expatriates: (97)
natalia romanova | black widow ([personal profile] expatriates) wrote2014-06-21 02:54 pm

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LATRODECTUS
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hyperverbose: (ɴᴏᴛ sᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴍᴜᴄʜ)

[personal profile] hyperverbose 2016-10-25 03:18 am (UTC)(link)
now you're just fishing for compliments, romanoff

special order.
hyperverbose: (ғᴏʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇs ɪ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ)

[personal profile] hyperverbose 2016-10-25 03:38 am (UTC)(link)
listing pepper along with my possessions smells like a woman trap in the making.

this is me, not stepping into it.
hyperverbose: (Rɪᴄᴏᴄʜᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀɪᴍ)

[personal profile] hyperverbose 2016-10-25 04:03 am (UTC)(link)
trying to guilt me about life not kicking me in the nuts 24/7, i see
hyperverbose: (ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ sᴀʏ)

[personal profile] hyperverbose 2016-10-25 04:23 am (UTC)(link)
well it's a better approximation than the one i had

[ so nyah ]
hyperverbose: (ᴀʟʟ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴄᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ)

[personal profile] hyperverbose 2016-10-25 04:44 am (UTC)(link)
i seem to remember very flagrantly not asking for your opinion on the subject
hyperverbose: (I ᴀᴍ ᴛɪᴛᴀɴɪᴜᴍ)

[personal profile] hyperverbose 2016-10-25 04:58 am (UTC)(link)
my face. not yours. your concern is duly noted.
hyperverbose: (ɪ·ᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ sᴜɪᴛs)

[personal profile] hyperverbose 2016-10-26 06:27 am (UTC)(link)
youre welcome for the song
gutpunching: (27)

text @red, after the fire, I know you're on hiatus so no rush, but since I missed the log by a lot

[personal profile] gutpunching 2016-11-21 06:47 am (UTC)(link)
[He wasn't kidding when he claimed to keep odd hours. So given that Jason had spent most of their time sharing a living space outside of it, dropping in and out at odd hours or for scant stretches of time, it doesn't necessarily come as a surprise that he wasn't inside when the inn went up in flames. Which means—]

Don't suppose you took out any renter's insurance.

[This is almost definitely a segue to something. But, you know. Hi Nat, how are you doing. Not Blackened Widow levels of crispy, he presumes.]
gutpunching: (54)

you and me both, friend

[personal profile] gutpunching 2016-11-22 01:55 am (UTC)(link)
I'd file a complaint, but it sounds like the management's gone and skipped town.

[Mrs. Poppy and company vanishing is old—if still loudly unresolved—news, so that's not quite the point, either. This is only partly a social call, if not a check in, per se—he'd mostly assumed she could take care of herself, even if he hadn't seen her since the fire broke out.]

Are you busy?
gutpunching: (138)

[personal profile] gutpunching 2016-11-22 04:20 am (UTC)(link)
[That's pretty cute, Nat's meta.]

Maybe I'm just looking for the pleasure of your company.

[You don't know. But, after a beat, on the tails of that—]

I could use a second opinion.

[And he's got a working hunch that she might be the best place to get it.]
gutpunching: (07)

[personal profile] gutpunching 2016-11-24 07:50 am (UTC)(link)
[Now you're getting it!]

I'd hate to bore you with the details, otherwise.

[Gotta give a little to get a little. That's just good business. Besides, it's easier to show than tell.]

Swing by what's left of the saloon if you're feeling curious enough.

[A few weeks of familiarity helps make some guesses, but he can't say he knows her well enough to say if she'll bite. He's not so narrow minded he'll dismiss a resource on principle, but he's also not much for counting on the kindness of near-strangers, either.

Its been just long enough that the embers are out and the town's regrouped, and the arson is still very much a subject of debate—and investigation. And it's where he'll be, if Nat decides to bring this to action. Perched on a fence in eyeshot of the charred building with his hood up against the chill and his gloves on. Ash-streaked, a little, but not in a "narrowly crawled my way out of a(nother) firey death" kind of way. (There's something that looks a little like a red motorcycle helmet sitting on the fencepost next to him—not super necessary at the moment, but it helped with visibility and filtering out the air when the heat was on, and he hasn't abandoned his post long enough to ditch it in a bolthole.)
]
gutpunching: (61)

[personal profile] gutpunching 2016-12-05 04:48 am (UTC)(link)
[It's in the air, same as the smell of ash. The low buzz of fear in town borne from the thought of a safe place taken away—or just the backlash from the realization that it was never all that safe in the first place.

He isn't generous enough to put enough stock in her to be disappointed if she doesn't show. But she doesn't keep him waiting very long. Well. What d'you know.
]

"Lucky" is a pretty nice way to put it.

[Optimistic. For an arson, the damage is shockingly contained. Maybe the swift action of the crew and the local law enforcement can take the credit for that. Or maybe the threat to life and property was just incidental—arson's always been a classic way of torching the evidence. He's done it himself, once or twice. Either way, luck probably didn't have anything much to do with it. Now that they're both here, gets to cutting to the chase. Hooks his fingers under the edge of his cowl to take it with him as he hops off the fence to get boots back on the dirt. Setting out toward the back of the building, with the expectation that if she's curious enough to show, she's curious enough to follow.]

Spend a whole lot of time around burning buildings?

[In general. Just curious.]
gutpunching: (12)

[personal profile] gutpunching 2016-12-08 04:51 am (UTC)(link)
That depends on what you find interesting.

[Though if she's the type to hang around burning buildings against professional advice, maybe the odds are in his favor. They backtrack along the path of the fire toward the backstage areas of the saloon, where the employees came in and out. As they near the back entrance, Jason grabs for a longish piece of slightly-charred debris as they pass. He spins it in hand before gesturing with it—]

Seems to me ignition happened right about here. [Here, he drops into a crouch, far enough away from the charring proper that he can find another trace of the apparent accelerant—an odd, sticky substance on the ground that he rolls the tip of his stick in. He rocks back on his heels and stands, reaching for a pocket and producing a lighter with his free hand, the kind easily found at the local general store.]

Helped along— [Here's the fun part. He holds the stick away from the two of them and kicks a flame up with the lighter and holds it up to the goop on the stick. It sparks to life with dramatic force, burning violently for a handful of seconds before sputtering out into a steady flame.]

By this.

[Nothing commonly found spattered on the ground on a normal day. So, definitely not an accident, as if that were still a possibility they were entertaining. Spinning the stick in hand, he holds it a distance away from the charred remains of the saloon—where it casts light on trace amounts of the same sticky substance in the periphery.]

Look familiar?

[Hard to trace it to back to a source or supplier if you can't identify it. But worth looking into, considering they're not exactly swimming in evidence.]

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