911 | james barnes

013

4:56pm, July 18, 2013

New York City, New York

"Hey Casper The Friendly Ghost, are you ready?" Tony asked, his voice teasing as he gazed down at the teenager, her skin paler than usual.

"God, I hate you Tin Can." Violetta retorted, her eyes alight with a fiery gaze that Tony hadn't seen before.

"What's your thing?" He asked, dropping his body onto the stool a few feet away, watching the confused girl's movements carefully.

"My thing?"

"Yeah, your, motive, I guess. I don't really know what happened to you when you were, you know. I've briefly heard what it was like for Natasha, but she shows it differently to you. I just want to know what you did there to end up here." Tony stammered uncharacteristically, he played with the frayed hem of his shirt, the glowing light of his arc reactor making the plain fabric look much more interesting.

"Back in the Red Room, everything sucked, really. I was one of the youngest students they ever had, so they worked me more than any of the other girls. I was taking classes for 20 hours each day, and the small amount of time I got to sleep, I was handcuffed to my bed. It's pretty hard to sleep when you feel so defenseless, so I can't even count the number of nights I went without sleep and just cried. Especially the first few years.

"I was four when I got there, all I wanted was to play with dolls and run around in the back garden with my Dad. I wanted to be tucked into bed and told bedtime stories, but I was dancing and fighting and learning for so long." Violetta began, shifting up from laying on the uncomfortable hospital-like bed Tony had invested in a few years ago. He nodded along, face invested with no hint of a taunting remark brewing in his mind.

"What do you mean learning? What did they teach you?" Tony enquired, his fidgeting coming to a halt.

"Languages. Oh so many languages. By the time I was 10, I was fluent in every European language and their dialects. Last year, I was tested in over fifty languages. Fluent in thirty-two, proficient in sixteen. My teacher used to spit at me every time I pronounced something wrong, so I learnt pretty quickly after that." Violetta laughed humourlessly, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"So I'm guessing you were their little prodigy? I mean, Forty-eight languages to have high comprehension is amazing." Tony sputtered, his eyes gazing at her with something one could only describe as adoration.

"Oh dear God, no. I was their biggest disappointment. I had been practising these languages for years and I still wasn't fluent? Trash. My punishment for that was fifty-six hours of selection fights. One for every language I should have known. It was a long few days that was, but I've righted myself and am fluent in fifty-four, proficient in two." Violetta preened, her chest puffing the slightest bit as she finished. Tony smiled with her, his attention not daring to leave her.

"What are selection fights?" He probed, careful to say the words softly for fear of upsetting her. Violetta sighed, losing all trace of happiness and pride in an instant.

"The KGB's way of natural selection. They'd pair two girls up to fight. You'd come out of it either victorious or dead. Selection fights happened every quarter, more often if there was any disobedience. I killed so many of my friends and peers that day that I think I just blacked out. I remember the first two, and then the next thing I know I looked down and I was covered in blood and being taken back to the dorm room. The next few weeks were pretty quiet. I cut attendance down a lot that year." Violetta exhaled quickly through her nose, her eyes dark as she looked toward the floor where Tony's feet rested. He moved them quickly, scuttling toward where she lay, grabbing her hand comfortingly and giving her a tight lipped smile.