FTB- Chapter 1
Darcy bent over and adjusted the zipper on her boots with a disgusted sigh. She could never find knee high boots that fitted her comfortably; they always pinched her toes or were too tight in the shins. These were of the shin-torturing variety and were insisting on unzipping as she walked – she could have sworn they fit better in the store. As she tugged the little zipper nub higher she once again she wondered who exactly they were designing women's clothing for? Blouses never fit her chest, boots never fit her legs… So now, the zipper on the left boot was driving her mad, digging into the side of her knees every time she took a step.
"Nice undies, chica!" warbled a voice behind her.
Darcy straightened up abruptly, startling a pigeon into flight as she spun around, smoothing her skirt, prepared to give some rude jerk a piece of her mind.
There was no one there.
The only living being within twenty feet was an old woman sitting on a bench feeding pigeons. The little old lady was paying her no mind, engaged in a lively conversation with the flock. And she didn't look like the type to play practical jokes on twenty-something girls; even if she was crazy enough to talk to pigeons. Darcy huffed to herself and began hobbling across the green, throwing the wrapper from her sandwich into a convenient wastebasket on the way. She pulled a wrapped cookie out of her purse and began munching as she meandered towards the subway station.
"Please miss. I am so hungry, may I have a bite of your food."
Darcy sighed and walked a little faster trying to ignore the voice; she was a New Yorker now, she was not supposed to stop and give away all of her lunch. Well, not every day at least.
"Hey, Miss, Miss! She picked up her pace, hoping distance would help salve the savage sorrow that always tore at her when she encountered one of New York's many homeless people. Just then a group of pigeons broke off from the old lady's flock and settled in front of her causing her to break her stride.
The pigeon's sleek grey bodies pumping as they strutted, bobbing and twisting their heads, beady eyes focused on the cookie in her hand. "Shoo!" she shouted, waving her arm in front of her to scatter the birds. It didn't do much good, causing the few closest to fly up and resettle further away; but for the most part the flock continued to gave hopeful chase. "Dirty things," she muttered "you are not getting my cookie."
"Oi," another warbling voice spoke up "where you get off calling me dirty. I just took a bath in the fountain over there."
Darcy screeched to a halt, spinning around to try to identify the voice. Did that pigeon…No, of course not.
"Stark!" she hollered into the air. "Knock it off!"
The birds panicked and took flight; as they winged away from her Darcy was almost sure she had heard a confused babble of conversation.
Just as she had nearly reached entry to the subway station a woman screamed.
Darcy reacted automatically; hours of experience in the Avenger's training rooms coming into play as she ducked off to the side, looking for cover. She came to rest behind a convenient trash can, her taser grasped firmly in her hand as she scanned the area. There were no apparent threats but a hubbub was formulating about twenty feet away. Darcy couldn't quite hear the conversation, but it seemed to center on two middle-aged housefrau's; probably fighting over a man, or the last Gucci knock-off purse from the sidewalk vendor. This was New York, you never knew..
Just as she started to relax, the adrenaline leeching from her system, a voice piped up from beside her "Oi! This is my spot ya big girl."
Darcy started, and swung about, leading with the taser. But the day was just continued getting weirder: once again there was no one there. She didn't need three guesses who as responsible for the weirdness; Iron Moron had been harassing her with pranks all week – it was not like it was her fault that he was an old guy! "Stark," she said, sotto voiced, "I don't know how you're doing this but it is not the time."
"Name's not Stark, ya daft thing, It's Veronica. Go find your own hiding place."
Darcy looked around and then down, with a certain amount of trepidation forming in her breast. There, in a dim corner formed by the edge of a planter and the garbage can she was sheltering behind, was a muted flash of grey and a shiny black eye. Darcy leaned forward slightly, peering into the gloom; a fat pigeon was eyeing her beadily, hunkered down in relative safety. Darcy shoot her head in disbelief, been hanging around the Avengers to much recently, she thought.
With a dark mutter about Tony Stark and his idea of jokes she returned her focus to the plaza before her; whatever had happened, the moment had passed. The crowd, light as it was for this time of day, had moved on as the natives quickly continued on with their business. Slipping her taser back into her bag, she stood cautiously, only to swear as the blasted zipper on her boot dug deeply into her leg again. With a little growl she bent over to tug it back into place again.
"Oh my!" said the voice "Are you wearing Fredrick's under that suit?"
Darcy gaped as the pigeon came waddling out of it hiding place, its grey head bobbing back and forth. "Um…y. ?" she stammered staring down at the bird at her foot.
"Oh I do like that!" burbled the bird as it strutted between her legs and peered up. "Boring on the outside, slutty on the inside. The whole Madonna-whore thing - it's a classic combination."
"Although, I'm not entirely certain that matching your shoe and panties color is entirely appropriate – perhaps just a bit too much. Or maybe it's the color…"
Darcy shrieked and danced away from the peeping pigeon, her hands flapping in stunned surprised before digging frantically through her shoulder bag.
"Careful, you enfant! Do not step on me!" scolded the bird as it flapped up and lit on the edge of the planter.
Darcy stopped, clutching her bag to her chest, pigeon in the sights of her taser. She gasped for breath, her heart racing, as she stared at the talkative pigeon. "How?" she breathed. The bird cocked its head inquisitively. "I mean… you talk? You talk!"
"Stellar powers of observation. Now I'm not entirely surprised at your color choice. Orange is really not your best color."
"They're not orange." hissed Darcy, looking around to see if anyone was taking notice of their conversation. "They are sherbet."
"Are you certain?" The pigeon hopped down from the wall and strutted back towards her, head bobbing briskly "They certainly looked orange." Darcy quickly snapped her legs together and flattened her skirt to her legs with her hands. "Oh, really! Why you wearing those if ya don't want anyone to look? Fine; be that way then" The bird muttered in response to her actions.
"Stop looking at my underwear!" shouted the vexed girl.
"Well, that's about all we can see from down here" commented the pigeon in a matter-of-fact tone "You tend to become quite au fait."
"au fait…" Darcy trailed off. Only in New York would the pigeons have a French vocabulary
"Yes, au fait – conversant with? You really are not the brightest of big folks, are you?"
Oh my god, Darcy thought, it's like The Birds but creepier and more embarrassing. Darcy whipped her phone out of her purse, punched in her access code and hit the red button. A moment later Coulson was on the line.
"Ms. Lewis."
"I've just been insulted by a pigeon!" Darcy shouted into the device.
There was silence on the phone. Darcy stared at it a moment before venturing "Did you hear me? I've been insulted by a pigeon"
"It's not like we haven't seen up your skirts before. And you could do with a little fashion advice"
Another voice broke in "I think she's just ashamed of her chubby thighs. Oh come on now girlie, give up a peek."
"Two pigeons!" she cried out as she glared at the two fat birds in front of her "Now I've been insulted by two pigeons!"
"Oh, she thinks she's been insulted. I haven't even said anything about those awful boots!" interjected another bird as it joined the rapidly growing group in front of her.
