𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒅𝒐𝒐𝒓 ✘ 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐅𝐅

{1⁵} {LONDON}

  ∆ {1⁵} {LONDON} ∆

ROXI KNEW SHE wouldn't find comfort in waiting and resting for long. She had to move, she had to be active, not just let time crawl by like she had in the earlier years of her life, just waiting for something to happen. That never worked, you had to do something to get what you wanted; the world never gave it to you. That was why her first mission when she had completed her training with S.H.I.E.L.D had been personal. She had gone back to the house of her last guardian, equipped with a gun and some knives. It hadn't been too hard to complete her job. The man had been sprawled out on the floor in the cold-tiled kitchen, with a bottle of liquor in his hand. At first, she'd been hesitant if she could complete her task, but the drink in his hand brought back all the horrible memories, and she hadn't waited for a second longer to raise the gun and fire. She remembered the way she'd exited the building, slipping the silencer off of the gun and quietly making her way back to headquarters. That night was the first time she'd written a name down in the black book she now treasured so carefully, and now the book held answers to questions that many were dying to know. Sometimes literally. It went around in circles, kill a person, write their name down, then use their contacts to get information on the next target. On and on it went, in an endless loop, sin after sin, and it would continue as such until the devil finally caught up with her. But that wasn't today, and Roxi was bored.

It had only been five minutes since Natasha had told her she needed to rest, but at the moment, Roxi found it impossible. Her whole body was itching to get up and move, to train, anything other than lying still in a medical ward, and try and be calm. She found that combat calmed her more than peace and quiet because the silence would grow thick and weigh heavy on her nerves and she would convince herself that there was something wrong when it was just her being overly paranoid about every situation. She couldn't help but feel uncomfortable, her conscience screaming at her that something was wrong, that the quiet was too quiet, that the medical bed was slightly too soft, that every sound was the whispering voices of old ghosts as they plotted to kill her. Roxi couldn't stand it any longer.

She practically leaped from her bead, as though someone had shocked her with some kind of taser, and grabbed her leather jacket from where it lay on the chair next to her bed. Before she did anything else, she picked up her black book, laptop, and pen, depositing them in her room again, before she continued to her destination. She made her way along the corridors, past hurrying agents, some of who had sheets of paper cascading out of their arms in rapid waterfalls, and others who were completely focused on the tablets in their hands. When she finally reached the room she wanted to be in, she was slightly relieved to find it completely empty. She didn't know how many more people she could deal with today, especially because her mind was in overdrive after the taunting silence of the medical ward.

She did a few laps around the room to warm herself up, accompanied by a few stretches before she made her way over to the weapons area. She traced her hand over barrels of guns and pistols, and the handles of swords before her eyes landed on a familiar weapon, and she allowed herself a small smile as she gripped the handle of the quarterstaff, allowing memories to surge through her head in a euphoric rush, before she frowned slightly, focusing on one in particular.

The rain beat against the pane in a mad attempt to permeate the dingy hotel room that had been rented for her for the mission. Of course, it being in London, the weather was determined to be as horrible as possible. Behind her, Clint was checking his arrows, making sure none of them were broken, in hope that they wouldn't backfire on the pair. Roxi's quarterstaff lay on the table. Although it didn't look like a particularly lethal weapon, she was very skilled with it and could take someone out with it quite easily if she had a reason to, or purely if she wanted to.