#goddamnhowling

[chernyypauk]

@goddamnhowling A mirrored room with a class full of girls, spinning in perfect synchrony. Not a single misstep, not a single plié or pirouette out of place. Spinning and spinning, never falling, never missing a beat. A mirrored room with a class full of girls, though the class has grown smaller and smaller with the unfit weeded out as years had gone on. Not a single misstep, not a single plié or pirouette out of place. Spinning and spinning, never falling, never missing a beat. A room full of girls that are no longer girls, but weapons that had been hollowed from the outside out --  “I need to talk to you.” The past always had a way of catching up. She could never outrun it, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she did to try to make up for her past. Natasha was done running, had decided that a long time ago, but now she was making an exception. This time she was running head first towards her past rather than away from it; she had to if she wanted to aim to end the Red Room, for good this time because the last time hadn’t stuck. It had to, this time. No more Red Room. No more Widows. No more girls in perfect pirouettes that would be trained and sent out to kill, ripped from childhood and thrust into a nightmare. No more. As skilled as she was, it was the Red Room that had trained her. The current Widows in their network would have the same skillset with the unfortunate side effect of having not broken free from the clutches of the Red Room, which meant that Natasha couldn’t do this alone. She’d be evenly matched by the girls she wanted to save, would need more hands and eyes and everything else if she was going to do this the right way this time. She couldn’t destroy the damned organization down to the bricks on her own, as much as she’d like to. So step one was establishing assets, allies. Barnes would remember the spinning girls, too. He made the short list for that reason. He’d been there when she was one of them. Arms were crossed over her chest, initially tight though loosing slightly as something that resembled a smile started on one side of her mouth. “Is now a good time?”

[secondwintersoldier]

@goddamnhowling Bucky Barnes was a hard man to track down, but RJ had managed it; after all he’d been training for this moment for...well, for his entire life (that he could remember, in any case). RJ had studied, agonized, over everything related to the original Winter Solider for a decade. He’d watched every second of footage available countless times, studied combat styles and patterns, studied the history. If anyone was going to be able to trace the Winter Solider, it was going to be the second of that name considering that was exactly why he’d been created: to emulate the original Winter Solider, to better the Winter Solider, to eliminate the Winter Solider and then to replace him. On top of that, RJ was a really big fan. The biggest fan. So getting here, finally? It was exciting, and there was a swing in his step as he’d approached the farmer’s market. Bucky Barnes was a ghost, and tracking him at all had taken...forever, as far as RJ was concerned. Running into Captain America had been a good hint to stay in place, that the training grounds the ISA had plopped him into might actually be a hot spot. What were the chances? Had to be fate, some kind of divine intervention. A farmer’s market wouldn’t have been RJ’s first guess, but he’d spotted him before. Talked to some of the consistent stand owners and locals, tried to put together a pattern, and waited. And waited. And waited. But the waiting time was over, and RJ was whistling to himself as he approached the now-familiar farmer’s market. The air was still cool, damp with dew hanging in the air in the hazy morning light but there were still more patrons than RJ would normally be comfortable with. Messy, as his handler would say. More than messy, considering the exposure of him now in his Winter Solider uniform and rifle slung over his shoulder. Ah, well. He could deal with messy this once - he had a job to do, and the outcome would be worth it. He continued to whistle as he approached, pulling the pin on a smoke grenade as he launched it into the crowd. Necessary for coverage, and maybe some of the locals would have the sense to clear out. Two shots fired out shortly after, aimed in the director of the all too familiar face at one of the stands. “Morning, Mr. Barnes!” He called out in a cheerful tone as he fired off another shot. “Sorry about this, but duty calls, y’know?”

[oracleisonline-a]

@goddamnhowling

“Don’t know if you’ve got my line in your ear, but hey. I need to show you something, whenever you’ve got a few minutes.” Using the comm lines she’d given to each and every Nomad was generally her first plan of attack when it came to hunting someone down. Wandering around the castle was time-consuming, and...well, kind of a pain in the ass considering her mobility situation in a literal castle. She was a busy woman (always so goddamn busy) so it was easier to ask them to come to her than the other way around.  “I’m holed up in the library, as per usual. Just whenever you have some time, no rush or anything. Also wouldn’t be mad if you brought some snacks.”

[maybemaybemartian]

@goddamnhowling​

M’gann did her best to avoid most of the Nomads in the days following the abrupt rise and fall of Arnim Zola’s homicidal coded remains. Her telepathy wasn’t much of a secret anymore. The rest of the Nomads had felt it in their minds. In spite of M’gann’s best efforts to assure them that it was non-invasive, that she wasn’t reading their minds or seeing anything they didn’t explicitly want her to see, she could sense that many of them had changed towards her. She couldn’t exactly blame them.

She cooked simpler meals so she could spend less time in the kitchens. Kept to her room or the solitude of the woods nearby in her odd hours when she wasn’t working. She hadn’t quite cut her time in the dovecote, but she’d been camouflaged more often than not as she moved through the halls to get there and back. She was up there with the birds when she sensed Bucky’s signature approaching. From the open door side of the dovecote. Of course. He didn’t know she could phase through walls and she wasn’t about to give that away. Camouflage was a no-go if he was already looking straight in her direction. Inadvertently or not, Bucky had effectively cornered M’gann. “Hey, there,” M’gann said awkwardly, pouring a little pile of pigeon feed into one of the boxes and pretending to be very busy pressing it into an upside-down cone for the eager birds. “Long time no see. How goes it?” She grimaced. How goes it? H’ronmeer, she needed to sound more like an actual human. 

[maybemaybemartian]

@goddamnhowling​

M’gann’s telepathic radar kept the signatures of everyone living in the Mousehole, and anyone else who wandered within her resting range, constantly on her mind. The close proximity over several months, too, meant that M’gann had naturally acclimated to most of the Nomads. Diana and the rest of the League, though some of their imprints had initially faded during her three-year hiatus, M’gann could sense without needing to search over incredibly long distances. After living among the Avengers, she’d acclimated to them as well. No. Finding Bucky wasn’t hard.

The hard part was actually asking what she needed to ask instead of hopping from foot to foot and ultimately deciding to spend the evening doing something else that needed to be done around the Mousehole. Levitating all the dust and cobwebs from the floors and ceilings of every hallway in the fortress to see just how big a dust-bunny she could put together, for instance. Totally necessary and about the size of a Holland Lop. She didn’t make a habit of avoiding Bucky. Far from it, M’gann enjoyed spending time with him. He knew what she could do. She didn’t have any reason to hide herself from him. And he was good company. The real problem was that this was a big favor to ask, and M’gann knew it. She knew full well that he might say ‘no’ and be angry that she was preparing for such a mission. But she couldn’t put off asking any longer.

He was on a patrol, and M’gann came walking up from the direction in which he was heading so that he could see her coming. Even came from a part of the fortress with a side door, though she hadn’t used it, so it wouldn’t seem like she was popping up out of nowhere. Didn’t want to startle him. “Good evening,” she said with a little wave. “I was hoping to run into…” M’gann trailed off. His hair was different. His hair was very different. All the telepathic radar in the world and she couldn’t sense a haircut. M’gann nodded a few times, composing herself. If she were lucky, he’d chalk up the redness in her cheeks to the cold air. “You look very handsome.” Good. “I guess it’s been a few days, huh?”

[maybemaybemartian]

M’gann spent her days between the Mousehole and the library. She baked their daily bread and headed off well before sunrise, always intent to finish as much work as possible before the two senior librarians came in. Usually she returned around noon to make lunch for herself and the rest of the Mousehole before heading back to it again. Around six, finished with the library for the day, M’gann walked back to the Mousehole for the evening.

She’d been unusually excited to get back this time. No pigeon tonight. No squirrel, either. Tonight, there was venison. M’gann had taken pains to prepare the hind legs the night before. About thirty pounds between them. Dry rubbed with salt, garlic, red pepper, rosemary, and juniper berries. She lovingly carried them to the counter and drizzled them with olive oil and pigeon stock before popping them into the oven to work on the sides.

She had the kitchen to herself most nights, save for the occasional person going in or out of the fortress, so it was all the more surprising when Bucky Barnes came by and didn’t immediately head through to the mudroom. M’gann put the salt down and gave him a quizzical smile.

“Are you hungry, Mr. Barnes? The deer won’t be ready for another hour and a half, but I can make you a sandwich in the meantime.” She turned to wash her hands. Bucky wasn’t one she knew well. Not personally. They’d said ‘hello’ in passing, but never spoken more than a few words at a time. Not by reputation either, though she knew he was close to Steve and Natasha. “How are you liking the Mousehole?”