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Bonne Année

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Two silhouettes dancing under the full moon on top of the city‘s rooftops, going unnoticed by those who walk along the streets far beneath them. Their dance is enthralling, yet to be taken way more seriously than a normal one.
They dance to survive - the winner lives, the other one dies. A vicious dance, one could say. However, it has yet to come to an end.

When did this dance begin? When is it going to end? Who started it? Questions, more and more of them.

Why did they fight? Did they even still mean it?
Obviously they would never accept the truth, but they both still knew the answer.

Tracer rushes to the other woman‘s side, firing her bullets at her. Widowmaker however is quick to react and turns away, sending her own salve into her opponent‘s direction. So they fight on, not noticing time passing and the happenings of the city around them.

Massive cracks in the air, loud blows, colors shining brightly but fading oh-so-quickly. Tracer gets distracted, having forgotten about the day‘s date, the time. She looks up, for a moment even marveling at those colors in awe.

A mistake that could have cost her life.

The blue-skinned woman does not waver, she dashes forward, taking advantage of her enemy being distracted and pouncing at her, throwing her to the ground.
To no avail, the younger woman attempts to struggle and come free, but the other‘s body is heavy upon her.

“Are those fireworks really that much more interesting than me,“ Widowmaker literally purrs, “chérie?“

Lena damned that incredibly sexy French accent. And the woman‘s body. Damn, that whole woman‘s hot being in general.

“‘Course not, luv. Wouldn’t wanna disappoint you, no?“ Tracer gives a small chuckle, still being aware of the danger she was in.

Widowmaker simply looks at her, and Tracer can feel those amber eyes burning their gaze into her marvel one. She is scanning her.
Then, a smirk forms on the traitor‘s lips.

“Is that so.“

To Lena‘s surprise, Widowmaker arises, stepping away to the rooftop‘s edge. It took her a moment to understand that she hasn’t been killed, nevermind that perfect opportunity. She half-arises, her eyes following Widowmaker‘s step (and maybe they did travel a bit further down that woman‘s back than they should have).

Just before the blue-skinned woman jumps off the edge, hook connected to the next building, she throws a gaze over her shoulder, back at Tracer.

“Bonne année, chérie.“

 

Lena spends the first few minutes of the new year dazzled on top of some cities‘ roofs, memorizing that moment.