Ava Anatalya Orlova (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
krasnaya_vdova) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
riverviewlogs2018-01-23 01:01 am
krasnaya_vdova) wrote in riverviewlogs2018-01-23 01:01 am
You understand, I got a plan for us [open]
who: Ava Orlova & Company
what: January Catch-all; TDM prompts
when: Late January
where: Around
warnings: Monster fighting?
I. Lunch Dates [Open to anyone! Feel free to handwave having met her / made arrangements]
[It's actually sort of nice, even if it's weird. Knowing people. People that aren't Sana, and yet who seem to actually want to be around her. She finds it strange more often than not.
But while her social calendar is never the most bustling, she does find herself of not-infrequent meetings for coffee and pastries, or a light lunch. Conversation, sometimes she brings her sketchpad, sometimes she lets her company pull her out onto the town. Usually either settling into a bar for a few drinks, or walking the streets window shopping. She knows the streets of the city blind-folded, but the stores she frequents have little to do with fashion.
She's always there early. Usually sipping at an iced coffee in a too-big military jacket, watching the flow of the crowds and the people as she waits.]
II. I Have a Bad Feeling
[Ava knows this is a bad idea from the get-go, but here she is, in one of these robots, doing her absolute best to not short out the controls. She's working the weapons, which is probably the better option, and at first things actually seem to be going smoothly. She actually manages to work together with her partner, even if she's never really what someone would call a team-player.
But the further into the fight they get, the harder it is for her to keep control. Her adrenaline spikes and then something's sparking and she's cursing as half the panel goes dark which does not help her regain her calm.]
Just uh- I can fix it. [Something else sparks, and her eyes glow blue by the dim light as she tries to get the cover off. The metal looks hot to the touch, but she hardly seems to notice. Things are probably going to go downhill from here.] Just give me a minute.
[Good thing they weren't in the middle of stampeding ginormous insects or anything, right?]
III. Put Down the Bug Rebellion
[Really: fuck the robots.
And honestly, this is easier. She's just on the ground, on her feet, with twin blades of bright blue energy. There's a stampede of giant bugs, and she's five five of energy and blue eyes. She's a storm made flesh; red hair, copper and fury. When she stops choking her powers down, it feels like the pulse of the world slows to something she can breathe.
This is where things make sense. The ground under her feet -- or sometimes, the hard carapaces of the insects she's working on pushing back -- and the race of adrenaline in her veins. Her focus is laser, aware of the situation, but zeroed in on the closest threat or putting herself so that the right target is the nearest threat. Pierce already knows, and she's not going to sit on the sidelines. She tried the option that didn't make a spectacle and that was a fucking mess, so here she is instead.
Whatever warnings people might have given her about not heading too far ahead completely forgotten. These things are pretty durable, but her very skin crackles with energy that fluxes in waves.]
Don't get too close--
[An easy call to whoever happens to push near her as they work against the bugs. And there's a darkness to the words, no matter how lightly they carry on the air. She is Not Safe. Do Not Touch. Energy Hazard, Can Cause Injury.]
IV. Pavane for a Dead Princess
[She likes dancing, she's realized. There's a struggle to it for her, mostly with certain songs, with a code written into her memory she never feels like she can entirely escape. She doesn't let that stop her, though. There's a place in town with a studio room she borrows as many days a week as she can manage it. It's a simple space: mirrors and wood floors, dim lights, a piano in the corner, but she just hooks her iPod into the speaker system. Classical music, but generally not ballet pieces.
Her pointe shoes are bright red, but mostly she wears white, with a light grey sweater. She's graceful, elegant, agile and quick on her feet, almost fluid as she moves. She jumps and the short gauze of her skirt flutters and she almost seems to float for a moment too long before she lands. The red of her ponytail like a contrail of her motions.
The door is left ajar, so curious passers-by, might hear the notes of the music that she's dancing to. This isn't scripted, just movement, space and music, what she can choreograph in her head as she moves. Finding a balance somewhere between her body and her thoughts, what she can intuit, what it feels like. Something that you can't hold onto, and only experience.]
V. Wildcard!
[ Leave me whatever, or hit me up at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
natalia_vdova! ]
what: January Catch-all; TDM prompts
when: Late January
where: Around
warnings: Monster fighting?
I. Lunch Dates [Open to anyone! Feel free to handwave having met her / made arrangements]
[It's actually sort of nice, even if it's weird. Knowing people. People that aren't Sana, and yet who seem to actually want to be around her. She finds it strange more often than not.
But while her social calendar is never the most bustling, she does find herself of not-infrequent meetings for coffee and pastries, or a light lunch. Conversation, sometimes she brings her sketchpad, sometimes she lets her company pull her out onto the town. Usually either settling into a bar for a few drinks, or walking the streets window shopping. She knows the streets of the city blind-folded, but the stores she frequents have little to do with fashion.
She's always there early. Usually sipping at an iced coffee in a too-big military jacket, watching the flow of the crowds and the people as she waits.]
II. I Have a Bad Feeling
[Ava knows this is a bad idea from the get-go, but here she is, in one of these robots, doing her absolute best to not short out the controls. She's working the weapons, which is probably the better option, and at first things actually seem to be going smoothly. She actually manages to work together with her partner, even if she's never really what someone would call a team-player.
But the further into the fight they get, the harder it is for her to keep control. Her adrenaline spikes and then something's sparking and she's cursing as half the panel goes dark which does not help her regain her calm.]
Just uh- I can fix it. [Something else sparks, and her eyes glow blue by the dim light as she tries to get the cover off. The metal looks hot to the touch, but she hardly seems to notice. Things are probably going to go downhill from here.] Just give me a minute.
[Good thing they weren't in the middle of stampeding ginormous insects or anything, right?]
III. Put Down the Bug Rebellion
[Really: fuck the robots.
And honestly, this is easier. She's just on the ground, on her feet, with twin blades of bright blue energy. There's a stampede of giant bugs, and she's five five of energy and blue eyes. She's a storm made flesh; red hair, copper and fury. When she stops choking her powers down, it feels like the pulse of the world slows to something she can breathe.
This is where things make sense. The ground under her feet -- or sometimes, the hard carapaces of the insects she's working on pushing back -- and the race of adrenaline in her veins. Her focus is laser, aware of the situation, but zeroed in on the closest threat or putting herself so that the right target is the nearest threat. Pierce already knows, and she's not going to sit on the sidelines. She tried the option that didn't make a spectacle and that was a fucking mess, so here she is instead.
Whatever warnings people might have given her about not heading too far ahead completely forgotten. These things are pretty durable, but her very skin crackles with energy that fluxes in waves.]
Don't get too close--
[An easy call to whoever happens to push near her as they work against the bugs. And there's a darkness to the words, no matter how lightly they carry on the air. She is Not Safe. Do Not Touch. Energy Hazard, Can Cause Injury.]
IV. Pavane for a Dead Princess
[She likes dancing, she's realized. There's a struggle to it for her, mostly with certain songs, with a code written into her memory she never feels like she can entirely escape. She doesn't let that stop her, though. There's a place in town with a studio room she borrows as many days a week as she can manage it. It's a simple space: mirrors and wood floors, dim lights, a piano in the corner, but she just hooks her iPod into the speaker system. Classical music, but generally not ballet pieces.
Her pointe shoes are bright red, but mostly she wears white, with a light grey sweater. She's graceful, elegant, agile and quick on her feet, almost fluid as she moves. She jumps and the short gauze of her skirt flutters and she almost seems to float for a moment too long before she lands. The red of her ponytail like a contrail of her motions.
The door is left ajar, so curious passers-by, might hear the notes of the music that she's dancing to. This isn't scripted, just movement, space and music, what she can choreograph in her head as she moves. Finding a balance somewhere between her body and her thoughts, what she can intuit, what it feels like. Something that you can't hold onto, and only experience.]
V. Wildcard!
[ Leave me whatever, or hit me up at
no subject
And how much do you actually know about me to make judgments on my habits and tastes? [The fact of the matter was that people seemed to judge him by one thing only, and while it was a massive one, it wasn't who he was entirely. HYDRA didn't rule his life; he ruled HYDRA with his. He had built an identity to contain all that was to become of the HYDRA that he had ruled over and lead into the greatest attempt at triumph since the Second Great War. However, so few knew of his habits beyond that.]
I'm aware of the level of arts here. [It was on his top ten of subjects to look into; they were often places where people looking to hunt him down wouldn't bother to look. Maybe they thought he should be in a cave somewhere scheming and twisting a moustache.] I noticed you weren't part of that ballet company. Likely that's for a very specific reason, yes?
[No, Ava was brash and seemed like the type of woman who was most comfortable engaging an enemy physically. She didn't play the slow knife, the one that waited years for the perfect opportunity to strike. She was up front in her methodology, which was likely why they so often had little talks like these.
He shifted to lean on the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest and seemingly perfectly comfortable still partially hidden by the door. Like if he wanted to, he could ease back into the shadow and disappear. Of course, that wasn't his talent as it was hers, but he faked many skills where it was necessary to form a particular opinion.]
Do you practice here often? You have quite the skill for this. Interesting that you should dance to Ravel. It's more classical than ballet.
no subject
As he questions what she knows about his habits and tastes, she manages to keep from the snappish reply that she knows enough, because the truth is that she doesn't. He's too much of a dangerous wildcard for her to be satisfied, and if anything he has a point- that she doesn't really know where his tastes lie. So she shrugs her shoulders, not quite chagrined, but the tilt of her head telegraphs interest. She hums a half-laugh and eyes him carefully.]
I'm sure if you noticed I wasn't on the roster, that you noticed who is.
[Another truth, but Ava never saw the point in lies when they were dead in the water. She wasn't Natasha who could lie to someone's face, layer lies upon lies until the truth itself lost all value. There's something about how he leans in the door frame, comfortable there, in that halfway place between light and shadow. She takes a step closer, like she's not quite aware of it. There's always something tense on the air between them, and yet they keep finding themselves here. Safer for him than for her, she imagines.]
As often as I can, usually four days a week or so. And I prefer classical when I'm not working on a specific piece of choreography. it makes it easier to not just fall into old patterns.
[There's a weight to that, a sentiment that means something else, but she plays it off.] Do you have a favorite?
no subject
He smiled at her statement because it was true. He hadn't yet gone to the ballet because there was a chance that he might not make it out again, and while that wouldn't bother him that much, he still considered that he had much to accomplish here before he met his untimely end. He was only setting his new plans in motion and building up the resources and understanding of this world to have a long game to play for the betterment of most. So ballet was out at present in case Romanoff took issue with his presence.]
I would have thought that you would take comfort in being close to one with similar skills as you, a mentorship of sorts. Or am I to take that as she turned out aside?
[Her admittance meant that he could technically come and watch her dance, a private audience that was likely to make her rather uncomfortable. How she danced under pressure was telling of her overall character and resilience in his mind, and he would be checking back to watch her, unless she went into the wind and found another abandoned space to slip on her shoes. He was a fan of the arts, as much as he was a fan for the need for certain battles.]
Not becoming comfortable in everything you know is important. You wouldn't want to be caught flat footed.
[He considered for a moment her question, rating those he enjoyed more than others.] La Bayadere. The first ballet I saw with my wife.
no subject
She didn't know if Natasha knew who he was, actually. It wasn't the same Natasha, but she wasn't going to tell him that just yet. And for all she knew he might have done something just as terrible in her world, too. So that's a point she's comfortable to just let lay for the moment. And who knows what sort of contingencies Pierce could put in place for his his death.
She almost wants to kick herself because she hadn't thought he'd zero in on the subject of Ava and Natasha quite so flawlessly, and she shrugs her shoulders and looks off to the side as she wavers on how to play it. Because she had been turned aside, and she was still trying to work things out but while holding each other at arms' length it felt like sometimes. And yet she's still closer to her than the one that looks exactly like the woman she knew.]
I always feel sloppy next to her. It's easier like this, just movement and music. Trying to make something beautiful.
[She doesn't actually refute his question, but lying about it feels more vulnerable. Like if she lies about it, he'll be able to tell how much it hurt. It was technically an offer, but it was also pragmatic- there was a certain sort of almost safety in designating somewhere he was allowed to find her. It also meant that if he chased her down somewhere else, it would be telling since he didn't really need to. She wasn't planning on running. Not unless he pushed her too far off balance.]
I know that one. Nikiya is a gorgeous part. I'd probably say either Giselle or Romeo and Juliet.
no subject
However, Ava was persistent enough to wedge herself into the lives of those around her if they accepted her. That meant that for all the claim of sloppiness, that Natasha had not accepted the young woman who had once had a mind link with the first Black Widow. He wondered how much pressure it would take to make Ava truly uncomfortable on that subject.]
For you, it seems like many things are easier alone. In that, you're rather like Miss Romanoff. Of course, you aren't as aloof or as good at it as I recall her. You want to be apart of their lives, don't you? After all, you were alone for so long minded by STRIKE teams and I know for a fact they aren't the best conversationalists.
[How did she make connections with people? How far did she push before it all came back to something like this? Just movement and music. Where no one was watching, no one was paying special mind to what she had to offer and no one might consider how the isolation might eventually drive her. She was resilient, but they were a social species and where were the friends her own age? The mentors to teach her?
Shouldn't caring roommates make the attempt to come and at least watch all this simple movement and music?]
It is a gorgeous part. Do you know the dances for Nikiya? [A beat as he switched tracks to see what happened.] Swan Lake is also a wonderful addition. So many well coordinated steps.
no subject
Pierce says that she isn't as good, and it's almost a strange comfort than anything else. He doesn't try to flatter her, to tell her things that she wouldn't believe. She does want to be part of their lives. She spent eight years wanting Natasha in her life, wanting one person in the whole world that understood her. In the end that person was Sana, but it wasn't the same.] No, they're not. Most of them.. I didn't think they were bad, they just didn't really seem to know what to do when after twenty minutes I was still there and still a child.
[She meets his honesty with some of her own, something that is hard for her to admit to usually, with the ideas she has about just who they were working for, just who it was that wanted her locked away under lock and key, who was training her. She had connections here, but few of them went too deep. Not quite friends, no teachers or mentors. It probably said something sad and ugly that it was Pierce who seemed most interested in coming to see her dance.]
I know some of it. It's been a while, I'd have to practice the choreography, the blocking. I can see what I can remember, if you're curious. [There's a look there, where she meets his eyes and her heart twists.] It's an interesting piece, especially with how productions with have the same dancer play bloth the white and black swan. The Swan Queen is an almost impossible role, because all dancers seem to favor one over the other. Maybe it's impossible to integrate them into one person.
[They both know that the piece speaks to her. Not just because of the code in her head but because of the truths about Ava and Natasha.]
no subject
Unfortunately, many of those processes - especially with her current state of mind - required hurting her. Personal self reflection and realizations that things had to change for her to achieve a goal in mind. To be accepted was obviously one of them. From what he garnered from her file, likely being loved was another. Friend, sister, lover, comrade... was she any of those for more than a fleeting moment?]
They weren't bad; they were driven... but most weren't parents either. And what of your relationships here? There are so many people from different times, worlds, and even events. When I watched you at the party, you were a darling face in the crowd, so few approached you, yet so much revelry happened around you. Do you chase down Romanoff as you chase down me?
[Since they were being honest with each other, there was a need to ask the difficult questions. That he had found her quite be accident meant nothing, since now he had her with the wonderful tones of her music filling the air. Those songs offered a peace that was so delicate, but what did he and Ava actually know of peace, hm? They were part of a world where war and fear would always be part of daily life. For now.
And in his face, there was genuine honest interest. Even from where he leaned in the doorway, his hands across his chest, his lips still upturned as she offered a show of her skills. Almost shy and innocent. Craving attentions from those who deserved to give it more than he. Alexander might be all she had, which was a right shame.]
I would very much enjoy watching you dance Nikiya, any that you can recall. [Swan Lake was interesting in how the Red Room used the dance. Two swans, one light and one dark and there was such an impossible balance at times, straddling a line few ballerinas or agents could master.]
That's because people aren't a perfect balance of light and dark, are they? There are shades of grey that mingle and some lean in one over the other. Tell me, which swan do you feel you're more likely to favour?
no subject
This was almost-- easy. He pressed, but with his words and questions were definitely probing, looking for weaknesses, it wasn't the sort of thing to make her jerk back as if burned. Instead, she listens, and there's a flash of something in her eyes. He calls them driven, and he's not wrong even if they both know what lies behind those words, but it's still hard for her to think about. So she doesn't bring it up, focuses on the other points. There's something surprised to her expression when he describes her as darling. She's not particularly used to the flattery.]
There are some people I know. [Which doesn't really answer the question, not that she'd sell her vulnerabilities quite so easily.] Hm, I'm not sure she'd find it quite as amusing.
[Not that she was quite sure if Pierce did, but with him she could at least play it off that way. She wasn't scared that he'd stop talking to her, that she'd push her away from what little contact she'd managed so far. So, no, she didn't chase her down. She let Natasha come to her, more often than not. Didn't push. Just hoped, and enjoyed her presence when she was allowed it.]
Odette, the white swan. Or I try to be, anyway. But there's something about Odile's performance- the way she seduces not just Seigfried, but the audience. Who wouldn't want to be her?
[She walks over and stops the music. Because she doesn't have the music for La Bayadere, and she'd rather do it in silence than to the wrong music. It makes it harder to place the choreography.]
Which do you think I'm better suited to?
[A question, but then she dances for him. Nikiya, her steps light. The blocking's off, and the choreography isn't perfect, but you can see the skill there. Nuance, lightness as well as a delicate sort of sensuality in the way her arms gesture and her steps move across the space. When she jumps it's like gravity forgets her for a breath. That sound of ballet shoes on wood floors. But it's not long before she stills with a small twirl, a slight smile that's almost a challenge, because there are still blades here even if the lines feel uncomfortably murky.]
no subject
It was only recently that he felt the need or urge to push back. However, when he pressed, it was slow and easy. Pain, when applied in slowly increasing increments, would be more tolerated than a sudden and sharp pain applied quickly. There was a time and a place for each of course , but he had a purpose for when and why he decided on his approach. She responded as he thought she might.]
That's a very arms-length kind of talk of people you associate with. That tells me you aren't so part of their lives as you would like or you think you should be. [He tilted his head, leaning it against the door frame and watching her, a small smile twisting the corner of his lip.] She doesn't seem the maternal sort, no. A duckling following her about is not the style that she presents to the world.
[He took her midnight visitations, stalking in games and presence in the shadows in stride, considering it an opportunity than a nuisance. It kept him on his toes on keeping up the front that he presented to the world, aware that someone would be watching, not that he was out of practice with that. He was simply starting at new beginnings and that required a change of face. Her following him about meant he was filling some kind of void in her life, and he took it as such.]
I think that you, like anyone, can be both depending on the circumstance. What we try to be and what we are at our core is likely a combination of Odette and Odile, and you have simply been trained to be aware of which side of that swan that you're showing to the world.
[He watched with a keen interest as she turned off her music and began to dance, recognizing the imperfections to the rhythm but finding it artful and beautiful all the same. She had the grace; she simply needed the practice.
When she finished the small piece, he clapped for her as it was a performance that deserved recognition. He was smiling fuller now too, pushing himself off of leaning and pushing open the door more once he had finished clapping and stood right in the doorway as she had welcomed inside with her dance. Her blades, sharp and quiet, didn't frighten him.]
Such a performance. You bring me back to much younger days, Miss Orlova.
no subject
She doesn't answer when he points out how arms-length she sounds about her friends. She's not sure if he's wrong, not sure if arguing the point just gives him what he wants, lets him know where her weaknesses lie. He leans against the doorframe, watches her, and instead of answering questions she dances for him. Maybe it's a convenient out, a way to avoid the traps he lays for her, but those are things she doesn't quite know how to answer. She's more isolated than she likes to pretend. She has some people in her life, but not many that she's genuinely close to. She doesn't know if that's her fault or not.
Dancing is easier. It's a place to channel her feelings, the doubts of those questions without giving him the satisfaction of seeing the places where she falters. Not answering is its own sort of admission, but when it's not put into words there's less for him to take from it. She hadn't really been trained that way, at least, not that she remembered. Natasha had been, though. Always making sure that the black swan was all people ever saw of her.
He applauds, and she smiles, something warm for a moment before she catches herself, tries to shrug it off. But there's a flush to her face and a brightness to her eyes, something to being appreciated, even if it's a man like Pierce applauding how she dances.]
I'm afraid it'd take some practice before I was quite equal to your flattery.
no subject
And if he happened to cause her to think about stepping away from any of those associations, to understand isolation and reach out beyond it, he might just be there to help her. After all, if the file was correct, STRIKE had been her caretakers, and that meant that she had been nestled into HYDRA without entirely realizing that that family would welcome the strong. As always, the weak wouldn't survive or they would be altered in order to become more than what they had began as.
And dancing was a freedom that required no words, only appreciation for the art. The human body was a marvel in how it could move.]
Miss Orlova, you're supposed to take the compliment, not avoid it. In everything that we do, we require practice, but what you showed me today is a wonderful performance.
[He slowly lowered his hands and tucked them into his trouser pockets, watching her from the doorway. He tilted his head as if considering a different possibility, one he was certain happened to be truth but let the silence stand for a few extra seconds as if he were going over thoughts in his head.]
Am I right to assume that you're not used to compliments? I know the Red Room was hard on their assets. STRIKE would only compliment if you bested them in tactics and combat. What of your parents, hmm? Did they not provide the love and nurturing that a child needs to feel wanted and skilled in this world?
no subject
The longer she was away from that place, the more her memories came back. And not all of them were bad. The baseball game before they'd taken her to 7B, STRIKE agents looking through catalogs with her and asking which shirt she liked and would it be better in blue or polka dots? They would sneak her bags of candy, or occasionally bring her real food to give her a break from the military rations. It was an awful, dehumanizing sort of place, and she still didn't know how many times they'd wiped her, but the disparity was confusing. It was hard to paint them as nothing but villains when there had been attempts at kindness. When she could remember what the Red Room had been, what Ivan was like.
Ivan had been something demonic with blacked out eyes and grasping claws in her memories. Like her mind, dealing with fractured pieces, had made the horror something physical, something easier to comprehend. HYDRA's biggest crime, before she really understood what they were, what they took from her, was how neglected she felt, how alone, how trapped and useless. Bucky was right, of course, Pierce was too good at getting under her skin. He just didn't seem like a monster, even if she knew better.
She laughs, shakes her head, a slightly lop-sided curve of pink lips. She doesn't quite know what to say to that when he calls her on not taking the compliment, when he reaffirms that he meant it. She shifts, shrugs her shoulders a little, but she can see it in his eyes, those seconds where he thinks he's realized something.]
Compliments in the Red Room weren't compliments at all. [There are words she almost says, but even with the lack of it being said, the air feels hot, almost oppressive. STRIKE had been the ones that taught her what they were, what little socialization she'd had before she'd been a Brooklyn orphan had been all STRIKE -- all HYDRA. And standing here, facing him, she knows it and it cuts.] You probably know more about my parents than I do. I still don't remember much.
[The facts: Red Room scientists, responsible for the OPUS tech, her mother had either designed her to be able to take it down, or designed her to be able to turn the machine into having superpowers. She didn't know which was more likely, which was worse. The pieces: Cinnamon and tea. The nylons her mother wore, the sound of her voice, pushing her as she practiced ballet, curled under her desk as soldiers walked through the lab. You must be strong. Strong as an ox and sharp as a razor. She didn't have much of her father. Karolina, her ballet doll from the Bolshoi. She knew he'd been the one to give it to her.]
no subject
Schmidt disappeared - presumed dead - and Zola had plenty of time to read books while the fragments of HYDRA lingered in the minds of those who had once been under the wing of it. The new leadership of HYDRA had decided on a different design where a sense of community and secrecy had prevailed, where those who belonged were family. They were the family where one's true beliefs could be shown, and yes, it had it's issues and many agents had to be killed in the beginning for taking matters too far, but it had been built on a sense of belonging. We have your backs if you have ours. If you need to sacrifice yourself, you will be remembered and revered like the fallen soldiers you are. Never are you forgotten by the wide arms of HYDRA.
It had been a different way of doing business, and it had worked. Loyalists were more willing to serve for that sense of belonging. They were more willing to make sacrifices, and here and now, Pierce believed much the same. Like his own children, there was a time and a place to take a hard line to behaviour, but otherwise, the wide reach of HYDRA's arms would always come back to embrace those that were loyal, to sweep in those that teetered on the edge. Family and religion intertwined and proven successful.
He nodded his head, finally stepping into the room itself, not the corner to but because the conversation had turned to almost welcoming tones. He moved next to the door and leaned on the wall, giving her as much space as he could in case she decided to dance once more.]
And that's why the Red Room produces the hardiest agents, but they are also highly isolated. They don't integrate well because in the end, they were taught based on fear and violence. [He returned his hands to his pockets; he knew much of Red Room politics and techniques with their agents. Catch them young, train them, turn them loose.] It's also why the Soviet Union eventually failed. They, like the Red Room, pushed their population on fear and through too much propaganda. Both of those only work when the people see something of value to gain.
[He knew a little of her parents, and until recently, he hadn't cared either. Parents who offered up their healthy children for questionable experimentation was a limit that he stepped on a few times. He didn't respect that; he preferred the method of the child making the choice if it had to come to that. Then their decision could be held over them when it was necessary.]
I imagine you were young. You spent much of your life overseas in the United States, it seems. Tell me, how did you enjoy the STRIKE teams? They treated you well?
no subject
She kept giving him enough rope to choke himself with, to push that line enough for him to feel like the villain she knew he was, and yet he always stopped short. The vague references to the fact that he might go looking for Bucky was as close as he'd come, and so they kept circling. She kept letting him talk to her, and now the place they were was sharp and soothing all at once. He talks about the Red Room, and he's not wrong. Ivan was nothing but venom and it was always isolating always alone, because there were no friends in the Red Room, not when the other little girls where your competition as surely as they were fellow prisoners. When the girl in the next bunk could be told to kill you or you her-- bonding was never a good idea.]
Some people still fall into that Machivellian idea that it's better to be feared than to be loved. That if you can normalize torture you can create agents capable of anything.
[She doesn't bother arguing the point about the Soviet Union, because he's not really wrong. In the end, people are always willing to suffer more for those that they love. There needs to be something they value, something they cherish or eventually the pendulum swings. He leaves that answer murky, and instead pokes at a sharper subject, that admittance that they both know who raised her, that they knew where she was kept.]
They locked me away in a box in Washington, DC for five years. They fed me on military rations. Taught me history and politics, and never let me see the world.
[She's made these accusations before, but she's less of the child she'd been then. She remembers, understands more. She's not fourteen and lonely and temperamental where all she wants is freedom. It hadn't all been bad. It hadn't been the Red Room.] Am I suppose to call that treating me well? They wanted me hidden and secret.
[She can't even hold onto that anger anymore, not really, not crisp and fierce and like something she can strike back with. It's not that simple. She doesn't like facing this, but she knows that if she doesn't he'll see the truth of it anyway. She shrugs her shoulders and her expression becomes sharper. Family is a hard thing for her. What her parents had done to her. The total lack of those sort of figures in her life. STRIKE had been something, though, to someone that had never had anything. And even knowing they'd been HYDRA she can't completely erase it.]
I guess it was better than what my mother did to me.
no subject
He understood what she was doing as well, and he was better at the game of words than she was. He could teeter on the edge and never truly step off the cliff. He kept the balance, knowing where his goals lay. That was what happened to be the most important in all of these encounters: knowing one's over all goal.]
That's because it's easier and it takes less time. It's also natural for any living creature with a nervous system to respond to pain, to want to avoid it, to learn from the lessons it is teaching them. Love is fragile, and it can easily be broken. That's why no one entirely teaches with love; there are far better models: power, respect, loyalty, reward based systems. People want to know they are getting something out of their efforts.
Also, if you normalize torture, you lose humanity. The cost-benefit is questionable on that front.
[Ah yes, they probably hadn't known what exactly to do with her. She was an asset that had much time to grow and learn, but... well, she likely had been a teenager and they were tough on anyone. The full scope of her potential hadn't been realized either, if he had to guess as to the reason for the secrecy for so long.
He still smiled all the same.]
If I can guess, military rations likely had been all they had. And as for not letting you see the world, what would you have wanted to see and do? Have you managed to see those things now that you're older?
[He tilted his head slightly, watching her.] You resent most being someone else's secret.
[He had no comment on her mother. It wasn't his place to conjecture about it, and he more was interested in her reactions to what he had already said. Was it that resentment that drove her to this quiet studio? Or was the studio a product of her upbringing? Isolated, alone, no one taking note of her.]
no subject
She had a goal both times that she tracked him down, but when he's the one edging into her space, she's left trying to put one together, to figure out what angle to play. She ends up reacting more than pushing, ends up more honest than elsewise, because lying is always a pretense, a part that she plays. She's been lied to too much in her life for it to really be natural. Deception is not her favored battleground.]
And which do you prefer?
[It was an important question, it mattered. It shouldn't, but what he said to her, the way he said it, that mattered to her. She listens to him, not in a way that implies obedience, but she lets him talk and she listens to what he says, which is perhaps his best weapon. And she can't help thinking that he's not wrong, exactly, but still--]
Coney Island, there's this place in Queens that has the best milkshakes, movie theaters, ice skating, fencing, dancing... I wanted to feel like a person instead of someone's asset. I've done things. But it still feels like my world is so small compared to everyone else, sometimes. Or like I'm too old, and everyone else seems so small.
[They tried, sometimes, but someone had wanted her kept secret and safe and quiet. Natasha had claimed it was for her own protection, but they'd thought Ivan was dead so what had they been protecting her from? The pieces didn't add up, she didn't quite understand. What purpose had they had for her?]
no subject
And this was a potentially interesting topic of conversation, not too revealing but a slow build to parts of his character that were clearly underestimated by many. Those that thought they knew him assumed too much and gave him too little credit on what he could accomplish. It was in his favour, so he had no reason to contest so far.]
I don't enjoy limiting my options, Miss Orlova. Not all systems work for the individuals, so they need to be tailored. Not everyone wants the same outcome after all.
[Much of HYDRA indoctrination was about finding out individual needs, breaking them down, molding them but also using their base to earn loyalty and respect. Their recruiters and trainers had very specific skills and each one could be assigned a group of people that had common goals and threads of weakness to pull. The power of belief was never to be underestimated.
Ah, now there was quite the list of adventures not taken. Some weapons couldn't be trusted in public, their triggers not known enough, but she had had education and the rudimentary company of hardened men. Likely they had done the best that they could, but they were also human; surely one or two had made certain she was comfortable or at least entertained in some way. They were willing to take necessary risks after all.]
And do you want those things now? Of course, Coney Island doesn't exist here, but the activities and opportunities surely do. There is no time like the present to live your life, unless you are held back by something or another.
[What had been was useful for what could be here, an in to exploring her limited world that had once been far too afraid to engage him entirely. Repeated exposure could eventually change that opinion; perhaps they could even be allies with a common purpose. He needed a refurbished asset of his own, and she would be interesting.]