

#tlacehualli #sombra tbt.#* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ euphuism. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤi am shouting at the empty and always running .

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