Re: Quicklog: Black Widow/Master
[The Master of the Hand never looked the same two nights together, and though Thomas flouted tradition in many ways since his elevation to that infamous position, he was a naturally cautious man, and stayed alive by remaining so.
He was not wearing black, but blurred gray and black, the long sweatshirt a strange camouflage that in the modern age was designed to confuse the eye and the mind. He wore faded gray jeans, and in a crowd in the city with the hood down, he might be anyone. His face was hidden in the shadow of the hood and in the wrap of a short gray scarf that went firmly over his nose and mouth. Even his eyes were gray, though this was not through any effort of his own.
He was standing between two massive blue shipping containers. At his side stood a small boy. From a distance, he looked to be about five or six, bundled up in a heavy coat. The two of them waited in clear view as Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, approached.
The Master bowed ever so slightly, from the waist, in Japanese style, without taking his eyes from hers.] Good evening.