Technologically Advanced
Sometimes tech needs aren't on the mission request form. That doesn't mean they won't be requested anyways.



"Best quote"

The SHIELD labs are not usually places Natasha Romanoff finds herself, not that anyone would know by the way she walks in the space (it's really not that different than anywhere else she walks). Her black nylon SHIELD uniform, complete with SHIELD patches on the arms, seems to draw attention from some of those around her in this part of the base. And plenty of attention there is. Mostly in the form of staring. There's a curious tilt to her head as she meanders through the perfectly white halls corridors towards to the section of the lab where she knows she will find Trent Carter.

As a key member of Fury's team, Carter has his own corner at the back of the lab, complete with toys, benches, and the like. The flourescent lights overhead, however, and lack of natural light or windows are a constrant reminder that this is not a science lab. Here they work in secrets with the kind of technology only science fiction considers.

There's a slight curve to Natasha's mouth and an unusal softness in her eyes as she leans against the frame of the doorway in a nearly lounging way. "Can I interrupt your work for a moment, Doctor?"

Stooped over some sort of iPad looking device, Trent straightens and swivels in his chair at the sound of Natasha. There are multiple devices that look like they've been taken apart and are in the different stages of repair and invention. Multiple computer screens surround him all with data moving at super speeds.

He knits his hands and then puts them behind his head and leans back. "Why Agent Romanoff. I always have a moment for a woman who could kill me without even trying. What can I do for you?"

There's a flicker of amusement that holds in the edges of Natasha's mouth following the comment, and the answer is taken as an invitation. A fleeting glance is given to each of the devices resting on the various tables, eventually eliciting a very nonchalant, "You have a serious lack of chairs in your lab. Must not entertain much," she deadpans, but the amusement lingers in her gaze.

Carefully, she edges a little closer to Trent, but still not so close to as disrupt the screens before she hoists herself up onto one of his lab tables. Her gaze turns to the screens abuzz with information, causing her head to cant to the side as her eyes glaze over it.

"I need some tech," comes the simple request, "and I was curious whether you could oblige me." Again her lips curve just a little upwards. Not a full smile, but not a frown or demand either.

Trent glances around and shrugs his shoulders at not having chairs. "Oh, uh, no. People don't feel the need to stay for long. It's normally just, 'Carter, get me a gun that can shoot backwards' and then leave." He starts to clear off some of his inventions to make some room for Natasha to sit on the table. "Also, they won't let me have any more after I turned Masters' into an ejector seat."

In the middle of clearing, he raises an eyebrow at Natasha. "Oh? Normally requests for your team come through the Director himself."

There's an arch of Natasha's eyebrow at the notion of Masters being ejected from his seat, but no further comment on that subject. On some level, The Black Widow approves, particularly because of his recent comments about her. The last comment, however, causes Natasha's chin to drop towards her chest. For a moment, it looks as if she's deciding something, the cogs in her brain working their magic as she leans just a little closer to him.

Her lips purse and she seems to consider Trent at length. Finally, she settles on, "It's a personal precaution." She's on point. "While the Director has given us all our roles to play, and generally forwards all of our needs, this one is for my peace of mind." Her head cants the other direction and her lips press into a tight thin line. When she speaks again, her tone is nearly apologetic, "If you wish, I can speak to the Director first, but it seems he's preoccupied by other recent events involving my colleagues. I have concerns that my request will not make it through if I did not try to speak to you directly." Pause. "Time is of the essence."

Trent picks up something that looks like a cross between dust buster and a gun and then just hugs it to his chest. "Wait, you want me to go behind the back of the man who I think possibly took out one of his eyes so he could have it placed in the back of his head so no one could get the jump on him?" He does not exactly seem thrilled at the idea.

He doesn't kick Natasha out of the lab, though. Instead, he gives her a sideways look. "What is it exactly that you want me to make for you?"

"You said yourself this mission was a trap," Natasha counters carefully. "I'm not suggesting we go behind his back. You could add my request to the mission inventory should you choose to." She shrugs. And then the question of what the request is. "A lock pick. For a digital lock. I can pick a manual one in ten seconds flat, but digital is another story. I need an exit strategy." Her head turns towards the door, "I am not trusting Masters and Beta team to provide that for me."

Her eyebrows twitch upwards. "I am the spider. I weave the webs. I don't plan on being caught in someone else's." Her eyes shift towards the door, "I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable though. I could approach someone else in the lab…"

"You are whatever scary predator you can be. I am some tech geek. I don't even get a fun codename." It's not that Trent thinks she'll give him up so much as he'll get caught and then fired - or shot. However it is that people are relieved of duty in a super secret spy agency.

Shifting the dust buster gun to the crook of one of his arms, he frowns at Natasha. "A digital lock pick is easy enough. I basically just need to get you something to fit in the mechanism and then puts out enough electricity to fry the circuit." It's, also, not like she's asking him for a gun or a plane or something noticeable that could get him in trouble. "I wouldn't trust Masters to have my back if it fell disembodied into his arms. But, Hill seems like she'd get the job done." However, Masters would still be there. He's always a wild card.

Natasha casts Trent a sidelong glance as her lips hitch up on one side. She leans back somewhat, maintaining her balance on the alb bench as she studies his features at some length. "Hill is competent," she agrees evenly, "But I'm not convinced Masters and Beta team are team players. Thaddeus Ross encouraged feelings of entitlement within his own team, indicating that they think their mission more important and central compared to the rest of us."Once more she falls into silence, allowing the quiet stillness to do its work for her. Finally after further study, she asks, "Is that a yes then?"

"They spell team T-I-E-M." Meaning, there is an 'I'. Trent has never really been among those who thought himself better than others. He only thinks he's smarter than just about everyone. That doesn't mean he won't help other people out, it just means he'll make sure they know he was smarter than them. There's a long pause as he considers both the implications and repercussions, but finally just gives a single nod. "Come back in a few hours. I'll have it for you." Beat. "If Fury finds you with it, I'm telling him you seduced me for it."

The spelling of Team elicits a smirk from Natasha. "Indeed." The smirk extends into a satisfied smile at the instructions. Excellent. She'll have what she needs. "Well at least you have a story," she replies lowly, "and if the rumours are to be believed…" she shrugs. Rumours. Black Widow, the eternal tease. She hops, quite literally, off the counter, and slowly treads to the door. For a moment she lingers in the doorway, deciding something, but with the decision made she steps through it.

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