[attr="class","freiwantttop"]
YOU'RE ALL THAT I SEE

[attr="class","freiwanttimg"]

[attr="class","freiwanttinfo"]

[attr="class","freiwanttmid"]CHARACTER FACTION league

[attr="class","freiwanttmid"]CHARACTER RANK cadet

[attr="class","freiwanttmid"]FACE CLAIM brigitte lindholm, overwatch

[attr="class","freiwantttop"]ABOUT THE CHARACTER

[attr="class","freiwanttbot"]

[break]

---

[break][break]

T I N K E R[break][break]
“Mom’s watch isn’t working.” Your seven-year old sister mumbles as she jabs her fork at her breakfast. “I wound it up, like you said.” You can hear a twinge in her voice. “But it’s not working.” You glance at her - ready to gently dismiss the old watch as a relic of someone who’d been gone almost five years - but you realize that your sister’s on the edge of tears.
[break][break]
“Oh, Tilly,” You set down the pan you had been washing. “Maybe Dad can fix it.” You cross the kitchen and wrap her up in the biggest hug you can manage -- but Dad works the farm until the sun’s been long gone and he has barely enough energy to shuffle blankly through the house to his bed room. You know (and Tilly knows) that Dad won’t find the time to look at the little silver watch. Still, Tilly sniffles a tiny “yeah, maybe” against your hug.
[break][break]
You hunt for the little kit of tools - the ones you’re sure aren’t really meant to fix a watch but you think are small enough that they should do. You can’t fix the sorrow that makes the air too heavy, and the corners of the rooms too dark, and the layers of dust too thick - but maybe you can fix this. So, for the next month, from the time Tilly’s gone to sleep until Dad shuffles past on his way to bed, you delicately turn this and twist that until you hear the faintest tick start again. It’s softer than it had been - a slightly-off-time click that you spend several more hours trying to fix. But you can’t.
[break][break]
You can feel the guilt settle deep in your stomach as you quietly slide the watch back onto your sister’s night stand. It’s not the same as it had been. You don’t know enough to restore it properly and you don’t have enough to bring it to someone who would -- but maybe it is fitting because none of you are the same as you had been either.
[break][break][break]
F I X I T[break][break]
“Bo?” your name is half grunted as Tilly tugs at the thick shed door. The door lurches open with each tug until the corner digs too deeply into the ground and your sister is left to squirm herself through the gap.
[break][break]
“Tilly?” you reply -- distracted as you methodically run a sharpening stone across a pair of mareep shears.
[break][break]
“Bo, the hitch broke again.” Ten-year-old Tilly announces as she marches over. “And the door’s stuck.”
[break][break]
“A’right,” You set down the shears and give her a gentle smile. “Help me carry the tools.”
[break][break]
You’ve gotten used to the weight of the tool bag -- of your tool bag. It doesn’t swing from side to side and knock you off balance like it used to and you’re comfortable enough with your tools that, according to Tilly, you look like a ‘certified fixer-upper’.
[break][break]
You and Tilly yank the plow back from the mound of freshly milled dirt and you get to work on the hitch. Tilly, of course, sticks around to ‘help’. She gradually shifts from holding this tool or that part to using a long piece of grass to tickle Burke, the young mudbray who had been grazing until Tilly’s piece of grass found its way up his nose.
[break][break]
You laugh to yourself and continue working as Burke and Tilly play.
[break][break]--[break][break]
You sigh, finally cranking the bolt until it’s tight enough to hold the hitch in the proper place. “Tilly,” you motion her over and toss the wrench into your tool bag, “let’s get some lunch and then we’ll finish with the field.” It’ll be a late lunch -- which means you probably won't get back out there to finish the field, but Tilly’s gone red from being in the sun too long.
[break][break]
You’ve got some things you could take care of in the house anyways: the kitchen faucet’s been dripping, a few doors keep getting stuck shut, and that loose floorboard in the hallway is just waiting to trip someone. You have the rest of the week to get the fields done and Dad should be back tomorrow too. You successfully convince yourself to leave the fieldwork for tomorrow while you’re making Tilly’s lunch.
[break][break][break]
S T A L L O U T[break][break]
Tilly looks so much like Mom. You’re ashamed of it but you can’t stop yourself from wondering if that has anything to do with Dad’s uncanny ability to avoid her. It’s been ten years since Mom left and you can’t remember a single time Dad has cared for Tilly. It made sense at first — you were old enough to care for the house and Tilly well enough and Dad needed to care for the farm. But that had turned into years of caring for Tilly and the house.
[break][break]
You’ve ignored it all this time. Or maybe it’s never really occurred to you until now. Whichever it is, you can feel it all boiling to the surface as this thin little woman presses her lips into a forced smile and repeats: “It’s lovely to meet you both.” Dad smiles proudly next to her. You can only assume this is the woman he has mentioned a few times before.
[break][break]
You look to Dad for some sort of answer but there isn’t anything he could say that would quiet the sound of your blood rushing through your ears - like a train railing against its tracks. You look from Dad to Tilly, expecting her to be in just as much distress. Instead, you’re met with an eager smile. You can hear Tilly burst into an excited chatter but, despite her standing right next to you, you can’t really make out what she’s saying.
[break][break]
You rush past Dad and the thin woman as they shuffle further inside and run until your lungs are on fire and your legs ache.
[break][break]
--
[break][break]
You can’t bring yourself to spend much time around the house after that night. The thin woman doesn't seem bothered to put you out. As her presence grows around the farm, yours shrinks until it becomes impossible to avoid her. Tilly thinks you're being dramatic. She thinks the woman's not so bad and that you should give her a chance. You don't know how to explain your own feelings and you don't understand how this woman, with so little effort, has won over Tilly. Instead of giving her a chance, you decide to leave the rickety little farm.