#one of the operators who also dyes her hair fun colors came over to welcome me back and said she loved the green on me 😌 her hair looks

[telomirage]

🌟

I finished my first week back to work! it was busy in a weird but not necessarily bad way. now that T took care of the a/c in my area, my office is nice and cool most of the time. I'm still settling in but I've already completed some tasks and set some stuff up for next week. one nice thing has been the way so many people have expressed what looks like genuine joy and excitement to have me back. I got a couple of weird or uncomfortable comments but overall it's been a positive experience. I never intended to return, but then time passed and things changed and my friendworkers got to me at the right time with an opening in the same department when the pros (health insurance…cash money……being uniquely qualified for the job and the way job hunting is easier (to potential employers) when you are employed………) mostly outweighed the cons. so here I am. I'm here for now but WATCH OUT!!!!!!!!

[inscribed-in-asteroids]

AN: Here’s chapter two!

Title: The Ripple Effect

Characters: Hordak, Entrapta, Odessa, features original characters

Pairing: Entrapdak, features other canon couples (and some fanon)

Rating: M

Read on AO3. It’s always posted there first.

                                                     Evaluation

“You want us to help you… find your dad’s… home planet?” Hydrangea questions.

“Not necessarily that,” Odessa replies. “I’ve been mulling over this the last couple of years. Wandering through space, it’s apparent that my father’s species has predominantly settled into Etherian life. But when I ask my father where we are from, he has no answer.”

“Not in the withholding information way,” Tristan clarifies.

“Exactly. In the sense he has no answer to give. Period. I’ve discussed it with my mother, and she believes it could be an exciting chance to find out where he’s from!” Odessa claps her hands together. “We know about the biology, physiology, mental health, behavior of one person. My father has been studied thoroughly for years, but his makeup can only tell us so much.”

They nod in understanding. It does make sense. He has been genetically manufactured over and over, thousands of versions of him co-existing among species that still have yet to see anything like him before. Hordak has lived among Etherians, has explored world upon world, but they know he is an anomaly. They all do.

Odessa looks down at her hands, an anomaly herself. Her parents have always been supportive of her intellectual pursuits, and this could very well be one of the greatest. She has filled a medical textbook composed of both Entrapta’s research, Hordak’s explanations, and her own observations, theories and notes about how his species operates. But what good is it if it simply applies to a single individual; that’s not applicable to how science or medical practice works.

Hydrangea pours them tea. She knows how determined Odessa can be once she sets her mind to something. There’s no stopping her once her brain gains traction on an idea. Tristan’s set face comprehends this as well.

Tristan speaks first, “When would you like us to begin?”

Odessa smirks, “Soon as you’re done with your drink.”

“Hm, of course you’d say that.”

“Damn right,” Odessa answers.

Hydrangea places her hands on her hips, “Alright, Des. We’ll get going soon as we’re done!”

“Or you could chug your chamomile in one go.”

“No.”

                                                              -

Dryl is etched further into rocky cliffs, its labyrinth excavated deep inside the mountain. Its residents welcome their princess, happy to see her return. Entrapta’s kingdom had been left to its own devices for years, even prior to Entrapta’s departure; yet they view Odessa as the rightful heir, and treat her as such. She supposes it's something to be grateful for, as it does leave them with a place to rest and organize without much interference.

Though she could do without the large paintings of herself lining the walls.

“I never get over how cute you were as a baby,” Hydrangea says, giggling. “Look how chubby you were!”

“You were so adorable,” Tristan gushes. “So innocent.”

“The sweetest little baby,” she continues. “I still want to pinch your itty bitty face!”

“Shut up,” Odessa pouts, blushing. Curse these portraits… and curse their laughter...

“Odessa! Hello, hello!”

Relieved, she turns, smiling at the friendly face, “Hi, Uncle Wrong-Man.”

Crushing her to his chest, he presses their cheeks together, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen my most favorite niece in the world!”

“You’re going to make all the other nieces jealous,” she says. Then smiles, “But it’s true.”

“I can’t help it, you were the first niece I had!”

Back on her feet, Odessa glances at the vicinity. Normally, there’s more of her uncles wandering through the halls. “Where is everyone?”

“Oh, they’re working outside or in the kitchens. We heard you were back and we felt a welcoming party would be fun!”

“You don’t have to throw one every time we come back.”

His eyes turn watery, a sad, morose frown on his features, “Oh… I see… You don’t… like my parties anymore…”

“No, no, that’s not it!” Odessa says, trying to cheer him back up. “I just meant you don’t need to go through all the trouble each visit.”

He looks up at her, ears drooping lower, “Do you like them?”

“Yes, Uncle Wrong-Man, I love your parties,” she insists. “You’re the best at it!”

In seconds, his bubbly personality returns, “Excellent! I look forward to giving you another party suited to your tastes!”

Tristan leans toward Odessa, hand held up to his mouth, “Wow, for a minute I thought I heard violins.”

“He has that dramatic flair to him,” she agrees.

“How have your parents been? I haven’t seen them yet!” W.H. asks.

“Mom and Dad are fine,” Odessa tells him, following him through the halls. The maze has been modified to be easier to map out. The first time she had come here, they had gotten lost since Entrapta couldn’t quite recall where all the secret entrances were. Odessa took it upon herself to make her own layout, and added to it whenever a change had been made. “They went to Beast Island to see how it is there.”

His ears fall for a moment, “Aw, I hope they’ll visit soon!”

“I’m sure they will,” she assures him. “They had some business to conduct over there.”

“In the meantime, what brings you to Dryl?”

“I wanted to talk to you and some of the others regarding your past,” she explains.

W.H. enters the closest kitchen, walking toward the oven. Tucking on mitts, a perplexed expression crosses his features, “Our past? My dearest niece… have you been afflicted by amnesia?”

“No, my memories serve me right,” Odessa says, patient. “I am asking for information regarding where we had come from, as a whole species. What world we originated from, what our culture was like. I had spoken with father about the matter, but he said he didn’t know due to being younger than the rest of you.”

W.H. crosses over to the countertop, removing the cookies onto a cooling rack. He is silent for a few moments, and it is clear he is choosing his words carefully, trying to understand what she’s asking. He turns, a serious mien about him, unusual on his face. “I… I’m not sure, either.”

Odessa walks over to him, “Is it because you were separated from the hivemind?”

“I don’t believe so,” he replies. Folding his arms over his chest, the fact they’re all one person reveals itself in his posture and tone. “We had been created to serve Horde Prime. Nothing more or less. And I do think that I myself had been cloned after your father. He had been Horde Prime’s general as well, and if he didn’t know, one of our elder brothers might have the knowledge you seek.”

Odessa glances at Hydrangea and Tristan, then back to her uncle. “Do you know who would?”

W.H. ponders for a minute. “Hm, no one here, I am certain. The residents of Dryl are like myself—of the younger group, since we have more people skills to associate with the Etherians.”

Hydrangea says, “I always wondered how that worked. Where you were designated and why.”

W.H. nods, “Oh, yes, we put thought into what our new purposes would be. After I helped my brother and sister with Beast Island, I came here to demonstrate how to function with Etherians!”

Tristan walks over to the counter, “Where do you recommend we go, then? Also, can I have one?”

W.H. beams, nodding enthusiastically, “Please do! I am going to make much more. But in regards to your first question, I would suggest visiting family in Mystacore or Beast Island.”

Odessa takes a cookie off the rack as well, munching. Mystacore is closer, so it would be prudent to try there before traveling to Beast Island. There are portals stationed throughout Etheria, but it’ll be worth stopping by Mystacore. She hasn’t seen anyone there at all yet. Although, it’s not as if there are many who live in the clouds, visiting her family there is always exciting.

“Thank you, Uncle Wrong-Man,” Odessa says, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “We’ll head there now!”

“Take some food with you to go,” he insists. In a flash, he’s bagging the cookies into a cellophane sack, tying it with a pink ribbon that shapes into a butterfly. “Healthy meals are important, but so are treats! Otherwise, you get moody.”

Hydrangea and Tristan are handed their own bags, much to their surprised delight. Before Odessa can accompany them out the door, W.H. stops her, giving her another, “Would you mind taking this with you for your cousin?”

Odessa smiles, “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

                                                             -

Hordak and his brothers were categorized not by their clothes, or hair dye choices, but by their eyes. Odessa and her mother had noted the various shades of eye color, their teeth matching them the most; however, inside of their mouths, it adjusts to mimic the change as well, affecting the tongue and beneath it, gums, hard and soft palates, uvula, even extending down to the oropharynx. All her uncles are in good health, and with none of them dead, she can only assume that the change continues down the esophagus. She got it in writing several years ago that, should any be willing to be dissected for scientific purposes, she has a few choices for her study.

Their eye colors are fascinating: while they all reflect light to glow, which is meant to intimidate opponents, she has observed the change serves as behavioral distinction. The lighter the color, the more mellow and passive the personality; the darker or more intense, the more independent and aggressive. A chameleon-like feature, reflecting mood. And, in turn, signifying mental and physical health, as peppier individuals tend to be less plagued by feelings of inadequacy, anger, and low self-esteem. W.H. had his eye color eventually become the joyful chartreuse yellow she’s known since birth, and her father’s returned to their fiery red sometime after the war. This is the one true variation that doesn’t need attire or fanciful hair styles and dyes to show that no matter how alike they are by DNA, they are their own separate people.

So when she teleports to Mystacore, and she finds dark blue eyes staring at her from above, she remembers, quite immediately, that sometimes, darker eye colors don’t indicate low self-esteem but rather, an egregious amount of confidence.

Her uncle jumps down from his perch, landing daintily on his feet. He narrows his eyes, leering, “Odessa… it has been ages since you’ve arrived on Mystacore.”

“Hi, Talon,” Odessa says.

He looks at her friends, “You two are faring well, I hope.”

Hydrangea smiles, “Yes, thank you for asking!”

Tristan nods, “You look good, too, Talon.”

“Indeed,” Talon answers. “It would be a shame if I lost my abilities.”

With that, he throws knives out from his sleeve. Tristan dodges the attack by barreling to the side, somersaulting along the ground. Hydrangea calls up plants from underground, knives embedding into the sides. Odessa leaps into the air, reaching behind her to draw out a handheld bar. With a click, it extends to a staff, and another morphs it quickly into a pilum.

Reeling back her arm, she launches it with full ferocity at Talon. He avoids it, jumping to the left and pulling out more knives, but he aims them at Tristan, who runs toward the nearest fountain to pull water out from its containment. Tristan moves his arms upward, pushing out enough water to create a vertical depth, the knives slowing down as they pierce its surface and float inside.

Odessa tugs her spear out from the dirt, cornering her uncle at the right. Hydrangea pulls plants forward, fingers splayed in the air. From her fingertips, electricity strings across her exoskeleton. Tristan rushes to their side, water sloshing around them, encasing Talon in its center, creating a barrier.

Talon sneers, then bursts out laughing. His stance loosens, standing upright, “Your senses haven’t weakened. Good. I’d be vexed if you squandered my generosity to teach you combat.”

Odessa smirks, minimizing her staff and settling it behind her back, “We wouldn’t do that.”

Hydrangea grins, “Tristan and I do practice on our own.”

Tristan shifts the water back toward its source, then rubs the back of his neck, “Which is great, since there was no holding back from that attack.”

“Enemies don’t show mercy,” Talon says. Adjusting his collar, he nods his head, “But tell me, what brings my niece and her companions to Mystacore?”

Odessa speaks, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Me?” he replies, curious.

“Yes. It’s about your origins. Uncle Wrong-Man said it might be beneficial to come to Mystacore and question my relatives here.”

Talon raises a brow. He looks up at his home, then addresses the trio, “Are you intending to stay for longer than an hour?”

“Most likely.”

“I will invite you to my home, then. Come. Dinner will be prepared soon, and we may discuss the topic during.”

Accepting this, they head in the direction of his home. An impressive, ornate building that’s three stories high; they tread up wide steps, where one can overlook the weigela bushes lined around the vicinity’s front entrance, a fountain spouting water in the garden’s center, surrounded by lilacs and roses. Cool air wafts over their bodies, welcome from the heat outside. Odessa remarks that the decor has only slightly changed, the furniture taking on silver, blue, and white qualities, polished until they gleam.

Going to the stairs, Talon nods at them, “Make yourselves at home. As usual, do not break anything. I will see you at dinner promptly.”

Once he’s gone, Hydrangea chuckles, “He’s still intense.”

“He’s gonna kill us one day,” Tristan sighs.

Odessa pats his shoulder, “Only if we let him.”

He lips thin out, “Not reassuring, Des.”

Climbing the steps, they decide to wait until they are called, and opt to entertain themselves by bothering someone else.

                                                             -

Magic radiates within the room, energy felt even behind the door. Odessa carefully pushes it open, seeing a slim figure move around. Putting a finger to her lips, she leads her friends into her cousin’s quarters. His face is stern, staring at the spell hovering over the ground at shoulder height.

Hydrangea sits quietly on a cushion on the floor, and Tristan does the same. Odessa leans against the wall, and they all watch. Eon is her cousin, and their similarities begin and end with their fathers having chosen Etherian women as their partners. He differs from her, and any other potential cousin, by having the capability to do magic. Real, Etherian magic.

Eon takes measured breathing, focusing on the spell. It elongates toward the ceiling and floor, then narrows to a thin line. Reaching for it, he plucks it with his forefinger. It snaps, and a discordant sound follows, uncomfortable and shrill. Hydrangea and Tristan cover their ears, as Odessa winces.

Eon looks at them, brow raised. He grins, “Did you all enjoy the show?”

“We did, until that,” Hydrangea complains, glaring at him. She frowns, lightly slapping her ears, “Aw no, there’s some ringing!”

“It’ll pass in a few moments,” Eon explains. “Besides, you three coming into my room unannounced and unwelcome deserves a bit of retribution.”

“By popping our eardrums?” Tristan asks, deadpan.

“Exactly,” Eon says, one hand on his hip. He turns to Odessa, and smiles. “You’re here sooner than expected.”

“I believe we arrived on time,” she answers, grinning back. She hasn’t seen him for a while, but he has gotten taller since then. He takes after their species' propensity for large heights, but she knows he’s grown a few inches and might continue to grow for the next couple of years as well.

Eon begins putting away his spellbook and notes, arranging them neatly, “What are the three of you doing here? With you on Etheria, you normally visit me later on your returns.”

“I came to ask your father some questions, but then he invited us to dinner.”

“He can be standoffish, but oddly enough, never when it comes to hosting meals.”

Hydrangea sits up, “We got into a sparring session with him right away too.”

Eon joins them on the floor, one knee bent to prop up an arm, “I had mine early this morning. You know him, he’s never done with training.”

Crossing outstretched legs, Tristan reclines against the wall, “Your parents don’t let up, huh?”

“No, but I head to my place at Bright Moon later in the month. I check in biweekly to continue my sparring and magic training, then head back and repeat.”

“That’s a lot of back and forth,” Hydrangea adds, holding a pillow to her chest.

Shrugging, Eon says, “I don’t mind. Keeps me busy.”

Odessa chuckles lightly, taking a seat beside Tristan, “For being super busy, Uncle Wrong-Man said to give you this.” Pulling out the bag, she tosses it to him.

Eon catches it deftly, a quiet ‘yes’ of triumph leaving his lips. His diet is strict when he’s with his parents, for optimal nutrition and betterment. But he has a sweet tooth that rivals Odessa and Entrapta, thus any opportunity to consume sugar is taken. Using a levitation spell, he has it placed atop his desk, and an invisibility spell follows after, keeping it from view.

“Won’t your parents find it? It’s not like you can’t smell cookies,” Odessa states.

“I’ll say it was one of you.”

Hydrangea laughs, “I don’t think they’ll be entirely fooled by that.”

“If not, that’s fine by me too,” Eon says. “I let them think they’re savvier than myself.”

Tristan smirks, “How often has that worked?”

“More than for you,” Eon says, smirking back.

Odessa and Hydrangea whoop at Tristan, who laughs in good humor.

Stretching his arms up and to the side, Eon turns to his cousin, “How did the last journey go?”

“It went as planned. We went to Pilan, and my parents found what they needed for research.”

“And you two?” he asks, addressing the others.

Hydrangea lays on her stomach, drawing circles on the pillow, “Hm… my moms have started taking me to council meetings, which is interesting. We had a gathering with some of the leaders in Plumeria that are helping to manage its growing space. And New Chelicerata has been thriving for years now, since we removed all the machinery in the Fright Zone and expanded it into the Flower Field.”

“Not all the toxins have been removed, I’m assuming.”

“Some of the groundwater had been too polluted, and it leaked into larger bodies of water, but, as a whole, we started seeing real progress six years ago.”

“I’ve been helping the residents there by removing water too far gone,” Tristan adds. “We’ve been separating them into larger containers as instructed, and we’re hoping that newer technology from Entrapta and Hordak will yield positive results in another decade or so.”

“Even if it’s slow, progression is always good.”

Odessa glances to her left, letting her mind drift. Time doesn’t pass by the same when traveling through space. She watches her mother age, while her father stays the same, and that’s the extent of how often she pays attention to the changes happening around her. It’s not from ignorance, but from not giving too much thought to it, even with the years she has spent returning to Etheria to evaluate and aid her people here.

Settling against Tristan, Odessa yawns. He keeps his body still as she falls asleep, finding their chatter relaxing. Dinner will arrive sooner if she’s napping. Even closing her eyes is enough for her body to rest, breathing quietly as she listens to them discuss any topic they happen upon.

Her friends are interrupted mid-conversation, a knock at the door grabbing their attention. Odessa opens an eye. The housekeeper bows her head, addressing Eon, “Your parents are waiting for you in the dining room. Please, follow me.”

                                                              -

Odessa knows her uncle, Talon, is a force to be reckoned with in combat, but her aunt, Nyxia, is a woman with severe features and a severer personality. If there was ever given a choice between fighting him or her, they may have to weigh their options a little more carefully.

She is seated next to Eon, with Hydrangea and Tristan placed across from them. Odessa leans toward her cousin, “Did Nyxia poison the food this time?”

Eon shakes his head, “Maybe Tristan’s.”

Tristan bawks, “Hey!”

Waving his hand, Eon smiles, “I’m teasing. It’s more than likely Hydrangea.”

“What?!” she demands, worried.

“You two are making this easy,” Eon grins, shaking his head. “Really, after all this time, you continue to doubt my parents’ hospitality.”

“I haven’t seen your mom in a while, okay? I wouldn’t know if I offended her last time,” Hydrangea breathes out, leaning back in her chair.

Ear twitching, Odessa catches the sound of footfalls, her aunt coming into view from the corridor, chin-length, violet hair framing lithe, dark features, gown flowing behind her. Definitely not a person to be out of line around.

But that only applies to non-relatives.

Nyxia smiles warmly at her niece, “Odessa! My charming girl, how have you been?”

“Wonderful, Aunt Nyxia, thank you,” Odessa replies, nodding her head in respect.

“Excellent. I heard all of you did well in your impromptu session with my husband earlier,” she says, making her way to the other end of the table. Standing beside her chair, she looks at her son’s other friends, “Talon remarked that you’ve improved considerably.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Hydrangea and Tristan reply at once.

Talon comes from the opposite corridor, walking toward Nyxia. Pulling out the chair for her and sliding it beneath, he moves to the other end and takes his place at the head. The staff bring out their meal: roasted pheasants and potatoes, slathered in its drippings, with baked seasoned vegetables on the side. Wine is served to all of them, as Nyxia and Talon are lax in this department of child-rearing, though the option to have different beverages is always available. Odessa requests her usual fizzy drink, as Hydrangea asks for lemon water. Tristan and Eon have no qualms with the choice displayed in front of them.

“Smells delicious, Miss Nyxia,” Hydrangea compliments.

“Thank you, my dear,” she answers, laying a cloth on her lap. “When I heard you three were in Mystacore, I chose to make this instead.”

Odessa and Eon twiddle each other’s fingers under the table, a silent ‘fuck yeah’ to the change in menu. Nyxia is a phenomenal chef, but she abhors cooking. The usual staff do lovely work, except they are meant to keep things simple, clean, and balanced. Nyxia, despite agreeing with her husband on meal preparation, manages to create rich, satisfying food each time. Normally, when Odessa and her family are visiting.

Relishing this opportunity, Eon cuts into his pheasant, stabbing a portion of potato with it, melting on his tongue. Trying not to pretend-weep. Or actually weep.

“What was your question, Odessa?” Talon asks, swirling the wine in its glass. “It’s not like you to come without your parents.”

Dabbing her mouth, Odessa looks at him, “I wanted to ask you questions about your time serving as a soldier for Prime.”

He doesn’t break the smooth motion of his wrist, not minding that part of his life, “Yes?”

“I was told that older clones might have information regarding our origins. A life before Prime sought out to conquer the universe. My father and W.H. are too young to remember, or were never privy to it. You’re one of the eldest, so I figured to come here before heading to Beast Island.”

Talon sets down his glass, lifting his fork and knife. He takes a bite of his food, chewing quietly. Swallowing, he says, “I will be blunt: it is not possible to know such a thing. Our purpose, our life, was to do Prime’s bidding.”

“There isn’t anything you can think of?”

Talon mulls the question, glancing up at his wife, then back to the plate. He narrows his eyes, and they flicker to an even darker shade of blue for a fraction of a moment. He gives a minute shake of his head, imperceptible to all but his wife.

Odessa waits for him to speak, slipping out her recorder with a strand of hair.

“I… cannot remember a time before Horde Prime. There was only war. Ravaged lands, and screaming,” he leans forward. He meets his niece’s gaze, “You might have to go to Beast Island for your answers, though I do not trust they will know more. Many of us have been alive for decades, but not millennia.”

“Is there a reason for that?” Tristan wonders. “The hivemind was the source of connection. Did you lose memories once it left?”

“No, it doesn’t seem to be that way,” Talon answers, sipping his drink. “It’s more… you have recollections, starting from the present. And it continues backwards until it stops. A wall in your head, which is the moment of when we, for lack of a better word, are ‘born.’ From what I’ve gathered, raising Eon, and observing all of you growing up, an infant that develops naturally can have memories that are faint—both in sensation and imagery, and the mind’s eye develops scenarios of what could’ve happened. Piecing puzzles in your memory banks. Attempting to make sense of your childhood and surroundings, and it even causes you to feel certain emotions into adulthood on a subconscious level. For us, and my brothers, there is no guesswork. There is the instant of emerging from the vitrine, and from there it goes on. Our memories are crystal clear, and gaps do not occur. If we feel emotion, it’s from direct experiences, not preconceived ideas of maybe how we experienced living. The hivemind being removed made us how we are now, but its absence didn’t seem to affect anything else.”

“Fascinating,” Odessa says, forgetting her meal. “So, you remember everything?”

“Yes. It would seem my brothers and I recall memories at greater capacities than most.”

“Would you say you have photographic memory?” Hydrangea asks, leaning forward.

“Our superior intellect allows us to retain knowledge quicker, and we remember things for longer, but a true photographic memory isn’t an aspect we have considered.”

Nyxia cuts into her pheasant, “It’s not unlikely. Your brothers and you have shown an uncanny ability to remember things more greatly than Etherians. It might be prudent to research it further, wouldn’t you say?”

Nodding in agreement, Odessa would not rule it out. She’ll discuss it with her mother for an unbiased opinion later.

Dinner finishes with chiffon cake and fruit, leaving guests and hosts satisfied. Talon and Nyxia wave at the door, as Eon walks them to the portal.

“It was good to see you all,” Hydrangea says, turning to Eon. She clasps his hands, “You should visit more!”

Eon blushes slightly, still not used to open demeanors, “I’ll try to make an effort.”

Tristan pats his shoulder, “You have to get out more. Between you and Odessa, I don’t know who’s more of the hermit.”

“It’s definitely me,” Eon replies. “Odessa’s too needy.”

Punching him in the arm, Odessa gives a side-hug right after. She and her friends step onto the portal, “I’ll drop by again soon! And visit my parents sometime, dumbass.”

He flips her off, smirking.

Hopping through the portal, they arrive in Plumeria, where she bids goodbye to her friends. Then, she heads to Beast Island.

                                                               -

“Odessa! My little cupcake, how was your trip to Mystacore?” Entrapta asks. Imp, crawling around on the walls, chirps his greetings with Emily beeping at her return.

“It was very interesting,” Odessa says, pulling out her recorder. “Would you like to listen with me?”

“You bet!” Entrapta shouts, sidling over to sit on her hair. Odessa takes a proffered seat before playing back the conversation at dinner. She listens with rapt attention, the two of them quiet. Afterward, Entrapta grins, “That was fascinating! I had noticed that your relatives tend to be more affluent with recollection than most, but this requires more study.”

“Do you think there is a possibility that they have photographic memory?”

“We won’t know unless we test the hypothesis,” Entrapta turns to her daughter, grinning wide. “You know what that means!”

Odessa grins wide too, saying it with her.

“Time to experiment!”

                                                               -

Odessa and Entrapta had to decide what and how to measure. The test is simple on paper, but part of the reason memory tests can be difficult is due to fallibility of nature. Recalling a memory does not equate accuracy. They also had to take into account that Etherian children were more susceptible to false memories, which could affect them as adults, hence, why Talon said that there’s no guesswork for his brothers and himself. And when it came to the ethics, Entrapta reminded Odessa that it’s part of experimentation, much to the latter’s chagrin. Odessa would’ve followed, regardless, but she’s more determined to see things through without obstacles.

A lack of true full-blooded children for Hordak’s species, and Eon and Odessa were not little anymore, that wasn’t necessary to entertain. However, Odessa and Entrapta believed it would be prudent to test the memory of Eon and any other hybrid cousins simultaneously to the Etherian and Horde groups, sans Odessa.

After deliberating, they chose to experiment by gathering Etherians between the ages of 15-50, to cover the age bases of both Etherian teens and adults, hybrid offspring, and Horde descendants. After age 14, correct absolute judgments and relative judgments have better succession rates and are not as affected by false positives. With this in mind, Odessa sends out a mass message asking if anyone would like to be part of a study.

She receives her answers quickly from her uncles, who would be more than delighted to aid her in any quest. She splits them into four groups, Group A, B, C and D. To accommodate for the choice in subjects, they will be separated into three sections, Etherians being the first, hybrids the second, and her uncles will be the third subsect. Over the course of the week, she receives the rest of her subjects at Beast Island.

Tristan and Hydrangea are the first to arrive, looking forward to spending time with her and her family in the meantime. Hydrangea gives Emily and Imp hugs and kisses, cooing over them incessantly. Imp clings to Hydrangea’s neck, completely at ease.

Tristan pats Emily’s surface, smiling at her beeps, “It’s good to see you too.”

She beeps even louder and harder, spinning around in place.

Entrapta grins, “Aw, you made her day!”

“No one else is my favorite robot, are they, Ems?” Tristan asks. She spins again, and the whirring becomes softer, almost shy.

Odessa nudges his ribs, “Great, my sister has a crush on you.”

Tristan rolls his eyes, smiling.

Odessa peers at his face, “Hey, you shaved!”

“Yeah, you were right. It was horrible,” Tristan remarks.

“You look better this way,” Odessa affirms, pinching his cheek, and he lightly whacks her fingers away.

Scorpia comes a moment later, and immediately bolts over to them all. Once the hugs are done, Scorpia and Entrapta discuss things on their own. Entrapta settles into the crook of Hordak’s arm, resting easily over her shoulders. Scorpia gushes over how cute they are. Hordak humphs in disdain, despite the blush on his cheeks.

Another five minutes pass and the portal hums. Catra, Adora, and two of their children come through.

Odessa sighs. Not looking forward to having some of them here. But she smiles, walking to Adora, “Hi! Thanks for coming.”

Adora smiles, giving Odessa a warm hug. She pulls back, holding her at arm’s length, “It’s no problem. We’re glad to help! You’ve gotten taller.”

“You’ve definitely sprouted more than we thought. I remember when you were knee-high,” Catra says. “You were the worst ankle-biter in Etheria.”

Odessa teases, “Still am.”

Laughing, Catra pats her back, walking hand in hand with Adora to their friends.

Her smile falters after that, though she manages to keep it in place. If Catra and Adora weren’t there, she wouldn’t hide her contempt or indifference.

They have four children in total. Quadruplets in fact. All a year younger than her at 15. Two of them, Clawdeen and Marlena, tend to spend their time in Bright Moon, and she has no opinion of them other than they’re not her sort of people. Well, that’s not true. They’re surprisingly elitist and refuse to associate with anyone they find unworthy of their time. They mind their business enough, however, so Odessa doesn’t pay them attention.

Barely coming to five feet tall, Molly is one of the children here today, a skittish, timid thing; the runt of her litter. She inherited Catra’s heterochromia, one eye blue, the other green, and that’s the one interesting thing about her. She stands, unsure, by the portal. Her appearance here is odd, since she tends to be alone. Odessa doesn’t hate her, or even dislike her, but the girl’s meekness doesn’t make her striking enough to have an opinion on either.

Adam, their one son, is another story. His eyes are bright blue, and slightly jarring in the feline face. The opposite of Molly, he is loud, prone to temper tantrums, and his temerity leaves much to be desired. She prefers the company of confident, open people, but he’s, without a doubt, the most obnoxious fucker she’s ever had the misfortune of knowing.

His eyes, the only one to resemble Adora’s, land on hers, and he leaps over, grinning. Placing an arm on her shoulder, leaning, he says, “Yooooo, what’s up, girl?”

Odessa turns to him, narrowing her eyes, “Please don’t take my smile for welcome, you complete ass.”

“Ooh, baby, you need to chill,” Adam says, poking her nose.

“Try that one more time and I’ll bite it off.”

He winks, “That a promise, thottie from space?”

Odessa smiles wider, eyes flashing, “It’s a threat, you parasitic fool.”

Sensing her growing irritation, her friends bound over. Hydrangea waves at Adam, “Hey! We haven’t seen you in a long time. How’ve you been?”

Adam turns to her, “Hey, Dragon Fruit! You know how I be—taking care of all this,” Adam gestures to his thin body, puffing out his chest. “What you been up to lately? Those flower braids are doing everything for your look.”

Hydrangea urges him to walk far, far, far, far away from Odessa’s area.

Rubbing her temples, Odessa takes a breath.

Tristan rubs her back, “Remember, Des: think of the experiment.”

Odessa nods at him. Science. Her one true refuge. “I know. It’s a little… irritating that he’s here. But I’m sure that empty-headed dolt will yield some results for me.”

Tristan smiles at her, ensuring she doesn’t lose her cool. Once he’s sure she won’t murder, he looks at Molly, “Hi! I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Molly brushes hair away, looking briefly at the ground before addressing him. “Yeah… Um, my moms thought it would be cool to take one or two of us. To help Odessa out.”

Odessa shakes her head, “So glad about that.”

“Um… I’m sorry about Adam...” Molly starts.

“It’s fine,” Odessa replies, focusing back on her clipboard, walking away.

Sighing, Molly bites her lower lip, feeling uneasy.

Noticing that, Tristan smiles at Molly, “Come on. We can wait over here.”

“Sorry you’re stuck with me,” she mumbles.

“I’m not stuck with you,” Tristan answers. He leads her to an unoccupied stone ledge, the occasional pooka darting across it. “Though, I didn’t think this was your sort of thing.”

“It isn’t. I don’t really want to be here,” Molly answers, pulling her legs to her chest.

“It might be fun, right?” Tristan asks.

Shrugging, Molly places her chin onto her hands.

They both watch the portal light up, a plethora of clones marching through. It has to pause for a brief moment, then it continues to spew individuals out of it. Tristan glances down at Molly, knowing there’s no point in attempting to converse. The silence doesn’t bother him, and she seems to take more comfort out of not having to make dreadful small talk. He hates it too, so this works.

Eon and his parents eventually pass through. Waving at him, Tristan reclines in his seat, “You and your folks actually came. I didn’t think any of you left the house.”

Standing with his arms behind his back, at ease, Eon smirks, “You’re all lucky we don’t come out more often.”

Tristan sticks his tongue out at him. He gestures to his left, “You remember Molly?”

Eon looks down at her, “Yes, we have met before. Nice to see you again.”

Molly flushes, turning away, “Nice to see you too…”

He glances at Tristan, who gives a one-shoulder shrug.

She keeps quiet, looking at the people around her. Hordak and his brothers all stand out as one unit, and other cousins similar to Eon slowly arrive. Not as large in number, with more variation than Hordak’s species but less than natives. She watches Etherians coming forth as well, and doesn’t wave or acknowledge them. Hoping to blend with the background, she scoots further away, sinking behind Tristan.

Tristan notes her discomfort and doesn’t move.

Eon, however, waves at some relatives, who rush over to greet him.

Molly frowns, accepting her fate. She takes to watching Eon speak with his family, his tall, sleek body impressive even among those similar to him in build. His hair, cropped shorter at the sides, falls in front of his forehead, a darker hue than his cousin Odessa. His eyes are a lovely shade, bordering on magenta with a stronger red tint, the sclera an equally pretty color, lighter than his irises. His usual confident smirk remains on his face throughout, bright, sharp teeth against the usual backdrop of pale face with the sides of his cheekbones and neck becoming a shock of dark blue or purple. It seems to be a common male trait, since Odessa’s face is white all around, but she isn’t sure. She doesn’t see the other cousins close enough to tell.

She spies Odessa wandering with her device, either barking orders or quietly checking off things. Long, lilac hair floats behind her when not in use, her frame just as slim and tight as the others, and inheriting a tall height seems to be the norm for them. Despite her gorgeous features, Molly finds it interesting, also intimidating, how much redder Odessa’s eyes and sclera are compared to Eon’s.

Hydrangea is speaking with Odessa now, platinum blonde hair brushing against her body, falling in the softest of waves to the small of her back. Her lithe frame befits the gentler, kinder nature she has, which isn’t surprising considering who her parents are. But there’s that powerful change in limb, her arms spiking at the shoulder in dark red, the skin of her arms mottled with it, until it reaches her elbows, where it spikes again, hardens, forming another patch of chitinous skin that reaches her fingertips, claws neatly filed down. And then there’s the tail, shorter, but as potent as Scorpia’s. Deadly and graceful.

She looks up at Tristan, beautiful, brown eyes staring off to the distance. Long lashes frame them, delicate yet full. His hands rest lightly over his knees, fingernails painted black. Hair reaching the end of his neck, lightly touching muscular shoulders, it enriches brown skin with its color, more than a mere dark purple. It’s the color of wine in the dark, of a gorgeous night as the last remnants of light dash away. The blue of his clothes highlight everything further, lavish gold trim clashing against the bright colors, revealing every taut muscle without meaning to, and she traces the curve of his spine with her eyes.

She feels a gaze on her, and finds her brother staring at her from a distance. Molly, snapping from her reverie, darts her sight to the ground. Unaware of Tristan looking in her direction.

Once enough participants have arrived, Odessa claps her hands, “Alright, people! Listen up: I have divided you all into the following groups. Step up this way, where I will assign you all with a place to go to.”

Adam bounds up out of nowhere, whispering, “Can whatever group I’m in be called Team Sexy?”

Odessa ignores him, “Let’s begin, shall we?”

                                                               -

                                                    HYDRANGEA

                                                        Age: 15

                                                Species: Etherian

“Alright,” Odessa says. “I’m going to show you 10 pictures. You will have seven seconds to absorb all the details for them, and afterward, I will ask you one simple question about what you can remember.”

“You got it!” Hydrangea sits in her chair, comfortable. “Sounds easy enough.”

Odessa smiles, “Here’s your first one.”

She holds up a simple image of table mats atop a wooden surface, decorated with plates of breakfast foods, drinks, and fresh fruits.

“Okay, ready for the question?”

“Yep!”

“What fruits topped the waffles?”

“Oh, um… berries and apples?”

Writing it down, Odessa proceeds with the next image.

                                                      TRISTAN

                                                       Age: 17

                                               Species: Etherian

“Hello!” Entrapta says, bringing him in. “I’m going to show you 10 pictures for less than 10 seconds each, and you’ll let me know what you remember.”

“Sure thing,” Tristan replies, sitting upright.

She pulls out an image of miscellaneous items and personal effects on a desk, three photographs in the middle, a drawing in one of the corners, a grey notebook, and a folder with intricate patterns.

“Okay, ready for the question?”

“Yes.”

“Were there tickets on the table?”

Tristan mulls his answers for a moment, “No.”

                                                        MOLLY

                                                        Age: 15

                                                Species: Etherian

Odessa approaches the girl, relieved that she doesn’t have to deal with the handful that was her brother. She looks at Molly, “I’m going to hold up 10 pictures for you, and you will have seven seconds to absorb the image. Afterward, I will ask you questions.”

“Alright,” Molly nods, nails clicking against each other.

The image is of a mountain peak, glinting from the light; the moon shines above it, and a trip of hoofed animals moving along its surface.

“What was the total number of baby goats in the image?”

Molly thinks over the total, and says, “Five.”

ADAM

Age: 15

Species: Etherian

Entrapta comes into the room, “Hello! I’m going to be showing you some pictures—”

Adam interrupts her, “Is this going to take long?”

“Nope! It takes less than five minutes for this segment to be complet—”

“Do we get paid to do this?”

“...No.”

Scratching his nose, Adam leans back in his chair, “Got it, got it. Lay it on me, girl!”

Entrapta smiles, “Great! So, I have 10 pictures and I will show them to you for about seven seconds. I will ask you questions after each one about what you saw.”

“Question real quick: is this one of those tests that explain anything about your psychosis?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it gonna tell me anything, like, am I gonna learn about who is the most likely to be a murderer or nymphomaniac?”

Raising a brow at him, Entrapta says, “I can’t divulge too much about the study to participants. But this is not that kind of test.”

“Aw… okay,” Adam shifts back further in his seat, lifting the front legs from the ground. “Well, that’s less fun.”

Entrapta proceeds to bring out a picture: a series of potted plants are lined on shelves, different heights and colors smashed closely together in the frame, their pots not resembling the others save for a few.

“What was the centre motif for the pots?”

Adam scratches his chin, “Frog, I think.”

                                                         EON

                                                       Age: 18

                                          Species: Etherian and ?

Odessa approaches her cousin, sitting relaxed in the seat. She had gone through the first ten pictures with him already. She glances at him, “Are you ready to continue with the process?”

“Whatever this study is, I’m assuming that you need me to come back again for another trial run.”

“Yes, you will be returning a few times after today to aid in the study, as per your agreement on the written form.”

“Of course.”

“You went through the first half, and you’re going to begin the second half now. This is slightly different,” Odessa explains. Instead of photographs, she holds up a pad, similar in size and weight to her telecommunicator. “I am going to hold up one image: a grid of white and black squares. Then, I will show you a second image, of the same number of squares on the grid; however, you will choose the one square you believe was white in both image one and image two. Image three will have the grids with numbers in the squares instead for you to pick. The amount of time will be the same, seven seconds. There are four levels of difficulty, and you will proceed until we reach the last level.”

Nodding, Eon watches her lift the screen to his eyes. A grid of white and black appears, and he keeps in mind which are white only. The second image appears. Then the third. He makes his decision. He will not know if he is right, as the data is processed within for the researchers alone.

Odessa keeps her face neutral the entire time, intrigued at what this part of the test will yield from everyone else.

                                                          TALON

        Age: approx. 90 (total) | approx. 52 (mental) | approx. 52 (physiological)

                                                        Species: ?

Entrapta smiles, “We do appreciate you helping with the test.”

“It is no trouble,” Talon states. “You and my niece are a select few that do not leave me…”

“Irritated?”

“We’ll use that word.”

Entrapta approaches her brother-in-law, setting herself down on swathes of hair, “Are you ready for the second half of the test?”

“Yes. By all means, little sister, proceed.”

“Excellent! I’m going to show you a grid with black and white squares. Another image will appear after on the device. The number of squares will not change, however, you have to decide what is the one square that remained white. You will pick that in the third image, where the squares will all be numbered.”

“Understood. You may show me the first image.”

                                                            W.H.

        Age: approx. 40 (total) | approx. 23 (mental) | approx. 27 (physiological)

                                                       Species: ?

“This must be exciting for you, isn’t it?” W.H. asks. “You haven’t done a study like this in a while.”

Readying the pad, she nods, “It has been a few years since I’ve conducted anything in this manner.”

“I still remember when you were little, and you insisted on having your first experiment be a methane explosion. You were so cute!”

Odessa smiles, “Speaking of memory, we’re going to begin the second half of the test. You will have the same amount of time to memorize the image on screen. Another will follow right after, and your task is to choose which square on the grid remained white. The image will be your selection on a numbered grid.”

“Sounds fun!”

Holding it up for him, Odessa watches his eyes stay in place, focused. A flicker to indicate change on the screen, then another before he makes his decision.

                                                        HORDAK

        Age: approx. 56 (total) | approx. 57 (mental) | approx. 35 (physiological)

                                                        Species: ?

Entrapta can’t help but smile at him, “Thanks for helping, Lab Partner!”

Hordak smiles back, rising from the chair, “Of course. The experiment seems to be going well.”

“It’s been so fascinating!” Entrapta lifts herself up in the air, at his height. “Everyone has been super helpful, even when they’re rambling about their own assumptions!”

“Who was rambling?”

“One of Catra’s kids—the boy. He was very interesting when he talked, but I had to stay focused! We’re collecting so much data… Odessa is going to be ecstatic!”

Happy to see her in good spirits, Hordak leans forward, kissing her cheek, “When you’re done, I will be waiting for you in our room.”

Entrapta waggles her eyebrows at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, “Ooh! Is this about that new maneuver you wanted to show me?”

“We’ll see if your memory serves you just as well tonight,” Hordak smirks.

Squealing, Entrapta kicks her legs behind her, pecking his mouth with her own. “Can’t wait!”

                                                               -

The results, overall, took two months to compile through the data machine and to check back in with the participants. None of the groups had different numbers, pictures, objects, or words. Odessa and Entrapta tested everyone on their eidetic and photographic memory ability. Group A had no distractions, Group B had Etherians with distractions only, Group C was where her cousins had the disturbances, and Group D it was her uncles with diversions.

When it came to eidetic memory, the numbers didn’t vary too much. But the photographic memory yielded noteworthy results. Each group was brought back a month after being tested to see if they could recall things better. A few Etherians showed some promising ability for it, but overall it wasn’t strong. Her cousins showed stronger signs for photographic memory, Eon being one of the best candidates.

But her uncles were nearly at a 97% rate of accuracy. Talon and W.H. showed an adeptness for remembering things weeks later. Hordak was somewhere in the middle. She wonders why.

“Mom,” she says, holding the charts in her hair. “I know that photographic memory is rare, but these numbers are unreal.”

“I know! The majority of your relatives have a knack for it! That’s so fascinating.”

“I have a theory that it might be due to the hivemind, and perhaps the military training they underwent. It would make sense why they have such capability, even two decades later,” Odessa says. She pulls another chart toward them, tapping her forefinger in quick successions behind it. “It may or may not be that, since we’re not certain of Dad’s origins, but it would explain aspects of it.”

Entrapta’s hair moves her behind her daughter, peering over her shoulder, “It may. I saw that Wrong Hordak was remarkable with photographic memory, and Talon as well.”

“I believe it’s possible that it might be due to neither having depressive episodes. It may have been a group study, but I saw that clones similar to Dad in terms of mental health had a tendency toward memory loss or confusion. It’s not as often or strong as Etherians, or a couple of my cousins, but it’s there. Brains are brains after all.”

“It is exceptional to write this in our records. I wish we had more examples to go by,” Entrapta says. She smiles, “I think it says quite a lot when you compare it to Etherians and your cousins, though.”

“I do find this riveting. Even if it’s Dad cloned thousands of times, there’s something in their brains, their minds, that can provide clues to them as a whole. It’d be prudent to conduct more research, but I’d like to begin as soon as possible, and I can add notes as I go along.”

Entrapta pats her daughter’s head, “And now that you have this information, what do you intend to do with it?”

Odessa looks up at her mother, then back at the data. “I’m going to have Tris and Gea come with me on a little field trip.”

[theunholygrails]

Very Differently

Summary: This isn’t really new, just something I never got around to posting here. Basically my take on Budapest with an OC added to the mix for fun. 

Masterlist

Zdravstvuyte

The shadows cast from the wastefully clad guests in the soft angles and indecipherable masses were notably more elegant than the calculating frowns of their creators. A gloved hand traced along a freshly polished curling oak banister as Sonja made her was to join the babbling benefactors. Leaflets of conversations rustled not long enough to take root but simply flew past on the careful air of disinterest her fellow hosts held about them. With a sharp nod of her head and a demure curve of her lips, she joined the nearest transaction.

Arms dealing can be tricky business when neither party particularly trusted the other.

Jewels painted the necklines of her most generous buyer and in their pristine surfaces, she could make out the warning flash of the smallest red dot. Sonja shifted with a subtle flip of her hair to block the shot and simultaneously tapped her earpiece.

“Ma’am, I do believe my husband is coming down with something fatal.” she said.

Even if she did not have a husband to speak of, the message was abundantly clear—the event was compromised because Black Widow herself was present.

“Take care of it, Chief. I need this night to be spotless.”

“Got it.”

Security hustled onto the floor at Sonja’s signal to escort each of the dozen or so guests back to their armored vehicles.

With the prompting of her boss in her ear, Sonja slipped out the back door to attempt to uncover any tracks the Widow might have left behind.

The wet asphalt did little to help her heels find traction as she scanned the nearest buildings for the optimal vantage point the spy must have taken to train a snipper on people under her protection. With the rest of her security team busy locking down the premises, she was left to the goose chase even though looking for tracks from this particular prey was about as promising as searching for footprints after a storm.

She tensed when something popped right beside her ear and the sharp slap of metal hit her cheek. She scolded her hammering heart and forced a calm gaze to the arrow that kissed her skin and was now imbedded in the wall. Her hand went to the dual blades tucked against her thighs knowing full well that any assassin after her would not be foolish enough to miss twice.

A test of her ear piece told her its signal had been knocked out somehow. A heavy pair of boots splashed down beside her and she whipped into a defensive pose before the archer could cut her mission short.

The man kneeling across from her had his bow pressed to the ground and his black stealth suit clinging to him like any woman in her proper mind would in a scenario a little less lethal than this. Given a situation where she were allowed to use her real name and wash the blonde dye from her hair, she might have done just that because his looks were wasted on the dark, filthy streets of Samara, Russia.

“Hello, easy, Chief. I’m not here for you. Sonic took out your communications, also I was listening in a little bit, Ma’am is a weird name. Is that like the birth one or did she rename herself that? I’m looking for the Widow. You know anything?”

“Does anyone?” she flicked her blades so they would glint in warning beneath the lazy stars.

“They sent one person out to challenge her? Seems a little under kill. Unless you’re just the bait.”

She advanced a step to show just how much of a danger she truly was. His mouth curved up in amusement when he rose from his crouch. “You’re not going to let me leave,” he said.

“I fear my boss will want to speak with anyone chasing her.”

“Knew better,” he sighed. “Alright, let’s do this before I have to check out of my hotel.”

Her first swipe cut only into nothing as he swiveled around to her back. She feigned left, sweeping her right foot back to catch his ankles.

“Woah, who taught you that?” he demanded, dancing over the attack.

While she paused to process his stunned remark his completely unstunned body cracked his bow against her forehead. She grabbed at his forearm, twisting until it clattered free of his grip. “Quiet, American.”

“Was it Hill?” he carried on. “You with S.H.I.E.L.D?”

Now she faltered and he did not take the opportunity to jam any of his color coordinated arrows into her temple.

“I wasn’t told of another operative here,” he babbled.

She slammed her shoulder into his chest and landed him flat on his ass where she could properly threaten him.

“I’m handling it.”

“This is about as under control as a mouse wrestling a snake.”

“You realize I’m pinning you right,” she demanded, dropping her knees to either side of his hips and pressing the flats of her blades against either of his wrists.

“That means nothing. I’m letting you. Just so you know, they asked me to do your job first. Also, the first and last fight I had with the Widow ended with my jaw dislocated. That was back when I cornered her in Milan. That makes me a mouse too.”

“Sadly, I think that just makes more dinner for the snake instead of an overwhelming force.”

He shrugged his eyebrows and glanced down pointedly. With a sigh she crawled to sit beside him as he grunted and rolled onto his stomach. Hands propped under his head as princess worthy blue eyes fluttered up at her. “Feel better? I think you missed bruising one of my ribs if you wanted a clean sweep.”

“I was going to ask why Fury didn’t tell me you were coming, but pretending you don’t exist does seem to be the only way to deal with your bullshit.”

“Supposed to be super top fucking secret but since you kind of outed me, not cool by the way, want to work together to charm a snake?”

“Is she a spider or a snake, man? Make up your damn mind.”

He rocked back, clutching his knees as a laugh barreled through him. “Oh, I like you. You don’t get a say now. We’re working together. Got something more stealthy than that yellow dress?”

***

She did not give one rat’s ass how he got into her apartment only that he could have possibly blown her cover.

“Brought flowers. Told the doorman I wanted to surprise you.”

“Was the surprise that I had a boyfriend?” she deadpanned as she shrugged off her bulky overcoat.

“Fiancé, when he asks but that’s not why I’m here. I need your help bringing her in. She vanished, shook all my tracking abilities. From what I hear, you’re pretty handy with the underworld system.”

“If you hear anything then I’m doing my job wrong. Why would you want her brought in anyway? Isn’t protocol to take out someone that rouge and dangerous?”  

He gave his knees a firm pat before pushing off them to match their heights. “I think she could prove an asset. I made this call. If it goes south, it’s on me. I know I’m asking you to compromise yourself but from what I can tell, the Widow is more involved in mafia’s inner working than the little crew you head. We find her, we get you your hot target too.”

“Ma’am is a pretty cold-hearted bitch from ghost chatter I’ve picked up.”

A tug of his grey hoodie secured it around his face for a safety net just in case anyone was spying in from the dirt smeared window to their right. Sonja was afforded no such luxury because her face was always bared to the world. She was buried way too deep in her world of shit to risk disguises. “Funny. We should work well together.”

“What’s your clearance?” She demanded.

The space of her apartment was deemed worthy of her retailer to host grand parties of up to a dozen people but she already felt stuffy with his confident presence entirely too close to her though he remained clear across the green wallpapered room with his feet twisting into her recently purchased, hand woven rug. It was probably worth three times his ratty boots with its intricate depiction of a fanfare of angels descending the heavens; this man was no angel.

“Alpha.”

“That doesn’t exist. Ten is the highest. I would know, I was the reason they created it.”

A tilt of his head told her he was only amused with her declaration and not in awe like all other inferiors she came across. “Welcome to Alpha then. I’ll fill you in on the plane.”

“I thought you didn’t know where she was.”

“I said she shook me. That doesn’t mean I don’t know her well enough to predict where she would go. Pack light, Budapest can be unforgiving this time of year.”

“Got a name?”

“Got a code, Hawkeye. Yours?”

“Zero.”

***

Being nearly run over three time while crossing a single street was a personal record for Sonja. Hawkeye was weighed down beneath a tan backpack filled with waters, old and clunky laptops, maps, granola bars (as if she could live off of those along), and a very distinct lack of weapons. Hawkeye had insisted on leaving them behind because airport security did not make exceptions for undercover agents and using a private jet would raise too many eyebrows. He had extracted her daggers from her and then held his hand out expectantly for the spares he could not have known she kept tucked neatly between her planner and wallet in her purse. She felt slightly less naked when he tossed his bow as well but still would rather not relying on their combined wit and charm since her partner appeared to be painfully lacking in both and making up for it with 100 proof sarcasm.

The wind buckled with the weight of the dry air it carried and tugged at the ends of Sonja’s hastily dyed and chopped off brunette locks. A sunhat kept the loose waves mashed against her face and even bigger sunglasses kept the prying sun at bay along with Hawkeye’s dancing glances back to make sure she was keeping up with his soundless steps.

“Come on,” he called even though the only closer she could have been to him would be to just piggyback it.

“Where is the safe house again?” she called over the roar of traffic.

He pause while a couple bustled between them, their heads bent in deep conversation then nodded politely to a minister though she doubted his devilish grin could even point out a church. “Next block. You wanna take over bag duty? I’ve got this crick in my neck I haven’t been able to shake since the plane.”

“That’s because you were stupid enough to sleep on the plane. On my shoulder no less. There’s a drool stain.”

The bag was tossed at her chest where her hands caught it without the aid of her gaze leaving his. “If your posture was more slumped we wouldn’t have this problem.”

“Excuse me for remaining vigilant.”

“Trust me, your people don’t know you’re missing yet. You’ve probably got until noon.” His eyes skipped between his blank wrist and the sun overhead to judge the time. “And once we get set up with internet, I will clear the airways of anything we might have left behind. Say, do you think you could give me some sort of reaction? The constant dead expression is a bit intimidating.”

“I can see why the Widow dislocated your jaw, you talk too much.”

She spotted the covert insignia for S.H.I.E.L.D. and pushed past him to key in the day’s number sequence for entrance. There was distinct absence of air conditioning when they entered the stale room sitting on the basement level of what appeared to be the back of a tourist ice cream shop. Hawkeye’s bulky jacket hit the floor then his paisley shirt was tossed over the back of a chair that used to be sand colored but appeared to have been recently stained with globs of red. His back hit the ground as he fiddled with the window unit and Sonja set to toeing along the perimeter of their quarters.

She came across the outlet first sitting adjacent to the Ethernet cable in the far right corner. After depositing the backpack for him to fiddle with later on, she peeled off her overcoat and tank top while she stuck her head into the bathroom to check on the water situation. What trickled from the sink was lukewarm at coldest and the pressure in the shower was laughable but at least the toilet flushed and air freshener hung from the doorknob. Its orange tree shape was swinging in the next moment as blessed air filled the cramped space.

Sonja emerged from the bathroom with her sports bra held away from her damp skin. “Guess you are useful.”

“Do me a favor and check the freezer.” He toed off his boots as he walked, adding more of his shit to the mess that made her fingers twitch to clean only slightly.

“Think they left us frozen dinners? Because you’re health nut bars are not going to cut it Hawk.”

“I’ll order pizza for us,” he called with a wink as he tapped away on the booting up monster of a laptop.

She grumbled her response and pried open the rusted closed freezer doors that concealed an inside that somehow felt hotter than the oven of a city. Two metal cases rested inside, one smaller and snugly sitting atop

“You know how to defuse bombs right?” she called, eyes tracing the otherwise empty white cubicle for any wire or trigger.

“That’s a no. They’re presents from Fury.”

She did not move to take his word for it but instead carefully shifted the boxes sideways while sliding her hand where they sat in case it was weight sensitive. When she felt only the sleek, flat bottom, she cautiously picked up the bottom box from either edge with just the tips of her fingers and walked it as far away from Hawkeye as she could manage.

“For Christ’s sake, Z. I special requested those. Look, the code is 1971 on the bigger one and all zeroes on the other because I’m brilliant. If those don’t work then you can pull out your bomb squad suit.” He strode over, task forgotten, and squatted beside her kneeling form. “I’m not sure whether I’m offended you don’t trust me or flattered you’re trying to keep my out of harm's way.”

She flinched when he keyed in the numbers and passed her the first case carelessly before punching in his own and flipping the lid up to reveal and brand-spanking-new carbon fiber and purple streaked bow.

“Stealthy.” Sonja pulled out her own sleek new dagger set. Four blades so sharp just the skimming of her fingers drew their first blood. “Gorgeous.”

“I’m going to assume both of those were for me. Look, since I slept earlier, you take this round and I’ll wake you when night says it's time to move.”

When she made no move to do as such, he groaned and jutted out his hand. “Clint,” he said.

“What,” she snapped.

“That’s my name. Clint Barton. 1971 is the year I was born.”

“Is this supposed to make me trust you?”

“What? You want my social security number? Passport? Birth certificate? To be honest, I have so many of those I probably couldn’t pinpoint the original for you.”

She glanced down to hide the smiled curving up her lips and tucked a single dagger into her calf high sock. After refolding the hem of her khaki shorts, she felt composed enough to meet his impatient blue eyes. His smile was quick and brilliant and caught her so off guard she returned it, still vulnerable from the previous moments.

“There she is. Listen miss bomb technician, that why they call you zero? Because of the countdown? Anyway, if you don’t sleep you risk both our asses tonight and I happen to have a fine ass. As a gentleman I have not checked yours out but I am willing to bet that it’s at least half as good as mine.”

“If I go to sleep will you shut up?”

He touched his scarred knuckles against her cheek and lugged his new toys over to the ancient ones where he set up shop for the next few hours. The flimsy mattress with springs poking out every few inches was tucked away between the window and the front door and Sonja barely got her coat down on it before her head crashed against her arm for her pillow and her eyes tapped out.

***

do svidaniya

Clint’s version of a gentle awakening was a kick to her foot as he passed by. Of course, her leg swept out in defense and he landed face first on the mattress beside her. Her groggy eyes blinked open at him and promptly scowled at the dumbfounded expressions holding even his usual smart ass comment at bay.

“We better be under attack,” she grumbled, failing when she attempted to remove her already asleep arm from beneath his heavy torso.

It took him an alarming number of seconds to compose an answer and she squinted through sleep crust to glare at him. His lips parted then apparently he discovered them too dry to speak because his tongue swept out and at this proximity, so close she would not even have to reach to strangle him, the smell of his lingering bubblegum toothpaste pulled her fully into reality.

The same abrupt force that stilled him froze her from shoving him off the bed. She blamed the dreams still singing to her but the more likely cause was his hand which had by the damnation of some god landed on the dip of her waist, not her ass or her breast, which would be far simpler to explain the skip in her chest.

His recovery was like watching a runner recover from a particularly nasty hurdle “Afraid your mafia is running a little behind schedule, so we have to go out and meet them. Gear up.”

He grunted when her knee sent him rolling to the floor next.

“What time is it, Hawk?”

“2100. Think you bruised my bladder.”

Her change of clothes were swept up and the bathroom door slammed between them and the meager form of water she coaxed from the sink drowned out the breath she heaved from her lungs. The woman staring back at her was faded and spotted where the mirror was tarnished from the years without maintenance.

There was scarcely enough time to worry about saving her own skin let alone playing guess that hormone with an archer she met two days ago. A quick coaching session of her emotions and the addition of a black beanie, matching under armor shirt, and a lightweight bullet proof vest she emerged, undoing the button to her shorts after regretfully noticing the absence of the last bit of her uniform.

Clint lounged in front of the air unit in identical gear, hands folded across his pulled in knees so that the muscles fought against the fabric of his shirt. “Didn’t know pants were optional,” he called as she neatly folded her shorts beside their supply bag and produced the cargo pants that would be hiding her weapons for the evening. “I did appreciate that silky number you wore for me on our first mission,” he continued.

A belt secured the bottoms and after shoving her feet into the boots she stomped one down dangerously close to his most vulnerable bits and offered a sweet smile down at him.

“Think the world has one too many eunuchs as it is. Next time you want me to tie your laces try a nice ‘Clinton, would you be a dear and tie my fucking shoes?’”

“Don’t I feel like Cinderella?”

Deft fingers made quick work of her laces and she was still admiring the knots she could not even begin worrying about how to undo when he stood and shouldered his bow.

“Let’s go catch a spider, Z.”

“Let’s take down the Samarian crew as well while we’re at it.”

The night was their friend, lending its heaviest cloud cover from the stars that dared shine from the moonless sky as they jogged through the still bustling city’s alleys.

They passed a meat truck making a last minute delivery and Clint offered the driver the nod of his head before prodding Sonja’s body to pick up the speed as if they were out for a jog instead of on the tracks of the most dangerous woman on any side of the world. She shifted out of his reach, none too content on having her mind replay its earlier clash with emotions for the rest of the mission.

The building where Clint’s found surveillance footage last picked up her image was tucked between the river and the last wall of structures. A fishing shack where Sonja doubted the lights from the horn riddled bridge now stretching over their heads could penetrate if a paid professional like herself were taking shelter there.

Rounding the last bend on the downward slanting street, Clint caught her belt loop and pulled her against the crumbling brick building that smelled like moss and moldy bread. She bent her knees to keep from slipping down the slope on the loose cobblestones beneath their feet and still managed to subtly maneuver further from him because his aftershave was making repeating the plan like a mantra in her head a thing for the birds.

“Hey, you with me, Zero? You remember what we talked about?”

“Not dying or the not fucking up part?”

“See, I knew you weren’t listening to me.”

“Relax, Hawk. I’ve been doing this since I was toddling.”

“Really? Diapers for me.”

She swatted his arm when his blue eyes danced with humor and closed her own to reel herself back in.

“Seriously, though, you up for this? Because I can go in alone…”

“Like, hell, Hawk. You’re long range, I distract. Stick to it.”

He held out his knuckles wrapped in fingerless gloves that would help his aim. With a laugh disguised as a groan, she knocked hers against his and watched as he began scaling the fire escape to the tops of the connected houses leading to the perfect vantage point.

It took the coaxing of the restless waves to remind her that she too did not have the fortune of sitting still and allowing her already spiraling life to make Budapest its final resting place.

The traps took precious time to pick out--a motion detector from the front porch, a snoring dog with paws running in the air when she slipped around to the side, an electrical ward along the single sealed window, and finally a good old fashioned set of cans on the roof she managed to climb on. Sonja crouched on the narrow ledge of the none-too-secure roofing tiles, still off balance from her misjudged landing.

The cans, a mix of unopened green peas for which Sonja could not blame her and chili whose lids appeared to have been ripped off by bare hands, were stacks to at least twice her height and made a perfect circle around what she had to assume was another vulnerable entrance. From her original distance of spotting from the bridge with Clint, it had appeared merely another level of the shack which she could scale but now was proving to be just a pain in her ass. She circled on feet quieter than death to the side where Clint could see her and held out her hands helplessly.

“No in?” He said over the ear piece.

A shake of her head was the answer she knew his strapped on night goggles could pick up.

“Alright, hold on.”

“Clint!” she hissed out as an idea struck.

“Hell of a time to break out the Christian name.”

“Knock out the electricity on window.”

“I know you remember how these sonic arrows work. Our communication will be cut off and I know you’ll miss this sweet watchful voice, Z.”

“Sonja,” she whispered, hunching down on her knees and throwing a finger down as if he did not know the window she intended.

“No, sonic.”

“That’s my name you moron. You’ve got to trust me. Just shoot it.”

There was that hesitation from him again, she was beginning to understand how his head worked. The job was simple, something he was trained beyond reason for, but she was a variable he had to carefully calculate into the equation.

“Alright. I’m right behind you.”

“I know. Just don’t miss.”

She heard the smile in his response, “I find your lack of faith disturbing.”

“Are we really resorting to quoting Star Wars right now?”

“Fire in the hole, Sonja.”

The arrow struck home with a muted thwack and Sonja slid down onto the windowsill throwing a thumbs up into the now unresponsive night as she jimmied her dagger around to unlock the window. A second blade joined her free hand when she ducked inside.

The first thing she noticed was the complete lack of interior decoration just like their own safe house and the second unfortunately was that the insides were also void of any inhabitants. Why so much security without anything to protect?

There was a knock at the front door and a moment later Sonja remembered the power surge would also have affected the motion detector. She wearily trudged over before sliding into a defensive position when she flung the door back.

She saw the Black Widow first and her arrogant smirk followed by the prompting of an arrow to her skull.

“Plan B then?” Sonja called as Clint jostled their target into the room.

“I thought we agreed this was the more likely alternative,” he said. “Making it plan A.”

Sonja shrugged and pulled the handcuffs from her calf pocket before moving to snap them securely around the Widow’s ankles. The woman grunted as a green glow filled the room and a shift of her hips proved her unable of even lifting her feet.

When Sonja straightened and reached to tuck a stray strand of hair back into her braid, the woman finally spoke. “Props.” she said.

“Thanks, we’ve been practicing that last bit for hours now. I was really worried about the execution.” Clint strolled around to the front of their captive, pockets bulging with confiscated weapons.

“Not you, Barton. I knew you were on my ass for months. Her I wasn’t even looking for.”

Sonja crossed her arms. “Case. Point. What’s your real name?”

“Natasha Romanov.”

The plain reply jarred both her and her partner equally and Clint took her arm, walking her as far back into the room as he could manage before inclining his forehead to make the whisper easier hear. “She’s going to try to play a game with us. Anyone around her is instantly compromised. I need you to stay with me.”

A sharp nod answered him and his grin danced with mischief as he swung back around to stroll over to Natasha with his bow forgotten and swinging in his left hand. Sonja did not even feign relaxation but rubbed her thumbs over the sweating hilts of her daggers.

“This about the Avengers initiative? I read all about it last week,” Natasha said.

“You know it is. That’s why you let us capture you.”

“Let?” Sonja’s arms slipped from their protective frame.

Clint pushed on, feigning deafness when Sonja knew good and well his hearing aids were in. “You’ve got a nasty ledger and S.H.I.E.L.D. only wants to help you rectify it through the Avengers.”

“Avengers?” Sonja questioned.

“I’m fine where I am,” Natasha retorted giving the glowing shackles weighing down her feet a good tug and only ending up on her knees which, despite the powerless position, she somehow conveyed was right where she wanted to be.

Clint sighed and dropped as well. “You’re fine painting every city you go to with blood for people you don’t even know? The Avengers are going to protect the world and we want you to be a part of that.”

“Cute speech. Did Sonja feed it to you? You’re not bright enough to try the emotion ploy.”

Sonja was too busy puzzling how she knew her name to reply. That’s when the first bullet cut through the air and buried itself clean in Clint’s left calf. When he keeled forward in pain, Natasha swiped the gun tucked into the back of his belt and began firing to cover all their asses.

Lurching forward, Sonja kicked the door shut and pried her pistol from her belt as her back smacked against the wall. “Clint!” she called when he finally lifted himself from the ground.

“You led the Samarians here!” Natasha shouted as bullets pelted the door and walls relentlessly.

“Whoops,” Clint managed.

“Damn right you’re gonna need my help with the Avengers if you can’t even manage to stay off their radar. I assume you at least had an escape route in place.”

Clint wiped his bloody hand off on his shirt and primed an arrow for release should their defenses be breached by the crew. “Boat out back.”

“You’re gonna have to uncuff me.” Natasha called, firing precisely through an already fragile portion of the wall to produce a thunk of dead weight only a few yard away.

The deadly accuracy made Clint hesitate as he added in yet another variable, but Sonja just tossed the keys without a word and returned to keeping her gun aimed at the door.

“Barton go first and we’ll cover you,” Natasha called as she dodged a bullet cutting entirely too close to her brain. When she sat up straight again a line of red across her forehead added to her already flaming hair and scarlet pjs look.

Clint’s gaze snapped to Sonja unwavering in its unspoken question: would she be ok alone?

“Get out of here, Hawkeye,” she added the last bit to help him depersonalize, to remind him this was just a mission and all lives involved were expendable. “I’m right behind you,” she continued when he did not move.

His mouth curved up as he heaved himself onto mostly steady feet and sprinted to the backdoor while Sonja and Natasha laid down cover fire until both were down a clip. “Together?” Natasha called.

“Hell, why not?”

Sonja leapt up first, followed shortly by the much faster woman. The night air was thick with humidity that only pooled more sweat on their skin. On the free side of the house, a man screamed as the now awakened guard dog set to work. The other side was occluded by the closely stacks buildings and on the water just ahead, Clint revved the waiting engine of the speed boat.

Natasha waded into the water and slung her leg over the side, hauling herself on board in one fluid motion. Sonja had time to see her eyes go wide before she heard the other female voice cut through the night, “Chief!”

A sword was leveled at her instead of a gun and Sonja had the absolute pleasure of facing her old boss when she turned around. “Ma’am,” she replied without a trace of emotion.

She heard the cock of Natasha’s gun along with the wiry draw of Clint’s bow and briefly wondered if he could even keep his hands steady at the moment due to the blood loss.

“Or is it Agent Zero now?”

“Whatever you prefer, Ma’am.”

“Shall we settle this like the duals of old or has all your honor gone through the window with the american?”

Sonja heard Natasha grumble about being ignored as she tucked her gun into her pocket and produced a dagger. The other hand reached for her back pocket slower all the while keeping her opponent's gaze fixed on her words. Ma’am’s bulky henchmen fanned out behind her patiently waiting to be allowed to have some fun with the traitor and spy.

“What can I say? He brought presents.”

She waited the appropriate ten seconds for the meaning behind her words to smash into Clint before she pulled the pin. The homemade grenade sailed from her hand while her body was flung in the other direction. Her side slammed into the boat and Natasha just managed to get a drip on her belt before Clint slammed the throttle into its highest gear. He was ducked on the floor by the steering console for safety just as Natasha had thrown herself beneath the low walls at Clint’s advisement.

“When did you even have time to make that?” he demanded, driving blindly down the wide river.

“You’re the one who apparently knows everything,” she snapped.

“Christ, I’m sorry, alright. You weren’t cleared to know.” He paused then turned to her while Natasha huffed and took over driving. “Zero failed missions?”

“Guess again.”

“Zero like you were the original?”

“You’re not cleared, asshole.”

***

Natasha made airports her bitch with the new fresh faced S.H.I.E.L.D recruits scurrying behind her toting her luggage and a flight attendant rushing to retrieve her properly iced water. She shot Sonja a lazy wink but the other woman was too busy scowling away any potential disturbances to do anything other than reshoulder her backpack.

Clint took the lead, his reputation sending the herd of freshmen scattering in his wake of glory. Sonja quickened her steps, determined to talk to him now that the paramedics aboard their evac copter were no longer shooting him full of drugs.

“You’re not careless,” she said once she matched long legs to his abrupt stride.

“Think Nat will make them carry her?” he mused, wincing when he stopped focusing on his uneven gait.

Sonja caught under his arm and he glanced over through sleep deprived blue eyes and the tangles his cropped hair had somehow managed to tie itself into. “You gonna make me carry you?” she countered.

“I’ve got it.”

The usual airport crowd of proud mothers, blubbering fathers, and excitable kids ready to go off and make lives for themselves meandered past them. Sonja wondered what life awaited her back at S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters.

“I was born there, you know. S.H.I.E.L.D that is. Born and raised. I don’t exist to our government because S.H.I.E.L.D doesn’t. I’m nothing, I’m just zero.”

“I let the Samarians follow us,” he admitted in the breath after she finished her confession.

“I know. You’re not careless. You needed a common enemy for us to get Romanov on our side.”

“I was going to apologize for ruining your original mission, but I think all of earth takes precedence. We wouldn’t have made it out of there if not for you.”

“Taking out Ma’am was my mission Clint. Yesterday was the first time I saw her in person. I spent years working my way up through the ranks only to figure out I would only ever be important to her when I betrayed her.”

“You’re welcome, then.” He leaned in when he sang it and she gave his face a shove away as they exited the building through sliding glass doors and reached a junction in the sidewalk where she would climb into the car that would carry her home and he would get in his rental and drive out to his next mission.

“How long has it been since you’ve been stateside?”

“Just four years. I haven’t been home since I was a teenager, though when I completed my training.”

“You don’t have to face those bastards, you know. I’ve got something involving lightning and a hammer waiting for me. Could use some backup I trust.”

“Sounds alpha level. I’ll leave you to it.”

He nodded, shifting his weight off his bad leg and closing the humming space between their bodies just enough for her to notice it was deliberate. Her hand shifted under the strap of her bag while she toed at some bits of loose gravel beneath her sneakers.

“Guess this is goodbye, then. Keep an eye on Nat for me, will you? She respects you.”

“Only because she was comparing me to you.”

His mouth pulled up in a smile she had grown all too accustomed to seeing regularly and had truthfully taken for granted now that he was leaving. The civil term of closer inspection crossed her mind as she leaned in further still followed by the embarrassing real word she had been searching for--a kiss.

She could not even recall the last time she had kissed someone without an ulterior motive. She expected him to politely return it or to laugh and tell her to collect herself, not for him to bite her lip and slide his lips between hers like the whole damn earth might spin off course if he did not. His hands were soft in her hair and his hand slid down tracing over her cheek so that his fingers replaced his lips when he reluctantly pulled away.

“Put a pin in that, Sonja?”

“You mean like when I pinned you? Or what I pulled the pin on the grenade?”

“No explosions and no more beating me up.” He punctuated his sentence with a rushed kiss to her forehead. “Unless we can twist those into kinky things.”

“Oh, it’s possible,” Natasha called as she strolled past and climbed into the waiting black SUV.

Sonja gave his chest a push and took two controlled steps backwards simply because if she didn’t there was no guarantee either of them would be setting out on their respective journeys today.

“Goodbye,” Sonja said.

With a wink that sent her spiraling higher than the pyres of Moscow’s finest cathedrals Clint Barton was gone.