First Person: [ So she's staring at the watch, running a finger around and over it, testing the waters, so to speak. It won't come off, no matter how much she picks, and this isn't really something that she's happy about, though her expression completely hides that face.
In fact, it hides almost anything she's thinking.
Her tone is neutral as well when she finally addresses the camera, green eyes cooly regarding it. She's wary, this one. ] As much as I'd like to say this is my first time being thrown on a train with no memory as to how I got there, it isn't. Last time, though, I had a vague idea of who was behind it. [ A pause. Not that she doesn't this time, but she doesn't want them to know that. ] Tell me what you want and I'll think about complying.
Third Person: If there was one thing about the States Natasha had come to appreciate over her decade of living in them, it was the shopping. She wasn't, by any means, a clothes horse, but she liked to dress well and dress fancy, with expensive shoes and tailored, classic pieces that she could take on missions with her. She always felt like it was better to take her own clothing. She was comfortable in them, and remaining relaxed and unassuming was key when you were tailing agents of the Hand or Hydra, or even ridiculously narcissistic CEOs. It was just luck that her salary as an agent of SHIELD allowed her to keep up the shopping habit.
No news to report was good news, and Natasha had opted to take the day off and spend it in downtown New York, picking up a few more pieces here and there, as well as a pair of Louboutins she'd had her eye on for a while. It had taken her the better part of the day, and the sun was setting as she arrived back at the Tower, fishing her badge out of her bra where she kept it and flashing it at the guards. There were only a handful of people allowed in the residential area of the tower, and even if you could somehow manage to trick the guards into thinking you were one of the Avengers or Nick Fury, you still had to swipe the badge to get through the gates to the elevator, and then pass a retinal scan to get the elevator to open, and then pass voice recognition as well as fingerprint identification to even get the elevator to move. Sure as hell beat the swanky apartment she'd been occupying as her days as Tony's secretary.
The residential area was one of the higher floors of the tower, and was even then broken into four floors itself. The main floor was the main living area, with a kitchen and bathroom attached. The next three were all their bedrooms, two to a floor and each one practically it's own one room apartment in and of itself. Natasha shared a floor with Steve, and if he thought he was being discreet about the late night visits from the Thunder God--
Well, Natasha wasn't going to tell. It wasn't her business, and besides, it was cute.
She set her bags in her room, and headed back down the stairs to the living area, flipping on the TV and settling down on the couch, grabbing a magazine she'd left on the coffee table. It was rather quiet, and she was probably the only one home, for the moment, something she was perfectly fine with.
[Canon] Natasha Romanoff | Marvel Cinematic Universe | Reserved | 2 of 2
In fact, it hides almost anything she's thinking.
Her tone is neutral as well when she finally addresses the camera, green eyes cooly regarding it. She's wary, this one. ] As much as I'd like to say this is my first time being thrown on a train with no memory as to how I got there, it isn't. Last time, though, I had a vague idea of who was behind it. [ A pause. Not that she doesn't this time, but she doesn't want them to know that. ] Tell me what you want and I'll think about complying.
Third Person: If there was one thing about the States Natasha had come to appreciate over her decade of living in them, it was the shopping. She wasn't, by any means, a clothes horse, but she liked to dress well and dress fancy, with expensive shoes and tailored, classic pieces that she could take on missions with her. She always felt like it was better to take her own clothing. She was comfortable in them, and remaining relaxed and unassuming was key when you were tailing agents of the Hand or Hydra, or even ridiculously narcissistic CEOs. It was just luck that her salary as an agent of SHIELD allowed her to keep up the shopping habit.
No news to report was good news, and Natasha had opted to take the day off and spend it in downtown New York, picking up a few more pieces here and there, as well as a pair of Louboutins she'd had her eye on for a while. It had taken her the better part of the day, and the sun was setting as she arrived back at the Tower, fishing her badge out of her bra where she kept it and flashing it at the guards. There were only a handful of people allowed in the residential area of the tower, and even if you could somehow manage to trick the guards into thinking you were one of the Avengers or Nick Fury, you still had to swipe the badge to get through the gates to the elevator, and then pass a retinal scan to get the elevator to open, and then pass voice recognition as well as fingerprint identification to even get the elevator to move. Sure as hell beat the swanky apartment she'd been occupying as her days as Tony's secretary.
The residential area was one of the higher floors of the tower, and was even then broken into four floors itself. The main floor was the main living area, with a kitchen and bathroom attached. The next three were all their bedrooms, two to a floor and each one practically it's own one room apartment in and of itself. Natasha shared a floor with Steve, and if he thought he was being discreet about the late night visits from the Thunder God--
Well, Natasha wasn't going to tell. It wasn't her business, and besides, it was cute.
She set her bags in her room, and headed back down the stairs to the living area, flipping on the TV and settling down on the couch, grabbing a magazine she'd left on the coffee table. It was rather quiet, and she was probably the only one home, for the moment, something she was perfectly fine with.