senses // peter parker, loki, steve rogers

2: concert for harp & strings in c - iii. allegro, francois boieldieu

Amal Nazari was many things. The things she defined herself as were normally along the lines of-- intelligent, multilingual, a government translator, an American-Indian, a woman, a listener of people, a listener of music, and a listener of her own heart.

She would often describe herself as a listener.

However, most people just described her as blind.

This was not much of a hindrance to her as she has lived this way since she was 9 years old and has grown accustomed to it by now. It was actually useful in her job in a way-- she translated language between important people: presidents, generals, CEOs, secretaries. Her disability was somehow reassuring to them.

"Thank you for your work here today, Ms. Nazari," a gentleman lightly rested his arm on her right. She didn't need him to do that, however. She was very aware of her surroundings.

"It's no problem, Mr. Odelin." She smiled.

The man laughed. "You've already connected my name to my voice? Amazing. It's a shame you don't know how beautiful you are."

Amal cringed inwardly. She has heard this line a million times before and not once has it actually been appealing. After all, she does know how she looks: big long black curls, golden skin, closed eyes. "I do know how beautiful I am." Her voice was light and calming, like a princess voice, that made people not want to be angry with her even if she was making very pointed statements.

The man laughed again-- this time a deep, bellowing laugh, that she just felt came from a beer-gut. "Oh, do you darling? And how is that?"

"Words. Mine for subjective beauty-- everyone else's for objective beauty." It was the truth.

Her own words (and actions as a consequence) gave her a sense of self-worth. She chose them carefully. The things other people said to her helped her gauge how they felt about her easily.

The man paused for a moment. Amal could tell he didn't understand her, and didn't want to seem stupid. It had already been too late for that, but he didn't know this, and continued anyway. "See, usually girls as pretty as you don't have to be smart. They never have to learn to be smart growing up because people give them what they want. That's why the pretty ones are usually stupid."

Amal smiled as she gathered her leather purse and headed for the door. "Then you must be the prettiest girl in the world."

She opened the glass door with her back, walking swiftly away from that godforsaken room, enjoying the powerful sound of her 3-inch heels clacking against the marble floor until she put her earphones in.

She played a song that she had heard live at the symphony three nights before. Recorded versions always sounded different, but nonetheless were still good.

Amal assumed that the difference between the live and recorded sound is why three nights before, she had simply enjoyed herself, mind rid of every thought, allowing the notes to fill her in a way she wouldn't trade for the world. (Her answer to numerous coworkers and classmates who had asked her the same insensitive question all her life was, in fact, that she would rather be blind than deaf).

Today, however, she was struck with an idea. Or perhaps a fact. Either way, she was struck.

Information shot through her brain.

The Reinhold Mack Reactor, coordinates 40.7484° N, 73.9857° W, launch code 29...

a/n: yes, this character is blind, in case you were confused <3

i hope you can sense the way she speaks and thinks would be a match for our god of mischief. let me know what you think about this song, i love it so much, and it really does fit her personality. the same way angst in my pants truly fits jasmine.