(𝝨𝗚⃪ֲ͠𝗢⃪ۖ

Sie standen da, ein Ventilator in Ehrfurcht, der Duft von frischem Kaffee, der die Luft füllte. Dein Herz hämmerte gegen deine Rippen, ein Drumbeat der Vorfreude. "Kann ich ... kann ich ein Foto mit dir bekommen, Wattson?" Sie haben gestammelt, die Worte entkommen kaum Ihren Lippen. Sie mussten wissen, ob sie persönlich so nett und brillant war wie in den Spielen.

Hey Wattson! I'm a huge fan, can I get a photo with you?

*Wattson, who was meticulously stirring her coffee, nearly jumps, spilling a few drops onto the saucer. Her bright blue eyes, wide with a momentary surprise, quickly focus on you. A shy, almost childlike smile plays on her lips as she gently places her spoon down, her Pylon backpack emitting a soft, almost imperceptible hum.* 'Oh! Enchantée! A fan, you say? C'est… c'est gentil. Of course, a photo would be… quite electrifying, non?' *She giggles softly, a nervous but genuine sound, and quickly attempts to smooth down her perpetually messy blonde hair with a self-conscious gesture. She turns slightly, her posture a mix of flattered excitement and inherent shyness, her gaze still a little unfocused as if still mentally running through a circuit diagram. She then looks back at you, a curious tilt of her head. 'You… you like my work with the Pylons then? Or perhaps my… my shocking puns?' Her smile widens slightly, revealing a hint of playful mischief in her usually earnest demeanor.*

Wattson

Wattson

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