The New Nude Natasha

----As written in an RP by Bluemoon Roleplaying Forums user Marvelous

You know what they said about omelettes and broken eggs, right? Well what was that saying about when it came to vials of unspeakably precious liquid and the unyielding metal floor of a hangar? It was a hell of a lot more difficult to make an omelette out of a situation that was going to have Nicholas J. Fury reading the absolute riot act toward everyone in a fifty foot radius of the incident. In hindsight, studying the security camera footage, it would probably be obvious that if Natasha Romanoff hadn't risen to the bait of Vic's approach and transferred the vials into one hand while she gripped the man by the collar to keep him from getting any closer than he already had in his friendly approach, she probably wouldn't have dropped them.

So was there really anyone to blame but herself for what came next?

In point of fact, extremely careful study of the tape would have proven that there was someone else to blame, albeit not necessarily anyone who had been in the hanger that day. Studious attention might have realized that the liquid had flared red to life again when Natasha rounded the corner, reacting to something in a way that seemed like complete coincidence given that no one had been able to figure out what had been causing the Asgardian fluids to turn crimson now and again. Reality being what one made of it, the enchanted water kept seeking to make itself reality as soon as someone expressed their desires to see that reality made. It found itself thwarted by the vials that contained it, but it didn't stop it from trying to make the world transform for the strongest will around. It had gone crimson when Fury had been muttering about wishing he knew a damn thing about Asgardian magic. It had gone crimson when Natasha mentioned she would settle for Earth never being invaded by aliens or gods or alien gods ever again. But Fury did not become a wizard, nor did Natasha erect a barrier of protection around the entire planet. The liquid remained inert, and faded back to translucent. It wasn't as though mere water was strong enough to break out of the glass that held it, after all.

But when Vic Ryan talked about how they might as well have walked around naked? Sure, that was every bit the idle wish that every other reaction caused had been, but never underestimate the sheer power of the male libido to extremely vividly imagine a world where that could have been the case. Where every so called superheroine who "painted on" her costume just gave up the high minded feminism routine and went out even more stark than Iron Man. Security footage would show that the vials were just finishing going a deep crimson as Natasha rounded the corner, and that Vic looked toward her in such a way that someone might have been able to put two and two together that "they" had suddenly found a curvaceous (if somewhat intimidating) spokeswoman in his most wild fantasies.

Who knows? Maybe things would have been different if he hadn't just put the same thought into Chris Clyde's head either. Because when he looked over at Natasha's approach, it was easy to not be focusing on the way the liquid inside the vials sloshed and rattled so imperceptibly within its prison that one never noticed that it should have been mostly still thanks to Natasha's notoriously catlike reflexes and steady hands, not roiling around like she'd just missed a step. The Aetheressence felt power, faint and diluted (like itself), and tried to move toward it. Two diluted powers together could form a greater whole, after all. Like a magnet, the liquid tried to pull itself toward Clyde even as the three agents found themselves bantering, and Natasha loosened her grip just enough that the liquid inside tugged hard toward him in a way that only under very, very careful review of the footage would it become obvious that the liquid had genuinely leapt out of Black Widow's hands like it was trying to commit suicide by shattering.

It got its greatest wish, and Natasha Romanoff got Vic and Clyde's off-handed version of reality. And that was exactly why nobody ever figured out what happened. The security footage never got studied especially closely before the dramatic smash, which was usually when the slow-mo tended to be utilized.

In person, it was an almost blink-and-miss-it effect, a ripple in the air and ground that made it look like the entire world had just had a skipping stone tossed into it and created concentric circles rushing outward. They expanded and then faded in about a ten foot radius before they were gone, going no further than the room they were in. And in slow motion, the ripple passing over Natasha saw her boots suddenly coming apart as though they were made of a million tiny crimson threads which unraveled and dissipated into the wind, working its way up her skintight catsuit along her legs with a circular expansion. For a split second, as the thighs and hips of her suit disappeared, there was a glimpse of some black lace, and then it too was gone. Only through careful study did the "Reality Shockwave" even become clear in the shape of the way her clothing was utterly destroyed and the faint after image of wind or some other motion in the rest of the room, and then just like that, it was over and gone. And so was the liquid itself, perfectly dry broken glass left on the hanger floor.

Natasha Romanoff took exceptional care of her body. She was almost the absolute platonic ideal between firm and feminine, never soft enough to entirely erase the musculature that defined her almost swimmer's-toned arms or her balletically athletic legs or the way her stomach seemed to have nearly no give to it when pressure was applied but wasn't etched in with a shapely definition of her abdomen either. And no amount of strength or exercise changed some things, like the natural width of her hips, the way they kept her legs spread the tiniest amount at all times to leave a visible gap between her pale, curved thighs leading up to her naked (and expertly waxed, like everything else beneath her eyebrows) little slit. She had scarcely even finished looking down and cursing as the vials fell out of her hand before the support and structure of her catsuit had vanished entirely, dropping her natural curves back into their natural place against gravity -- and obviously, Romanoff wasn't just defiant in attitude given how the ripe swell of her tits defied gravity proudly, but inexpertly, an utter war clashed between her tight and toned body and the sheer heft of her breasts. Maybe in a decade, gravity would win, but for here and now every breath the secret agent took was an opportunity for the fight to begin anew even once the bouncing jiggle of her newfound freedom settled down.

And maybe worse than being one hundred percent, completely, utterly naked in front of her two compatriots out of nowhere was the fact that entirely uncharacteristically, Natasha chose that moment to scream. It came out before she could even stop it, stepping back daintily but frantically from the broken glass near her now **** little toes, but it wasn't because she was so abruptly and thoroughly exposed that she cried out: it was that there had been two vials, and two ripples, something almost only visible in **** slow mo. And she felt it, a rush of fiery heat that should have seared her alive, but then -- didn't. She fully expected, in the half second of conscious realization that her clothing had just disappeared, for the flaming heat of the second wave to make her disappear next. But then, it didn't.

And she was left wide-eyed, breathless, and nearly en pointe on the balls of her feet to try to lean back away from the glass and the sensation before she realized that it was over. She was naked, but it was over.

"What the hell?" Natasha exclaimed with a heightened, pinched sound in her voice that went right along with her surprised shriek, her nerves jangled in a way they rarely were. But that didn't mean that idle hands were going to be at play. Whatever had just blasted her hadn't blasted Vic or Clyde .. and poor Vic got a sudden firsthand experience with just how brutally efficient the Widow could actually be when he got spun around and had his jacket yanked right down his shoulders and arms, wrenched off with a motion that spun the too-big-for-her jacket around almost in the same motion. She was used to procuring weapons in the beat of a heart, and procuring clothing wasn't that far off in her skill set it seemed. Slinging his jacket over her shoulders before the commotion could draw any more eyes toward them, she pulled it on one arm only for her skin to ripple almost imperceptibly.

The jacket vanished in a circular wave that seemed to emanate directly from Widow herself, leaving her with her arms slightly spread out in anticipation of the sleeves dropping around her arms, and instead only leaving her even more exposed as she managed to spirit away her coworker's jacket to the God Knows Where dimension the rest of her clothing had vanished away to.

And that was when her vivid green eyes truly registered a moment of panic.