the concept of time is vague at best for mary. the jar of sprinkles sits ambiguously in her hands as newsiwe directs her to a completely different task. but she keeps her grip of the jar with one hand, half of her attention still locked onto decorating, while reaching over to one of the cookie cutters that catches her interest. it's the one in the shape of a christmas angel.
she points to it until her index finger touches it, glancing up at nesiwe in subtle uncertainty.
"Yeah, it can be this one!" She takes the cookie cutter, holding it along the top and keeping her fingers away from the sharp edge. "You gotta push it down into the dough like this, right? And you only hold the top and sides, not the sharp part."
To demonstrate, she pushes the cookie cutter into the dough, pressing evenly around the edges and pulling it away to reveal the angel-shaped result. She wants to joke about how it reminds her of Mary's mother back in the day, but she doubts the girl would understand.
"You wanna give it a try?" She holds it out, but carefully. Her hands wait to guide Mary's, ensuring that she doesn't grab onto the cookie cutter without a care in the world. Not that it's that sharp, but she knows from her own childhood experience how unpleasant it can be.
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why can’t you just accept our friendship? / sombra for funsies
spongebob prompts || always accepting!
Nesiwe turns her head toward Sombra at a snail's pace. Sombra may have been joking, but she doesn't find it funny.
She closes her eyes, clenches her fist, spits out a few curses in Afrikaans. It's her third language, yes, but it's also fantastic for swearing. Perhaps, if Sombra has any translation software on hand, she'll make out some of it. It's quite creative.
Nesiwe likes salad. She always has. It's so versatile, and you can add so much to it. There's no shortage of ways to mix things up (no pun intended). She's quite excited to try the lemon parmesan salad she's picked up from the restaurant down the street.
However, Angela's statement makes her nearly snort said salad out of her nose.
idk if i like this but here it is anyway: nesiwe meeting illari for the first time and going "i do not want you to deal with this the way i did at first"
long post under the cut
Nesiwe has heard much about the new arrival, but hasn't seen her in person. Not until today.
She steps into the room and is caught off guard by the other presence. Illari Quispe Ruiz - it isn't a familiar name to her tongue, and Nesiwe took care to make sure she knew how to pronounce it beforehand.
"Illari?"
The girl looks up. She's an adult, technically, but to Nesiwe she may as well still be a girl. At eighteen, Illari is only just over half Nesiwe's age, and Nesiwe is struck by just how young she is.
She's read the files. She knows what happened. And while she related more and more with each line she read, she'd been through her ordeal in her late twenties. She can't imagine being Illari's age, dealing with this.
"What?" Illari's tone, while not hostile, is terse.
"Heard I'm gonna be working with you, so I just wanted to introduce myself." Nesiwe steps farther into the room with a nod, taking a seat across from Illari. "Nesiwe Ntini. Here from South Africa."
Illari meets her eyes and nods. "Peru."
"I heard."
Illari's expression is unchanging. "So you know what happened."
"I do, and I think it's the reason they're having us work together."
Immediately Illari is on guard, sitting upright. "What do you mean?"
"I dunno if they've shown you my files, but…" Nesiwe hesitates, sighing, her head slumping forward to look at the ground. "We have some things in common."
"What have you done?" Illari seems to realize how that question comes across after she asks it, but she doesn't take it back, waiting for an answer.
Nesiwe holds back a laugh, one that's on the edge between amused and bitter. The corner of her mouth tugs up in a joyless smile, and she knocks on the plating of her protective suit. "I'm wearing this clunky thing for a reason. You and I are kinda… in the same boat, I guess."
Illari scowls, moving back in her seat. "Don't try and tell me you understand. You don't."
"I'm not gonna say that. We were in two different situations," Nesiwe says. "But there was something that stuck out to me in your files. You…" She trails off, tries to find the words that she wishes people would have used for her. "…pretty much wield the sun, yeah?" 'As a weapon' goes unspoken, even if the implication is clear.
"Yes."
"So you can tell me what powers the sun. What process gives it its heat?"
"Fusion." Illari's brow is still furrowed in a scowl, but now it's one of curious suspicion.
"Yep, nuclear fusion. Two atoms smashing together to make a heavier one," Nesiwe nods. "Pretty cool. You can do a lot with it. So you know the opposite of that process? Splitting them apart instead?"
"Fission?"
Nesiwe clicks her tongue in affirmation. "That's what I can do."
Some of the annoyance in Illari's gaze fades at that. "How did you train for that?"
"I didn't. That's where our situations are different." Nesiwe leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Spent my whole life campaigning against nuclear weapons. I got caught up in an attack and…" She motions to herself. "Now I am that weapon."
Illari processes that in silence. "You didn't kill hundreds."
Nesiwe sucks in a sharp breath. "Not hundreds, no. But I still…" She waves a hand, unable to continue.
"It's not the same."
"No, it's not." Illari hadn't intended destruction. "I just know that the guilt eats at you regardless."
"Then you understand that forgiveness is earned, and that I won't stop until I earn it." Illari is resolute in that statement, her shoulders back.
"It is earned, when there's something to be forgiven."
"Don't try to tell me I didn't do anything wrong."
"I'm not here to say that. I don't know all your history." Nesiwe places a hand to her visor. Her head hurts already, and so does her heart. "I just know that when I went down that road after the explosion, I was in a really bad place. And it wasn't like I could talk to someone who understood what it was like to be a walking weapon."
Illari's face softens. It's tiny, almost unnoticeable.
"Our situations aren't the same, and don't take this as pity. It's not. You don't need my sympathy," Nesiwe says. She knows that it may help for the eighteen-year-old to hear that. "You're already doing better than I was - you're going out and doing good for the world instead of hiding away. I'm just here to help with that."
"How?"
"Well." Nesiwe holds out an open hand, palm up. "We're two sides of the same coin, aren't we? You smash atoms together, I rip 'em apart."
"Are we supposed to bring more devastation?" Wary, Illari leans back from the outstretched hand.
"Nuclear forces aren't just used for devastation. They're used in medicine, in power, in space travel-"
"I know." Illari interrupts her activist monologue. "I can heal wounds with mine."
"And I can generate power with mine." On cue, Nesiwe's outstretched hand glows softly. "If we've been given these abilities, we can use them for a better future instead of more destruction. That's why they've sent me to work with you, I'd guess."
Illari thinks about that for a moment before holding out her own hand, letting it glow in kind with the power of the sun.
Nesiwe smiles. She wants to say to Illari all the things she wishes were said to her old self. You don't have to be a weapon. You don't have to bring destruction everywhere you go. You can make this curse into a blessing, take a raging fire and warm hearts with it instead.
But she doesn't. Illari is only eighteen, and Nesiwe knows the mindset she's in. It's going to be better to show her all those things than to say them out loud.
She settles on a lighter topic, a grin sneaking across her face. "Plus, I heard you have a llama."
For the first time since Nesiwe met her, Illari smiles. "His name is Chuño."
Once it begins happening, it happens quick. He lets go of her hand only to let her get the suit fully off, and the moment she steps out of it, he's pulling her into the tightest hug she's likely ever had, at least for a long time. Baptiste holds her, not wanting to let go, for as long as he can. He can feel tears on his shirt, soaking through to his skin. There are tears of his own, doing the same to Nesiwe.
He pulls away after some amount of time, only to take her face in his hands, holding them on either cheek. He stares into her eyes, wipes away the tears on her cheeks with his thumbs. He kisses her then, and though he feels frantic, as if they'll run out of time, he takes it slow. It's what both of them deserve, what Nesiwe deserves.
It's deep and slow and the best kiss Baptiste has ever had. He breaks apart, only to take a breath, and even then he nudges her nose with his. "Fuck."
Nesiwe wraps her arms around him, and she's not sure she'll have the strength to let go ever again. She buries her head in his chest. What started as tears has progressed to open sobs, the kind that have her struggling for breath between each one. The scarring on the right side of her body dulls some of her sense of touch, but she doesn't care or notice.
When she feels his hands around her face (her face, his hands are on her face), she leans in on instinct. The sobbing can wait just long enough to kiss him. She steadies herself against him, her arms around his shoulders, her eyes slipping shut. The tears continue, but she can worry about that later.
She doesn't want to pull away from him, pressing her forehead to his own even after the kiss ends. "Ndiyakuthanda." It's a soft, almost whispered statement. She doesn't even think to translate for him in that moment, and all she can do is focus on the feeling of being able to hold someone. To be held, without the suit in the way.
He nods, a slow thing. She has questions, and he'll answer them later — right now, he just wants her to get out of that damned suit. He wants her to take a deep breath of fresh, unfiltered air. He wants to touch her cheek, kiss her lips, hug her without a barrier. It's partially selfish, but ultimately this is all for her.
The medic reaches forward, bare hands joining gloved ones at seal. He leans his head against the visor of her suit, and he knows tears from her will come, but they will from him too. It's surreal, tested beyond belief for months. He had the base already, he just needed to make it radiation-proof, and that he did. "I'm sure. I've never been more sure about anything."
So slowly, so she can stop him if she wants to, he begins to open one of the seals.
Nesiwe takes a deep breath. There's a slight tremble to her hands that wasn't there before. It's been such a long time since she felt fresh air on her skin, or the sun, or the wind against her face. She's worried she won't be able to stand it.
When Baptiste begins to unseal her suit, starting with the gloves, she allows it. She shuts her eyes, as if bracing for disaster, but even as the glove is removed there isn't one.
The abrupt, frantic beeping of her radiation monitor prompts her to open her eyes, and she switches it off before the droning can continue. Then she looks to Baptiste, and then to her hand.
He's holding her hand.
The rest of her suit is quick to follow, with Nesiwe practically tearing it off and tossing it to the floor to be picked up later. Finally, it's just her — the only barrier is that of the thin shirt and leggings she always wears beneath her suit. Finally she can look at him without her visor in the way, and she does, staring up into his eyes as her own fill with tears.
He just gives her a knowing smile, leans it to give a kiss to her suit. "I've been working on something," he says as he pulls away, letting their hands drop between them. He takes a few steps back and drops his field. It lifts above them, creating a field of life around them. He's even made it a bit bigger, at least in this version they can use together.
He can see the confusion on her face, so he continues, definitely nervous now. "It works, Nesiwe. The field." He gestures vaguely around them. "It can withstand radiation now." He can see it begin to slowly register on her face, what exactly this means. "Everyone helped. We tested it. It's good, it works." He's grinning, beginning to get a bit emotional about it all.
"You can take off your suit in here. You won't hurt me." He holds a hand out, fingers wriggling just a bit. "I promise, Nesiwe."
Nesiwe had expected just about anything except the sudden field around them. She blinks a couple times. Is whatever he has planned that dangerous? Well, if Baptiste has been working on it, she definitely wants to see it.
The moment she hears the words withstand and radiation in the same sentence, it clicks. The smile fades from her face, replaced with a sort of stunned surprise. "Wait, wait, no, hang on." She stares at him, eyes wide. "It really works? Like, even at high levels? You tested it thoroughly, right?" Of course he did. She knows he did. He doesn't half-ass these things.
Her hand reaches for the seals that keep her suit in place, but it doesn't quite open them yet. "Are you sure?" It's one thing to put herself in danger. If this went wrong, she could never forgive herself... but at the same time, it's Baptiste. If he says it really works, it must really work. This feels surreal, dreamlike, and she knows that tears are soon to follow.
He's nervous — not because he doesn't think it'll work, but because he thinks she'll refuse to try. But it's been tested again and again, and he's sure about this. He leads her outside, near one of their outdoor storage areas. No one's around, which isn't necessarily unusual — but he knows they're eager to know how it goes, sitting around in common rooms excitedly talking about it.
Baptiste squeezes her hand, stopping just in the middle of the area. "Alright." He turns to face her, taking both of her hands for a moment. He looks at her a bit seriously, but there's the pull of his lips as he's still unable to hold back that smile. "I need you to trust me, okay? Really trust me." He isn't going to do it until she agrees on this part, at least. He needs to be completely trusted in this moment.
Nesiwe follows his lead. At least it doesn't seem too cold outside — not that it would matter to her. She quirks a brow as they approach the storage area. "Huh, now isn't this romantic?" She laughs, looking around to see if she's about to be ambushed. Some sort of surprise party, maybe? What did she do to warrant one?
When he takes her hands and tells her to trust him, the smile softens. Of course she trusts him. "Hey, you know I do." Maybe it's something like bungee jumping? Skydiving? Whatever it is, she's all the more excited. "So tell me why I'm putting my life in your hands?"
For months now Baptiste has been thinking of a way to be able to get Nesiwe out of her suit, even just for a short time. To be around the others in a way that makes her feel included, less out of place. He's been experimenting with some of the others in secret, with his immortality field. They've finally, finally figured it out.
With some tweaking of his field, he's able to get it to withstand a vast amount of radiation. And, from what he's been able to gather, those inside can manage it, having no real effects on them. On top of it all — it won't kill him.
"Hey!" He's so excited, bursting into the kitchen where Nesiwe is. "Come outside with me. I have something to show you." He has asked everyone to give them the space they need to try this out for real, and luckily they're going to give them that.
Nesiwe stands over a tray of ingredients. None of them have been prepared yet, and she seems too intimidated to even start on making whatever meal she has planned. She takes a deep breath, trying to convince herself to begin the torturous task known as cooking.
When she hears Baptiste enter the room, she takes it as the excuse she needs to step away from the cooking. She sets down the spoon she's holding with a soft clink. "Should I fear for my life? I think I should."
Despite her statement, she doesn't look afraid at all. Whatever Baptiste has planned, no matter how big or small, she's excited. She reaches her covered hand out to take his own, her eyes scrunching up joyfully beneath her visor. "Lead the way."
Nesiwe doesn't cry easily. Once she starts, she can't stop, and that's far too much hassle to deal with.
The statement from Baptiste catches her off guard, and she feels the telltale sting of tears in her eyes. Fascinating that even her bionic eye has the same sensation. She has to look away from him.
"I..." She has to compose herself. The weight of that statement hits her, knocks the wind out of her. The fact that she has the possibility to grow old at all is nothing short of a medical miracle, one that her doctors remain unsure about. The possibility of growing old with someone is one she hasn't even dared to consider. Not until now.
She likes that thought a lot.
"I hope we get that chance." Her words are choked, her voice wavering. "You're stuck with me if we do, you know?"
❛ if you need me, i’m just one call away. ❜ / dorit
found family || always accepting!
She doesn't want to bother Dorit. She doesn't want to bother anyone. She already knows she won't be taking Dorit up on that offer.
She's been to multiple therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists. Overwatch mandated it after she'd recovered from the reactor incident. Still, she's certain that her case is well above anyone's pay grade.
That's probably the case for most of Overwatch, now that she thinks about it.
She smiles, though, and it's a genuine one. "Most of my existential crises are pretty early in the morning. But thanks, Dorit. I really appreciate that. Same goes from me to you... dunno what I can help with, but I'll sure try."
❝ Oh no, no, no! I couldn't possibly! ❞ Niran waves away Nesiwe's excitement with a flap of his wrist. Normally, a karaoke night would be him and his friends in a private booth, wailing about lost loves or sleepless nights between mugs of ice-cold beer. He doubts he'd ever be brave enough to sing in front of a bar full of people.
Especially as sober as he is now! My goodness, he's practically a saint. Niran waffles for a few more moments before waggling his fingers at the bartender. He's going to need something stronger than beer, he thinks.
❝ Two...no, no, three shots of your finest tequila please! ❞ he says with a small grin and a nod when the bartender asks if he needs the lime and salt. Oh, of course. There's no way he'd ever be able to get the shots down without them!
Niran goes back to perusing the menu, lips pursed. ❝ There's this one OST I've always wanted to try to sing, but-- ❞ Three tequila shots are placed down in front of them along with a small platter of three desiccated limes and a small shaker of salt. With barely a thought in his head, Niran quickly slams down the first two with a grimace and shiver, heat flushing his cheeks as the alcohol hits right away. Oooh boy. Gremlin fingers click on the song, typing his name (or well...something that passes for his name, maybe) and pressing enter before the nerves hit. ❝ No matter! Let's go! ❞
"Sure you could!" She almost makes a quip about how being an activist should prepare one for public speaking. She knows, from experience, that it doesn't prepare one for public singing. Maybe it would be less frightening if she was there to sing with him? But she doesn't know a word of Thai, let alone the songs Niran is flicking through.
"You're gonna have to teach me some of these when you get the chance. Maybe I can learn by listening in on you, yeah?"
She raises a brow at his tequila order. Well, that's one way to relax. She hopes he'll still be able to read the lyrics (or even pronounce them) when all is said and done, but she figures no one here will care. It is a bar, after all.
Nesiwe looks back down at the menu, searching for the aforementioned OST. Not that she could find it, with her lack of ability to read Thai. "You should try it-" She looks up in time to see Niran downing his tequila shots at a terrifying speed, her eyes widening. "Eish. That's one way to psych yourself up, I guess. I can go with you if you want?" Maybe she won't know how to sing the song, but she can be moral support. And physical support, if need be. She doesn't want him falling flat on his face when all is said and done.
Though Nesiwe can't drink (especially not in a crowded bar, where she can't even be out of her suit), she sure can sing. She figures she'll just ignore the 'bar' part of the karaoke bar.
And she's not regretting it! She's there jamming along with Niran, her legs leisurely crossed and her foot bobbing up and down to the beat. She thinks to herself that, were this 'Jolene' here, there'd be no man-stealing happening. Nesiwe would steal her first.
Niran's overjoyed comment gets her attention, and she glances down to the tablet screen. "Oh? Ooh, look at that, they do have a lot!" Though she can't read Thai, she can recognize the text, and there sure is a lot of it. She wonders what their South African selection is like, but with all the varying languages of her country, it might take a while to sort through them.
"You should try one!" She leans forward, chin in her hands as she looks at Niran. Imploring him to try.