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[action; 5721 Cunningham]
[Waking up in a strange place hasn't happened for a while for Natasha, but it strikes her immediately. Where her beds are usually kept firm, this one is soft, conventional for the type of person who likes such things, but not her. The pillows are a little too large, a little too fluffy for her liking, and her clothing has changed completely. Her usual conventional sleeping clothes—conventional in the way that she doesn't need to be self-conscious lest she needs to pull a gun on someone—have been replaced by a thin gown. It's not something she's never worn in any particular situation, but it's not what she usually wears.
So she doesn't hesitate to remove herself from the bed to survey the situation. In her time, she's been in a lot of strange situations. She's ended up in the house of people she doesn't know to get specific information for a kill—or just to bring something back to SHIELD. There have been times when she's played the dumb college student, unwittingly walking into a fraternity to find the son of a wealthy corporate executive. And then there's everything in-between.
But still, this is new. Unfamiliar. Unwanted. There's a picture of her in the distance with a person she's never met, and it twists and unsettles her stomach. This is elaborate.
Elaborate means that whoever's behind it might not be the cause of some great hoax. This isn't Stark's idea of a practical joke. This is a lot worse. Escaping as quickly as possible without her usual contact information won't be easy, but she's good at thinking on the fly. She's dropped enough cellphones while on the run throughout the years that she can come up with other solutions. It's why she's good at who she is. Or was. (Is.)
Natasha checks the closet for a change of clothes and finds some in her size. Well, it's not that surprising. The make of the clothing is what confuses her. If she's right, this is about sixty years dated. Or perhaps whoever's behind this is into vintage. Her survey of everything else goes along with that. The conservative style of her surroundings confirms that they have a certain ... taste. Her lips twist down wryly at the thought.
Once she pulls on a pair of shoes—short heels, but at least she's accustomed to that aspect of this—she starts to move through the house surveying everything. More pictures ...
But perhaps the most disturbing part is how happy she looks in them.]
[action; around town]
[It's not that being without her guns necessarily makes her feel weak, but in this situation, she's beginning to wish she had them. Whoever she's up against probably has enough on their side that she could use them. Or her stings. Actually, those might be better right now.
She has observed enough by now: that everyone is dressed similarly, that the make of the appliances and everything else all slot into the era that matches their clothing. A number of possible scenarios have popped into her head as for the reasoning, and she doesn't like any of them. (Loki is high on the list and she doesn't even like giving him that much credit.)
Still, it won't do to look out of place. One unsmiling woman compared to the rest would seem out of sorts. So she does smile as she walks, constructing an identity and a plan in her head for the time being. If she's meant to be the person in those pictures, happy, content, well—she'll do it. She'll pull up the mask and see where it gets her. That, at least, might be able to buy her some time to work this all out.
So when she does run into someone, she continues to smile ... though it fades to pleasant, calm, and she adds a certain care to her voice, so that she seems genuine].
Hello, sorry for bothering you. I'm new to the neighborhood and I'd appreciate any wisdom that you might have to offer.
[Of course, Natasha is going to be reading anyone's body language that she meets up with, and it won't take her long to realize she's not alone.]
[Waking up in a strange place hasn't happened for a while for Natasha, but it strikes her immediately. Where her beds are usually kept firm, this one is soft, conventional for the type of person who likes such things, but not her. The pillows are a little too large, a little too fluffy for her liking, and her clothing has changed completely. Her usual conventional sleeping clothes—conventional in the way that she doesn't need to be self-conscious lest she needs to pull a gun on someone—have been replaced by a thin gown. It's not something she's never worn in any particular situation, but it's not what she usually wears.
So she doesn't hesitate to remove herself from the bed to survey the situation. In her time, she's been in a lot of strange situations. She's ended up in the house of people she doesn't know to get specific information for a kill—or just to bring something back to SHIELD. There have been times when she's played the dumb college student, unwittingly walking into a fraternity to find the son of a wealthy corporate executive. And then there's everything in-between.
But still, this is new. Unfamiliar. Unwanted. There's a picture of her in the distance with a person she's never met, and it twists and unsettles her stomach. This is elaborate.
Elaborate means that whoever's behind it might not be the cause of some great hoax. This isn't Stark's idea of a practical joke. This is a lot worse. Escaping as quickly as possible without her usual contact information won't be easy, but she's good at thinking on the fly. She's dropped enough cellphones while on the run throughout the years that she can come up with other solutions. It's why she's good at who she is. Or was. (Is.)
Natasha checks the closet for a change of clothes and finds some in her size. Well, it's not that surprising. The make of the clothing is what confuses her. If she's right, this is about sixty years dated. Or perhaps whoever's behind this is into vintage. Her survey of everything else goes along with that. The conservative style of her surroundings confirms that they have a certain ... taste. Her lips twist down wryly at the thought.
Once she pulls on a pair of shoes—short heels, but at least she's accustomed to that aspect of this—she starts to move through the house surveying everything. More pictures ...
But perhaps the most disturbing part is how happy she looks in them.]
[action; around town]
[It's not that being without her guns necessarily makes her feel weak, but in this situation, she's beginning to wish she had them. Whoever she's up against probably has enough on their side that she could use them. Or her stings. Actually, those might be better right now.
She has observed enough by now: that everyone is dressed similarly, that the make of the appliances and everything else all slot into the era that matches their clothing. A number of possible scenarios have popped into her head as for the reasoning, and she doesn't like any of them. (Loki is high on the list and she doesn't even like giving him that much credit.)
Still, it won't do to look out of place. One unsmiling woman compared to the rest would seem out of sorts. So she does smile as she walks, constructing an identity and a plan in her head for the time being. If she's meant to be the person in those pictures, happy, content, well—she'll do it. She'll pull up the mask and see where it gets her. That, at least, might be able to buy her some time to work this all out.
So when she does run into someone, she continues to smile ... though it fades to pleasant, calm, and she adds a certain care to her voice, so that she seems genuine].
Hello, sorry for bothering you. I'm new to the neighborhood and I'd appreciate any wisdom that you might have to offer.
[Of course, Natasha is going to be reading anyone's body language that she meets up with, and it won't take her long to realize she's not alone.]
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