InsaneJournal

Adjusting to ship life had been both difficult and easy for Widowmaker. Part of that was she was always at least partially filled with wine, but she appreciated the routine. Routine had been part of her life, programmed into her by Talon. But without regular upkeep, her programming had begun to falter. Even the alterations to her body were wearing off, though Starfleet Medical was doing a decent job of keeping it from killing her. Instead of being completely bluish purple, there were splotches of her natural skin color peeking out, like vitiligo.

She’d commandeered the catwalk in the cargo bay again, bottle in hand and feet dangling over the edge as she rested her arm on the lower rung of the railing. Everything else was fine, the fact that she was feeling something other than anger or the thrill of the kill was the alarming thing. She was going to blame Angela.

Isabela was still adjusting. She’d probably need to talk to medical people eventually about the whole claustrophobia thing if she couldn’t get ahold of it herself. Staying in her bedroom was not something she liked to do unless she couldn’t stay awake any longer. She spent a lot of time on the observation deck, taking in the vastness of space. She also was getting a little better at figuring out how to work the holodeck so she could sit on her ship for a while and feel free.

Today on Walking With Isabela, her adventures brought her to the cargo bay. She was entirely being a snoop, maybe poking her nose around a little too much, but she spotted the catwalk and what looked to be someone sitting up there. So out of liking the thought of being up there and curiosity as to who this person was, Isabela found her way up there.

“You look comfortable,” she greeted once she got closer to the woman.

“Non,” Widowmaker responded, turning her head and looking at the woman out of the corner of one amber eye. Her accent probably sounded a lot like she was from some part of Orlais. “But it is better than other places.”

She took a swig from her wine, but didn’t otherwise move.

“Tell me about it. For the size of this ship, it seems to have very limited offerings for comfort.” Of course, everyone had different definitions of comfort. Perhaps to the natives here, this ship was comfortable, but to Isabela? She was quite the fish out of water, so-to-speak.

“I’ve thought about that holodeck, but if I enter, I may never leave.” She’d thought about the old family home, before. Or even the Talon safe house she’d spent most of her time in. But she didn’t like the idea. It felt like holding onto something and this nostalgia or whatever it was wasn’t like her.

She offered the bottle to Isabela. “Wine?”

“I completely understand that. I’m still trying to figure out how to work the holodeck for myself, otherwise I’d probably never come out of there.” Nothing beat actually being a ship in the middle of the ocean, especially during a storm, but the holodeck would have to suffice for the time being.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning down to take the offered bottle. Wine wasn’t particularly her style, but she’d take anything right now. She took a drink before handing the bottle back. “So, how long have you been on this ship?”

“Two months, almost.” She took the bottle back, and her hand shook for just a moment. Widowmaker stared at it as if it had betrayed her then sighed dramatically. “Mon dieu. I am falling apart.”

The woman definitely sounded Orlesian. But it was rather obvious that she wasn’t. Isabela noted the shake of her hand. She leaned back against the railing, resting her elbows on it as she looked down at the woman. “I hope you don’t mean that literally. That would be rather messy.” She quipped.

“Amusant.” She snorted, and something that was almost but not quite a smile passed over her lips. “It feels like it sometimes. My employers conditioned me a certain way. And that is coming undone.”

It wasn’t exactly something she liked to admit, but it spilled out. She looked up at Isabela. “So figuratively, falling apart.”

Isabela eyed her, tilting her head slightly. Conditioned sounded a lot like what the Qunari did to converts. Or people that needed to be re-educated in the Qun. Or maybe even a little like blood magic. “Ah, I get it. Get cut off from them and things fade. It’s kind of a giant fuck up the ass that turns your life on its head, isn’t it? Being pulled here, that is.”

“That is a very colorful turn of phrase. I have … know people who would find it quite interesting, and offensive.” It didn’t matter to her if they did. Though she thought Sombra would find it hilarious. Not that any of them were friends.

“But oui, it does.”

“Thank you, I’m known for my colorful language,” Isabela chuckled. She drew in a breath. “Are you settling in here or would you rather be back to where you came from?” Isabela would go back to Thedas in a heartbeat if she could. At least Thedas wasn’t so claustrophobic. Though she’d still need to get herself a ship upon returning. And a new crew. And avoid Hawke and the others.

Widowmaker started to respond, “I…”

She didn’t have an answer, because she didn’t know. “If I go back, they will wipe my mind again. My memories washed away like broken glass. But then they will fix me, and I will be content. If I stay here, I can be myself. But then I will feel again.”

Okay, the wiping memories thing? Not okay in Isabela’s book. But it wasn’t her life, so she’d try to not impose herself too much. “Ah, it’s kind of a double edged sword then, with pros and cons in both places?”

“Oui.” She nodded her head, taking a longer-than-last time swig of her wine. She offered the bottle back and sighed. “Have you ever stared too long at the stranger in the mirror?”

Widowmaker lacked purpose. Her purpose back home was clear - destroy the enemies of talon. One shot, one kill. A single bullet straight through the forehead. She lived for those shots. And she didn’t feel guilty. She didn’t. She wasn’t capable of it.

She didn’t.

“I try to avoid that. I don’t like staring at my reflection overly long.” Staring too long tended to exacerbate her low opinion of herself. Isabela only saw the flaws, the drawbacks. It was odd how she could both hide and flaunt them at the same time. Anyone who wanted to try for a relationship with her and she would throw those flaws around as proof that no, they really didn’t want her around and that they could do better.

“But yes, I have stared too long on occasion.”

“You do not like who stares back. There was a time I did, but I do not know who she is now. Who I am now. It is easier to…” She gestured at the bottle. “I cannot even do what makes me feel alive. And what is most alarming, I do not know if it would help anyway.”

“No, I don’t.” Well, it was an admission, though Isabela refused to admit to such things in general. She preferred to just glide through life caring about nothing but alcohol and both kinds of booty. “I get it. Sometimes drinking is the best way. At least then you’re pretty much numb, or simply don’t give a fuck about anything that you don’t like. Though what did you do before? If I may ask,” she asked, looking at the woman.

"I kill people. Enemies of Talon, and those who get in my way." She cocked her finger like a gun and sighted down it, mouthing 'bang.'

"I'm very good at it. I was made to be good at it. The Widowmaker."

She was definitely drunk.

The gun was lost on Isabela, though she equated the motion to Varric using Bianca. However, everything else the woman said definitely made sense to Isabela. “The Widowmaker, huh? I like it. So you’re kind of an assassin type?” That sounded a bit like the Antivan Crows.

“Oui.” And she was proud of it too, as much as she could feel pride. She gave Isabela a curious look. “Most people would prefer to walk away when told such things.”

“I’m a pirate and not a stranger to killing people. Also a former lover of mine was an assassin. So it doesn’t bother me in the least.” Isabela responded.

“Good to know. This ship is filled with people who have consciences. The annoying sort who believe in right and wrong and forget that the world is all the shades of grey. I am evil. They are good. But are they really so good…” She seemed to be talking about more than the Enterprise, her mind wandering to Overwatch. Perhaps in a way, she blamed them for her state.

“In my experience, the more people claim to be pious and righteous, the more corrupted they are.” Sister Patrice, or Mother Patrice, actually, was an excellent example. That woman had done terrible things to prove the Qunari were evil. And all done in the name of the Maker, of course. “But don’t worry, I don’t really have a conscience.” That was sort of a lie. Isabela had one, it was just selective on when it came out. Such as with letting those would-be slaves go free, and when she brought the book back to stop the Qunari from rampaging through Kirkwall.

“Good. Far too many people have them, and most of them are hypocrites.” It was easier that way, than to think of them as people. Angela, or Tracer. Enemies at the end of her scope, and not … whatever Angela had been before Amelie had become Widowmaker.

A friend. But Widowmaker didn't have friends.

“Pretty much. The way I see it, it’s definitely not worth the trouble to have a conscience. Doing so-called ‘good’ doesn’t get you anywhere. Neither does having feelings for people.” Isabela’s mother had taught her that love didn’t really exist, or that it was entirely meaningless from an early age. That was something she’d carried through life. Even when she fell in love, she ran from it.

And each time she told herself it was just better that way.

Widowmaker tilted her head back and laughed sharply. “I can assure you I have never felt anything, for anyone.”

A bald faced lie, but she was good at lying. It didn’t matter that Gerard was standing there figuratively, telling her she was lying. Oh, how she’d loved him.

“Happened to me once upon a time, but I refused to be tied down, so I broke his heart and ran away. I’ve never looked back. Besides, going through life without those kinds of entanglements is so much easier. Far less messy and complicated as well. I don’t do complicated.” Even though Isabela’s life was basically one large ball of complicated.

“Good. Never let yourself feel. It is better to walk through life numb, living only for those short moments when you feel alive.”

“Sex, alcohol, being on a ship in the middle of an ocean and finding treasure are the only things worthwhile in life.” Many would argue that such a life was an empty life. But it was Isabela’s life and she loved every moment of it.

“Sex.” Widowmaker sneered (it seemed to be her favorite expression). “Messy, from what I remember before.” And yet she leaned back, almost as if displaying herself for Isabela. It was something she was very good at, and she knew it.

“It can be, but I find it fun. No strings attached, of course.” Isabela loved sex, and if she ever stopped having sex, it meant that she was dead. She didn’t speak never-gets-sex-again, after all. And, of course, her gaze slid over the other woman, appreciating her appearance.

Good, it meant Isabela might be easy to manipulate if Widowmaker ever needed to. It always surprised her how easy that was with some people, though she couldn’t say if it was a skill she’d always had, or something that had been programmed into her. The whole Femme Fatele thing.

“Well. As long as you enjoy it, then.”

“Exactly. And I don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks of me because of it. They don’t know me, I know me, and that’s all I need.” Even if Isabela tended to miss the friends back in Kirkwall. She just pretended she didn’t miss them unless she was talking to Varric. But even then, she kept her emotions on the matter close to her chest.

“C'est la vie,” she murmured, waving her hand as if to emphasize what she was saying. “It is a saying in my language. It means, such is life. Things that cannot be helped and must simply be accepted.”

“I like that saying. It definitely fits.” Isabela could get behind that sort of saying. She leaned an elbow against the railing. “What happens, happens. I’m truly alive when the wind is in the sails of my ship and there’s nothing but that distant horizon to chase.”

“And yet, there is no wind, nor sails, nor even a horizon in space,” Widowmaker pointed out, perhaps a little cruely. “What then?”

“Then I fuck and drink myself stupid so I forget where I am.” Isabela responded curtly. Though she didn’t like being reminded that she was stuck in a flying box like this. But she was good at hiding her claustrophobia, at least when she wasn’t on the verge of having an panic attack. And luckily she was just a little uncomfortable currently, not close to having a panic attack.

“Drinks, I will offer.” She held the bottle out again, knowing she wasn’t ready for anything like sex anytime unless a certain Swiss doctor soon. “Any time.”

“You’ve got yourself a drinking partner,” Isabela said with a smile. She took the bottle and took a drink from it before handing it back. Sometimes having drinking partners could be fun.