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alphalogs2017-02-20 06:51 pm
Daycycle 127 [February 19 - February 25]
daycycle 127
[Feb 19 - Feb 25]
[OOC Plotting for this Daycycle can be found here.]
Morning [0800 - 0900] — All Troubleshooters Report for Duty
Steve Rogers and Parker have been selected for today's mission.
‘One of the ventilation fans in C Block, somewhere between intersections 451 and 600, is stuck. unfortunately, someone has tampered with the sensor link so we don’t know which one it is. You will have to enter the ductweb and manually identify it. Be careful, though—the other 149 fans are still functional, and when they kick on they have a powerful draft. Take these suction-gloves with you.’
Afternoon [0900 - 1600] — Service Firm Positions
All Troubleshooters not assigned a mission should report to their Service Firm for their daily duties, unless specifically assigned a different shift.
Tensions are still running high in Alpha and many are falling on either side of the divide when it comes to Specials. The newest rumor surrounding the Specials is that the serial killer is one of them. Many of those who have slowly warmed up to the newcomers are reverting back to their indifferent or outright resentful states. Many believe that Buffy Summers will not be tried fairly because she's a Special.
Aware of unhappiness on the rise, the Computer has ordered all Commissary meals to be laced with additional Happitime additions. Unfortunately, all this is doing is causing extreme mood swings when the Happitime wears off.
Evening [1600 - 2200] — Citizen Improvement
All Alpha citizens are encouraged to better themselves through Alpha’s wide variety of educational, entertainment and cultural opportunities offered each evening. Attending these sanctioned events are not mandatory, but is highly encouraged by The Computer. Citizens choosing not to take advantage of these opportunities, have a growing number of other options available to them in how to spend their hard earned credits and free time.
Tonight’s event will be at 1800 in the Wagon Wheel, Floor 25, Room G and will be hosted by The Scrappers. Come show and tell your most interesting findings here in Alpha Complex. See the cat bone that the founding member, Susan Mavis, found five years ago while on an excavation job for the sewage system.
Alpha Curfew Restrictions
All Alpha citizens should be in their quarters within the Wagon Wheel by 2200, unless they’ve been given permission from a GREEN or higher clearance level citizen. Sleeping Aid gas is dispelled each night in the Wagon Wheel at 2200 to assist citizens in getting a productive sleeping period.
Confession Booths
There are hundreds of confession booths available around Alpha Complex if a citizen would like to communicate directly with the computer. Please use these confession booths to report mission statuses, report treason or terrorist acts, unregistered mutants, confess your trespasses against Alpha Complex, request propaganda or speak with Your Friend, The Computer, at any time.
Morgana | Open throughout the day
Lately, she finds herself puzzling at the other bed. She had never sat on it, yet the corners weren't tucked in and the linens were crumpled and looking at it gives her the most distinct feeling of having forgotten something.
There isn't much time for staring, even though she tries to rattle her brain into remembering whatever it was this time the Computer had stolen from her because she was beginning to remember a few of them.
Like Root. She had remembered, now, the brunette that had given her funny looks and shown her how to use her PDC, how to get into the headquarters. Her friend who let her toy with her hair and didn't quite get to calling her crazy if she said Unicorn and meant it. The Computer had tried to rid her of the memories but they had bubbled back after an embarrassingly stray thought about Izzy.
Okay, after several stray thoughts about a few people... she was (mostly) only human.
Today as she walked to the commissary she took her time. Her stomach grumbled in protest at her dawdling in the hall, but she was in no hurry to sit around in troubleshooting to see what missions were handed out, nor did she want to go to work where the air sometimes got thick and sickly sweet as the scientists tried to make the plants "pollinate" quicker.
It seemed to her they were trying to make something that smothered people rather than grew fruit quicker, but it wasn't like she understood most of what they were saying anyway. She was no scientist, nor an alchemist. The Computer had some funny ideas at what she'd be good at.
It's different in the commissary than it used to be. Where she used to sit around and people watch, now far too many people were watching her and the other specials. She grabbed a cup of "coffee" and a portable snack and decided it might be better to go eat it on the way to troubleshooting.
Maybe she could even find the others on her way and steer them from the grumbling morning crowd that had bristled as she wove her way past them.
--
Work was what was really driving her up the wall of late. It was well and good to be potentially accosted at breakfast, but as much as she had learned she still ended up staring like an idiot whenever she was told to fetch something that wasn't clearly labelled.
And that's what she did, all day. She fetched tubes and vats of chemicals she could barely drag along on the dolly, she ducked and weaved between plants that were sticking out at all sorts of angles, bumping her head on the occasional low-hanging citrus, usually three seconds before someone came along and plucked it so they might test it.
Morgana was fast, at least, but no more useful than a squire in the middle of the ocean sitting on a log and telling it to giddy-up.
By the time work was over, Morgana was sweaty and sticky and smelt oddly sweet, the thick air sticking to the back of her throat like a horrible kind of honey.
She would have to go to her room and see if she still had some of her fresh food ration, though, because breakfast had been... not right. Almost to the point where she thought it was the coffee incident all over again, but god, she was hungry for anything that wasn't too sweet.
Maybe then she could find the others and check on them. Check on Steve, or Jack and Izzy, or maybe Clint. Not that she really had an idea where he might hang out, but she felt like staying in alone was a waste of a night. Even exploring would be better than nothing, provided she didn't join the ranks of maimed specials for doing it.
no subject
Little does Steve know, Morgana's already on her way to check on him when he first sends her a message on his PDC.
Morgana, you wouldn't happen to know something about embroidering words ... onto jumpsuits.
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Only to burst out laughing, making the regular citizen's side eye her.
On such a shitty day, Steve finally finding that is something to really be happy back.
I'm sure I don't know what you mean, that would be treason. As we know, I am an innocent, good little citizen who would never do such a thing.
And even if we suppose I had... You're getting slow, Steve.
They had been there for some time now.
no subject
He grins when he reads the message.
I'm not sure what's more treasonous Morgana. Sewing something onto my uniform, or how good the work is.
Because yes, even if his own stitching wasn't anything to write home about, he'd learned how to do it during the war. All soldiers had too. The airborne divisions needed to be able to mend their own parachutes, and the rest of the Army needed to be able to patch up their uniforms at times when supplies were low and the weather liked to dip below freezing. But Steve's work is functional at best.
Morgana's was an art form.
no subject
It's hard not to smile at the compliment a warm joy lighting her features. Sewing wasn't a skill she cherished, but it was useful and a better distraction than it ought to have been sometimes.
And Steve liked her questionable stitching done with what poor supplies could be scrounged for here, imagine if he had seen her things back home.
Does that mean you're in your apartment, then, or are you just stripping somewhere for fun?
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Though, now I have to wonder.
Would a lady who lived in a castle ask that kinda question?
He laughs quietly to himself, shaking his head before Steve types the answer to her question.
(Yes. I'm in my apartment.)
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Morgana pulled away from the wall and weaves herself back into the crowd, though she was still walking the "wrong" way. If he was in his apartment at least he should be safe and she knew where he was. The only matter was she technically wasn't supposed to go wandering there.
May I come for a visit, then? Of course, I'm told Lady's don't do that either...
no subject
Please.
Send me a message when you get in the elevator.
He could meet her on his floor then, just so no one would hassle her on her way to his room. In the meantime, Steve puts away the rest of his laundry and cleans up. It's a routine that was drilled into him in the Army, and he has no intention of changing it.
no subject
And then, a few moments later: Star-Spangled Man.
So maybe letting her and Clint talk might have been a mistake on his part, but it has her giggling to herself again as she weaves her way through the evening rush, eventually finding the elevator.
I'm coming up now, Steve. Presuming you still want to see me.
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"Star-spangled," he says, pausing for a second before he takes a step to the side so she can exit. "How much did Clint tell you." There's a faint trace of a smile on his lips. He remembers that Morgana and Clint spoke over the network, extensively, but it's been awhile and when you're spending your days illegally investigating murders, you tend to forget a few unrelated details.
no subject
It might have been a while, and pretty busy since she had that first conversation with Clint but she certainly made sure she remembered the whole thing.
'Also apparently there's a place called the United States of America. Might explain the accents.' She had been curious in the past about where everyone came from, of course, but somehow it never really came up. There was always some more pressing matter, or a detail she didn't understand. Some new tool to work out or gods only knew what else.
'I do like Clint. He's very informative.' her voice was teasing as she turned back to look at Steve, smile still firmly on her lips. He looked.. okay, at least. There would be time to ask him if he actually was in his room where it was less likely someone would overhear him, not that he'd ever likely say in so many words if he wasn't. 'I seem to get along with all of your friends. Well, the ones I've met.'
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Little does Morgana know however, Steve is the epitome of an American man. Not just because he's called Captain America, but because of the blonde hair blue eyed nature of his existence. Not that Steve thinks of himself in that way though.
"All my friends?" he asks as they head down the hall. He's curious, because god does Steve have a problem believing that he has that many. "Clint. You've met Tony." He doesn't remember that Bucky was ever here. Or Peggy. "Do you know Natasha?"
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Steve's room isn't that far, and though she's been in there many times before when she arrives at the door she stops and waits for him. 'I did say the ones I'd met. Clint said there were... several of you here, I think.' who exactly, she wasn't sure.
'Natasha is... the red-haired woman who looks terribly serious more often than not, yes?' she asked. 'I've not met her properly, if so. And Tony and I get along well, even if he never did tell me he had metal armour that could fly.'
What was it with people from Steve's world and their interesting lives they never bothered to mention? They let her go on and on about horses and swords while having had suits that flew.
no subject
First, there's was a bot right inside Steve's door — and it looked poised to attack, until it identified Steve, and that Morgana was his guest. Next, in the corner, there's a fancy looking basket full of art supplies, tucked away in the corner, barely opened. There are some thick files on his dinner table, but the rest of the apartment is as tidy as one can imagine apartments being. The door to his bedroom is closed.
"As for Natasha- yeah, she's got red hair. But no, not serious. I'd say she looks amused than she looks serious most of the time. As for Tony ... haha," Steve chuckles at the thought. "Well, I'd take it easy on him. He loves his suits. I'm sure it's killing him that he doesn't have one here."
He pulls out a chair for her this time, at the table, instead of going to the couch. "If it helps, I don't have metal armor that flies. Or anything else that can fly, that I'm keeping from you."
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'I can understand why,' she says as she looks around the room. 'Flying in it felt... seemed thrilling.' those memories were still strange to her, though impossible to forget. Flying was wonderful but falling? That had her waking up as soon as the sleeping gas began to wear off, breathless and gasping all at once.
'Only birds, insects and the occasional beast flies back home... I had never known people flew at all. But, good to know.' Morgana said, sitting down on the offered seat without a moment's thought. 'I mustn't have visited for longer than I thought. It actually looks like you live here, these days.'
'How are you?' talking about his friends was fine, but he was the one she was concerned for, and the one she had been friends with the longest.
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"I-" He chuckles, a little, as he goes to grab a glass of water. "I guess I have been living here for awhile now. It's a strange thought." Like at some point, this room actually started to feel like home. Even in a place like this.
He continues, when he's filled the glass up and sets it down in front of Morgana. Steve does have manners, after all. "I'm-" He doesn't know how to finish that sentence though. Worried doesn't seem right. Neither does busy, or fine. Finally, he settles on "-working. A lot."
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Telling her friends what hell it was at home was one thing, having them see it, from her eyes? That was another thing entirely.
To distract from the sad look in her eyes she quickly adds. 'In one, Tony had a lot of mostly naked women dancing around him at some... expo?'
When Steve puts down a glass of water she smiles and says "thank you" quietly, turning the glass between her fingers. Everything was nicer in Green, the glasses, the water was clearer, the air felt nicer. And it had Steve, as tenuous and uncertain as his situation currently was.
'Just working?'
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It's not that he has anything against the way Tony used to do things — but they were just ... so over the top. Not that he could say much. It's not like Steve spent a solid number of months touring the country holding up a motorcycle with three women sitting on top of it.
"It's something his company does every year. I've never been to one, though, maybe I would want to, now." He looks down. "Was it nice?"
As for him, well, "When I can, yes." He's not saying much on purpose, mostly because he doesn't want her to worry about him. He's tracking a killer for heaven's sakes. It's not exactly pleasant conversation.
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It was an experience for a girl who had once upon a time thought she'd surely seen it all.
'It was indescribable... but so was flying. I never imagined it possible that man could fly.' Morgana's fingers flex slightly around the glass, almost able to feel the suit on her skin when she thought about it for any length of time. 'In one, all I could see was stars and black shadows, we - he - left the earth behind entirely. Jack says it's called space.' it was no secret that the Complex was far more than had existed in Morgana's time. When she first got here she'd stared in wonder at the lightbulbs and poked at buttons with a kind of startled wonder. But Tony's memories were something else. Terrifying but exhilarating. The knowledge that there was so much more out there, that all this metal and circuits could be used for something better than the Complex.
That a city could light up so brightly you could see it from the heavens.
It made Camelot drab and colourless in comparison. It was a bit like witchcraft, to be able to shape the world so.
'You should go. To Tony's expo. If we ever get out of here, if we go home, you should go.' she would've gone in a heartbeat. She didn't care if it was a tribute to male ego, it was amazing.
Morgana watches Steve quietly for a few moments, then shrugs. 'If you don't want to tell me, god knows I can't make you. I'm not as delicate as everyone seems to think.' so she cried sometimes, and Atlas shrugged, these things happened. 'I am your friend. If you want my ear, or my shoulder, or my proverbial sword, it's yours.'
He wouldn't ignore her worries, if he let her, she wasn't about to ignore his either.
no subject
The thought though, of going to Tony's EXPO after they all get out of here makes his eyebrows lift. Honestly, Steve's never thought that they'd be able to get out of here. He's a clone, after all. When this is all said and done, he's a clone. For a lot of people, coming to grips with that kind of information is challenging. But for Steve ... well, there's really nothing like his ability to soldier on.
But with the way she talks about not being delicate, like she's always been treated this way and has something to prove, gets Steve to let out a soft sigh as he shakes his head.
"I'm not- It's not that. I don't think you're delicate." It bothers him, he realizes, that she has the impression that he does.
no subject
They were from such different times, yet they had always had a sort of natural understanding of each other, an ease to just sitting in the quiet that she didn't have with just about anyone else in the Complex, and only with Gwen back home. Somewhere in the weeks that had passed, while they had been too busy, she wondered if they'd lost some of that.
'Yet you got shot,' she says, "shot" almost sticking in her throat. He may be well now but that image will never leave her mind. 'And when I came to see you it was all you being worried about me being upset. When you'd been shot.' and it wasn't that laying in his bed chatting hadn't helped, it was that somehow, inexplicably, he had seemed to think that her being upset was the greater tragedy in the room.
'I can be upset and still be of use, Steve. My friends are far more important than the fact I'm not as good as others are at keeping my eyes dry.'
After a moment she adds, more quietly. 'Jack does the same thing. He bundles me up against the world.'
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"I've been shot before," he says, not as if it's no big deal, but as proof that he's been hurt and lived. "I was a soldier, back home. In the time I'm from, people fought with bombs and guns." He says people because he doesn't exactly mean himself. But Steve can't change the nature of war.
What he has trouble with however, is whether to explain to Morgana that he worried about anyone who worried about him. She's taking it personally, like somehow he thought she was more delicate than others, but it's not her. It's Steve, and in this moment, he doesn't know how to express that. Which is why, when she brings up Jack, he welcomes the opening to talk about someone else.
"Have you gotten to know Jack well?"
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If he was saying it was nothing or not, it didn't matter. Him being almost used to it made it worse. No one should be used to that, just like she should've never gotten used to Uther putting his hands on her in anger or any of the bullshit that happened back home.
The glass of water turns between her fingers, fussing with it for want of something better to do with her hands as she thought, not missing the quick subject change or how uncomfortable Steve looked but not sure she wanted to let it go, either. She had let so many things go lately.
'Yes. Jack lives across the hall, he stays with me sometimes.' she shrugs, 'he found me walking home by myself after I saw you in the hospital and wasn't having any of it, you'll be glad to know. Made sure I didn't join the ranks of the recently shot.' Not that it seemed likely - Morgana walked alone all the time, to work, supper, sometimes just around until curfew. Even to HQ which was decidedly out of the way compared to most of her destinations and a prime area to get attacked and left for dead.
'He's exuberant, but good. Why?'
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When he listens to what's happened between her and Jack however, that tension in his eyes seems to ease. Especially when she mentions that he'd walked her home after the hospital. That's the most human thing Steve's ever heard about Jack until now, and it's ... a pleasant surprise.
"We've only interacted a few times, and you seem to always bring out the best in people. So I was just curious."
no subject
Now maybe Uther wasn't her fault, per se - he had been that way as long as she could remember, but Morgana had always been one far too ready to poke the bear - or dragon, as it were - and Tony had had the misfortune of seeing some of that.
'More than that, Jack hardly needs me around to bring out his best - though I can easily imagine you two might rub the wrong way, to start with. You should give him a chance.' somehow Jack's ability and willingness to flirt with anything with a pulse seemed like something that might make Steve uncomfortable, it had perplexed her for a while and some days she wasn't sure she wasn't just as guilty of flirting with far too many people as Jack was.
'You could bond on your need to be over protective, for example,' there might have been a bit of bite to that. It wasn't as if she didn't appreciate the concern, it was strange to have so many people who cared about her as an actual human being but at the same time, she cared about them. Keeping her wrapped up safely only felt like they were leaving themselves open to dangers an extra pair of eyes might see, or comfort, if that's what they needed.
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No, someone else's dad, he has to keep reminding himself.
"Well I suppose I'll have to see it to believe it then," he says, trying to shake the memory out of his head. He hasn't thought about it for a solid few days now.
But whatever pleasant surprise had been on Steve's face before, it's replaced by a quiet exasperation now, not at Morgana, but at Jack. "I've given him multiple chances," Steve says, his fingers steepling lightly as he looks back at her. "He came to visit me when I was in the hospital, just like you did. But he ... spent the entire visit trying to convince me that the doctors had put some kind of hallucinogen in my IV, and that the whole thing was funny. Like everything was a joke." That was in fact, not exactly what Jack had actually been saying, not that Steve actually knows that yet — but it isn't far from the truth. "I just- I'm trying."
He really is. Because if there's one person who he thought used to think everything was a joke ... well, Steve is happy that he took the time to get to know Tony better.
As for the overprotective bit, if Morgana is trying to get Steve to address that again, she's going to have to do it directly. Captain America is a stubborn man. When it comes to things that he only believes trained soldiers should be fighting, he has no intention of letting anyone else help shoulder that burden. Except for maybe the enlisted. But Steve would never presume that Morgana is signing herself up for war. At least not yet. Definitely not until she says so explicitly.
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He cared, in his fashion. So going to Steve and acting like it was all a drugged up joke seemed... strange, to put it lightly.
'I don't know what to do with either of you sometimes.'she said with a sigh, leaning on her hand as she watched him. 'I mean it, though, Steve, and you're not going to distract me with Jack being odd. If we are friends, and I don't think that has changed, then we protect each other. Not you protect me and wander off with your own problems, locked up here in green where I can't technically get you. I was raised by my father to fight, I am not afraid of the Computer, I'm not afraid of these people who keep trying to kill us. I've fought before, I didn't just spar with Gwen out by the pond. I didn't train for laughs and to get on Uther's nerves.' well. Not entirely the reason, anyway.
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He smiles though, just a little, his eyes glancing over in affirmation when she catches on to what he's doing. Distracting her by talking about someone else. But she keeps going, and she's serious, so the smile gradually settles to something more neutral as he listens. When she's done, Steve takes a breath and just looks at her for a moment as his eyebrows narrow.
"What do you want to know, Morgana?"
There's no guarantee that he'll share, not yet, but given that he's asking, and the serious tone of his voice, this is a step in the right direction.
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'I don't know enough to even know where to point my questions but I know everything hasn't been going right.' somehow it feels like a worse defeat to not know how to needle him since she isn't even sure what information she wants than it did when Steve was just (kind of obviously) trying to lead her on a goose chase about Jack. Morgana wants to think he'd tell her if something serious happened.
Realistically though... he probably wouldn't unless it was three seconds away from getting her hurt.
Dick Grayson | Throughout the day | OTA
So he spends most of the day splitting his time between the specials HQ and those areas of the complex he can navigate without being in too much trouble - anywhere he knows the cameras aren't working, or places he can hide from the cameras, keeping an eye out for any friends so he can find out whether or not they know who he is.
And if there happens to be any citizens in need of an invisible or masked helping hand, well, he's only too happy to step in - it's what he does, after all.
Dirk Gently | Throughout the day | OTA
If that involves trailing around after Steve Rogers in a very poor impression of a stealthy manner everywhere he has the clearance to follow him, well, so be it, he is a celebrity after all.
At lunch time, he'll happily spend his time in the commisary, choosing a seat at random and striking up an overly friendly conversation with anybody who happens to be sitting near him. Or who happens to catch his eye.
The evening will find him sitting in the front row at the scrappers meeting, staring with fascination at the items on show, no matter how dull or mundane they appear to be, as if they contain the secrets of the universe.
Mission
She rejects the suction gloves. Really, what kind of thief do they think she is? Ventilation fans are not new to her, Alpha's fans are no longer interesting either. Parker isn't the human equivalent of an octopus for nothing. Small spaces and holding on by a pinky? Child's play.
It's the first time she's ever had to repair a fan, rather than disabling it, but she can get into a car in less than 10 seconds. How hard could the basic mechanics of a fan be?
The fan in question isn't too far from one of the C Block hallways, enough so that she can hear people wandering by, though they're few and far between. Parker's next to the fan smirking at how easy it will be to fix. The problem: someone's left some of their equipment laying about in the vents and it was sucked into the blades, causing a short. (Wait, who else has been in these vents? Parker's seen little evidence of others!)
So Parker will be able to hear any and all conversations. There won't be any evidence she's even in the vents, given she entered through a more accessible opening two hallways over. Being Parker, should someone discuss something interesting, she could be tempted to put her tools aside and listen in.
Parker -> Steve -> Nat posting order?
It had been awhile since he'd checked in with Natasha on the status of her investigation, but if Steve only had two suspects left for who broke into his hospital room the other day: Parker and Prim. Seeing one of them today would certainly narrow down the field.
But she doesn't show. At least during the morning briefing, and Steve is left wondering if he'll be doing the mission alone. Before everyone leaves however, he looks around for Natasha — knowing that she's somewhere in the room. But since she's still wearing RED like most people, even with her red hair, she's hard to spot.
The message he wants to communicate is simple. You heard the announcement. Parker and I are assigned on a mission together. If it really is her today, Steve can handle it himself, but ... well, Steve gets the feeling that Natasha wants the right of first refusal.
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She hasn't been tailing her, not technically. Tailing would mean that she's followed Parker all the way to wherever she seems to hide out, and Natasha hasn't gotten that far yet. It was obvious from the beginning that she isn't hunting down an amateur, and in Natasha's opinion, that's damning evidence. She highly doubts that little Prim is guilty of terrorizing Steve when Parker is the one she has to put actual effort into finding.
She sees him before he sees her, and Natasha moves across the room to tap him on the shoulder. Natasha waits for everybody else to file out, watching as people leave, and she looks up at Steve with a raised eyebrow and a look of distaste. "Let me guess. She hasn't shown." She looks around once more, this time in an effort to hide the annoyance on her face rather than triple check that they're alone. "That's not suspicious at all."
no subject
For the record, any Parker hunting has gone completely unnoticed, though she shares a goal with the other woman. What was the name? Trisha? Natalie? Why can't everyone just be named Bob to make it easier? Hardison, Eliot, Nate, Sophie, and everyone else: Bob. Easy-peasy.
She likes these vents. She can go up, or over, or down: almost any preposition one can think of, the crisscross design of this part of the building is excellent, if one is designing a building from a thief's perspective.
Whenever Steve and Sorcha? Tisha? Rorschach? Whatever her name is, makes it to C block, there will only be one tiny sign Parker's even been there: one screw, in one vent has the slot perpendicular, and not parallel to the floor. This is when Parker isn't caring so much about being found. If she cared, there would be no difference.
no subject
"I should get goin'. Investigate C block." He has two pairs of suction gloves, since Parker didn't show to pick hers up, but as he holds a pair up, Steve already knows that there's no way that he'd be able to use these. "You interested in coming along? I sure won't fit into any vents. Could use your help."
He offers over a pair of suction-gloves, even if he knows Natasha won't need them.
Those last three sentences are his attempt at saying the right thing for any cameras that might be watching, even if they are alone. What he's really asking, is if she wants to come and see if Parker's there. It's possible she won't show up there either, but he also hasn't seen Natasha since Armed Forces stripped him of his status within the sector. They information is well-kept, probably because if he is punished, they want to decide for themselves whether or not to do it publicly, and weigh the political implications of both options. But in the meantime, Steve still expects that Natasha knows. She's Natasha.
no subject
The offer of filling in doesn't surprise her, because Natasha knows full well that Steve doesn't give a damn about a malfunctioned fan. He's silently asking her if she wants to find Parker with him, and Natasha knows it because she would have suggested the same thing if he hadn't. She knew she wouldn't need to though; there are times where she can assume with complete certainty that they're on the same page, and this is one of them.
Still, Natasha Romanoff is nothing if not an expert performer, so she gives a dramatic sigh before taking the gloves that she most certainly doesn't need. "Once again, doing your job for you, Rogers." The smirk that she sends his way could almost be construed as flirtatious, and because it's directed at Steve it most certainly is with no other intention beyond tease. "When are you going to start doing my job? I'd even let you borrow one of my red jumpsuits but I don't think you have the chest for it."
Even if they don't find Parker, they have enough to talk about; especially with Steve being stripped of his job duties. It seems obvious that he's trying to be slowed down by someone, and Natasha wants to know exactly who he thinks that someone is. She lets Steve lead the way to the C block, her eyes roaming the ceilings and vents for any cameras that may be around, and that's when she spots it. At first she thinks it's a poorly hidden bug, but as she gets closer Natasha realizes that no... it's a screw, and one is missing from the corner of the vent.
Before he can move forward Natasha grabs the back of Steve's jumpsuit to make him stop, eyes on the vent as she holds up a closed fist for him to see in signal that he needs to stay silent. It looks like they found who they were looking for after all.
Whoever entered the vents (and she's almost certain that it was Parker after the mission given that morning) isn't in the same place that they entered from, she can tell by the ventilation itself. Her fist stays in place as she moves past Steve, abruptly taking the lead from him, and her eyes stay on the duct web as she follows it to a hallway intersection. Natasha looks left for a moment, obviously dissatisfied, but when she looks right she sees exactly what she's looking for; a very slight curvature in the thin aluminum, as if the vent itself is holding weight that isn't focused on the natural interlocking seams. It's slight, so much so that Steve might not see it, but that's because he's not looking for it. Natasha is.
"Well. It looks like that Parker girl didn't show," she says aloud, because Natasha is almost positive that they're being listened to and she's hoping that saying Parker's name aloud will catch her attention enough to make her stop and listen. She starts to move again as her fist falls away. "But," her voice takes a playful turn that her expression doesn't match, and her steps fall still as she's standing beneath the duct right out of the sight of the vent, "that means that we finally get a little alone time." She turns to face Steve after staring at the ceiling, and she takes her blaster out of its holster before giving him another signal, this time pointing up and nodding her head once in the same direction. 'Give me a boost.'
The best part about having Steve as a teammate is that she knows he's not fragile and he's tall. Once he lifts her she pushes herself up rapidly and with force, knowing that they won't have time to remove all the screws to remove it properly, and just as she had hoped the flimsy vent breaks inward into the duct when she slams upward with her shoulder. Her blaster is in before the rest of her, pointed in the direction of the weight on the thin metal, and as Steve holds her she appears in the duct from the chest up, finally face to face with the woman she's been trying to track for days. The barrel is aimed with a steady hand.
"So." The saccharine tone she was using with Steve is gone in favor of something more flat and impatient. "In my experience, this thing has a solid eighty-twenty success rate of going off when I pull the trigger. We can see how far you get before I pull the trigger eight times, or you can come down and we can have a chat. It's up to you."
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Parker looks like she's lying down, her head resting on her folded arms. The vent has plenty of space and while she's momentarily surprised by the redhead bursting through the vent, she's not frightened.
She's also not lying down. It just looks that way. Darkness hides both everything and nothing. Right now, literally it's hiding nothing.
She's maybe 8 feet from from whatever her name is, where the wall would be.
If someone expects a plea for her life, that person will be sadly disappointed. She's pleaded for only two things: and her own life isn't one of them. Things that scare other people, do not scare Parker. Now, if the woman had popped up holding a toy horse, this would be an entirely different situation.
Mouth-scrunching a little, she looks at the woman, not the weapon. "80/20's a lousy success rate. Wouldn't be bragging about that." Professional pride: the woman should have more of it. "99/1's acceptable, if you don't shoot much." This is why Eliot hates guns. It's so much harder to miss with a fist.
"Trisha or Talia?" Parker's making a stab at names, the same she would with a fork at people getting too handsy. "Fffffffffft." That is the exact noise she makes when she remembers how irrelevant most names are. "Today got waaaaaaaay more interesting than fixing a fan." Which has already been done, as evidenced by a couple loose hairs from her ponytail flapping about randomly.
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But he doesn't say anything. Natasha's the one who has the gun, and who has eyes on Parker. He'll let them sort it out.