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A thin layer of settled rain lays scattered across the cracked tar of the bridge, with glistens of beautifully reflected moonlight dancing blissfully across the water. Upon the horizon, a grandiose city stands tall within the night, its vibrant array of colours a euphoric contrast to the dark hues of the night. With the destination of the city guiding them forth, a group of four unlikely partners cross the darkness of a road, standing side by side through their journey, which had only just begun.
"We have to do something about this. I'm the only one who looks like a pimp."
"Only an American would assume a fashion-forward black man is a pimp." An expensive coat hanging from his shoulders, and a fur collar brushing against his neck, Zemo leads the unusual quartet. Glancing momentarily upon Sam, who, much in the same manner, adorns fancy attire, Zemo retrieves a phone from his pocket, unlocking it before offering it to the man. "You look exactly like the man you're supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger."
"He even has a bad nickname." The complaint falling past his lips, Sam accepts the phone from the Sokovian man. Displayed upon the fluorescent illuminance of the phone, an image of a formally dressed man is displayed — one bearing an undeniable resemblance to himself. "Hell, he does look like me though."
"Just be grateful you don't have to wear someone else's face," A thunderous displeasure laced within her tone, Ella mutters these few words. The tip of her finger lightly brushes against the every detail of her features, which, through the workings of a small, yet powerful, device she wears, are nothing alike to hers. She knew the device as a Photostatic Veil — a stolen item of shield technology enabling any user to appear as another. Despite her familiarity with it, her knowledge brought no ease to the brewing discomfort within herself as she appeared utterly different, with even her voice changed by the veil — deeming her unrecognisable, even to herself.
"It's a death sentence to appear as yourself, at least in the area we're going to." Zemo glances upon the woman from the corner of her eye, the corners of his lips upturning ever-so-slightly, forming the shell of what could be a smirk. And, though she wished to remain oblivious, Elle knew of how he found sick amusement within her unease. "Your face is far too recognisable."
A vague scoff crawling from her throat, Ella mocks, "Because I'm an Avenger?"
"Partially." The monotonous nature of Zemo's words echoes amongst the cool, night air, only aiding in sparking annoyance within Ella. "Mostly because you're a Stark. It should be no surprise that you and your family are hated amongst the people here."
