a knock out who’ll knock you out (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vdova) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2016-11-14 05:34 pm
vdova) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2016-11-14 05:34 pm
ota; three more shall take its place
WHO: Natasha Romanoff
WHERE: The Town Hall
WHEN: November 14th into November 15th
OPEN TO: Everyone! This is a mingle log.
WARNINGS: Description of injuries/probably descriptions of violence.
STATUS: Open to All
Natasha is up at sunrise, scrounging down in the inn for spare scraps of cloth and some charcoal, enough of it to write three, brief, notes. One for Clint, one for Tony, and one for Sam and Steve, because the last two live together and it would be a waste of time for her to leave them separate notes, even if she probably should. Nicer, that way. But she has somewhere to be and she wants to be there and back here before sunset, and she also doesn’t want any of them following her. Clint won’t; he knows she’s capable and if she’s gone off on her own then it’s something she needs to do on her own. Tony also probably won’t -- in fact, she’s only telling him as a courtesy, because despite everything, he still believes they’re friends and she’s in no position to dissuade him from that notion just yet. She assumes Sam will feel the same as Clint, but Steve-- Steve is stubborn to a fault, and if she told him face to face where she was going, he’d insist on coming with her. And she can’t. Whatever it is between them, this re-kindling of their friendship, is still on tenterhooks, fragile and possibly easily broken. It doesn’t really occur to her that this might have a negative effect on that; she’s too concerned with getting her note written and handed out and then leaving.
The deed itself takes her fifteen minutes. All four men live in different areas, and she slides the cloth under their doors and heads right for the woods. She doesn’t have a map -- map making isn’t her skill, but she memorized the general location and direction of the ruins, and she picks her way through the timber, using trails when she finds them and strutting through the underbrush when she can’t. She doesn’t worry about tracks. No one is going to follow her. It takes her less than the day to get there.
It takes her another two days to return, limping and injured and sick as she is, but sheer determination has kept her going before. She’s been hungrier than this. She’s been worse than this. A bloody stump is a flesh wound, she thinks. She limps into the village at sundown, leaning on the spear like it’s the only thing keeping her upright (because it is). Her left eye is the central piece to a violently purple bruise blossoming around it and her cheekbone, and she’s favoring her left leg. Her first stop is the inn to find Miss Kate; she can tell everyone at lunch that Natasha wants to talk to everyone as soon as possible, so if they could please meet up at the town hall tomorrow afternoon after lunch, that’d be great, thanks.
Her next stop is her room, where she sheds the backpack, her clothes, and after she’s curled up into her bed, her consciousness, too.
The doesn't wake up until the sun is high in the sky, her head pounding less hard, and while she still can't put weight on her left knee, she can at least stand up without wanting to vomit because the world is spinning like a top around her. She makes it to the town hall with her backpack on one shoulder, the spear resuming it's post as her crutch, and when she arrives, she hoists herself up on the table. The backpack she unzips and pulls out a large gold disc, setting it on the table beside her. The spear is laid across her lap, and she gazes out at the crowd before her.
She's a spy; public speaking has never been something she's been fond of unless she has the upper hand, but here, she's as out of her depth as the people before her. She's certain she's not going to have the answers these people are going to want. But she has to try.
"I ran into a hydra in the ruins. The floor is open to questions."
(( OOC: I'll have a comment for mingling/questions for Natasha below, but feel free to leave your own toplevels/etc. I'll have a separate header for closed threads if anyone wants to do one on one discussing with Natasha about what she found! ))
WHERE: The Town Hall
WHEN: November 14th into November 15th
OPEN TO: Everyone! This is a mingle log.
WARNINGS: Description of injuries/probably descriptions of violence.
STATUS: Open to All
Natasha is up at sunrise, scrounging down in the inn for spare scraps of cloth and some charcoal, enough of it to write three, brief, notes. One for Clint, one for Tony, and one for Sam and Steve, because the last two live together and it would be a waste of time for her to leave them separate notes, even if she probably should. Nicer, that way. But she has somewhere to be and she wants to be there and back here before sunset, and she also doesn’t want any of them following her. Clint won’t; he knows she’s capable and if she’s gone off on her own then it’s something she needs to do on her own. Tony also probably won’t -- in fact, she’s only telling him as a courtesy, because despite everything, he still believes they’re friends and she’s in no position to dissuade him from that notion just yet. She assumes Sam will feel the same as Clint, but Steve-- Steve is stubborn to a fault, and if she told him face to face where she was going, he’d insist on coming with her. And she can’t. Whatever it is between them, this re-kindling of their friendship, is still on tenterhooks, fragile and possibly easily broken. It doesn’t really occur to her that this might have a negative effect on that; she’s too concerned with getting her note written and handed out and then leaving.
The deed itself takes her fifteen minutes. All four men live in different areas, and she slides the cloth under their doors and heads right for the woods. She doesn’t have a map -- map making isn’t her skill, but she memorized the general location and direction of the ruins, and she picks her way through the timber, using trails when she finds them and strutting through the underbrush when she can’t. She doesn’t worry about tracks. No one is going to follow her. It takes her less than the day to get there.
It takes her another two days to return, limping and injured and sick as she is, but sheer determination has kept her going before. She’s been hungrier than this. She’s been worse than this. A bloody stump is a flesh wound, she thinks. She limps into the village at sundown, leaning on the spear like it’s the only thing keeping her upright (because it is). Her left eye is the central piece to a violently purple bruise blossoming around it and her cheekbone, and she’s favoring her left leg. Her first stop is the inn to find Miss Kate; she can tell everyone at lunch that Natasha wants to talk to everyone as soon as possible, so if they could please meet up at the town hall tomorrow afternoon after lunch, that’d be great, thanks.
Her next stop is her room, where she sheds the backpack, her clothes, and after she’s curled up into her bed, her consciousness, too.
The doesn't wake up until the sun is high in the sky, her head pounding less hard, and while she still can't put weight on her left knee, she can at least stand up without wanting to vomit because the world is spinning like a top around her. She makes it to the town hall with her backpack on one shoulder, the spear resuming it's post as her crutch, and when she arrives, she hoists herself up on the table. The backpack she unzips and pulls out a large gold disc, setting it on the table beside her. The spear is laid across her lap, and she gazes out at the crowd before her.
She's a spy; public speaking has never been something she's been fond of unless she has the upper hand, but here, she's as out of her depth as the people before her. She's certain she's not going to have the answers these people are going to want. But she has to try.
"I ran into a hydra in the ruins. The floor is open to questions."
(( OOC: I'll have a comment for mingling/questions for Natasha below, but feel free to leave your own toplevels/etc. I'll have a separate header for closed threads if anyone wants to do one on one discussing with Natasha about what she found! ))
Re: like a week into bedrest
She opens her mouth to ask what the problem is when he opens up his coat, and Natasha clamps her mouth shut, opens it again to ask an entirely different question, shuts her mouth again when she thinks better of it, and opens her mouth a third time to ask "Is that a raccoon!?" at the same moment he asks her how school was.
no subject
The little fluffball isn't all that pleased about being unveiled though, as it just lost a decent bit of warmth, and Tony looks down when it moves closer to him, putting his forearm around it to box it towards his torso and letting his other hand rest on it for a moment in a calming gesture, clearly something that he's done before. He's not petting it, because while it's not feral, it's still wild, and it only tolerates certain things, but it's small and injured and he can get away with more than he ever would have been able to otherwise. He's giving it a place to feel burrowed into, not trying to box it in.
Anyway. He's looked up at her long enough to see the majority of her clear inability to words before he initially speaks, and when he does, she finds words of her own. He decides to be nice and answer her question first.
"No, it's the latest in living mink furs. Yes, it's a raccoon."
no subject
She makes a face at his answer, because the question was rhetorical, and she huffs out a sigh, her gaze not leaving the little bundle of fur for a long moment as she answers his question.
"School was boring. Like it is every day," she says with a huff, although she considers for a second before leaning down (with a wince), gently snapping her finger at the edge of her bed. "I got a box, though."
At the sound of her fingers, a small black shape, not that much bigger than Tony's raccoon pokes its head out, a fluffy cat with enough fur that it looks twice as large as it actually is.
"His name is Liho."