Catch-All Post
May. 30th, 2016 01:23 pm[OOC: For random things like TFLN overflow and the like.]
Flashback [locked to ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thecanarylives]
May. 10th, 2016 06:01 amBuenos Aires, Argentina. August, 2010.
She's usually a lot calmer when an operation goes south, but there's something about this one that's gotten under her skin, which is why she's sitting in a bar instead of just hopping back on a SHIELD jet and heading back to the States. It had been a pretty simple matter of protecting a convicted arms smuggler until he could be extradited out of Argentina to testify against some bigger fish. Natasha had turned her back on the safe house for less than an hour to get dinner, leaving a dozen Tactical agents in charge of the package, and when she got back, they were all dead-- by sword wounds and arrows, of all things.
The League of Assassins. Natsha's never had a run-in with them personally, but she knows them by reputation and now they've killed one of her assignments. A lowlife scumbag of an assignment, but still. And it'll be hours before she can wash all the brunette dye from her hair, which will take forever.
Natasha throws back another burning cold shot of vodka and waves for another before declining yet another caipirinha sent her way by some guy looking to score. She looks a few stools down and sees a blonde doing the exact same thing and smiles at her in that shared sisterhood of "why won't these idiots leave us the fuck alone?" Already feeling antsy and off as well as at least a full bottle in by now, Natasha moves next to the woman and raises her shot glass in solidarity. Maybe there's something about the pretty blonde that tells her the night might get interesting. Or at least, there's someone to commiserate with.
"Here's to these dicks being lucky enough tonight that we don't kick their asses. I'm Natalie," she says, not quite slurring her words, but she's definitely on her way to feeling painless.
She's usually a lot calmer when an operation goes south, but there's something about this one that's gotten under her skin, which is why she's sitting in a bar instead of just hopping back on a SHIELD jet and heading back to the States. It had been a pretty simple matter of protecting a convicted arms smuggler until he could be extradited out of Argentina to testify against some bigger fish. Natasha had turned her back on the safe house for less than an hour to get dinner, leaving a dozen Tactical agents in charge of the package, and when she got back, they were all dead-- by sword wounds and arrows, of all things.
The League of Assassins. Natsha's never had a run-in with them personally, but she knows them by reputation and now they've killed one of her assignments. A lowlife scumbag of an assignment, but still. And it'll be hours before she can wash all the brunette dye from her hair, which will take forever.
Natasha throws back another burning cold shot of vodka and waves for another before declining yet another caipirinha sent her way by some guy looking to score. She looks a few stools down and sees a blonde doing the exact same thing and smiles at her in that shared sisterhood of "why won't these idiots leave us the fuck alone?" Already feeling antsy and off as well as at least a full bottle in by now, Natasha moves next to the woman and raises her shot glass in solidarity. Maybe there's something about the pretty blonde that tells her the night might get interesting. Or at least, there's someone to commiserate with.
"Here's to these dicks being lucky enough tonight that we don't kick their asses. I'm Natalie," she says, not quite slurring her words, but she's definitely on her way to feeling painless.
