[ She hears the storm coming, before she feels it. It isn't the type weather she likes, this creeping, sticky heat, but she isn't the sort to complain. When the rain starts, she's looking at wares in the market, rows of silken scarves with tiny patterns woven in. It's the pattern that catches her eye— and the small deviations from it, stitched in crimson, like some sort of code. But maybe she's just seeing things. She thanks the sales clerk, polite, and moves on.
Then the rain starts, while she's standing in the open road. It itches, like worms under the skin, and Natasha knows what it is. Many years ago, she'd been in Jáchymov, near a Czech uranium mine, and she hadn't been allowed to wear gloves, because, her superiors told her, of the delicate nature of her work. Well, this time, she darts under a nearby awning, safe. Without thinking, she pulls a nearby stranger by the wrist, a sharp tug. ]
The rain— it isn't safe.
[ She lets go then, and her hair-tie has snapped, so strings of red frame her face. ]
iv. basic bouncers
[ Natasha appreciates the anonymity the suit offers her as much as the protection, covering up so much of her that it's impossible to see how bright yellow has always made her skin look sallow. But the suits make it difficult for her to read others, as well. She looks at the person stationed next to her, who is presumably about to charge into battle with her, and can't get a read. ]
Have you done this before?
[ She puts a hint of a smile in her voice, enough to seem friendly, but not unprofessional. The question is vague— does she mean fighting ravenous boar-monsters or doing one of these missions or dealing with acid rains? But how her companion answers will tell her something. ]
? wild card
[ I'm open to other prompts, too! You can comment or PM this journal or hit me up on plurk (lightfellows) if you have any questions. ]
Natasha R. | Marvel Comics
[ She hears the storm coming, before she feels it. It isn't the type weather she likes, this creeping, sticky heat, but she isn't the sort to complain. When the rain starts, she's looking at wares in the market, rows of silken scarves with tiny patterns woven in. It's the pattern that catches her eye— and the small deviations from it, stitched in crimson, like some sort of code. But maybe she's just seeing things. She thanks the sales clerk, polite, and moves on.
Then the rain starts, while she's standing in the open road. It itches, like worms under the skin, and Natasha knows what it is. Many years ago, she'd been in Jáchymov, near a Czech uranium mine, and she hadn't been allowed to wear gloves, because, her superiors told her, of the delicate nature of her work. Well, this time, she darts under a nearby awning, safe. Without thinking, she pulls a nearby stranger by the wrist, a sharp tug. ]
The rain— it isn't safe.
[ She lets go then, and her hair-tie has snapped, so strings of red frame her face. ]
iv. basic bouncers
[ Natasha appreciates the anonymity the suit offers her as much as the protection, covering up so much of her that it's impossible to see how bright yellow has always made her skin look sallow. But the suits make it difficult for her to read others, as well. She looks at the person stationed next to her, who is presumably about to charge into battle with her, and can't get a read. ]
Have you done this before?
[ She puts a hint of a smile in her voice, enough to seem friendly, but not unprofessional. The question is vague— does she mean fighting ravenous boar-monsters or doing one of these missions or dealing with acid rains? But how her companion answers will tell her something. ]
? wild card
[ I'm open to other prompts, too! You can comment or PM this journal or hit me up on plurk (