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

[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.

[fallaces_sunt]

"You never know. Maybe a day or so in the brig would be good for him."

[therighttime]

"Or a week."

[fallaces_sunt]

"Mmm, that might be too long. We don't want him getting too bored. He might go all supervillain on us."

[therighttime]

"Sometimes it feels like we're just counting the minutes."

Steph is smiling, teasing, the annoyance having - mostly - left her features in favor of tolerance. "He's a good man," she admits, with no audible reluctance. "It's hard to see sometimes, but I think he might like it that way."

[fallaces_sunt]

Natasha smiles faintly.

"He's not. He's a narcissistic, sexist jerk. It's just that he's woken up to the fact that other people matter. And has decided to protect them."

Iron Man yes, Tony Stark no, and all of that.

But there's faint hints of a power-hungry alien inquiring as to the status of her karmic debts echoing around her skull, so she doesn't leave it at that.




"Certainly not complaining. We may yet escape supervillainy from the Stark sector."

[therighttime]

Steph pauses, choosing to listen to what Natasha says, how she says it, rather than looking at the woman's face. She keeps her smile but it's one of slight incredulity now. A narcissist, sexist, perhaps, but no one truly in love with themselves would risk death so often, would make a woman CEO of his father's company.

Steph thinks about what folks always thought of her, or even thought of Bucky, Peggy, Howard - and Elena, Elena most of all.

People see what's easiest to see.

"We all need to wake up sometime," is what she decides on as the most appropriate response.

[fallaces_sunt]

The incredulity gets a sharp, almost disbelieving look from the woman whom Stark first knew as Natalie Rushman from Legal.

Then she smooths it away. She is not exactly in the mood for an argument.

(She does, though, make a note to try and introduce Steph to some more classic literature. A solid dose of Greek heroes tends to help the idea of 'people are neither good nor bad, even when they do good'.)

"That we do," Natasha says. And then she frowns, tilting her head slightly. "Does remind me - 'waking up', I mean. How very...seductive this place is. You could create anything you wanted."