Unfinished Fic Wednesday
Greetings, B_Cers, and welcome to another Unfinished Fic Wednesday!
As a reminder, send snippets of fic (with rating and warning, as per comm rules!) to bc.unfinished@gmail.com if you'd like to be featured!
Today's submission is from ittykat, who says:
Below follows an excerpt from the middle of what I've written. It was originally a fill for a prompt at the promptathon, where Natasha works for SHIELD and Clint is still in the circus, but after a few days of writing madly with inspiration real life got in the way and I've had trouble coming back to it. I know it'll be a mediumish length plotty thing. I need some encouragement, or speculation, or suggestions, con/crit, anything that might help spark the muses into working again.
Rating: PG
Warnings: nothing for this section. Other sections include graphic violence and language
Four Days Ago
"Target is Carson Carnival of Travelling Wonders" Coulson says, sliding the mission file across his desk. "Established in the late 40's, though it's changed hands several times since the last of the Carson brothers passed in '72. Its most recent owner is a business conglomerate based out of Georgia."
"The state?" Natasha asks.
Coulson shakes his head. "The country."
Natasha frowns. "What does a Georgian conglomerate want with a moderately successful circus?" She wonders out aloud, as she flicks through the pages of the document that outline the persona she'll take on, background about the circus.
"It's a transient business, and circuses have always traditionally been associated with smuggling. We've been hearing chatter about Carson, and the analysts only recently confirmed it meant the circus and not the New Zealand art thief."
"What's the chatter?" She asks.
"They're moving something big, still unsure if it's weapons or drugs or something else, and we need someone on the inside to get any more info." He shrugs, "they don't have a surveillance system for us to hack. We need to go old-school on this one."
"Personnel?" She asks, noting that the file is, on the whole, quite light on details.
"Manager is Petyr Petrovski, Polish immigrant. There are a few ex-cons registered with them, but most of them have stayed pretty clean so we haven't been able to get much more out of them. The rest of the cast and crew is an unknown entity, light on official records, paid in cash. Nothing technically illegal on that score, but shady nonetheless. I'm sorry we can't give you any more to work with."
"I've done more with less." She says, takes the file and stands. “I’ll call you when I’m in.”
“Good luck.”
***
As expected, they hire her on the spot. She is immediately introduced to the rest of the acrobatic squad, some of whom had been watching the audition from ringside. One of the girls, comes up to her and shakes her hand. “Jenni,” she says, “Welcome to the squad.”
“Natalia.” She gives the younger girl a tight smile.
“Let me show you round.” Jenni says, and takes her back outside the big top, straight into the sideshow alley. “We do seven shows a week, two shows on Wednesday and Saturday. Travelling Sunday and Monday-- Hey Chuck!-- We’ll teach you the routine this week, get you fitted for costumes and start phasing you in the matinees next town over.” She explains, waving at some of the vendor operators, each of whom looks as shady and suspicious as one expects carnies to be. They smile warmly at Jenni, though, and she shows none of the usual signs of nervousness a bubbly teenager would have around such rough sorts.
“Sounds like you keep busy.” Natasha says, watching a man with a thinning grey beard and beady eyes stack heavy metal bottles in a pyramid.
“Living the dream.” She chirps. “The carnival operates from 3pm most days, 11am on matinee days, they shut up shop about ten minutes before big top starts. Come tonight and watch the performance, get a feel for it. We’re not your average company.”
They walk in between a few of the tents, slipping into the backstage area through a partially hidden door. “So what made you want to join the circus, Natalia?” Jenni asks.
“I have a certain skill set.” Natasha says, sinking into the hard consonants and deep vowels of her native language. “And I am sick of stripping.”
“Is it the men?” Jenni asks sympathetically. “I did it for a while, but I hated feeling like a piece of meat.”
Natasha shrugs, settling into her cover story like a worn, familiar coat. “The men I can handle.” She says dismissively. “It is no longer challenging for me to do it.”
“As good a reason as any, I suppose.” Jenni says, and leads her around to several metal caravans that are parked in a vague ordered formation. “All the performers are on this side of the top, rousties are over there.” She points to an area to their right. “Carnies usually bunk past them. You’ll be in with me in this one.”
The caravan is more spacious than she expected, made somewhat more spacious by the fact that she has not much in the way of personal effects. If Jenni finds it strange that she only has a backpack slung over her shoulder, then she doesn’t say. She just directs her which side of the closet is hers, which bed, where to find the bed sheets and how to turn on the shower (a complicated process of turning it just so and hitting a precise tile on the wall to engage the pipes).
“Hey Jay,” A male voice calls out, and the caravan shifts a little from side to side as a heavier body enters the enclosed space.
Jenni pokes her head back out of the small bathroom, and she smiles. “Hey!”
“Hey you got that thing I asked you about?” The man asks, and Natasha is wedged in the shower cubicle by Jenni.
“Yeah, it’s on my bunk.” Jenni says, gesturing towards the bright pink bunk that belongs to hers. She steps out of the bathroom and finally allows Natasha to step back into the main hallway and get eyes on the visitor. He’s not a tall man, but he’s broad-shouldered and clearly quite strong. There is a certain something in his posture, something that hints at military and professional, but it’s tempered by sandy hair and a fair smile.
“This the newbie?” He asks Jenni, who nods.
“This is Natalia.” She introduces, and Natasha steps forward, holding out her hand.
“Nice to meet you, Nat.” He says. “Name’s Barney Barton.”
As a reminder, send snippets of fic (with rating and warning, as per comm rules!) to bc.unfinished@gmail.com if you'd like to be featured!
Today's submission is from ittykat, who says:
Below follows an excerpt from the middle of what I've written. It was originally a fill for a prompt at the promptathon, where Natasha works for SHIELD and Clint is still in the circus, but after a few days of writing madly with inspiration real life got in the way and I've had trouble coming back to it. I know it'll be a mediumish length plotty thing. I need some encouragement, or speculation, or suggestions, con/crit, anything that might help spark the muses into working again.
Rating: PG
Warnings: nothing for this section. Other sections include graphic violence and language
Four Days Ago
"Target is Carson Carnival of Travelling Wonders" Coulson says, sliding the mission file across his desk. "Established in the late 40's, though it's changed hands several times since the last of the Carson brothers passed in '72. Its most recent owner is a business conglomerate based out of Georgia."
"The state?" Natasha asks.
Coulson shakes his head. "The country."
Natasha frowns. "What does a Georgian conglomerate want with a moderately successful circus?" She wonders out aloud, as she flicks through the pages of the document that outline the persona she'll take on, background about the circus.
"It's a transient business, and circuses have always traditionally been associated with smuggling. We've been hearing chatter about Carson, and the analysts only recently confirmed it meant the circus and not the New Zealand art thief."
"What's the chatter?" She asks.
"They're moving something big, still unsure if it's weapons or drugs or something else, and we need someone on the inside to get any more info." He shrugs, "they don't have a surveillance system for us to hack. We need to go old-school on this one."
"Personnel?" She asks, noting that the file is, on the whole, quite light on details.
"Manager is Petyr Petrovski, Polish immigrant. There are a few ex-cons registered with them, but most of them have stayed pretty clean so we haven't been able to get much more out of them. The rest of the cast and crew is an unknown entity, light on official records, paid in cash. Nothing technically illegal on that score, but shady nonetheless. I'm sorry we can't give you any more to work with."
"I've done more with less." She says, takes the file and stands. “I’ll call you when I’m in.”
“Good luck.”
***
As expected, they hire her on the spot. She is immediately introduced to the rest of the acrobatic squad, some of whom had been watching the audition from ringside. One of the girls, comes up to her and shakes her hand. “Jenni,” she says, “Welcome to the squad.”
“Natalia.” She gives the younger girl a tight smile.
“Let me show you round.” Jenni says, and takes her back outside the big top, straight into the sideshow alley. “We do seven shows a week, two shows on Wednesday and Saturday. Travelling Sunday and Monday-- Hey Chuck!-- We’ll teach you the routine this week, get you fitted for costumes and start phasing you in the matinees next town over.” She explains, waving at some of the vendor operators, each of whom looks as shady and suspicious as one expects carnies to be. They smile warmly at Jenni, though, and she shows none of the usual signs of nervousness a bubbly teenager would have around such rough sorts.
“Sounds like you keep busy.” Natasha says, watching a man with a thinning grey beard and beady eyes stack heavy metal bottles in a pyramid.
“Living the dream.” She chirps. “The carnival operates from 3pm most days, 11am on matinee days, they shut up shop about ten minutes before big top starts. Come tonight and watch the performance, get a feel for it. We’re not your average company.”
They walk in between a few of the tents, slipping into the backstage area through a partially hidden door. “So what made you want to join the circus, Natalia?” Jenni asks.
“I have a certain skill set.” Natasha says, sinking into the hard consonants and deep vowels of her native language. “And I am sick of stripping.”
“Is it the men?” Jenni asks sympathetically. “I did it for a while, but I hated feeling like a piece of meat.”
Natasha shrugs, settling into her cover story like a worn, familiar coat. “The men I can handle.” She says dismissively. “It is no longer challenging for me to do it.”
“As good a reason as any, I suppose.” Jenni says, and leads her around to several metal caravans that are parked in a vague ordered formation. “All the performers are on this side of the top, rousties are over there.” She points to an area to their right. “Carnies usually bunk past them. You’ll be in with me in this one.”
The caravan is more spacious than she expected, made somewhat more spacious by the fact that she has not much in the way of personal effects. If Jenni finds it strange that she only has a backpack slung over her shoulder, then she doesn’t say. She just directs her which side of the closet is hers, which bed, where to find the bed sheets and how to turn on the shower (a complicated process of turning it just so and hitting a precise tile on the wall to engage the pipes).
“Hey Jay,” A male voice calls out, and the caravan shifts a little from side to side as a heavier body enters the enclosed space.
Jenni pokes her head back out of the small bathroom, and she smiles. “Hey!”
“Hey you got that thing I asked you about?” The man asks, and Natasha is wedged in the shower cubicle by Jenni.
“Yeah, it’s on my bunk.” Jenni says, gesturing towards the bright pink bunk that belongs to hers. She steps out of the bathroom and finally allows Natasha to step back into the main hallway and get eyes on the visitor. He’s not a tall man, but he’s broad-shouldered and clearly quite strong. There is a certain something in his posture, something that hints at military and professional, but it’s tempered by sandy hair and a fair smile.
“This the newbie?” He asks Jenni, who nods.
“This is Natalia.” She introduces, and Natasha steps forward, holding out her hand.
“Nice to meet you, Nat.” He says. “Name’s Barney Barton.”