Natasha Romanova will probably not kill you (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} webweaving) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} thecityof,@ 2017-10-22 01:16:00 |
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When: Backdated to Tuesday, October 10th
Where: Natasha's apartment
What: Two spies gather some intel.
Warnings: Bad humor, bad language, and probably lots of mocking
As far as kidnapping scenarios went, Natasha had seen worse. A lot worse. In fact, all things considered? She didn't mind this whole situation so much.
Sure, this whole 'conscripted into a battle you have nothing to do with and in which you might die' thing was not great, but wasn't that essentially the plot of the first eighteen years of her life? And, really - if dying was the worse thing that could happen to her, she wasn't that bothered. She'd been facing death on an almost-daily basis for nearly a century; after awhile, fearing it just got old.
The being robbed of her free will, though? That really pissed her off. Understandably, she had somewhat of a complex about not being a pawn; an unwitting and unwilling pawn in a game she had no desire to play. For that reason alone, she'd do her best to give them hell for whatever fresh bullshit they'd pulled her into.
For now though, at least she wasn't alone. Even if, in her experience, dealing with Clint could be much harder on her mental stability than being alone.
"It's open," she shouted at the knock at the door, already annoyed by this place. In the many years since she'd met Clint Barton, he'd never knocked. Moaned at her to open the door because his hands weren't working, yes. Broken into her apartment via the fire escape just to piss her off, almost always. But he never knocked. What kind of shit was this?
She looked up from her position on her new couch with furrowed eyebrows. "Not that I'm not pleasantly surprised, but: Really? Knocking? Are you trying to woo me, Barton?"