Summary:With Clint Barton back from an assignment in Europe, he meets Natasha for their traditional sparring sessions, this time around grappling is the focus. Tigra joins later on. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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All of the expensive equipment, all of the high technological monstrosities created by Stark and the minds behind the Avengers Compound, so many millions of dollars spent on creating the greatest state of the art training facility that money can buy. And yet all of it is ignored, left to sit there in silence against the walls. The robotic weaponry resting in repose. The energy fluctuating dumb bells. Everything that screams high tech is ignored in lieu of a rough set of blue mats.
The last hour has been spent between the two combatants, locked in intent focus and contest. Grappling was the focus, so the gi tops were required, but Barton for his part was wearing a pair of loose sweat pants that let him move easily. But apparently not easily enough.
The mats crunch with a /whoosh/ and then the _thud_ of impact as his back hits the ground, arm twisted in her grip as she locks the joint. There's a short grunt from him, expression shifted to a scowl as she exerts some pressure and then he taps upon her bicep to signal the point being hers. Enough that he can rise as they move back to the center of the mats to reset for the next point.
"I tell you I got evicted?" He says as they square up again, his hands open and reaching to try and get a hold of her as they jockey for position. His features are flushed, a sheed of sweat clear on his brow as he reaches but misses. "Just because a guy leaves a pizza in his apartment for five months while he's out of the country on mission."
Then he darts in ducking a little low to try and get his arms around her waist, grunting as he moves to try and catch her.
*
"Evicted…? On what grounds? Too much noise with the Robin Hood movies?" Natasha jokes, though the expression on her visage does express concern. "Oh…just usual male slob reasons? I thought everyone took that for granted these days," she says in what tip toes the line between making a comment and not making it, her tone carefully neutral, despite the insinuation being there…one should have enough time to be rid of garbage before clearing out for an assignment. Though truth be told, they both know it isn't always the case. Time is of the essence, most outside of their field, don't even know how true that statement is.
She is getting a work out herself, Clint being no slouch, despite the fact she's having the upper hand at the moment. Sweat pouring down, her gi top a bit loosened from the grabbing and positioning. Hers happened to be worn out red, with the belt having since lost its color so it's hard to tell what level she attained, if one was looking from the side with no prior knowledge of who she was.
"I hope that pizza was no good…where did you have to ship to, Eastern Europe? Or Middle East?" Nat goes for wide sweeps, specifics are generally not asked in their line of work.
When he moves to get his arms around her waist, Natasha, leverages herself on his grasping arms, trying to work her legs for a scissor lock around his neck, attempting to bring him down yet again.
*
This time her back hits the mats, but that doesn't mean she's on the defensive as she tries to shift hips, to work first one leg them the other up and around while holding onto his arms. Clint lowers his head and shifts to the side, surrendering strength on one arm but letting him twist and wedge the other against her inner thigh. His bare chest heaves beneath the heavy white fabric of his own gi top, the work out definitely taking a greater toll on him than her, but to his credit… he's keeping up.
Of course if she decided to go full tilt full strength it likely wouldn't be so competitive.
"Pizza was great actually," He grunts as he drops to the side, trapping one of her legs under his ribs and preventing her from linking ankles, but she's got the other leg up on his shoulder. A scowl mars his features as he pushes forwards and rolls her up onto her side a bit more, her hips held off the ground.
"Buffalo wing and pinaepple with extra cheese." Despite being in pretty good shape, Clint really does eat terrible food.
They're close enough that each can feel the pounding of the pulse racing through their bodies, the controlled breathing, the blaze of warmth from the exertion. In the dim light of the gym with everything else in shadows it lets them just focus on each other and the fight.
"France of all places. I brought you back a present." He then growls as he tries to turn her to slip behind her back if possible seeking a choke.
*
The way Clint adjust this time, suggests it's not the first time he experienced her scissoring move, as she grins once her back hits the mat. "Nice quick reaction, Barton," she praises, while still tightening her locking legs, even as he has his arm in to break any significant hold. At least while she plays fair. But she actually switches tactics, to reach for his other hand, attempting an armbar while he's busy with the tightening hold of her thighs.
"In that case it's a shame it had to go to waste, you must have really needed to go in a hurry, huh? Was that a Fury call then?" Nat muses, knowing how those are. Fury is the only person to get her out in the middle of an op, to join a more pressing one already in progress. He was a tough man to argue with. Pizza certainly would be a low bar.
"You know, at first I thought pineapple would be terrible on pizza, but I was proven wrong, thanks for introducing me to that anomaly," Nat muses, trying to force the armbar as she starts losing control when Clint starts to lift her hips off the ground. If she fails with the armbar, she'll tap out once Clint locks his choke hold on her.
"A gift…?" She'll gasp through strained breath, "you shouldn't have, is it perfume? They're pretty big on that."
*
He'll feel the slow slip of control as she exerts more and more power, then extends the grip to bring her legs into play for leverage. A quick duck to the side isn't quite enough and the move ends with her able to slam him face first onto the mats and maintain that arm bar now, with him beneath her and her bony little elbow jammed into his back.
Scowling as he tries to get some leverage with a leg, Clint turns his head to the side, looking at her with a scrunched up eye even as the pain in his rotator cuff starts to really bug him. "Somethin' like that."
Then there's a surge as he tries to push himself up and to the side, uncurling to hopefully end the leverage she has… only for him to be slammed back onto the mats. "Rrrrr, not tellin'. Supposed to be a surprise. You'll see when you unwrap it."
So there, at least it'll be something she can unwrap.
*
"I get it…" Nat says as Clint concurs with her guess, and as they tumble to the ground, and jockey for position, she maintains her armbar hold, putting more pressure before forcing Clint into an inferior position. That elbow in his back offering more incentive to tap out, and when he finally does, she releases the hold. "You nearly had me this time, that was very quick response to the scissor move, I should be more careful with you next time." It wasn't bravado, so much as genuine compliment, catching opponents off guard with that move is second nature to her. Not many are accustomed to Sambo moves in the west.
"Now you're making me curious, part of your ploy?" Natasha muses, "I already know it's not edible, because that would spoil with all the delay…" she grins, and quips, "my money is still on perfume. It's the typical gift from a visit to France, almost like I'd bring you back some vodka from a visit to Russia."
*
"Pfft," Clint says succinctly as he rolls to his feet, though he does rub at his shoulder a little painfully as he shakes his head. Not immediately squaring up again he instead walks over towards where his gym bag rests against the wall and crouches down to pull a water bottle from it. "You're still taking it easy on me. A smidge maybe, but still."
That said he tilts the water back and squirts some into his mouth, adam's apple working as he swallows a few times then wipes at his mouth with the brush of a forearm. One eyebrow quirks as he offers her the bottle and should she accept he'll toss it her way. If not it's back in the bag.
The next moment he's stepping back across the mats, bare feet leaving small indentations in the plastic fabric. He takes up a position opposite her and brings his hands up in a defensive posture, ready to resume whenever she's set.
"You think I'm that uncreative? I got you a little snow globe with the Eiffel Tower in it." His lip twists and she knows him well enough by now that that is really rather likely to NOT be the gift.
*
"Have you been watching me when I solo train? Or is this from joint ops?" Natasha muses, not answering Clint's accusation directly. Then again, the last time she honestly went all out in training was with Bucky. But then they've been dance partners for far longer.
Natasha nods at the offer of water, enhanced or not, everyone needs water. She grabs the bottle deftly, and in the same motion brings it to her lips to drink her share. Once she's done, she tosses the bottle right back at him.
When he offers the snow globe with an Eiffel Tower as the present, Natasha genuinely laughs, so there's that going for Clint. Not many gets a genuine laugh out of her. "Perfect, I can add it to my collection, already got Moscow, Budapest, Vienna and Prague."
*
"Aww man, see now I wish I had gotten you one." Clint settles up in the traditional stance with jiu-jitsu practicioners matching against one another. One hand upon her shoulder, the other upon her lower sleeve. His jaw tenses as he starts to get a feel for her balance and the way she's positioned, extending a foot now and again to try and break her balance only for her to keep herself from vulnerability.
Yet while they still grapple he chats with her amiably, "But I was down south a bit," Not naming the specific area. "And I found this little antique shop." He focuses and grunts as he tries to push her onto her back foot only for her to slip to the side.
There's a brief instant where they push and pull, and almost take it down to the mats again but not quite, perhaps her wanting to hear more of the story before getting her next point. Perhaps just evil Russian cruelty. "And they had this music box. Busted of course. Had this little… /oof/ redheaded ballerina in it."
For a brief instant he meets her eyes, no longer looking for the tell-tale cues of her movement from her hand and feet position, his blue-eyed gaze given to a hint of warmth. Something genuine there for the briefest of moments shared between the stuggles and the heat and the scent of bodies exerting against each other. Something with a hint of a smile as he adds. "Reminded me of you."
Of course in that one moment… it leaves him entirely vulnerable since clearly he's not paying attention.
*
"You can't possibly be this easy Clint, you just gave away your own deception," Natasha winks at Clint, reminding him that all's fair. While keeping to the distracting conversation, Natasha rather fluidly tests Clint's awareness with deft leg work, going in and out constantly, while flawlessly shifting her weight to mislead about her upcoming move. For the time being she only evades or blocks attempts to penetrate.
She was just about to go in for a take down, shifting from a feint with her left foot, only to turn on an axis and bring her right in roundhouse whirl to try and lock his neck between her lower and upper leg, bending her knee over the back of his neck. But his timely words, break her concentration, and she slips off her attempted throw, to land for once on her chest, face down. Giving him a chance to pin her down, should he pursuit a point. Clearly, she didn't expect to hear what he offered. "Hehe…funny, why would it make you think of me? The red hair?" She asks, trying to recall just how much she shared with Clint of her past. She didn't think it was much, or anything significant, but it could it be she let slip more than she intended one night of heavy drinking? Wasn't like her, but could be.
*
Of course he was fishing, half the time they're together they each send small little sallies forth to see what they come back with. Between them it was a game, one of the many ones they played, showing as much as they wished and offering what little was there. But sometimes… sometimes they'd let something slip.
Natasha was better at the game, but that brief moment of broken concentration made the entire sparring match, the entire trip out of the country worth it.
There was no hesitation in taking advantage of it. She'd feel his arm slither across her neck, fingers diggging into the lapel of the gi and drawing taut against the supple curve of her throat. His breath was warm against the shell of her ear as he tried to control his breathing as she had shown him ages ago. Focus, maintain, victory. It was all important.
But he doesn't lock down the chokehold, though his weight upon her back has her partially pinned, other hand cupping the back of her head as he tries to shift hand positions to go for a rear naked choke. But she can still feel the pulse pumping through her veins, there's not that pressure of blocked breath or blood.
Then the whisper of words against her ear as he says roughly, intent but still holding up the conversation though there is an air of tension as he murmurs, "Not sure. The hair…" His foot whispers upon the mats as he tries to keep her down when she strains. "The performance?" But then she can almost imagine the half-smile as he adds, "The little knowing smirk she had? You'll see when I get around to unpacking."
Which could be weeks or months.
*
Sometimes when you go fishing you catch something, even if at times it could be obscure, this time is one of those rare time when the hit is so close to home, Nat almost suspects Clint knows more than he's letting on. "I think I'd like it, sounds pretty," Natasha muses, as she feels Clint following through to secure his favorable position. Pinning her down, while she's face down, a more tricky position to turn around from.
At first she writhes a bit underneanth Clint's pressuring body, that arm around her neck making it all the more difficult, before she eventually taps him on the arm. "Good move…my way out of that one wouldn't be appropriate for a spar," she says matter of factly, not so much for bragging that she could have done it, as much as a reminder that it is a sparr and one accomodates for it.
"I am well known as a strong performer," Natasha laughs, before wondering…he mentioned an antique shop? It couldn't have possibly been based on herself, could it? She did used to be pretty famous back in the day, far too long ago for anybody to even realize.
But she shakes out of meandering thoughts rather quickly, as she latches on to Clint's provided timeline, "you mean to tell me you actually unpack? I thought you just carry the same gear with you, probably without even running it through the wash, no?"
*
"Worse than that," Clint says as he extracts from her, arm sliding off away from her throat and his weight lifting up. A hand is given to her to help her back to her feet should she wish it, but then he'll step back towards the middle of the mats. Squaring up once again he reaches his hands out and awaits for her to rejoin him.
"I just usually let it sit there, then buy a whole new set of clothes and luggage each time I head on out. Take that, Mr. and Mrs. Tax Payer." His lip twists as he steps forwards and tries to grasp the lapels of her red gi top, trying to pull it over his shoulder but not able to get a good grip. He has to abandon it and turn away before she can grab the superior position just barely. Though he's on his back foot for the next few grasping attacks from her.
"What have you been up to since I was gone? Lost? Forlorn? Without direction?" His lip twists as he perhaps gets a little arrogant and floats a little /too/ close.
*
Natasha isn't above taking a helping hand when offered, particularly in a sparring session, as she takes Clint's hand and gets back on her feet. "Nice moves, Clint, shame I slipped my hold." She laughs at the quip about tax payers, shaking her head, "so that's why the economy is failing? Agent Barton's travel expenses?" The look on her face shows she's only jesting, albeit she does manage to keep from cracking up.
She continues to toy with feints, attempting to grasp what she doesn't truely ever intend to grab, just sliding out of his reach at a key moment, or adjusting her body positioning to make him reconsider, before she suddenly dives low, legs interlocking around his ankle, attempt to knock him down with a simple roll. "I kept busy with SHIELD and Avengers stuff, took down a sex trafficker who dealt with underaged girls recently. Bastard had it coming."
*
It's a quick scissor movement and she's able to catch his ankle and the back of his knee, twisting the leg and rolling up onto his back with a blur of motion. She's able to grasp his foot and twist it towards the small of his back, holding it in place while he twists, trying to get enough freedom of pressure to counter as he scowls.
"Sounds like you did some good work." He grimaces and all she has to do is ratchet the leg a little more and she has him tapping with three short thumps upon the mats. But this time he doesn't get to his feet, instead he just rolls over onto his back as he takes a few deep breaths, trying to regain some of his stamina as he shakes his head.
"Ah man," He says, another deep breath and he looks up and sidelong at her, "Seems like no matter how many assholes we haul in, a dozen more pop up later. I want to wake up one day and there to be like an announcement on Good Morning America, 'Hey guys, guess what, crime is over. Everyone can relax.'"
A smirk settles on his features as he pillows his head with his hands, "Man can dream."
*
"Hey…you kill enough people, you're bound to kill some real scum who really deserved it down the line, right?" Nat partakes in some SHIELD humor, albeit those outside of SHIELD might have issues with that kind of humor. Then again, they tend to have far more normal lives. "It certainly was one time I would have done it for free, too," she quips. When he taps out she releases her grasp and gets back on her feet, this time extending him a hand.
"That's the good thing about our job, Clint, there's never a shortage of people you must absolutely, positively, be rid of…" she pauses a moment, and adds, "of course, not every assignment is wetwork…there's the stealthy espionage too, those are fun, more of a challenge really."
Natasha tsks at Clint's fantasy scenario, "but then we'd be out of work…hell…I might need to actually pick up dancing for real, wouldn't that be just horrid?"
*
Straightening up a little, Clint looks at her from under half-lidded eyes and smirks a little. "I dunno, Nat." He draws up one leg, the foot resting flat on the mats. "You would make one heck of a dancer."
Then he sits up, resting his elbows on his knees and smiling towards her, "I mean you ever watch yourself in a vid during a fight? There's a sort of… deadly grace to you that'd convey well to artistic expression."
That said he finally rises to his feet, stretching and drwing an arm across his chest, trying to loosen up. "I think I got one or two more falls in me, then I'm gonna act like I'm fine and my entire body isn't one big bruise, then head off to drown my woes with a beer or two."
He tilts his head towards her, "Sound good?"
*
"What makes you say that? The fluid motion I use to bring you to the mat each time?" Natasha winks playfully, as she assumes a stance again, reaching for Clint's gi. She laughs as Clint pretty much agrees with what she mentioned, albeit in a more flattering way. "Well, if you really think about it, a fight is something of a dance. But thank you for saying that, I do like to think of my work as art."
"Of course," Natasha agrees with Clint, already sweeping in while ducking and under his arm, and trying to lift with her head under his armpit, trying to sweep at his angle for an attempt to drop him face first into the mat.
*
A grunt is heard as Clint is set on his back foot from the start. Nat bulling forward and grasping her arms around his waist trying to lift and twist him down onto the mats /heavily./ Though he's fortunate enough to maintain a grip on the sleeve of her gi top and he follows through with the roll, breaking his fall with the heavy slap of one hand upon the mat.
It buys him just enough time to try and slice her legs out from under her with the rush of one leg, twisting as he moves to try and follow up with an elbow to try and rob her of some breath should it connect.
Just like all the times they've practiced together in the past, whenever it comes to the end… things tend to get rough. And this time is no exception.
*
There's not many work out areas with equipment like this, and there's not many areas with workers out like these. Tigra has made her way down to the gym to have a go at the weight machines. She hears that someone's in the room before she approaches, and when she steps in, takes a look around to see who it is. Ohho, this is looking interesting, she thinks to herself with a twitch of her tail. Grinning a bit, she picks out a weight machine where she can watch the two spar, and begins to stretch a bit. "Is this over who buys coffee?"
*
Clint has had enough sparring sessions with Natasha to have a good grasp of some of the follow throughs, and the leg slice is a clever move as she's invested in the throw, only instead of resisting, she falls down, but make sure to land with a sharp elbow slanted at Clint's back. Sure, she loses some of her breath, but hopes the manner of her falling will do the same to him, as she tries to roll on top, attempting to twist the arm she was bracing against, behind his back for a good lock.
"It's more like saying, welcome home, I missed you," Natasha shares with Tigra, realizing she's there once she hears her talk, her attention beset entirely on Clint because he has some sly moves.
*
With his arm now twisted behind his back, Clint's face first upon the mats, his free arm holding him up as he scowls and tries to break the hold Widow has… and fails. "Oh hey, Tigra."
He grunts again, one eye scrunching up as Natasha makes him pay for his defiance with a sharp twist and he scowls all the more. "Just, you know, ow dammit! Just teaching Widow some moves, showing her the ropes. She's way out of practice. Ow, woman!"
Yet as he finishes talking he'll slide one leg to the side, then taps the mat three times in rapid succession to surrender the point to the Black Widow. And if she lets him free well then, he'll rub at his shoulder since. Well. Ow.
*
Tigra adjusts the controls of her chosen machine, setting it in the lower superhuman range, takes position, and begins to do a steady series of squats. The whole time, she watches the other two sparring away closely, noting body language and athleticism. "Oh, yeah," she says dryly to Clint, absently curling her tail about a leg to keep it clear of the machine. "I mean, she's clearly so rusty that it's just flaking off of her there. Must've gotten into your eye is what happened."
*
Nat is always a good sports, for the most part, and as she lets go of Clint when he taps out, she quips, "thanks for showing me this one, Clint, it's very effective, I think I'll start using it more." Turning to Tigra, she adds, "Clint's a good instructor when it comes to grappling, you might want to go a round with him if you're serious." She doesn't even laugh at Tigra's dig at Clint, though she does smile in amusement, hard to not react at all.
*
A wry smirk is given to Natasha, even as Clint shakes his head as if this Russian woman was the source of all the world's headaches. He pushes himself to his feet, "Sure thing, Natasha. Glad I could help." Though when he says that last his smile is warm.
He does, however, spare a half-smirk for Tigra as she goes about her workout. "We'll be outta your hair soon enough, Tigra. I think we're…" He shoots a look at Nat and quirks an eyebrow, looking for verification as he says, "Think we're about done here."
Then back once again to the furry feline Avenger as he asks, "You're staying here too? I thought it was gonna just be me for a while." Since yes, Clint recently moved back into the mansion. One could tell by all the weapons cases in the foyer as well as the two milk crates with 8-track tapes in them.
*
The hydraulics work effortlessly as Tigra gets warmed up with her first set. 'Only' a couple of tons. "Was thinking a little about that," She admits to Natasha, after having watched their grappling. "You two clearly know what you're doing. Me, I'm usually just all instinct and reflexes, nothing very scientific about it." A shake of her head to Clint's question as she straightens up again after the first set, then she begins to configure it for curls. "I have a room here of course, but I usually stay at my apartment. Hard to beat equipment like this, though," she says with a pat of the machine. "I'm no Thor, but Globo Gym doesn't really have equipment to push my limits."
*
"At least you don't have to worry about me, Clint, I come and go as befits SHIELD. Though I've gotten to stay at the Mansion more than in other places lately, so, home sweet home, right?" Nat grins at Clint, "it's nice to have some consistency now and again."
"An apartment of your own? And it's not another way of saying safe house, right?" Nat looks from Tigra to Clint, "some people live the life, don't they?" She chuckles as Tigra speaks of super-fitted exercise machines, before tapping her palm across her chest, "the human body is the best exercise machine, beats any set of weights and is mobile," she then takes pause, looking Tigra over, before admitting, "to be fair, I'm not sure if it translates to felines…"
*
Stepping off the mats, Clint regains that bottle of water he had a few minutes ago and twists off the cap. He lifts it up and takes a few swallows, drinking deeply and then giving a soft 'ahh' afterwards. It's pretty clear the workout with Natasha has taken its toll on him, moreso than on her since there's a flush to his features and a healthy sheen of exertion to his brow and chest.
Offering it to Natasha again, and should she accept he'll put the cap back on and toss the bottle to her, before he turns back towards Tigra. "M'sure if you wanted some training, Nat'd give you some help." There's a glance given to her to see if he's not volunteering her for something she wouldn't want to do, but then he looks back to Tigra. "I mean, I'd offer. But I get the feeling you play rough, Tigra." His lip twists upwards into a half-smirk.
*
A soft chuckle from Tigra in between curls at Natsha. "No, just an apartment. Nothing fancy, but it works for me when I need to retreat to my den." She grins a bit at talk of the human body. "I did calisthenics, back when life was normal, and still do some with it. I thought I'd try focus on strength fo ra little while." A nod to Clint at talk of training. When he jokes about playing rough she flashes him a small. A broad, very toothy smile.
*
Natasha takes her turn with the water, and does Clint the courtesy of not emptying the bottle before tossing it back at him, "good workout, Clint, good to have you back." Natasha laughs at Clint's quip, before adding, "I don't know, Clint, I think you'd enjoy sparring with Tigra, I hear cats play with their prey." She pauses, and then looks aside at Tigra, "is that after or before their prey is dead? I don't quite know my cat stuff well enough."
*
"See, you guys are laughin' it up and I'm over here all in fear of my life." Alright he doesn't exactly seem super fearful, but he does shoo a grin at Widow as he catches that water bottle. He kneels beside his gym bag and squirrels away the water before he picks up the whole thing, sliding the zipper closed with a faint metallic rasp.
He rises and starts to undo the belt around his gi top, sliding out of the heavy garment and starting the careful process of folding it up. His undershirt clings to his physique from all the effort and exertion of the match, but once he has that jacket folded he tucks it under one arm and then slings the bag over his shoulder.
"Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I'm gonna go get a few beers and maybe a pizza." Because of course after a heavy workout you want a ton of carbs.
*
A small shrug from Tigra. "Sometimes before, sometimes after. Depends on how…resilient it is, and how…playful we happen to be, at the time." Even wrapped around her leg, the tip of her tail flicks merrily at the joking around. As long as Clint's on display, she'll take in the view, able to enjoy the pure aesthetics of it all. "Save one for me," she bids him, not specifying the beer, or the pizza. "And I'll talk about some training later."
*
"I just remembered why SHIELD doesn't have you in charge of agents conditioning, Clint, so thank you for that," Natasha quips after the departing Clint, turning over to Tigra. "So, how's life been going for you lately? I stopped an asshole who dealt in sex trafficking, so I've been smiling the last week or so."
*
"Sure thing, Nelson. I'll be up in the rec room, mosey on by when you get the gumption." Clint turns away from them both and heads on towards the door, waving over his shoulder. "Nat, was a pleasure."
With that said he strolls up to the door, then turns around to back into it. He takes a moment to look at both of the women in the room and lifts a hand in a half-hearted wave. "Try not to get into too much trouble." And with that he's gone.
*
A sound of savage satisfaction comes from Tigra at hearing what Natasha's been up to. "Good for you." She grins crookedly at Clint. "Not too much, just enough trouble, that's the goal." A look back to Natasha. "Since the child smuggling madness, I've not done a great deal." She finishes with the curls and steps away from the machine, stretching a bit. "Talked to Hank McCoy, you know him? Big blue guy, big brain, also, about maybe getting back into school."
*
Natasha inclines her head at Clint, "always a pleasure, good work out." When Clint departs she turns her attention back to Tigra, "that was another ugly episode, I know 'of' Hank McCoy," Natasha offers non-commitally. "Oh, back at Xavier's? That could be interesting," Natasha notes, "if you do that, let me know how it's like…" she has her suspicions, and if affirmed, she may wish to intervene.
*
"Well, let's be honest, we spend a lot of time dealing with ugly episodes, don't we? A world with less ugliness would need fewer heroes." A wisting and turning at the waist, limbering up the spine. "It was my first time meeting him, myself. I was checking out NYU, thought I'd see about my options, and he happened to be on campus that day, so I got his opinion on the matter, and he came out and offered to teach me, basically. We didn't dig into details, so I don't know where he was thinking of doing things. WIth a class size of 1, of course, it's easy to be flexible."
*
"True, so good thing we got ample opportunities for employment, eh?" Natasha jokes, before heading towards the speed bag and starting to give it some work. "You let me know as soon as you find out, Tigra."
*
Tigra leans against the machine lazily as she watches Natasha work on the bag. "We're kind of like police and firefighters in that way. Something you hope you never need, but indispensible when you do." She then tilts her head a bit in query. "ANything in particular you're interested in?"
*
"I'd just rather to hear about McCoy and his school from someone I know, it makes it more personal, you know?" Nat muses, not going into any specifics, or what she may or may not know already. "He sounds like a decent fellow, McCoy."
*
Doesn't take Tigra's sense of empathy for her to think there's something more to it, but that's fine with her. "Well, I'll let you know if I find out anything," she says. "He certainly was friendly enough to talk to, and happy to help. If I take him up on his offer and get to know him better, I'll let you know what he's like. Besides brilliant, of course," she adds dryly. "I mean, I've read some of his papers. Literally world-class stuff."
*
With a few more series of fists, Natasha eventually balances the speed bag to a stop, and turns to look at Tigra with a grin. "I appreciate it, think it's about time I go have a shower now, been going at it with Clint for a while. He's actually better than he makes himself sound," she winks at Tigra, and starts to head to the showers, "have a good workout, Tigra."
*