#agxntsofshield

          “--- oh, i know he’s... you know..” gwen had never really been closed off with the people that peter knew, but having one show up suddenly was still a bit off putting. she’d ushered her father’s questions off on inviting the woman in, but the awkwardness was still there “--- he um..climbed into my window one night.. i’m not in trouble, am i? i think my dad would kill me if he knew i was in trouble with superheroes.”

The iridescent doors to her purification chamber were still humming when she pulled them shut. The silver serpent that bound them momentarily sprung to life, and coiled itself between the bars before latching viciously onto its tail once more. For a moment, she thought those emerald eyes flickered with real fear as they stared up at her, but then the life faded as the lock set into place, and all she could see was her own reflection glaring back at her. The necromancer hummed, smoothed her hair, and dropped the heels she’d had hooked in her fingers. The fell to the stone floor with a sharp clack, not daring to tip over, and she stepped into them one by one before heading deeper into the lab. 

“I’ve got something fresh for you.” Her apprentice was leaning on the door to one of the smaller break off rooms. The fae made a motion with her head and grinned so wide Harper could have counted each one of her sharp teeth. “Picked it off the street myself, but somethin’s not right about it. Didn’t respond to the elixir. And I know how much you like the weird ones... Especially after a long day.”

Arlatarri was teasing her, but she wasn’t wrong. If it hadn’t been for her own personal code of conduct, the men who had spent the entire morning wasting her time with tedious meetings would be the corpses she was about to cut open. Harper walked past the fae and shut the door without a word. Whether or not she deserved any thanks would be decided after a thorough examination.

Harper carefully pulled back the sheet over the corpse’s face and looked over her face. Young, redheaded, female presenting. No magical signature. Harper leaned over to make a note to have her familiar scent it before she cut it open, but thus far there didn’t seem anything out of the ordinary.

He liked this one. Right?. Not his favorite. None the less one he believed he liked her. He had many interactions with the Widows throughout his time. She was a good one. He thinks. For a moment. He couldn’t recall anything. She looked familiar and was certain he knew her; he just was sure of that much. From where. The list was endless. Literally. He knew of places. Maybe he was there, maybe he wasn’t. All he knew was of those places. Of her.

( Staring. A long time. Under the mask he just starred. Trying to recall if he had any connection to her like he did his other Widow handler. ) 

Areta looked from the report in her hand, the the anomaly in front of her, and then back again. The magic was red and angry, pulsing with violent, whip-like streaks of power that illuminated the sorceress' face and made gooseflesh break out along her arms. Her eyes scanned the paper in her hand a final time, cementing each character, every space, and all of its lines to her memory before folding it neatly and tossing it into the air. A halo of light pulsed around it, then contracted into nothingness once more, taking the paper with it.

Her own magic reached out to brush against the sharp corner of the Hex and collided with a pulse of energy shooting through it. Like water onto hot lava the wall burst into a thousand crimson droplets, hissing and sparking erratically, but it was all the confirmation she needed to finalize her strategy. The spell was powerful, but it was shoddily constructed. Press on its weakest parts---and it'd collapse long enough to let her through without strain.

Again she reached out her hand and allowed the golden strands of power to grow from her fingers until they were wedged into position, and this time when the Hex reacted to her, the hole it made was large enough for her to step through mostly unchanged. She could tell, before she could see, that the clothes on her body stretched and hiked and pinned into new positions and shape, and something unspeakable had happened to her hair.

"Just lovely." She sighed, trying to summon her patience.

The town's streets were frozen with statues of living flesh. At the furthest points they could scarcely move their eyes to plead with her, but as she drew closer to the heart of the incantation, their dead limbs began to move robotically; repeating a given action again and again.

She made a mental note of another source of power, thinly concealed and trickling from the windows of an unassuming home, but didn't think it was anything to worry about.

The doorbell chimed as she looked at her watch, clocking exactly how much of her time this was eating up. It'd been a ten minute walk to this sad little house. And another forty-seven seconds for a young woman with red hair and an overwhelming magical aura to answer the door.

"Jeez, you would think that they would get the hint already." Finlee sighed as she walked up to the car parked two blocks down from her house. She knocked on the window and started talking before it was all the way down. "You know if you were any worse at this I would think you wanted me to discover you."

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