verb.
To fall back under pressure. To shrink back physically or emotionally.
noun.
The kickback of a gun upon firing.
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It takes a stubborn mind to cling to their humanity when the world seeks to strip it away.
It takes a desperate soul to reach f...
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Black spots danced across Kat's vison as she dragged in a strangled breath, her head spinning as her shaking fingers scraped at the point on her right shoulder where that pricking, biting sensation was still ticking away. She didn't remember hitting the ground, she didn't even remember dropping - just that bright blue flash and the sensation that somebody had just punched her in the heart.
Groaning, she grasped the tiny device, ripping it from her jacket with a grunt of effort and rolling onto one side, her instincts screaming at her to get up as her eyes caught sight of a pair of legs standing over her.
"Yajtza... That hurt." She wheezed out, pushing herself into a kneeling position as she looked down at the little metal disc clutched in her fingers and grimacing as her earpiece crackled and whined in her ear, her other hand moving to rip it out. Evidently whatever had hit her had fried her only means of communication.
"That should have knocked you out cold."
A foot on her shoulder shoved her back against the wall of the jet, her head rolling limply back up against the wall as she stared up at the somewhat perturbed, yet no less intimidating face of Black Widow.
Ah. She could have known better. She hadn't seen the Avenger out on the runway, not within the last few minutes of the fight. Of course, she had been waiting for one of them to make for the Quinjet.
"Don't beat yourself up over it, you got real close." She countered weakly as that foot pressed threateningly against her chest.
"You're enhanced."
"Just a little." She grunted past the pressure on her sternum, raising her hand to hold her index finger and thumb an inch apart as if to demonstrate visually.
"Russian?"
"Da." She sarcastically over-emphasised her native accent with her confirmation, earning herself the pleasure of being hauled to her feet by a hand fisting in the front of her jacket. Blinking heavily, she tried to force her brain to catch up with the motions of her body - whatever the little device was, it had knocked her equilibrium for six.
"Red Room?"
"HYDRA - or, I was. I got out." She responded to the next terse question, for a moment thinking she saw a flicker of something beyond cool composure in the redhead's eyes as she spoke of the KGB's little assassin factory - or at least, that was the most Kat knew of it. She was well clear of that organisation before she would have been privy to any of those dirty secrets - she'd been busy enough with dirty secrets of her own. "Can't imagine the ethics were much different though."
Her legs staggered involuntarily as the woman released her jacket, her hands rising defensively as she anticipated a punch coming her way; "Woah- wait, it's Natasha, right?" She breathed, looking up tentatively as she scrambled through her foggy brain for some information that might save her aching body from another blow; "C'mon, look at me, I'm not about to try and fight you. I'm just impressed I'm still standing."
