Armory (Natasha)
Aug. 28th, 2012 12:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aa_valkyrieWhat anger in this one. What fear. Those eyes of hers burnt black with vengeance and a lust to right the wrongs that have been committed by Laufferson. To know all the aspects of magic: how many foes and how strong?
She would fold under the weight of centuries.
Magic is not something in which Valkryies trade, even blessed by Odin as we are. It is tricky and annoying and can tear down those around you in the blink of an eye. I, myself, am not immune to the cuts that it causes. In battle to carry your fear and anger is to hesitate, to make the snappish choice, no matter how poor it does feel like victory. If you consider how you may lose, what foes you may face whose powers are beyond your imagining...I have seen it drive women mad.
Our lives are tied to the blade and to bone and to blood. We are Valkyrie. We laugh at the fear and grip our blades ever tighter, watching as your sisters fall. There is little to do but laugh and accept the embrace of Hel when it comes to us.
=NYC= Armory - Level B1 - Avengers Mansion
Very nearly every single Avenger has a place of their own to store their weapons, armor, and gear; each stand serves as much for display as storage, but it is a deeply practical room. There's an area marked off for firearms maintenance, including a workbench for reloading and repairs; another area has been set aside armor repairs, and what can't be fixed with needle (or awl) and thread can go into the repair box outside of the larger workshop outside.
Natasha has no armor, and she doesn't use fancy shields or swords or pulse-blasting gloves. Thus is it that the Black Widow is settled on a high stool with a rather boring glock in pieces on the table in front of her, her attention tight and focused as she works the inner pieces clean.
Although Valkyrie does have armor, it is not, at present, residing within the Armory of the Avengers Mansion. Instead of a breastplate or something more serious in its nature of repair, she carries a large fur mantle under her arm as she enters. It is fuzzy. It might have come from a bear. She pauses at the door, lifting a hand in greeting to the working Natasha. "Good day."
Totally less conspicuous. Natasha, in jeans and a bright blue tank, looks up before Valkyrie actually appears. She pauses for a moment, flicking her gaze across the other woman, then answers, "Hi."
Totally. It matches her jeans too, which are black as are her boots and t-shirt. Valkyrie carries her load over to one of the areas offering repair tools and spreads it out across the table. Thump. "How fares your cleaning?" She inquires, lifting her chin towards the dissembled gun.
"How are my--" Natasha begins before she blinks and slides a bit into place. "Ah. Well, I suppose." Her voice trends dry. "I'd be a bit concerned if it didn't."
"Weapons should generally behave as they are expected," Valkyrie agrees, low voice edged with humor. "Especially when one is looking over them in the aftermath of an event, else-wise can be -- worrisome." She flips the mantle and breaks off a bit of thread, sliding it through a needle.
"An event?" Natasha lets her brows climb in mild query as she works. It takes little actual concentration for her to clean and reassemble a glock these days - her hands move thoughtlessly while she watches Valkyrie.
"You encountered Thor's brother, did you not?" Valkyrie clarifies with a cant of her head, sliding the needle through the fur with less effort than it would seem it might need.
Natasha doesn't not pause in her work, nor does she look away. "Loki?" Her voice is a little hard as she says it. "Guns worked just fine." Just-- not on him.
"Magic is..." There is a purse of her lips, eyes tightening around the corners with tension as she considers her words. "It makes for an annoying foe," Valkyrie settles on.
Natasha slides the clip into place, then lifts the gun and cocks it with a click that echoes through the space. She tilts her head, leveling her gaze on Valkyrie. "Mind control works on Asgardians as well. Can you all do it?"
"I am no Asgardian, similar mold but not of the same -- race you might call it. No. Magic takes training and my talents leant far more to the martial side," Valkyrie answers, hands moving fluidly as she words. She does not jar at the click of the gun.
Natasha's eyes narrow slightly. "So how many of them?"
"Of the Asgardians? I could tell you not, I have dealt little in the court in its recent years," Val admits, mouth narrowing as she pushes the fabric together. "Thor might have a better count."
The faintest flicker of frustration shows its edge in Natasha's eyes before she ducks her head again, releasing the gun with care and thumbing the safety one before reaching for her next. "Swell," she says.
"Or Sif," Val amends after a thoughtful moment, tipping her head to the side. "It is not so known an art and to misuse gifts of magic leads to severe punishments." She pauses, regarding Natasha with quiet interest. "This troubles you. Even though a number of your own bear gifts that are -- well beyond the ordinary."
"Oh, yes," says Natasha, still dry as she re-fixes a flat gaze on Valkyrie and begins the process of disassembling her gun. It's quick going. "Severe punishments. I've noticed that."
Valkyrie lifts her shoulders in shrug, barking out a low laugh. "Any father is soft on the sins of his sons."
Natasha's gaze is very dark and her voice is very quiet when she says, "Nyet."
Clear, cold blue meets Natasha's dark eyed gaze and holds it for a moment. Then Valkyrie simply nods, turning hands stilled hands back to her work.
Natasha has no inclination to break the silence, and so she does not. She works with smooth, steady movements, disassembling, cleaning, sliding pieces back into place.
Then silent they stay. Valkyrie works quietly; eventually she begins to softly hum a tune that has the catch of an old drinking song.
Natasha doesn't linger long. The gun clicks and clacks and then falls into a similar silence, and then Natasha rises soundlessly and tucks both into unseen holsters on her way out the door.
Natasha and Val discuss magic.
She would fold under the weight of centuries.
Magic is not something in which Valkryies trade, even blessed by Odin as we are. It is tricky and annoying and can tear down those around you in the blink of an eye. I, myself, am not immune to the cuts that it causes. In battle to carry your fear and anger is to hesitate, to make the snappish choice, no matter how poor it does feel like victory. If you consider how you may lose, what foes you may face whose powers are beyond your imagining...I have seen it drive women mad.
Our lives are tied to the blade and to bone and to blood. We are Valkyrie. We laugh at the fear and grip our blades ever tighter, watching as your sisters fall. There is little to do but laugh and accept the embrace of Hel when it comes to us.
=NYC= Armory - Level B1 - Avengers Mansion
Very nearly every single Avenger has a place of their own to store their weapons, armor, and gear; each stand serves as much for display as storage, but it is a deeply practical room. There's an area marked off for firearms maintenance, including a workbench for reloading and repairs; another area has been set aside armor repairs, and what can't be fixed with needle (or awl) and thread can go into the repair box outside of the larger workshop outside.
Natasha has no armor, and she doesn't use fancy shields or swords or pulse-blasting gloves. Thus is it that the Black Widow is settled on a high stool with a rather boring glock in pieces on the table in front of her, her attention tight and focused as she works the inner pieces clean.
Although Valkyrie does have armor, it is not, at present, residing within the Armory of the Avengers Mansion. Instead of a breastplate or something more serious in its nature of repair, she carries a large fur mantle under her arm as she enters. It is fuzzy. It might have come from a bear. She pauses at the door, lifting a hand in greeting to the working Natasha. "Good day."
Totally less conspicuous. Natasha, in jeans and a bright blue tank, looks up before Valkyrie actually appears. She pauses for a moment, flicking her gaze across the other woman, then answers, "Hi."
Totally. It matches her jeans too, which are black as are her boots and t-shirt. Valkyrie carries her load over to one of the areas offering repair tools and spreads it out across the table. Thump. "How fares your cleaning?" She inquires, lifting her chin towards the dissembled gun.
"How are my--" Natasha begins before she blinks and slides a bit into place. "Ah. Well, I suppose." Her voice trends dry. "I'd be a bit concerned if it didn't."
"Weapons should generally behave as they are expected," Valkyrie agrees, low voice edged with humor. "Especially when one is looking over them in the aftermath of an event, else-wise can be -- worrisome." She flips the mantle and breaks off a bit of thread, sliding it through a needle.
"An event?" Natasha lets her brows climb in mild query as she works. It takes little actual concentration for her to clean and reassemble a glock these days - her hands move thoughtlessly while she watches Valkyrie.
"You encountered Thor's brother, did you not?" Valkyrie clarifies with a cant of her head, sliding the needle through the fur with less effort than it would seem it might need.
Natasha doesn't not pause in her work, nor does she look away. "Loki?" Her voice is a little hard as she says it. "Guns worked just fine." Just-- not on him.
"Magic is..." There is a purse of her lips, eyes tightening around the corners with tension as she considers her words. "It makes for an annoying foe," Valkyrie settles on.
Natasha slides the clip into place, then lifts the gun and cocks it with a click that echoes through the space. She tilts her head, leveling her gaze on Valkyrie. "Mind control works on Asgardians as well. Can you all do it?"
"I am no Asgardian, similar mold but not of the same -- race you might call it. No. Magic takes training and my talents leant far more to the martial side," Valkyrie answers, hands moving fluidly as she words. She does not jar at the click of the gun.
Natasha's eyes narrow slightly. "So how many of them?"
"Of the Asgardians? I could tell you not, I have dealt little in the court in its recent years," Val admits, mouth narrowing as she pushes the fabric together. "Thor might have a better count."
The faintest flicker of frustration shows its edge in Natasha's eyes before she ducks her head again, releasing the gun with care and thumbing the safety one before reaching for her next. "Swell," she says.
"Or Sif," Val amends after a thoughtful moment, tipping her head to the side. "It is not so known an art and to misuse gifts of magic leads to severe punishments." She pauses, regarding Natasha with quiet interest. "This troubles you. Even though a number of your own bear gifts that are -- well beyond the ordinary."
"Oh, yes," says Natasha, still dry as she re-fixes a flat gaze on Valkyrie and begins the process of disassembling her gun. It's quick going. "Severe punishments. I've noticed that."
Valkyrie lifts her shoulders in shrug, barking out a low laugh. "Any father is soft on the sins of his sons."
Natasha's gaze is very dark and her voice is very quiet when she says, "Nyet."
Clear, cold blue meets Natasha's dark eyed gaze and holds it for a moment. Then Valkyrie simply nods, turning hands stilled hands back to her work.
Natasha has no inclination to break the silence, and so she does not. She works with smooth, steady movements, disassembling, cleaning, sliding pieces back into place.
Then silent they stay. Valkyrie works quietly; eventually she begins to softly hum a tune that has the catch of an old drinking song.
Natasha doesn't linger long. The gun clicks and clacks and then falls into a similar silence, and then Natasha rises soundlessly and tucks both into unseen holsters on her way out the door.
Natasha and Val discuss magic.
