Whitney Frost (thegoldenmask) wrote in oh_marvelous, @ 2013-01-17 23:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | z: om1: !closed, z: om1: affiliation: hydra, z: om1: past character: tomi shishido, z: om1: past character: valentina allegr, z: om1: past character: whitney frost |
Cut me down.
Characters: Whitney, Contessa, Gorgon
Setting: A HYDRA prison
Content: Nothing questionable
Summary: Whitney thinks it's about time someone let her out
Twelve weeks, almost to the day, according to the count Whitney had been meticulously keeping since HYDRA had captured her and locked her away. This was a monumental setback, of course, but she spent her time planning what to do when she was either released or escaped. If the former didn't work out, then she would attempt the latter. In the meantime she hoped her Nefaria weren't losing their strengthening grip on the crime world. It would be a shame to climb out of obscurity only to slide right back into it and, much as she'd love to have all the credit, they couldn't rely on her forever. Heading a crime syndicate really was like running a family and this time around mummy intended for her children to become independent.
The trials and tribulations of the Nefaria of Maggia didn't do her much good in here, however, since she couldn't even get news of the outside world. The few guards she'd tried to talk to seemed unable to say nothing more than "Hail Hydra!" or some variation of that phrase. One of them even answered yes or no questions with it. She had to hand it to the organization; they'd cornered the market on thorough brain washing.
With no one else to talk to she retreated into her own thoughts and formulated her plots to leave this place. The first was the easiest and that was, despite her distaste, to cowtow to Madame Hydra. The head bitch in charge had a bit of a superiority complex, Whitney realized. The ego on the Contessa was what landed Whitney in this dungeon for nothing but (relatively) petty theft. Or perhaps it was the mouthing off. Either way, the simplest way out was to grovel to the Madame, or make a bargain, or simply asked politely- whichever worked. The harder way out involved a lot more blood and violence and was probably more fun.
So Whitney waited and listened and learned. Scarred face against the floor (they'd taken her mask) and ear to the door, she heard anyone who passed by her cell. By now she knew the footsteps of all the guards (whom she'd systematically named after all the seven dwarves) because even with their brainwashing they couldn't seem to walk in sync. It must have been so embarrassing during HYDRA parades. Contessa's footsteps weren't hard to recognize, though she visited here infrequently, because the Madame Matriarch always wore heels. It was the sound of these, along with the shuffle of footsteps she didn't recognize, that had her on her feet now and her eyes at the little window cut into her door.
"Madame, a word please," she called out as the footsteps drew nearer and listened as her voice, croaky from disuse, echoed in the hallway. "I've been a good girl, I think, and it's time to talk parole."