Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unmakeme) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
riverviewlogs2018-05-24 09:43 pm
unmakeme) wrote in riverviewlogs2018-05-24 09:43 pm
may catch-all
who: Natasha Romanoff and your character
what: lots of walking, fair amount of drinking, little bit of rescuing
when: month of May
where: all around town, particularly bars or clubs
warnings:
1 dino-fight
There’s something about throwing herself into work. It’s not satisfying, that’s not the word she would use. It’s… well, it’s familiar. Leaving a whole lot of death in her wake, that’s what she was built for. Usually it’s very bad people, but she’s almost used to it being weird lizard monsters, freaky insects, giant crocodiles, various dinosaur like creatures. It’s almost becoming the norm. Even better when they turn out to taste good. Save some money on a food bill. Clint would probably find that morbidly funny.
The flying ones are the worst, not because of the difficulty, but because of familiarity. Fighting with her eyes on the sky, with a mind to vertical action, that’s a throw-back to something real.
Luckily, that train of thought is cut off by a surprised shriek and a call for help, and she has something else to focus on. That something being a pterodactyl monster with a person in its claws. Not ideal. Natasha turns her attention, assesses the way the creature is moving with the additional weight, and takes the last two shots in her clip. Both connect, neither take it down. So she ejects the empty clip, slams another one into her gun, flips herself up onto the awning of a building, and takes a slower and more careful shot. This one travels through the creature’s eye, and the heavy, meaty sound of it hitting the ground would be a lot more satisfying if not for the fact that it’s landed on the intended meal.
Natasha jumps down, and jogs over, bracing her shoulder underneath the hulking corpse and shoving it up and off of the person beneath. “You ok?”
2 getting as drunk as humanly possible
It’s not just the latest monster attack that’s got her drinking. It would be nice to pretend that’s the case. It would be slightly healthier. Sadly, it’s not true. She was drinking before the dinosaurs turned up, and she’ll be drinking after they’re gone. Some nights, she goes to clubs, gets lost in the loud music and the dark corners, lets other people buy her drinks. Most of the time, she just ends up in a bar that doesn’t look to her like it’s full of people who will want to talk, and stays until closing so that she can be alone without feeling completely alone.
Which does not mean she always stays alone. It’s impossible to get away from everyone. Occasionally she ends up seeing someone she knows from work, from her building or gym, and there’s no longer an easy way to tell them to get lost. Or maybe she’s just tired. Perhaps, deep down, she doesn’t really want to be alone.
3 walking after dark
Even after the bars close, or when Natasha realizes that if she keeps going, she’s going to end up falling asleep there, she doesn’t always want to go back to her apartment. It’s not home. It’s about as far from home as any place she’s ever lived.
So she walks, just to put it all off.
She walks through streets of closed up shops, lights off and shades drawn, and most of the time she’s thinking about the stillness of Manhattan after the alien attack. Occasionally a certain stretch of the road or cluster of stores will make her think of even earlier times, of dead drops and fleeting connections in deserted town centers, dancing through camera blind spots like it was effortless, like it wasn’t a heart-pounding jumble of precision and uncertainty, tempting fate with every step.
She walks along the perimeter, checking the guards, looking for faces she knows, ones she doesn’t, listening for movement beyond the fence. She tries to imagine what’s coming next. She’s rarely correct, but that doesn’t mean she’ll stop wondering. This is not the kind of life she can predict. It’s not the kind of life she ever wanted to be living. Sometimes that circuit will carry her through until morning, and she can skip sleep entirely, grab a quick shower and head to the gym, pretend she’s fine.
wildcard!
Everybody knows how to do this one. Want to do something I haven’t talked about already? This is the option for you.
what: lots of walking, fair amount of drinking, little bit of rescuing
when: month of May
where: all around town, particularly bars or clubs
warnings:
1 dino-fight
There’s something about throwing herself into work. It’s not satisfying, that’s not the word she would use. It’s… well, it’s familiar. Leaving a whole lot of death in her wake, that’s what she was built for. Usually it’s very bad people, but she’s almost used to it being weird lizard monsters, freaky insects, giant crocodiles, various dinosaur like creatures. It’s almost becoming the norm. Even better when they turn out to taste good. Save some money on a food bill. Clint would probably find that morbidly funny.
The flying ones are the worst, not because of the difficulty, but because of familiarity. Fighting with her eyes on the sky, with a mind to vertical action, that’s a throw-back to something real.
Luckily, that train of thought is cut off by a surprised shriek and a call for help, and she has something else to focus on. That something being a pterodactyl monster with a person in its claws. Not ideal. Natasha turns her attention, assesses the way the creature is moving with the additional weight, and takes the last two shots in her clip. Both connect, neither take it down. So she ejects the empty clip, slams another one into her gun, flips herself up onto the awning of a building, and takes a slower and more careful shot. This one travels through the creature’s eye, and the heavy, meaty sound of it hitting the ground would be a lot more satisfying if not for the fact that it’s landed on the intended meal.
Natasha jumps down, and jogs over, bracing her shoulder underneath the hulking corpse and shoving it up and off of the person beneath. “You ok?”
2 getting as drunk as humanly possible
It’s not just the latest monster attack that’s got her drinking. It would be nice to pretend that’s the case. It would be slightly healthier. Sadly, it’s not true. She was drinking before the dinosaurs turned up, and she’ll be drinking after they’re gone. Some nights, she goes to clubs, gets lost in the loud music and the dark corners, lets other people buy her drinks. Most of the time, she just ends up in a bar that doesn’t look to her like it’s full of people who will want to talk, and stays until closing so that she can be alone without feeling completely alone.
Which does not mean she always stays alone. It’s impossible to get away from everyone. Occasionally she ends up seeing someone she knows from work, from her building or gym, and there’s no longer an easy way to tell them to get lost. Or maybe she’s just tired. Perhaps, deep down, she doesn’t really want to be alone.
3 walking after dark
Even after the bars close, or when Natasha realizes that if she keeps going, she’s going to end up falling asleep there, she doesn’t always want to go back to her apartment. It’s not home. It’s about as far from home as any place she’s ever lived.
So she walks, just to put it all off.
She walks through streets of closed up shops, lights off and shades drawn, and most of the time she’s thinking about the stillness of Manhattan after the alien attack. Occasionally a certain stretch of the road or cluster of stores will make her think of even earlier times, of dead drops and fleeting connections in deserted town centers, dancing through camera blind spots like it was effortless, like it wasn’t a heart-pounding jumble of precision and uncertainty, tempting fate with every step.
She walks along the perimeter, checking the guards, looking for faces she knows, ones she doesn’t, listening for movement beyond the fence. She tries to imagine what’s coming next. She’s rarely correct, but that doesn’t mean she’ll stop wondering. This is not the kind of life she can predict. It’s not the kind of life she ever wanted to be living. Sometimes that circuit will carry her through until morning, and she can skip sleep entirely, grab a quick shower and head to the gym, pretend she’s fine.
wildcard!
Everybody knows how to do this one. Want to do something I haven’t talked about already? This is the option for you.
no subject
Nat pours herself another drink, because she's already paid for this, so she's not leaving it unfinished. "So, how many of those before you're passed out on the floor?" Because her assumption was spot on. This woman is a wisp compared to Nat. She hasn't missed the ears, and the odd shine to her eyes in the darkness, and it would be impossible to miss the huge tattoo spreading across her entire forehead and down half her nose. Not human, sure, and she wonders for a moment if she's got anything in common with those horrible creatures that Thor brought to Earth years ago - the same slight stature, the same delicately pointed ears.
Plenty of differences, too, of course.
Still, the universe is an unfathomably large place, as she's still discovering.
no subject
She raises an eyebrow at her new drinking companion, smirking slightly before downing what remains of her drink. She makes a face at the way it hits her, the burn. But it doesn’t stop her from ordering a second. “So far I haven’t found that number.” Not that she’s set out to try, but she has consumed quite a lot of them on nights like this.
no subject
In the time it take for Iona to get her second drink, Natasha has slowly and evenly downed the contents of her glass, and filled it again. This time, Iona's doesn't look the slightest bit smoky. That one will have Nat puzzling for a while, she's sure. She's never been a big fan of things not making absolute sense. She has the skills, out of necessity, to move on even when they don't. Doesn't mean she likes it.
She holds up her rocks glass, four fifths full of vodka, and spares a moment to wonder if you still call it a rocks glass when you have no ice in it. Another moment for her to decide that it doesn't really matter, so she doesn't really care. Then she angles herself ever so slightly toward Iona. "To shitty days, and the survival of same."
no subject
Which might be part of why the quiet of the Quarantine makes her so bloody restless. All there is, is idleness. Almost. (And too much to do back home.)
She holds up her glass, knocking it gently against Natasha’s. “To surviving shitty days."
no subject
Another glass of vodka, another chance for reflection. Those opportunities to do the smart thing, the responsible thing, and walk away from a destructive situation. Natasha has seen a lot of those moments in her rear-view mirror lately. "Have you ever heard of Earth?" There's the slightest moment of consideration, no more than the space of a breath. "Before you came here." Because everyone and their mother seems to be from some variation of home, though almost no one is actually from home. She highly suspects that not a single person here is someone she knows. Close, but not a match, not in any of the most important ways, the only things that count when everything else falls by the wayside.
no subject
She wonders if she could find Maraas-Lok, here...
She hums a laugh and shakes her head. “Unfortunately not. I’ve only heard of that world since being brought here.” She has noticed that a considerable number of people seem to be from some variation on this Earth. Fewer still are from worlds similar to her own, and there are only three that are from a version of Thedas, currently.
no subject
"So... is it rude to ask about the tattoo?" Never mind that you can't ask that asking about asking about the tattoo is the same thing as asking about the tattoo. All right, her own thoughts are starting to make her slightly dizzy. Finally. It's not supposed to take so much of a bottle to do that. Next time, she's sticking with what-- the blonde is drinking. Probably about time to get a name. "I'm Nat, by the way. Hi."