[ Natasha has basic first aid training but little bedside manner, and an ability to boil water with a preference for ordering takeout. That meant the best option was transport, and she's volunteered to drive supply trucks to the refugee camp. It's mundane work, but it gives her a chance to scope out the situation and familiarize herself with the geography.
The first transport run goes off without a hitch, but on her second pass there are unexpected complications. A tree falls, blocking the normal route, and Natasha swerves hard to avoid crashing. ]
Hang on!
[ Hope you fastened your seatbelt, unfortunate convoy partner. ]
ii.
[ Or maybe instead of a fork in the road, the road just disappears altogether, a wrong turn taken some ways back. ]
Oh, damn. [ Natasha says, expression unperturbed. ] We must have gotten turned around.
[ She definitely didn't do that on purpose. ]
IN THE CITY—
[ Natasha had been a refugee once, a little orphan girl in a camp full of people with no place. At least, she thinks she was. That's the story Ivan always told, of how he'd found her crying and lonely in the rubble of Stalingrad. Natasha can almost remember it, but when she tries she feels a familiar twist in her stomach and bile biting at the back of her throat. This is a relic of the crude mental blocks left to her by the Red Room. Whenever she tries to reach beyond the memories they made for her, she feels nauseous and has to sit down.
Which she does, as discreetly as she can manage. The feeling will pass if she waits for a few minutes, which Natasha intends to do alone. But maybe one of the medical team sees her queasy expression and rushes over, concerned. Or maybe someone's just the type to intrude upon a private moment. ]
GHOSTS—
[ Natasha believes her past is hers— hers to atone for, hers to carry, and hers to keep. Hers alone.
Natasha accompanies a mission to the forest as an experienced climber with some first aid experience, not a spy or a soldier, and she keeps to the back of the group. Soon she hears the noises— cold wind rushing in the distance, the sound of distant gunfire. A baby crying. She thinks it must be sleep deprivation, at first, which only sets her on edge. Later she wonders if she might be drugged. She might snap out at someone in frustration, not immediately realizing that they're seeing things too.
Of course, as the days wear on, it becomes impossible to deny. Other people start seeing her hallucinations too. A dark-haired woman with short bangs turns to stare at her with wide eyes. "Brave Nat doesn't get nervous, she says." Or maybe instead it's a tall blond man— wearing, of all things, purple chainmail— saying "Lady, don't ever pinch me! This is a dream I don't ever want to wake up from!"
Before shooting an arrow directly at her from a bow he wasn't holding a second before.]
( I'm also at lightfellows if you want to plot something else!)
natasha romanov / marvel 616 / ota
i.
[ Natasha has basic first aid training but little bedside manner, and an ability to boil water with a preference for ordering takeout. That meant the best option was transport, and she's volunteered to drive supply trucks to the refugee camp. It's mundane work, but it gives her a chance to scope out the situation and familiarize herself with the geography.
The first transport run goes off without a hitch, but on her second pass there are unexpected complications. A tree falls, blocking the normal route, and Natasha swerves hard to avoid crashing. ]
Hang on!
[ Hope you fastened your seatbelt, unfortunate convoy partner. ]
ii.
[ Or maybe instead of a fork in the road, the road just disappears altogether, a wrong turn taken some ways back. ]
Oh, damn. [ Natasha says, expression unperturbed. ] We must have gotten turned around.
[ She definitely didn't do that on purpose. ]
IN THE CITY—
[ Natasha had been a refugee once, a little orphan girl in a camp full of people with no place. At least, she thinks she was. That's the story Ivan always told, of how he'd found her crying and lonely in the rubble of Stalingrad. Natasha can almost remember it, but when she tries she feels a familiar twist in her stomach and bile biting at the back of her throat. This is a relic of the crude mental blocks left to her by the Red Room. Whenever she tries to reach beyond the memories they made for her, she feels nauseous and has to sit down.
Which she does, as discreetly as she can manage. The feeling will pass if she waits for a few minutes, which Natasha intends to do alone. But maybe one of the medical team sees her queasy expression and rushes over, concerned. Or maybe someone's just the type to intrude upon a private moment. ]
GHOSTS—
[ Natasha believes her past is hers— hers to atone for, hers to carry, and hers to keep. Hers alone.
Natasha accompanies a mission to the forest as an experienced climber with some first aid experience, not a spy or a soldier, and she keeps to the back of the group. Soon she hears the noises— cold wind rushing in the distance, the sound of distant gunfire. A baby crying. She thinks it must be sleep deprivation, at first, which only sets her on edge. Later she wonders if she might be drugged. She might snap out at someone in frustration, not immediately realizing that they're seeing things too.
Of course, as the days wear on, it becomes impossible to deny. Other people start seeing her hallucinations too. A dark-haired woman with short bangs turns to stare at her with wide eyes. "Brave Nat doesn't get nervous, she says." Or maybe instead it's a tall blond man— wearing, of all things, purple chainmail— saying "Lady, don't ever pinch me! This is a dream I don't ever want to wake up from!"
Before shooting an arrow directly at her from a bow he wasn't holding a second before.]
( I'm also at