open | you got the story all made up inside your head.

[debts]

CHARACTERS: natasha romanoff debts and you.
LOCATION: kitchens.
WARNINGS: n/a.
SUMMARY: natasha romanoff drinks tea. some people sit. some people don't.
NOTES: will edit for future warnings.

[ Natasha misses the tea back home. It's not a strictly Russian sentiment, either. She misses teas, her little collection in one of her safehouses where it was readily available at a local market, the ones she could mix and blend together depending on what she felt; sharp citrus and rose teas for mornings, soothing green for nights. Not, exactly, the way Natasha likes to start her day -- the reality is that she misses sun the same way people miss summer, memories with sentimental touches that include drinking tea on a Brooklyn fire escape, warmth on her back. She's sitting at one of the tables and maybe the picture she paints is dramatic, bordering on poetic; her glock, disassembled in front of her, next to her mug (coffee, not tea). Next to that are her holsters, two small flat discs and in her hands is a spool that she slowly unwinds, checks the tensile strength of.

All of this is gear she hasn't had to use in months. She polishes it up anyway, in a public area, in her tac-suit and boots up on a chair. Her hair is still sporting the remnants of how choppy it used to be when she sheared it off with a knife, sitting at uneven angles at shoulder-length as she respools her garroting wire.

So, you know. Come over if you want to touch some shiny things or whatever. ]

Comments

[debts]

[ Natasha crosses one ankle over the other, boots making a solid thud on the remaining unoccupied chair. ]

Sometimes, [ she says, almost absently, taking one of the flat discs and peering at it, bringing it up to the light. ] My little black dress doesn't work.

[ Notably, she doesn't reach for the remaining pieces of her glock. She watches him and his hands. The turn of his wrist. ]

If you haven't been down to gunnery, it would be worth a visit.

[trusted]

I've made a few.

[He's been feinting like he might sign up, there or somewhere else, but really that's not what the choice comes down to.]

Steve's joining sec.

[That is. Where he goes, Bucky's going to follow, even if he hangs back just long enough to make it look like it's his own choice. But that's already written in the history books, isn't it? He curls the last loop of wire round and offers it back.]

So, about this dress...

[debts]

[ She huffs out a laugh. Doesn't say anything until he hands that piece back to her. She observes it carefully, with obvious scrutiny; there's a curve to the corner of her mouth as she looks up at him occasionally, her brow arched like she's saying what, that's the best you could do?

Natasha does set the little coiled wire down, though. She tips her chin; smiles, like he's barely passed a test. ]

What about it?