2014-02-28 - Lessons Learned

Natasha is running a little late for the mentoring appointment she had made with Jeanne. When she arrives, she looks exhausted, but alert. She's in street clothes, not her costume.

"Finesse. Apologies on my tardiness." She regards the younger woman consideringly. "I watched your attempts at infiltration. I would like to go over them with you, and discuss where you have need to improve."

"Of course," agrees Finesse, utterly attentive. In a way, that focus, that attentiveness might remind Natasha of herself, when she, too, was training. "I would appreciate your input, that I may correct my faults." She stands at an almost 'at ease' stance.

Natasha nods curtly, moving to the door to the combat zone's simulation room. "Follow me," she says coolly, before slipping inside the door, taking a seat at the controls, calling up the first of the programs: infiltration through stealth. Specifically, Finesse's attempt through the program. A holographic version of Finesse shimmers to life in the program already, as well-- where she had been recorded.

There is only a nod of compliance from the rather blunt student. She follows without pause, moving to follow her mentor and takes a seat where she can both view Natasha, and the screen present. She mentions, as she does this, "The skill sets I have implemented in this particular scenario were lessons taught to me by different dojo's and masters while I studied abroad in Japan. While I was unable to witness actual infiltration, I learned many methods from these lessons, and extrapolated them into my actions."

Natasha lifts a brow. "That is why you were so... stiff." She regards the girl as she presses play on the scenario, which plays out before them both. "You cannot simply copy what you have seen before and expect adequate results. You movements are slow and almost choppy."

Well, for any normal person, Finesse would have seemed damned skilled. But this is Natasha's area of expertise.

"Do you dance?" Nat asks idly. Seemingly idly. While she peruses Jeanne's file. She's already watched this vid three times-- this more for Finesse to observe her own actions.

"That is not a pursuit that I have attempted to learn, no. Unlike horseback riding, sharpshooting, billiards, gymnastics, and other activities that my parents wished me to learn before I emancipated myself," Yes ... she emancipated herself ..., "Dance was not something where they felt a need for me to learn or train. I pursued education at MIT, then was hired by Stark Enterprises. I have since dedicated most of my training into computer science, and physical combat."

Natasha glances over the younger woman's body, assessing in a cold way. "Small breasts, acrobatic form, long legs." She muses. "Ballet. And ballroom dancing-- tango, salsa, any partner dancing you can find lessons for. I will pay for the lessons if you need me to. I require you to take both. It helps."

No further explanation. She returns to looking over Jeanne's file, but pauses the scenario. "There. Do you see what is wrong with what you are doing there?" She points out where the girl is beginning to make her way into the facility proper.

"Very well. I will begin lessons as soon as possible if you believe it will assist my improvement," Jeanne accepts, without question. Accepting the wisdom, or criticism, perhaps both, in the same manner as she might take a drink of water. Here is a woman, renowned for her talents - and Finesse knows she's lucky to be able to have such a mentor. The mistake would be to not listen. And, as attention shifts to the screen? Jeanne considers the image of herself, studies the scenario. She does not guess, does not attempt to placate, or sound smarter than she is. "I do not," she admits, cleanly, and without apology. "What am I missing?" She almost sounds - frustrated, more than anything. At her failure, and at not being able to spot it, in retrospect.

Natasha points out several spots from where Jeanne might have been spotted using the access point she chose. "You are lucky that you were not spotted. You must be aware of your surroundings, completely, when utilizing stealth. Arrogance will only serve to get yourself or your team killed." She makes a small hmming noise. "You are generally spatially aware, but you do not take into consideration the human element." There's nothing soft about Natasha's comment regarding human elements, if anything, it seems more like she's referring to an exploitable flaw.

Finesse processes the critique, giving it the merit that such words, coming from someone like the Black Widow should be given. She is thoughtful for long enough for the gears to turn in her mind, her eyes never wavering from the screen. Then, between Natasha's words, her own flaw of seeking - always chasing that burden of perfection to almost painstaking proportions, and her ability to recall nearly any moment, she sees it outlined brilliantly. "I had watched the movements of the guards, twice. And continued to presume they would continue upon the same patrol, without deviation - and I no longer considered them a threat to my discovery."

Natasha lets out a small derisive noise. "Which is why you ignored that they might come back. Dropped a cigarette. Deviated from their timed rounds because one had to piss." She shrugs lightly, hitting play again. "Humans are prone to errors. That is why dismissing them--" and just as Finesse is barely out of sight, the guards round the corner, twenty seconds earlier than planned, "--is a mistake. Especially if you think you are /sure/."

"What is the best method to account for the human factor?" Jeanne's focus only, if possible, intensifies. Like a sponge, absorbing all Natasha states, and as a determined individual not willing to cut any corners in the least, to make sure she never shortchanges herself, or misses an opportunity, or makes a further mistake in the same vein. "Each scenario will be different. A different human. A different psychology. A different drive. It would be impossible, without intimate knowledge, to compensate for these factors. The calculations, certainly, are still valuable, but I see the failure that can come of relying solely upon that. What is your advice?"

Natasha leans back in her chair, observing the recording. A hand goes up to her mouth for a moment, her expression looking suddenly nauseated. She takes a couple of shallow breaths, then responds, as if nothing happened, "Listen. Observe. Never assume. You do not need to know their childhood to understand that low-level guards are probably low-level due to incompetence or inexperience. Both things lead to a lack of... precision."

If Jeanne notices the odd breathing - if, indeed she's noticed the changes, however subtle, she makes no mention of them. They're not pertinent to the lesson at hand. "Look at their actions, poise, the way they carry themselves," she nods, once, reciting the words, her thoughts aloud. Not only so she can process them, but also - if she errs, that Natasha can correct her. She seeks no approval, or validation from her mentor - rather, to sift the errors in her thought process away like so much sand through a sifter seeking the gold that might lay within. "Observe for signs of rank, or authority, or lack thereof. And maintain constant vigilance at all time. Never presume that things will remain stagnant."

"Correct." Natasha nods once. "Uniforms are to make the masses faceless and nameless. However, short of cloning, even AIM's beekeeper uniforms cannot hide everything. Stance and stride show confidence, or alertness, or any number of things that can all affect how an operation plays out." She continues to watch the recording. "A situation that was read even a moment ago can change completely in an instant-- so you must always be ready for things to change."

"I will not make the same mistake again," Finesse promises as much to the Black Widow as herself. "The matter will be corrected." She shows no outward appearance of pleasure, or satisfaction at receiving the word of confirmation from Natasha. It's merely a sign that she's on the right track, nothing more.

Natasha's nausea comes back, and the woman rises to her feet. "Excuse me a moment. Please continue to observe the remainder of the video." She disappears out the door for several minutes.

Finesse inclines her head once, to acknowledge. She does not follow, or even inquire into Natasha's health. She instead does as instructed, watching the footage, analyzing it with the new insights that she's been educated on.

After several minutes have passed, Black Widow returns, looking a little paler but otherwise no worse for wear. She retakes her seat, silently watching the remainder of the scenario play out.

"Did you see anything else, given this information, that struck you as methods in your infiltration you could have improved upon?" she asks, steepling her fingertips.

"Taking into consideration our prior conversation, I was too focused on memorizing everything, the nuances, taking each into consideration. This slowed me down. The mission could have been completed more quickly," Finesse states, turning her eyes from the screen, then, to Natasha. "While caution is still merited at all times, and awareness - the better I am able to balance caution with urgency, the less risk factor there is for either myself, or the group."

Natasha nods. "I understand you have started a young superhero group?" she asks. A non-sequitur, perhaps, from anyone else, but this is the Black Widow. She has a reason for asking, even it is not clear.

"I did not." She doesn't seem to be distracted, in the least, by the change of conversation. "America did. As did Raptor. And Hellion. And Speed. I believe the group was formed when we went to Genosha to bring Hellion back. I was considered a member, and find it an interesting dynamic, in addition to my career and the Academy. It is a new challenge." And it should be no secret that Jeanne likes pushing herself, testing her limits. And, unafraid, voices, "It will further help me prepare when the time comes for me to track down my father."

Natasha nods, slowly. Considering.

"Who is the most frustrating of your new teammates to work with?" she asks.

There isn't even the slightest of pauses. "Presently, Raptor. However, since he has begun training under me in martial arts, he is becoming less frustrating. I have not yet worked with our newest member, however." There is no animosity towards Adam, in her words, or her expression. It's merely an answer, fact, and given upon request.

A small snort. "That would figure. He is a Barton." Natasha considers further. "You will run new scenarios. Three more. All stealth. With him." Her tone leaves no room for argument. "You will learn much from him."

Jeanne's glance is not one that will rebuke, or fight Natasha's wisdom. But, she makes no attempt to show her inability to assess, initially, just what it is that Adam can teach -her-. However, she nods. "I will make certain to record the scenarios for your review, and alert you when they are completed."

Natasha's lips quirk in a slight smirk. If the teenage Barton is even half as... enthusiastic... on an operation as the older one, Jeanne will learn a lot of things.

Stealth probably won't be one of them. But she'll learn a lot about the chaos the human element adds.

"The scenarios are already programmed into the Combat Zone. I apologize for not being able to spar with you as of yet. When my condition allows for it, you are one of my higher priorities." Her tone is clipped.

"I will look forward to that," agrees Jeanne, nodding, concisely, to the fact the scenarios are already programmed in. Then, she watches Natasha for a long, stoic moment. Asks, "Have you ever encountered Taskmaster?"

"That information is classified," Natasha replies calmly. "But suffice it to say, I know of him."

That first answer earns Natasha a blank look from Jeanne. The young woman does not believe that, perhaps, her mentor is being entirely truthful with her. But she doesn't press it, either. "I intend to seek him out, sooner, rather than later." She'd told Stark this months ago. "I believe him to be my father, and wish to ascertain the truth."

"Is this relevant to you?" Natasha asks coolly. "Biological father or no, does it affect your abilities to do what you are training for at all?" After all, Natasha herself had not been raised by her biological parents-- both dead by the time she was six. "Are you misguided enough to think if this is so, you may convince him to deviate from his chosen path?"

"Hardly. His path is set." She has no delusions on that front. "I neither seek compassion, or apology from him. Or to change him. What I seek is information. Confirmation. And, elimination. Information that he is my father. If this is so, children I may choose to bear can carry my abilities forward. If this is so, genetically matching myself up with a suitable partner will be prudent. Confirmation that I believe he left me with my adopted parents to see what I would become, to see if he could use me to his own ends. If that is the case, erase that possibility from his goals. And finally, elimination. It is unlikely, but possible, there remain other facets of myself I have not discovered, latent nuances to my abilities that I may either see, or elicit out of him."

Natasha nods, thinking. "Genetic matching is a questionable science at best. There are those who would say there are moral issues with such thoughts." From the lack of concern in Widow's tone, she seems indifferent personally. "As for the rest... we will see. Planning will be required, in any event."

Her holoID buzzes with a message, which she checks. "Ah. I have another meeting to get to," she says calmly. "Please have the scenarios done within the next two weeks." And she stands. "Unless there is anything else you have for me?"

"There is not." Finesse also rises, "I will look forward to our next session, after the scenarios are completed." And, it's not with bragging, it's not a boast, or a challenge. Not in the normal teen sense, or the normal human sense. There is outright commitment in her visage, her voice, "I will look forward to carrying your lessons forward. And, surpassing you in the future." Because she /believes/ she can. Still, the teen holds utmost respect, maybe even admiration? For the Widow. A nod, and she begins to head out of the combat area, and the meeting room. "Thank you for your time, Black Widow."