Deck Eleven: Holodeck Two (Volga River, circa 1930s)

[fallaces_sunt]

This is not the smartest idea she's ever had. The library is open; she could be reading, reading just about anything she'd like. She could be in the gym working the edge off her tension. Hell, she could turn this holodeck into a gym that she's familiar with. Test out her ability to actually handle the fake reality with something safe and mundane.

That would be sensible.

Instead, Natasha is sitting on a low pier on the west bank of the Volga River, her slacks rolled up to her knees as she dangles her toes in the water and very carefully monitors her unease.

It's late spring, a vague point in the 1930s. The only people are those working on the occasional cargo ship as they travel up and down the broad expanse of the river, but there are plenty of birds. Location, just south enough from Volgograd that she can't see it.

This might not be the smartest idea she's ever had, but she knows better than to actually go to her hometown. And at least she's got a copy of the complete Sherlock Holmes stories to keep her company.

[OOC: As per normal Trek holodeck set-ups, anyone can walk in as long as they don't mind entering in mid-program.

Open until I say otherwise! :-) ]

Comments

[therighttime]

"Seems to be the consensus," Steph replies, perhaps cryptically, with a small smile. Her roommate had offered her a good afternoon, too, and followed it up with confusion. There isn't exactly a low afternoon sun to judge by.

She's not judging the surroundings, not yet. But that Natasha came here alone and chose a setting for herself gives Steph a very serious feeling of trespassing. She still has her body slightly turned to the side, ready to leave at first request. "I didn't mean to interrupt. If you came here to be alone..."

[fallaces_sunt]

Natasha thinks it over for a moment, and then shakes her head.

"In part, maybe. But mostly I was just testing this thing out.




So you can stick around, if you want."

[therighttime]

Steph hesitates but finds herself nodding all the same. She's not going to say anything, it wouldn't do to complain, but... this is the second time in a few short years that she's found herself somewhere alien and frightening and completely alone.

Steve Rogers.

At least Natasha is still Agent Romanoff.

Quietly, she steps down the bridge to join Natasha at the edge. In no particular mood for research or information sharing, she finds herself perfectly willing to quietly contemplate computerized water - if that's what Natasha wants.

"Thanks."

[fallaces_sunt]

She inclines her head in a silent no problem.

There are birds chirping, occasionally brawling and freewheeling through the air, but aside from that and the cargo ships making their way to and fro, it's quiet.

"Welcome to the Volga River," she says then. "At least, a mocked-up version of it."

[therighttime]

It's nice. Peaceful. If she didn't know there was a hallway and a big metal ship beyond the door, this would fool her completely.

Steph leans back, hands braced against the rough wood of the pier, relaxing. Quiet, when quiet was never a constant of her child or adult life, but it's something Steph can appreciate now. She frowns thoughtfully at the waves.

"It's huge, for a river," she comments. "Russia?"

[fallaces_sunt]

"Western Russia, to be exact. Longest river in Europe."

She smiles, the expression faint and wistful.

"I grew up not far from here. My hometown is about ten minutes upriver."

[therighttime]

Steph doesn't move her head but her eyes glance over sharply. Kolya has talked to her a little, product of working so closely for two years, but Natasha isn't Nikolai. What she - Nat? Tasha? - tells her may be information Steph's partner isn't willing to share.

...then again, it isn't as if Steve Rogers has much in common with Steph, surely. There are certain aspects of her life she knows wouldn't translate to a man.

Her shoulders relax, just a touch, reassured she's not betraying Nikolai.

"Well," she sighs, a little dramatic in her teasing, head tilted, "it's no Hudson."

[fallaces_sunt]

And, likewise, something eases in her shoulders. She cannot imagine her parents moving far away from this region; and it's obvious whenever she lets her natural accent show that she's a child of the steppes and Mother Volga.

But Steph is not Steve, and Kolya is not herself. Maybe Kolya has clarified more than she has, but informing Steph of anything much more than she has to Steve (like, for instance, the date) seems not the done thing.

So she laughs, short and sharp.

"By which you mean the Volga is far superior, I won't argue with you."

[therighttime]

"It definitely smells better," Steph has to admit, grinning a bit in triumph for making Natasha laugh. She was never in Russia during the war, doesn't have enough exposure to tell the difference between accents. She can assume Natasha chose this spot for a reason but there's too much privacy invaded here already to ask for information not offered.

[fallaces_sunt]

Natasha smiles; clearly, any concession means the argument is won.

"I thought I should test out the programming against something I knew. I'm still not sure how I feel about how...real it feels."

She swings her leg, toes catching on the water and sending droplets flying.

[therighttime]

Steph nods, agreeing even without experience of the actual location. "It's a little... eerie," she offers, quiet.

"Fits with the theme, I guess. You're okay?"

It's a question, not of Natasha's ability to deal with conflict, but of her current status with this conflict.

[fallaces_sunt]

"So far.






I thought I'd save conjuring up actual people for another experiment."

The crewmen on the cargo-ships and occasional yacht can just...stay over there for now.

[therighttime]

Okay, that-- had not actually occurred to Steph. It shows on her face, the sudden trouble in her eyebrows, distasteful twist of her mouth.

To be able to replicate copies of people... She can barely even look at pictures.

Not ready. Not yet.

Steph watches the boats instead, noting more similarities to the ships of her youth than anything she's seen in the twenty-first century. But Russia's a different country, practically another world. She doesn't know what time Natasha chose, or why she chose it. And if she grew up near the Volga, Natasha's birthdate is one black mark in a large series of Redacted and Confidential.

"I think I'd leave you to that. Assuming you're testing it against people you already know."

[fallaces_sunt]

"No."

Pause.

"I don't think this program could do it properly, anyway," she adds, as if that was her major objection and she never snapped.

[therighttime]

Steph doesn't even flinch from the snap. She flinched more from the idea of computer-replicated people.

Instead, she nods. Accepting that answer and any other explanation Natasha wants to give her on the subject.

"You seem awfully familiar with this place sometimes."

[fallaces_sunt]

"It reminds me of a tv show." Her voice is very, very dry.

"I'm not sure how helpful that is going to be."

[therighttime]

"In my experience of reading too much science fiction and waking up in 2011? Little to none."

Steph looks over with a soft smile, commiserating. "I'm still disappointed about the lack of flying cars."

[fallaces_sunt]

Natasha snorts with amusement.

"You and me, both. Helicopters don't...quite cut it."

Lola doesn't count. There's only one Lola.

[therighttime]

"Howard Stark did it in 1940. So disappointed."

[fallaces_sunt]

"Maybe we should get the Starks on it. Environmentally friendly hovercars. They'd love it."

[therighttime]

"The Starks?" Steph asks, amused - and then blinks, stricken. "Oh. Oh Lord, there's at least two of them now."

One in her world, one in Natasha's. At least.

[fallaces_sunt]

"Yep."

Beat.

"Can you imagine if one of them turned up here?"

[therighttime]

"No. I can barely imagine what the man's going to do when he's standing right in front of me."

[fallaces_sunt]

"Make things interesting?"

She is fond of Stark, in her own, very particular way.

"We'd have to drag him out of Engineering."

[therighttime]

"We'd have to rescue him from Security," Steph corrects, with a small smirk. "Or the other way around."

She's not fond of Stark, not really. But she could be, with more time together. She's known enough dark haired assholes to recognize a trend in herself.