BOOK 3 of the ORPHIC Series
CHURLISH
/ˈCHərliSH/
marked by a lack of civility.
~~~~~
Lucille 'Lucy' Opal Baker finds herself in the 21 century sporting the title of Aunt while lugging along h...
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"It takes one to know one."
???, Sokovia September, 2015
LUCY GRIPPED HER KEVLAR UNIFORM tightly, her eyes flicking over the absence of buckles in places she could never reach, always needing someone else to do so for her. It looked similar to the uniform she'd worn with the Avengers in 2012, but it was stitched together with far more expertise, silver lining the rows of cut fabric. She felt for trackers and felt relieved when she felt two in each sleeve.
That was good—Tony would be able to find her if she ever got lost.
Her relief remained as she carefully removed her HYDRA-esque tac gear, removing her phone and placing it on the bathroom counter. Her fingers twitched as she had the urge to ask Henry if he was okay. But she'd told him not to call, which meant it was right about the time that she'd have to stop being attached to her abuser—stop giving him a chance to hurt her.
But he'd been so nice at times, hadn't he?
He'd taken the time to set up safe houses for people she cared about, and had taken the time to give her and James a chance to escape. He'd helped the Avengers reprogram her to be human, and he'd offered to give her all of his possessions.
So she didn't really know if she wanted to. . .let him go.
She sighed as she pulled her white tac pants over her hips.
She knew Tony had purposely designed it to be as bright and as comfortable as possible. It was kind of cliche that the uniform was a blinding unpigmented hue, but it came to her as a gesture of comfort. She wasn't trapped under HYDRA's thumb, at least, not as much as she used to be. She didn't feel the oppressing tightness that the buckles had—she didn't need to suck in her stomach.
She gave herself a once over as she glanced at the mirror. She blinked, momentarily confused by the black strands of hair spreading between locks of blonde and clashing oddly with white. She reached upwards and grasped one of the black strands, staring at it with bewilderment.
She knew locks of hair could turn white abruptly out of sheer anxiety and stress, but strands of black?
That wasn't a condition she ever heard of.
She bit the inside of her lip, before releasing a sigh.
Would James not like her if she had dark hair? No, he didn't care about what she looked like.
But she was sure Schmidt would roll around in his grave if he ever saw one of his prized test subjects with dark black hair. No more blonde-haired blue eyed perfection, not that anyone's looks could ever be perfect through one single lens, judgemental beyond belief.
