can't get any better (dec. 7)
amateur hour
rating: pg-13
character: Darcy Lewis
warnings: blood
summary: They came hunting the Black Widow. They found the SHIELD intern she was training instead. There are even odds on whether that was actually a good thing.
Blood runs down the cracked tiles on the shower floor, swirling in the tepid water and running down the drain in red strains. At least it's not backing up; Darcy smiles grimly at that, raking her fingernails through wet curls. With the kind of shindig they've stashed her at, she wouldn't have been surprised at everything going wrong that possibly could. Did bad guys stash tampons and pads in case their hostages had inconvenient periods? It didn't look like there were any women in the group that had nabbed her, but they had been wearing masks...
She shuts off the shower and leans against the wall with a sigh, dark hair plastered over her shoulders.
This officially sucked.
The door slides open a minute later, revealing a very nervous minion and someone her brain immediately pegs as the head honcho.
"See, sir?" The minion says, gesturing at her. She blinks, water pooling around her feet on the cold tile, and automatically catalogs the holstered guns and outdated radios now within her easy reach. Head Honcho's expression is transitioning from irritated to disgusted, pencil-thin mustache hidden as his upper lip curls.
"That's not the Black Widow, you imbecile."
Wrapped in a threadbare towel, a nail file pressed against the curve of her breast and a vial of hydrogen peroxide tucked into the small of her back, Darcy summons up her brightest smile and grins cheerfully at them.
"Really? Nobody told me."
Someone should have taught them to take out everything from the bathroom cabinets before letting a hostage use it. What she's going to do is bad enough; she almost laughs at the idea of what Natasha could have done with all of it.
Apparently her poker face is enough to hide that because Head Honcho doesn't even do a double-take when he points a finger at her, snarling at his attending minion.
"Get rid of her and get me the fucking idiot in charge of this op. Do I have to do everything myself around here?"
"Help these days," Darcy tsks unhelpfully, wet ringlets showering her bare shoulders with drops as she shakes her head, and earns an irate glare. "If you want it done right, you have to do it yourself."
"Dump the body somewhere private." Head Honcho's mustache has completely disappeared by this point and Darcy watches, amused, as it bobbles in and out of sight between syllables. "We don't want her to be found too soon."
If he's aiming for the fear factor, he can't cow her; she's seen Stark without coffee before.
"Yes sir!" The minion snaps off, white and trembling. Senor Mustache does one last vanishing act before the Head Honcho turns away, striding off down the tiny hallway. The effect he's trying to create is dampened by the ridiculous squeaking these wood floors are champions of. Note to self, sneaking isn't an option - unless she can pull a Spider-man and crawl on the ceiling. Has SHIELD RD figured that one out yet? Hm...
Minion #1 shoots her a wide-eyed look and visibly tries to pull herself together.
"I'm going to have to cuff you," she informed Darcy, the faintest tinge of green to her face. What are the odds she's never had to kill anyone before? Well, okay, Darcy hasn't either, but it seems like a logical step in being a bad guy.
"Sure. Just a quick question; can you help a sister out? I need some lady products. You guys kind of picked a bad day to kidnap me." Her request would be totally irrelevant if she was going to be executed in a few minutes, but...
"Oh. Oh. Um, yeah, I'll be right back."
She forgets to lock the door.
The fleet of emergency vehicles called in by the neighbors was visible from the Avengers Tower, or so they tell her later.
.
rating: pg-13
character: Darcy Lewis
warnings: blood
summary: They came hunting the Black Widow. They found the SHIELD intern she was training instead. There are even odds on whether that was actually a good thing.
Blood runs down the cracked tiles on the shower floor, swirling in the tepid water and running down the drain in red strains. At least it's not backing up; Darcy smiles grimly at that, raking her fingernails through wet curls. With the kind of shindig they've stashed her at, she wouldn't have been surprised at everything going wrong that possibly could. Did bad guys stash tampons and pads in case their hostages had inconvenient periods? It didn't look like there were any women in the group that had nabbed her, but they had been wearing masks...
She shuts off the shower and leans against the wall with a sigh, dark hair plastered over her shoulders.
This officially sucked.
The door slides open a minute later, revealing a very nervous minion and someone her brain immediately pegs as the head honcho.
"See, sir?" The minion says, gesturing at her. She blinks, water pooling around her feet on the cold tile, and automatically catalogs the holstered guns and outdated radios now within her easy reach. Head Honcho's expression is transitioning from irritated to disgusted, pencil-thin mustache hidden as his upper lip curls.
"That's not the Black Widow, you imbecile."
Wrapped in a threadbare towel, a nail file pressed against the curve of her breast and a vial of hydrogen peroxide tucked into the small of her back, Darcy summons up her brightest smile and grins cheerfully at them.
"Really? Nobody told me."
Someone should have taught them to take out everything from the bathroom cabinets before letting a hostage use it. What she's going to do is bad enough; she almost laughs at the idea of what Natasha could have done with all of it.
Apparently her poker face is enough to hide that because Head Honcho doesn't even do a double-take when he points a finger at her, snarling at his attending minion.
"Get rid of her and get me the fucking idiot in charge of this op. Do I have to do everything myself around here?"
"Help these days," Darcy tsks unhelpfully, wet ringlets showering her bare shoulders with drops as she shakes her head, and earns an irate glare. "If you want it done right, you have to do it yourself."
"Dump the body somewhere private." Head Honcho's mustache has completely disappeared by this point and Darcy watches, amused, as it bobbles in and out of sight between syllables. "We don't want her to be found too soon."
If he's aiming for the fear factor, he can't cow her; she's seen Stark without coffee before.
"Yes sir!" The minion snaps off, white and trembling. Senor Mustache does one last vanishing act before the Head Honcho turns away, striding off down the tiny hallway. The effect he's trying to create is dampened by the ridiculous squeaking these wood floors are champions of. Note to self, sneaking isn't an option - unless she can pull a Spider-man and crawl on the ceiling. Has SHIELD RD figured that one out yet? Hm...
Minion #1 shoots her a wide-eyed look and visibly tries to pull herself together.
"I'm going to have to cuff you," she informed Darcy, the faintest tinge of green to her face. What are the odds she's never had to kill anyone before? Well, okay, Darcy hasn't either, but it seems like a logical step in being a bad guy.
"Sure. Just a quick question; can you help a sister out? I need some lady products. You guys kind of picked a bad day to kidnap me." Her request would be totally irrelevant if she was going to be executed in a few minutes, but...
"Oh. Oh. Um, yeah, I'll be right back."
She forgets to lock the door.
The fleet of emergency vehicles called in by the neighbors was visible from the Avengers Tower, or so they tell her later.
.