ANTICIPATION THRUMMED JUST UNDER HER SKIN as two camera flashes went off in quick succession. those around her moved up the stairs and into the venue and she followed suit. the scene around her was familiar yet entirely foreign. once upon a time, natasha had known similar crowds: sharply dressed, chatting among themselves as they made their way into the theater to find their seats. now it was a different story. this crowd was no longer here to see her perform, nor did they know who she was. she would soon simply be another recipients of a donation courtesy of the wayne foundation. to be forgotten in three days time.
HER STOMACH CLENCHES in the same way it had upon her very first performance: suddenly and all at once as it threatened to turn on itself. plucking the first flute of champagne she sees off a passing tray, a generous sip is taken in an attempt to calm her racing mind rather than her nerves. natasha is aware of two things: she is still wearing the long black coat which she had declined to give to the coat checker and martha wayne was no where to be seen. the woman had managed to convince her that receiving the donation would be good not only for her and the studio but for the kids as well. to call herself wary of americans would be an understatement. add in such large amounts of money and she couldn’t help but think of the promises those in charge of the bolshoy had made all those years ago. look where that got me, she thinks. but martha had been patient with her and had taken it slow in convincing her. twice over lunch, early one morning over coffee as natasha had been heading into the studio ( a sheer coincidence that encounter ) and every other afternoon at the studio for two weeks. It was those two weeks that had convinced natasha to take the donation.
and now here she was and the woman was nowhere to be seen. she finds her seat at a table near the stage, flashing a smile at those already seated and reluctantly removes her coat. the floor length champagne colored dress felt like one of the dance costumes she used to wear. at least i blend in with everyone else. and that was what mattered. taking a sip of her drink, she is about to sit down when she spots martha’s son talking to a reporter by the table to her right. natasha had caught a glimpse of him the first time she’d been to the woman’s office. a family portrait sat on her desk. and while it was clearly more than a handful of years old, the features were similar. taking a sip of her drink, she moves over towards them, flashing a smile the reporter as he passes her.
❛ i’m so sorry to interrupt… you’re martha’s son, correct? i was wondering if i could speak with her for a moment before the ceremony. ❜
plotted starter / @knightwar
