seemed easier than just waiting around to die; (OPEN)

[assassinat]

Who| Nat and YOU!
What| Another newcomer and the fronts she puts on
Where| District 8 floor, shopping area, wherever else
When| With the rest of the newbies
Warnings/Notes| #comics (N/A)

Whoever her abductors were, they were good enough to capture the Black Widow without it being a part of her plan and therefore in doing so have earned themselves her temporary cooperation. It isn't that she wants to rebel (because she does), but there were more important matters to tend to other than pointlessly question those who will deny her significant answers. That and she's had decades of experience when it came to asking questions: these goons aren't going to tell her what she needs to know.

The next best thing is to experience it herself. The first chance she gets to peel away from the other tributes and those watching her, Natasha takes it and explores to her heart's content. If there's something or someone out there she needs to find, she'll be sure to do it before entering a death arena.

      ➊ (DISTRICT 8 FLOOR)
Natasha's time here is minimal. Just enough to memorize faces, to pick apart those who might seem familiar and those who aren't, and to identify who may be trouble later on. There's no hint to what her skill set may be when she's around others, choosing instead to feign ignorance and charm others with a smile that shows her discomfort. The role she plays today is that of a scared woman, who has just been ripped from an everyday life to participate in a bloodbath. A woman who is petrified of death, but attempts to face it with a brave face.

It's a flimsy mask and Natasha already fears something may slip through the cracks. Her thoughts are elsewhere, but she remains focused on her role until she leaves the Training Center building.

      ➋ (SHOPPING)
It isn't so out of character for a woman to take up retail therapy when something devastating happens to her, so Natasha lingers in this area for a good amount of time. There's a lot to take in, but more importantly the people are vocal with their conversations so there's plenty of information to be found. This is what she thrives on, the good honest speculation is more reliable than any book she can request at the Training Center.

There's also no harm in looking at what's for sale either. What better way to understand the culture than to look over the absurd things they value?

      ➌ (OPEN)
OOC | Have an idea or already coordinated something with me? Feel free to hit me up with anything.

Comments

➌ TRAINING CENTER ➢ BUCKY BARNES.

[assassinat]

A lack of fresh air only stifled her thoughts and as a result, Natasha convinced herself that it was all right to leave this place briefly. What will they do? Kidnap her again? Drag her back kicking and screaming?

No, these guys weren't going to bother with that. Most of the people she's seen couldn't take a punch from her, much less a kick and screaming is so unlike her. If anything, they'll make the same mistake of showing her how they took her down the first time and then she'll learn from it. Adapt. Turn it back around on them.

Show them what it means to stab the Black Widow in the back.

Anger isn't like her and it contradicts the current persona she's going with, in hopes that maybe they have failed to learn everything about her prior and so she walks around with an uncomfortable grin. Heh, yes, this is all so funny and she's going to put on her brave face because who is going to ask a woman to give her life for no reason? If every person she met was a possible Tribute, then there was the inevitable possibility they will have to kill each other.

And Natasha's not too keen on the idea of dying just yet.

Stepping into the elevator, she stares at the buttons for a bit longer than any other person would. There's a roof she could go to for fresh air, but dangerous. What if she gets thrown off or more importantly, runs into someone who wants to throw themselves off? It'll be awkward and troublesome, so maybe she'll head downstairs for a possible exit. A reasonable thing for any Tribute to do, so she won't stand out against the crowd.

Punching in the button, she leans back on the bar and shuts her eyes, taking in all the sounds she can hear. The humming of the elevator is pristine, the technology matching with everything she's seen so far--and stopping suddenly? Peeling a lid open, she stares at the floor number.

Seven. A number often associated with luck, none of which Natasha has today.

So what's behind door number seven today?

[soldieronwards]

The door slides smoothly open. The sharp tread of boots over the threshold sounds, the feet in them powered by the same disbelieving anger Natasha herself feels, but far closer to the surface.

But it's not this man's feet that should concern her now: it's his familiar face.

Bucky steps into the elevator, then freezes as he sees the woman in front of him. His breath steals right out of him. He wants to say something furious, but he can't. He can't say a damn thing. He just stares at her, stricken.

[assassinat]

The element of surprise is easily masked behind a knowing smirk, as if she's known he has been here this entire time. In actuality, she's just as every bit caught up in the moment as him.

Natasha just bounces back better. She's the lighter one of the two, it should be no surprise she's quick to get back on her feet.

"I was wondering how they managed to take me with you by my side."

2 and I apologize in advance for how dumb Victory is.

[pepsi_cola]

Assigning value to absurd things is one of those things Victory does, like coo over nails and pretend to faint anytime there's a couch with a reasonably soft headrest on it. As such, she's out shopping as well, although her cart (pushed by an Avox, of course - Victory's nervous condition doesn't permit her to lift anything heavier than a pound) is filled with items that mark her as a sort of seamstress. She has reams of fabric and rolls of ribbon, packs of expensive feathers and sequins, and more colors of thread than can be found in some small nations.

She's chattering at the Avox as if the poor man can respond to her, although given that she doesn't seem to stop prattling long enough to breathe, much less have him interject, that doesn't bother her. She talks to him about the weather, about how tired her job makes her, about how her Tributes don't even say thank you when she puts all this work into their outfits.

Her voice is a breathy drawl, partially affected and partially genuinely husky, probably due to her habit of chainsmoking anywhere it's allowed. Her electronic cigarette is pinning her hair back right now, and she's already bemoaning the fact that she isn't allowed to use it indoors as she totters past Natasha on impossibly high heels ("it's not even like it smells like tobacco!").

"I love your hair," Victory says, and with no respect for Natasha's personal space she reaches over to touch it. "Did your Stylist dye it?"

[assassinat]

Keeping a step ahead is the only way to survive in a world like this, so by time she's reaching for her hair, she's already been studied. Natasha determines within seconds that it'll be all right to allow her to touch her, that she doesn't mean any harm in doing so.

"Natural." Realizing she just spit out the word without any follow up, she's quick to add onto it. "It's naturally this color, has been for several years."

Stylist? They talk about them often enough, but she's yet to meet the one who is meant to be her own. Thankfully.

"Haven't had a chance to sit down and get dolled up yet, madame-?"

( 2 )

[costing]

He makes it a point to know each Tribute by name, face and reputation. It’s impossible to know precisely when new ones arrive, but he keeps abreast of things as best he can, given the circumstances. But in the world of Panem—the most frustrating puzzle-box he’s ever found himself in—that often means simply watching, listening, and waiting for something opportune.

It’s a boring wait, despite the chaotic and frantic activity of the Capitol.

The shops are as good a place as any to take the temperature of the natives, and so today he finds himself leaning against a wall. The flash of red hair would be interesting anywhere else, but in the Capitol all the colors are too-bright and all the fashions are garish. Still, she catches his eye more than once—she’s new.

[assassinat]

Being watched is akin to a sixth sense to Natasha. Paranoia is what keeps her alive as a spy and right now in a world where she's been stripped from all she's ever known? To say she's paranoid is an understatement.

She watches him from a distance in-between whatever she holds up to inspect up close, surveying through objects she has minimal interest in. Gaudy, trashy, and a bit too flamboyant even for someone who enjoys dressing up.

Making her way closer towards him in a manner she hopes is inconspicuous enough, the man never leaves her sight even when she turns her back. There's always something else to look through to watch him.

There's a number of others to watch, so why was he so interested in her? Was he sent by her captors to ensure she behaves properly? Admittedly he doesn't look like he can take her in a fight, but most of the names of the heroes she know all appear the same way. It's a nice disguise at any rate.

Then she's gone. Tucked behind a corner, watching him from a point where he'd have to move to find her.

Now she'll set her mind at ease. There's no possible way he was watching her, was there?

[yourmove]

[Lemme know if anything should be changed. I figured Natasha is better at undercover than Alex is, so he can't see through her cover]

They refuse to get this damn rig off him. Says he just needs to get used to it and it's the only thing keeping him alive. Between the eyesores these people call clothes and all this talk about "pre-Games maintenance” like he’s some car getting its 25k in a garage and Alex Murphy’s had enough for today.

He storms out there before they can hook him back to that nightmare they call his cradle.

The worst part is they let Alex know that if he tries to leave the Capitol limits, he won’t get far. There’s some kind of kill switch hooked into the suit, supposedly, and it’s “in your best interest (honey), to leave it be”. Since he can't leave the Capitol without risking the kill switch, Alex figures the least he can do is sniff around. Get the lay of the land from someone who doesn't look like a Cirque du Soleil reject. It'd be easier to blend in if every step he made didn't sound like he was trying to kick holes through the floor.

Alex does his best to ignore the constant background sounds the rig makes: it purrs, something clicking so softly he can feel it in his gums more than hear it. When he turns, he finds he takes corners in these precise angles instead of just...taking them like he used to, without thinking about it. Even the swing of his arms feels somehow wrong, this left-right-left that looks wooden.

Pretty sure he just lost his job working undercover at this rate. You can’t pass yourself like Joe Scumbag looking like this.

He finally spots someone who looks normal. Red hair, carries herself differently than the people he’s seen here. She looks scared, biting her lip. Nervously brushing her hair over her shoulder more than once. Blinking rapidly as she stares at the “Avoxes” and the people coming in through the lobby. Basically she looks like how he feels. He can’t blame her.

“Hey, you got a minute?” Alex comes at the redhead, hoping he doesn’t scare her off looking like a drone. What he needs is a non-local here and she’s the first one he’s seen. “Alex Murphy. DPD.”

[assassinat]

Hard to ignore the clunker that's coming straight for her. Stark's creations weren't as noisy so she wonders briefly if this is his attempt at creating something familiar with his limited resources before she actually realizes she doesn't recognize this guy.

Huh. Now that's something.

Most of the suited guys that have come through Earth have come at her or someone she's worked with, so why doesn't she recognize the name 'ALEX MURPHY. DPD.' right from the start? DPD could stand for any number of things, but the last two letters usually indicate a police force somewhere.

Even though that's all on her mind, she acts as any normal woman would when she's approached by a man like this: eyes widening in fright and alarm, complete with the quick jerk of left and right as if to ensure he was speaking to her.

"Me?"

[carsassian]

The Capitol was, in many ways, a step up from the Promenade. It couldn't rival the arts district in Lakarian City, or the carefully appropriated Bohemia of the university students in Culat, but the sheer expanse of available products was enough to dwarf the amenities on a simple space station. Moreover, the enthusiasm shown for consumer goods was both un-Cardassian as it went against their Laconic, family-driven values, and anti-Federation with its compulsive, socialist-styled moderation.

The people were frenetic, ecstatic. It was a spectacle to behold.

He moved through the crowd, the noises which might have disturbed a less sturdy creature rendered manageable, sometimes hardly even noticeable, by the biological deficiencies of his alien ears. In the shopping districts relatively few people bothered him. It seemed that even a tall and imposing, grey-skinned outsider wasn't enough to tear them from their religious devotion to silk, cashmere, and handheld computers. So much the better for him.

One woman, however, seemed out of place. Her manner of dress held a certain utility not befitting of the pomp and circumstance typical to the Capitol and her nonchalance was too balanced, too careful. She was a newcomer, an outsider like himself.

People watching people watching people never worked out well. If she had been found out, presumably he had as well.

He draped an elaborate jacket over his arm, making his way toward her, past her, really, stopping only to stumble over the rack she was standing near. "How clumsy! The light in here must be too much for me. Excuse me, my dear, but may I borrow your hand for a moment?"

[assassinat]

The big fellow is kind of hard to ignore so to say he caught her attention early on is obvious. He draws it in like she draws in breath and while it's only brief, it's enough heads jerked up suddenly to cause her to look in his way.

That was her first mistake.

The second was letting him get close enough to ask her for her help. A normal woman might be too scared to say no and so she nods her head, all part of the act of feeble and helpless.

Those hands of her's are covered in leather gloves, but she still makes her way around the rack towards him with widened eyes, apprehension shown only in her face but not in her actions. Her steps are too precise, careful to leave enough leg room to sprint back if need be.

"How, how can I help you?"

1 just to be different

[aintyourdad]

Joel hates the situation they're in - and he hates the people responsible for bringing them here. But that doesn't stop him from taking advantage of the resources available here - especially the food.

Joel eats when he's hungry, he doesn't really pay much attention to regular meal times. And he likes to cook - he hasn't had the chance to really do it for going on twenty years. Today it's breakfast - pancakes, eggs, bacon, the whole works, and he's clearly not just cooking for himself. Ellie will be around any time now.

He's in something of a pleasant mood today, or as pleasant as he ever gets, which probably isn't very noticeable to most people. Only Ellie can really read his moods, and Tess. But at the sight of an unfamiliar face, looking afraid and out of her element, he glances up from the stove where he's scrambling eggs.

"You lost or somethin'?"

aw yes

[assassinat]

"Aren't we all a little lost?"

Meaning that they're all far away from home unless he's a native? She hasn't had a chance to determine who looks like they've lived here their entire lives and who hasn't, not yet at least.

Breakfast smells good however and she can appreciate someone who prefers to cook for themselves rather than ask one of the many servants on hand for help. It's a lot just for one man, but she's not one to underestimate a man's appetite.

2

[fire_punk]

Kevin's browsing the learning games again, this time for himself. He's gotten a little better at reading without getting lost since Christmas but it's still hard. The games, though, they're easy. And he gets to learn new things.

He glances up as he sees something moving out of the corner of his eye. Whoever this woman is, she's hot. He licks his lips, just watching her for now. He doesn't really want to do anything with her but he's a teenage boy and he can't help staring.

[assassinat]

It isn't hard to notice that someone's got an eye on her. Natasha's paranoid enough to keep an eye on everyone that she possibly can in a new environment and most of the natives seem to ignore her. The ones that don't stare in fascination briefly, before their attention is snapped by something else entirely.

He doesn't.

Closing the distance, she strolls right up to him without hesitation. There's only a flare of confidence in her walk and soon she stops before him with a smile.

"I'm a little lost. Think you can help?"

[earthborn]

The military, any military, runs on a few basic essentials. For example, if pay stops for an significant amount of time, there might be grumbling, but you'll still get your work done; the Alliance Navy is well known for honoring its debts. But without a food-supply, even the bravest won't venture more than a half-day from anywhere, and without caffeine it'll be a challenge to get them even that far.

Shepard knew she had a problem. She admits it; it's just that there isn't anything she's going to do about it. Caffeine withdrawl wasn't fun, but it wasn't fatal, and there was never any logic so well-founded that she couldn't easily put off the ordeal until tomorrow.

Which is probably where Natasha finds her, sitting on the ground against a low retaining wall in one of the lovely little grassy berms the Capitol uses to beautify their find city. Yes the carafé and hot-plate are both stolen from the tribute tower, of course they are. Do you expect her to sit here and drink it cold while she reads?

Heathen. Next you'll be saying she should use a cup instead of drinking it straight from the pot like a civilized person.

[assassinat]

Every person has their vice. For Natasha, it's atonement for all that she's done as she desperately seeks to undo all the death she's wrought. No easy feat considering she's built a sizable reputation, but still it's what keeps her distracted.

For her, it appears to be coffee? Restless nights perhaps, trouble staying asleep, or she could just enjoy the taste.

"Long night?" Teasing and as friendly as she can make it.

Natasha has a lot of trouble with the latter half when it comes to women, but why not try it for now? Everyone else has been treated kindly so far and she's only been shot at once. All in all a good day.

District 8 Floor

[gunshiptotheface]

It's not everyday that there are newcomers, nor ones that look like they've had the life scared out of them entirely. Of course for someone so 'afraid' she seems a little too calm overall for the situation and moves a little too confidently.

Not that he really knows much about humans, actually, but he's figured enough from all of his time spent with a mostly human crew he can judge a few things.

"Looking scared just makes you an easy target."

[assassinat]

"Are you threatening me?"

Natasha asks immediately, as if it was instinct to throw out the accusation. Playing the part of a scared woman is easy enough when she can lash out with raw emotion in an attempt to spook people into lowering their guard.

And then she gets a good look at him.

Not everyday you see that. Huh. "Yes, that's definitely a threat."

2

[quiteliterally]

Chris sees her from across the street, and though he can't be sure, she doesn't seem like a native. The way she moves and the clothes she wears aren't Panem-y, at least not to him. Though perhaps a District like 3 or 12 could have birthed such a creature, he knows a busload of newbies have just been let into the Tower and so he's much more inclined to believe she's from another world. Tributes had never stopped being exciting to him, it was the way he was raised, but even after the games had changed-- In fact, he found it more enticing that they were from different places in the universe. He strove to know about each and every one of their origins. Not unlike reading the Wiki pages of his favorite celebrities.

Without further ado, he jogged across the street, a three-legged pitbull ambling cheerfully behind him. He was only wearing shorts and a compression shirt and Champion only had a sparkly green collar. They were ready for Summer, should it ever decide to make itself official. A bright smile was offered for Natasha as he bee-lined to her, ignoring everyone else milling from boutique to salon to department store.

"Excuse me for being - presumptuous - but are you one of our new tributes?" His smile was so white and luminescent it might actually be dangerous to epileptics. Champion just panted happily, looking up at her with dogged expectation.

[assassinat]

This guy has quite the character. Natasha doesn't bat an eyelash at the overly confident enthusiasm, nor is one spared for the dog that follows him around. Both are full of life in a city that thrives off of death.

Funny how that is.

"I am." The answer comes after the obligatory look over from head to toe, taking in everything. "And you are?"

LATER...

[soldieronwards]

It might be best not to ask how he shows up at her bedroom door. He'll always have his ways of finding her.

But it's the middle of the night. He should be asleep. Why isn't he asleep?

The answer might show in how haunted his eyes are, how close to the surface behind them the nightmares look.

[assassinat]

She doesn't stir herself once he steps into her bedroom. Natasha's always been a good sleeper, capable of passing out even with the weight of the world bearing down on her mind, and tonight doesn't seem to be any different. Her shoulders are bare save for thin straps and stitches, just stitches for a wound that pierce one side and right out the other.

Clearly her handiwork. Anyone else would have done a bit more, but it's been a busy couple days.

d8 floor, a couple days after her arrival

[guardiandevil]

Matt was still disoriented from his arrival when he was escorted into the District 8 suite. Head spinning, he was a dead on his feet, staggering in and abandoned without much more than a cursory introduction to the voiceless Avoxes who minded the suite.

"Hello?" He called out, listening intently for any sounds within the rest of the suite. His senses said he wasn't alone, but he had no idea if the people around him were friends or foes. He didn't quite understand what to make of this place just yet. "Anybody home? Or should I come back another time?"

[assassinat]

It was a rare occurrence for her to be "at home" in any given situation, much less the one that isn't home at all. There's little information to be found in the district suites in her opinion and the people who resided there were just as much her enemy as anyone else. Being on the same 'team' didn't have a pound of weight when it came to a single player game.

She's had a rough night and an even rougher morning, so it takes her a little longer this time to get going. It's fine, everyone has a bad day every once in a while and while the future was sure to contain several more, she's resigned herself to taking it one day at a time. A difficult task for someone who always kept herself ahead of the game, but with every unpredictable thing thus far she's left with no choice.

The breath that leaves her upon hearing a familiar voice is enough to make her lightheaded, but somehow she finds the energy to bolt right to the source of it.

Natasha's not sure what to call him right now or how much their captors know of him, so instead of addressing him verbally, there's a pair of familiar hands reaching for one his arms. So far she's managed to avoid her stylist, so there's no obnoxious perfume, only the faintest hint of conditioner in her hair and maybe a wound near her shoulder. She can't even explain why she has to touch him--maybe to make sure he's real? The world they're in is surreal just as much as their circumstances, but more importantly is he her's? After Tony, Thor, and Steve she can't be sure anymore.