Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow (
unmakeme) wrote in
riverviewlogs2017-03-16 09:34 pm
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march catch all
WHO: Natasha Romanoff and others
WHAT: guarding the perimeter, fighting monsters, helping during the blackout
WHERE: the housing building, the perimeter, beyond the fence, wherever
NOTES: Natasha has an open top level for the festival during the beginning of the month. If you have any questions, or would like a custom starter, PM me or hit me up on plurk. Also, I'm totally fine with getting tags in actionspam if that's how you're comfortable writing, but I'm comfortable writing in prose. So in that case, our styles won't match. I'm good with it if you are.
one
Natasha's still not thrilled to be here, but she accepts that she's stuck. She also accepts that she's not going to be able to fulfill her quota and get home if the whole place goes to shit in the next couple of weeks. Ill fitting or not, her world is still hers, and she has a right to it. She might not have a right to much, but she figures her place on the planet is something she can safely claim.
She takes her job with the Guard, and she does it well. She's good at it, and even the members who don't like her (or hold a grudge) can see that. She figures things will get a little less tense eventually, though she doubts she'll make many friends. Which is fine by her. It's weirdly satisfying getting back to her solo roots. She takes patrols at odd hours, the ones no one else wants to take. She puts herself on call 24 hours a day.
Even when it's not strictly her shift, she still takes rounds along the perimeter. It's soothing, and everyone is stretched so thin.
two
Natasha is still not entirely sure how her violent outburst upon her arrival landed her a solid job. She's also not sure how she managed to swing a shared room all to herself on an otherwise abandoned floor. It seems too good to be true. Still, it's the only reason she's been spending time in her room. Alone does not have to mean lonely, and she needs the quiet to think. Even when the power begins going out in the building, she doesn't mind. Until people start heading up. Her floor's power doesn't go outand it's definitely not because she's stacked the deck in her favour, making sure her floor draws on the grid with priority. Which is a great idea, until people start heading up to take advantage of that fact. She's the only occupied apartment, all other doors locked, but there's still the balcony. She can hear conversations out in the shared space, people taking advantage of power outlets with juice.
It's only a matter of time before someone figures out that one apartment is occupied, meaning there's also a fully functional bathroom. She's expecting the knocks on her door, but that doesn't mean she's thrilled about it. Still, she answers, opening the door but keeping the doorway blocked with her body. "Yes?"
two and a half
On the hunt for some privacy, Natasha heads to one of the abandoned floors with a large shared living room. Once she's there, she sets herself up with a battery operated lantern and a book on one of the couches, a snack on the table in front of her. It's creepy, but she's alone. She starts out alone, at any rate.
three
It's not strictly her job, but everyone is stretched pretty thin, and she's trying to make the best of this. More than anything, she's trying to remember that the people around her are not the people to be blamed for what's happened to her. So when there's talk of looting and other criminal activity taking place when the power to the city's marketplace area goes down, she heads over there. More than once. Sometimes with a partner, sometimes without. Either way, she operates more or less the same. the only real difference is her willingness to attempt conversation if there's someone with her in a chatty mood.
Anyone on the wrong side of the law, though, received no mercy. She offers one single warning to drop their weapons and put their hands on their heads. She hopes no one actually listens to her, because she wants to hit things, and criminals are an ideal target.
WILDCARD!
If you have another idea, lay it on me.
WHAT: guarding the perimeter, fighting monsters, helping during the blackout
WHERE: the housing building, the perimeter, beyond the fence, wherever
NOTES: Natasha has an open top level for the festival during the beginning of the month. If you have any questions, or would like a custom starter, PM me or hit me up on plurk. Also, I'm totally fine with getting tags in actionspam if that's how you're comfortable writing, but I'm comfortable writing in prose. So in that case, our styles won't match. I'm good with it if you are.
one
Natasha's still not thrilled to be here, but she accepts that she's stuck. She also accepts that she's not going to be able to fulfill her quota and get home if the whole place goes to shit in the next couple of weeks. Ill fitting or not, her world is still hers, and she has a right to it. She might not have a right to much, but she figures her place on the planet is something she can safely claim.
She takes her job with the Guard, and she does it well. She's good at it, and even the members who don't like her (or hold a grudge) can see that. She figures things will get a little less tense eventually, though she doubts she'll make many friends. Which is fine by her. It's weirdly satisfying getting back to her solo roots. She takes patrols at odd hours, the ones no one else wants to take. She puts herself on call 24 hours a day.
Even when it's not strictly her shift, she still takes rounds along the perimeter. It's soothing, and everyone is stretched so thin.
two
Natasha is still not entirely sure how her violent outburst upon her arrival landed her a solid job. She's also not sure how she managed to swing a shared room all to herself on an otherwise abandoned floor. It seems too good to be true. Still, it's the only reason she's been spending time in her room. Alone does not have to mean lonely, and she needs the quiet to think. Even when the power begins going out in the building, she doesn't mind. Until people start heading up. Her floor's power doesn't go out
It's only a matter of time before someone figures out that one apartment is occupied, meaning there's also a fully functional bathroom. She's expecting the knocks on her door, but that doesn't mean she's thrilled about it. Still, she answers, opening the door but keeping the doorway blocked with her body. "Yes?"
two and a half
On the hunt for some privacy, Natasha heads to one of the abandoned floors with a large shared living room. Once she's there, she sets herself up with a battery operated lantern and a book on one of the couches, a snack on the table in front of her. It's creepy, but she's alone. She starts out alone, at any rate.
three
It's not strictly her job, but everyone is stretched pretty thin, and she's trying to make the best of this. More than anything, she's trying to remember that the people around her are not the people to be blamed for what's happened to her. So when there's talk of looting and other criminal activity taking place when the power to the city's marketplace area goes down, she heads over there. More than once. Sometimes with a partner, sometimes without. Either way, she operates more or less the same. the only real difference is her willingness to attempt conversation if there's someone with her in a chatty mood.
Anyone on the wrong side of the law, though, received no mercy. She offers one single warning to drop their weapons and put their hands on their heads. She hopes no one actually listens to her, because she wants to hit things, and criminals are an ideal target.
WILDCARD!
If you have another idea, lay it on me.
one
He doesn't expect to run into anybody else this time of night, in what has been, thus far, a quiet stretch of fence.
"Another night owl?" He calls out, voice friendly enough for the moment, testing the waters - is this woman with the guard, or is she up to something else? His stance is loose and casual, despite the stars and stripes he wears, the shield on his arm.
no subject
Right now, Natasha is looking out at the treeline, thinking of the city Clark told her about. She wants to see it, wonders how far away it is, exactly how to get there. More than that, she wonders what's beyond that city, out in the areas that can't be accessed, that no one has made it back to tell the tale of. She feels trapped, smothered, suffocated. Death might be waiting beyond the trees, but there could also be answers, and at least there would be space.
She doesn't turn her head immediately, doesn't recognize the voice. She's also not looking for conversation, certainly doesn't want to make a friend. "I'm not really looking to--" When she finally does look over, she's caught off guard. "...talk." It doesn't happen often, that something throws her. It's not Steve. The voice is wrong, the shoulders, the walk. It's all just... not quite right. She doesn't even care that it could be seen as an aggressive move, she powers on her Bites, the crackling hum of energy arcing across the top of her hand. Her most recent modification carries more voltage than the previous knuckle contact points, two versions ago, when Stark had input. It hurts every time she powers them up, but they're vicious. The stopping power matters far more than the pain. Besides, pain keeps you sharp. "Where did you get that shield?"
no subject
It isn't her, and yet when brown eyes flick down, at her wrists are a familiar weapon. His left hand tightens on the straps of the shield, and the expression that crosses his face, half hidden by the blue cowl, is defensive and a little angry. He's tired of being asked that. Tired of having his legitimacy questioned.
"It's mine." He says simply. "Where did you get those?" A quick motion to her wrists. He can already guess, he's met Sam and the other Steve and the other him - but it's a subtle retaliation. He's always been a little bit petty.
no subject
As though driving the point home, her hands clench into fists, the hum of electricity growing louder as the charge intensifies in response. That shield might not be Steve's any more, but seeing anyone else holding it just isn't right. It belongs with Captain America.
no subject
Bucky pulls back the cowl, because this might not be his Natasha, but he wants her to know what she's up against anyway. Though whether or not she recognizes him is up in the air - if she's from the same world as the other Bucky here, they don't look all that much alike. The resemblance is almost familial, like they could be brothers maybe, but they're hardly twins.
"Stand down. You don't have the whole story, and I'm not looking for a fight."
no subject
"Then tell me where you got the shield." He may not be looking for a fight, but that doesn't mean he won't get one from her if she doesn't get some answers. She doesn't know the whole story, he's right, and what she's imagining is not great. Especially after being told to stand down, as though he has a right to tell her what to do. It's not his fault that she currently has a much bigger chip on her shoulder than usual when it comes to governments, military personnel, and pretty much any chain of command that would try to enfold her, but it's still one hell of a chip.
no subject
"I'm Bucky Barnes. In my timeline, I took over as Cap when Steve was indisposed. When he got back, he gave me his blessing." That's the long and short of it, without going into his own grief when Steve 'died', or how much he had needed this grounding thing to keep him steady and stable. He pauses for a moment, quieter, and says, "You didn't recognize me at all, did you?"
no subject
Steve, though. Steve is important. Steve is one of her people, and she doesn't have many, doesn't expect that life will give her the opportunity to earn many more. He's given up the shield before, and she's sure Stark has it. Or maybe he didn't even care enough to pick it up. These are trains of thought Natasha always derails early, because they never take her anywhere good. It's much easier to focus on the man in front of her.
no subject
"It's not relevant." He doesn't want to talk about it. Doesn't want to voice aloud what happened to his Steve and air his personal pains to someone who doesn't even know them. Her obvious hostility is good, in a way, because it lets Bucky distance himself, build up the walls around himself again.
no subject
It means something to him, too. He wouldn't be so defensive if it didn't. So maybe there's somewhere there to push. "You thought I should recognize you. You think you know me. If you really knew me, you'd know how I feel about people who hold back information, who only give half of the picture. You'd know what it means to me when someone decides that they think they know what's best for me, what I should and shouldn't know based on how they think I'll react. You'd know how many times I've had someone tell me it's not relevant when it shouldn't have been their call to make. You'd know what it means to have someone claim to know you when you don't recognize them, to have memories that don't match up, to not be sure--" To not be sure if what's in your head is really yours. "So you either have no idea what I've been through... or you just don't care."
Maybe there's another Natasha. Maybe she does know this man in some other life. That doesn't have to be a good thing, though. She can't imagine there's any version of herself that grew up loved and safe and cared for. A whole lot of people had a hand in crafting the monster. Who's to say he wasn't one of them?
"Which is it?"
no subject
"I don't know you." That much is glaringly obvious. "You're overreacting to the fact that I don't want to talk about something intensely personal with a complete stranger." That's what she wants him to say, isn't it? That he doesn't know her? He doesn't. He doesn't know what this Natasha has been through. Nothing is guaranteed to be the same, like with him and his doppleganger - this Bucky was never HYDRA. His handlers were all KGB.
"I think we're done here."
no subject
It's not what she wants, but that's not his problem. None of this is his problem, or anyone else's. It's hers. That's always the lesson, isn't it? No matter what life throws at you, you deal with it yourself. Maybe this other Natasha never had to. Not that thinking about it will do her any good. She won't ever get to learn about this other woman.
"Then I suppose I'll count myself lucky," she says, throat uncomfortably tight, before she turns and walks away. Life is going to get interesting in the worst possible ways when she realizes that this man is part of Search and Rescue, too. Still, that's a problem for another time.