OPEN | prompt seven | ARTHUR

[staircases]

prompt seven | A R T H U R prompt style. start your own thread. leave an image, a quote, anything. receive arthur. open to pre-canon, au, crossover, whatever you can come up with.

 

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[clearance]

[ Natasha is not sentimental. This is why Russia is just Russia, not the Soviet Union or the USSR, and Vladivostock is just Vladivostock. There is nothing for her here, save the memory of lessons that culled and killed weakness. (They are wrong when they think the Red Room is a place: it is a process.) Her own hands are tucked into the pockets of her coat, though in truth it's more for ease of posture. You're not Russian if you're not born with chill in your bones.

When Natasha reaches in to hand over a slim manila folder, her wrists peek out from the sleeves; red from the chafe of metal, not the cold. Arthur comes to her in a roundabout way that's off the grid and just at the ends of her own radar, which is a mark towards the running tally of both his talent and expertise. The folder is sparser than she'd like; there's not much more than three black and white surveillance photos, a physical description, a birthday, a bloodtype, a series of last known GPS co-ordinates, the start of an elaborate electronic trail. His name is Drakov and Natasha plans to kill him. The trick is to find out where he is — hard to do when you've been cornered to run. ]

You should have told me you were comfortable with your manhood, [ she says easily. Her mouth purses, expression flat except somehow it all comes together in a way that looks like she's smiling. ] I would have stepped away. [ A beat, then she tilts her head. Kindness isn't much native to her blood and doesn't last long. ] There'll be some collateral. Nothing you can't dispose of, but I can look for others.