#rh01

Dismal. That was the best way to explain the state of affairs. Completely and totally dismal. At this point, there wasn't even a silver lining to be found. They were stuck in New York City — an undeniably godless place — in some strange reality no one had ever heard of. Elsa had been happy with her life. Disgruntled at times, sure, but ultimately content overall. She had made a killing — quite literally — by avoiding multiversal travel. Other dimensions were fine, but new realities were not. Now, she was marooned with no choice in the matter.

New York wasn't entirely a stranger. Elsa had become acquainted with the city over the years, but she had never cared enough to call it home. It was for business only — if she was going to vacation, it was somewhere warm and tropical. Stepping into any dark street in NYC without being fully armed felt wrong. It was because of this that she stayed strapped. Two firearms (one loaded with silver bullets and the other with the standard fare), stakes, the dagger in her boot. Had it been a hunting night specifically, the crossbow would have been on her back. That always garnered too many questioning looks, though, so it had been left at home for a night at the bar.

Surprisingly, the weather in New York wasn't too different than what Elsa would have expected in London at this time of the year. Wet, cool, but ultimately not frigid. The chill pinched at the skin left exposed by her leather coat. Thankfully, the flush of liquor warmed her from the inside like a furnace. New York was the pits, but at least they poured a hefty shot.

Central Park was technically closed at night after one am. Of course, that had done little to stop Elsa. She wasn't necessarily looking for trouble, but her trigger finger was itching and she wouldn't have minded a little adventure. Shooting at dummies in the Avenger's Compound did little to hold her interest. It was mundane and boring and —

There.

A rustle. Nothing more than the whispering of leaves brushing together and the quiet hush of grass blowing in the night air. To most, it would be imperceptible. To Elsa, it was an exciting possibility. She stilled, eyes dissecting the dark. Waiting was no issue. The hunter stood, stock-still. Squirrels scurried across the brush, too small to be a human. It wasn't until there was a telltale crunch of a branch under a foot that Elsa moved, angling her body to block the path of the stranger.