Cohost writing prompt: @spy-thief-assassin-who — Assassin who keeps forgetting just how small a ventilation shaft is
"Walk me through this again," Pietro says wearily. "You deviated from the plan because—"
"Because there were guards patrolling the second floor." The Nightwolf looks at him impassively, her hair falling into her eyes. Gawky, serious, flinch-inducingly bloody with a knife. "There were no guards in the plan. I improvised."
He nods judiciously. "So."
"I retreated from detection to a less-secured area, and located an alternative route downward from the roof to the target."
He nods again.
"I scaled an air duct—"
"You scaled two floors down a vertical air duct with no handholds and no gear."
"I am very good," the Nightwolf says, perfectly seriously.
"It is a very small air duct," Pietro says, wishing he could just nod indulgently. Da, you are very good, well done.
"So small," the Nightwolf says, and flexes her arms. "My shoulders ached afterwards. Two whole floors."
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "The duct is four inches square," he complains, and the Nightwolf's expression begins to crumple into — a fiction of polite confusion, covering dawning realisation.
"Remind me how big inches are, again?" she says, and Pietro digs around in his pockets, produces a battered tailor's tape, and unreels four inches to display to her, his mouth set.
"...Ow, ow, my shoulders?" the Nightwolf says, brows creeping upward with errant hope, and he stares at her.
"Cursed snowmen bugger my aunt sideways," he says finally, "you lie like a small child with cake all over its face: no, Mama, I have never stolen a dessert not ever not me. Again, you liar: you deviated from the plan because—"