dankmemes | Test Drive Meme #30

Entry tags:

!test drive

Test Drive Meme #30

Welcome to Hadriel's test drive, and thank you again for your interest in the game! As always, our reserves page is here, and our applications page is here! Reserves open March 25th, and apps are open April 1st. Please remember that there is an app cap of 20 apps.

Two quick points here as well:
1. Any thread made in Hadriel's test drive will be accepted as the sole Action Log sample in the application.
2. All threads made in the test drive can be considered game canon, either through handwaving or through a shared mental experience while coming through the Door!

Test drives will be broken up into specific god mini-events, during which your characters can see how well they fare under the watchful eye of one of the gods. Choose wisely or just simply pick 'em all, and have fun!

F E A R

SCENARIO ONE: CHOMP CHOMP
[The Door brings in all that is chaotic and evil in the world. This may include you, may include the person next to you... and may include the monster behind you.

Or sticking out of that pipe, even. Yes, that's right, the Door seems to have brought in an infestation of piranha plants, which may be familiar to you, since they've been in nearly every Mario game.

Piranha plants are large orb-shaped plants with big ol' teeth, all the better for biting you with. They can't walk around, but their stalks can stretch pretty far, so they'll be perfectly happy to stretch out and bite the heck out of you if you get too close - and some of them are good at hiding. You might not see them until it's too late. Luckily, while the biting is pretty bad, it's just about all they can do. You'll be fine, as long as you keep your distance.]

SCENARIO TWO: THEY'RE COMING TO GET YOU
[You've got a scratchy throat, a little cough, a general feeling of awfulness. It sucks being sick, doesn't it? Maybe you can find someone to get you some juice, or hold your hand, or just be sympathetic to how crappy you feel. After all, no one likes being sick. But how can you know that person is actually trying to help you? They have an untrustworthy look in their eye, and you're pretty sure you just heard them mutter something about leaving your body in a ditch.

Or maybe you're the one trying to take care of a sick friend. You have only the best intentions, but they don't seem interested in cooperating at all. In fact, it seems like they think you're trying to hurt them! What the hell? And here you were trying to be a good person for once. Oh shit - did you just sneeze? This isn't going to end well.

This is a mini version of our Flu Season event this month.]

H O P E

SCENARIO THREE: FONDLY YOURS
[When you stepped out of the house this morning, you found a small bouquet of flowers on the doorstep, just waiting for you. They're just the sort you like - your favorite kind, in fact - so they must be meant for you. But who could they be from?

Of course, there must be someone you wish they were from. A lover, a long-term flirtation, your best friend thinking of you. Or maybe you're hoping for something else: an apology from someone who hurt you, or an olive branch from and enemy. Whoever you're hoping they're from, well - the only way to know is ask, right?

Unless you'd rather leave a secret bouquet for them, instead.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[she still hasn't quite decided what to make of this place, but even with the monsters and the strange sickness, the paranoia that got under people's skin... this place just isn't as bad as it could be. It allows her to escape what she'd done to help save the world, expose HYDRA, without having to pay the price of her own sacrifice. Her ruined covers, being a news item instead of a spy that lived in the shadows, the face of the Avengers, up there with Tony Stark and Steve Rogers.

So odd as this place was, she wasn't exactly unhappy to be here. At least, not yet.

But she's always liked routines. There was a certain disregard of the old rules that said that routine made you vulnerable, so allowing herself this, the comfort of motion and breath-- it was nice. She saw him from the corner of her eyes as he slipped from the shadows, but she didn't stop for the moment just focused on her breath in between poses. The slight twitch of her lips was all the acknowledgement that she knew he was there. Mostly, she watched to see what he was going to do.

He stopped a few feet away from her, and she noted the flowers, of course, but she didn't make any assumptions until he held them out and there were those words that made her breath catch a little. He remembered. She hadn't been sure, hadn't wanted to push. But those words, the gesture--]

No, it doesn't.

[She got to her feet with an easy grace, rolling up onto her bare feet, looking him over for a moment as she reached out to take the flowers. It was a small gesture, maybe, but there was something about the gesture that made her eyes glint a little. She didn't know when the last time someone had gotten her flowers was. Probably Clint's kids, honestly; wildflowers and clover crowns.]

They're lovely.

Edited 2018-03-25 01:48 (UTC)

[There had been whispers that people came from different times, even different worlds and might carry a marked similarity in appearance but wouldn't be the same. A part of him had considered that possibility, but he had watched her, had known those moves, the grace and deadliness in that supple body. That was the Natalia he could recall from the days of the Cold War, from the days where their ability to avoid detection rivals their want to see each other.

Flowers were not a gesture they had ever managed before. He wasn't certain if it should be managed now, not when their worlds had been so cold, so deadly, so bereft of care save what they could secretly capture. Overt gestures of affection had never been in the cards either, just stolen glances, maybe the occasional soft touch during a spar.

That she rose to take the purple little flowers of Russia pleased him, and his expression softened a bit. He let them go into her care, dropping his arms loosely to his sides. Likely, he was supposed to come up with some gallant charming speech, maybe sweep her into his mismatched arms, but he simply stood watching her.]

It's been a long time. [Not seeing each other; how many times had he tried to kill her? Twice now? Three times? Not since the Cold War had they actually exchanged words.] Did you ever get that sensation back? What it felt like to be happy, or does it never come back?

[He'd never been able to give her flowers before, because anything that lasted was too dangerous to risk. Even small things like candies or chocolates which left little remnants were risky. If he'd gotten her flowers back in those old, cold days would she have been able to resist tucking one of the blooms into her hair or kept close, pressed under the shirt she wore? She'd always had a rebellious, defiant streak. Most of the time, it just made her that much better.

She held them in her hands, leaning in to breathe in the soft, sweet fragrance of them. She wasn't expecting any sweeping declarations; even this was far more than she'd expected. And it said so much more than some storybook speech of comparing her to a summer's day. He watches her and she smiles, a slight touch of sadness when he says it's been a long time.]

It has. But I haven't forgotten.

[The fact that she'd been afraid that he had isn't something she says out loud. She was sure it had been taken from him, along with everything else. But she hadn't known what it would look like when he came through the other side of it. At the question, she quiets, considers for a long moment, looking up into his blue eyes as she regards him with a quiet sort of raw honesty on her face.]

Yes, it comes back. In pieces at first, little things. Then more than that. It's not there all the time, but it is when it matters. [Her lips twist into something that's a little coy.] Like when a certain someone gives me flowers.

[It wasn't all there. He had begun to understand that his memories may never be whole again, might always be tainted with the fear of what was real and what had been implanted to instill his loyalty. He knew there were many threads of HYDRA brainwashing in there, but he couldn't always know where it was, what would trigger it, and how he might react. With it there, he would always be dangerous, like a loaded gun even when it wasn't loaded.

The flowers were so simple. As far as he could recall, he had managed to give a single bloom here or there to the dames he had courted playfully back when he was in the thirties and forties. With the war and previously The Depression, flowers were a luxury no one could afford. This place allowed him to pick them, and it was so simple. Like breathing in a way.]

Do you wish that you could forget?

[Odessa. D.C. Those places where he had plugged her with bullets, left her to die or at least suffer. He hadn't been anything but a killing machine in those times; he had only orders to follow. Any tinges of familiarity were not anything he could consider for any real time.

He looked down at his boots, almost shyly rubbing the toe in the dirt. He hadn't found happiness, not really. He had lurked in a constant state of uncertainty where the bright points were contentment with the idea of scratching out what might have been considered a normal life, or maybe it was just a life without killing. Happiness seemed reserved for other people, better people, those with less blood on their hands.]

I only thought I felt a ghost of it when I saw you here the first time. [He glanced at her, trying for a bit of a smile but finding it stiff and flat.] I understand it was a risk we both took, but I'm still sorry you suffered because of me.

[She shakes her head at the question, but doesn't chide him for asking.] No, I don't.

[It's not as if she could, but even with the violence between them, she doesn't blame him for it, and despite that, it had also been when she'd first known what had happened to him. Maybe not the best realization, but finding out fifty years later that he was still alive.. that had mattered to her, too. She might have wished that things had gone better, but not to not remember, or for it to never have happened. Her tragedies were important to her, too.

But that was complicated, hard for someone like her to put into words. She didn't need to tell him that she would always have those scars, and as much as there was pain, there was meaning, too. So she doesn't elaborate, just leaves that there. That she would not let it fade if she could. She smiles, a little sad, but also she can't help the faint pleasure at the fact that seeing her made him some sort of happy. It was a start, and also a sort of flattery.]

It was my choice. And I think you suffered the worse for it. But it was.. always important to me.

[Fifty years, and yet, that had been the slow seed that had allowed her to escape from the KGB in the end. Knowing that she could have a choice, and then having that choice, and that love ripped away from her so brutally. It was supposed to show her the cost, but in truth it had just made her more determined to find a way to live in a way that didn't have an iron collar around her throat.

She leans in, her free hand reaching out to touch his hand softly. There are things here that even she doesn't know how to say. What he meant to her, how to navigate where they stood now.]

Do you still--

[The fact that he had brought her flowers was something. But, she was a woman that always liked to know the angles and parameters, but she also didn't want to push him too hard, too fast, so she hesitates, if only for a breath, almost laughing it off.]

I missed you, you know.

[It wasn't supposed to be a relief, but he experienced that sensation all the same when he realized that she wouldn't give up her memories of what they had had way back when to save herself the pain. The exact moment they had lost each other he couldn't actually recall, but it must have happened. There was a moment he did recall, and it was a terrible moment too.

Her finding him in the cryotube, packed away and in limbo as if he were nothing more than a weapon put aside for use at a later date. He had been frozen of course and he hadn't been able to move, but he had been aware of her presence. They never sent anyone with red hair to work on him, he had recalled way later when most of his memories were back.

Punishing her and him. That had been the goal. In the end, it hadn't mattered for him because he had been wiped, had been forced to endure the slow and complete breakdown of his personality after that. She would think him dead; what was the point of living? The last straw to break into his brain, to open the way to the Winter Soldier that would come to exist much later.]

We both suffered, but you had it worse than I. You had to remember, and I simply had to exist.

[He knew they could debate that point all they wanted, but one thing he did know was that their affair had been mutual. They had understood the risks, and they had agreed to undertake them together, no matter the eventual consequences. All those emotions were confusing, the decisions that he had made almost as if he had been a different person. That was the problem: the disparity with all the lives that he had lived, all of them seemingly different, all of them disjointed.

He allowed the touch to his hand, even allowed his fingers to twitch towards hers in response. He wouldn't say no to her taking it into her own after all. Physical contact was a matter he kept to himself; he was dangerous. He could pretend all he liked, but HYDRA had made him into a weapon, and good people didn't need to be touching that.]

When I knew who you were and who you had been to me, I missed you. It never seemed right to reach out, not with so many people looking for signs of me.

[Despite all the dangers this world presented, he thought maybe this place could be different. Hence the flowers.]

[She's not going to argue with him over which of them had it worse when they tore them apart and punished them each in their own ways. In truth, she thinks they both have their own guilt about it, so of course they see each other as having suffered more. But it's hardly the point, certainly not fifty years later, if it ever was.

But the image of him in the cryotube still haunts her, sometimes. The low blue glow, the frost on his lips, the cast of her red hair against the glass. Not just imprisoned, but taken away from her. It had been a hard thing to process, to decide what that meant, and eventually it had just been easier to accept that for all intents and purposes he might as well be dead. She was never going to see him again. And on bad nights, she'd dream herself back in that warehouse.

So she doesn't argue the point, just lets it go with a slight nod of her head. She had to remember, but he hadn't been allowed to. And that loss was a sort of suffering, too. He'd definitely been different when she'd met him back in the Red Room compared to when she saw him again in Odessa, which is different still from how Steve had talked of Bucky back in the 40s. And then there's the man before her now. It would be easy to wonder if the man she knew was real; but Natasha knows enough about Red Room brainwashing to understand that the fact is that they're all real.

His fingers move towards hers when she touches him, and that's enough of a reception for her to take his hand in hers. It's such a small thing- holding hands- and yet, for people that had so rarely been able to risk something like that, and never out somewhere like this. It mattered, said something, spoke to a certain sort of comfort. They both know he was dangerous, but he didn't scare her.

He'd shot her twice, and both times he hadn't hit anything vital. Hadn't punctured organs, or shattered her collarbone. She knew what sort of marksman he was, so she could only believe that some part of him hadn't wanted her dead, even with HYDRA's fingers in his head, and without the memories of why. So for now she just stands close to him, holding his hand and enjoying the flagrant disobedience it would have been.

Natasha wasn't a good person. She was still trying to find the middle ground, but maybe that would be easier here than it would have been back home. It did make this sort of thing a little bit easier to navigate. They were similar people, at the end of the day.]

I wouldn't have minded. I know you can be careful. [She says it with a smile, a little playful.] But monsters aside, this place seems a little- easier, maybe. It's certainly not exactly safer.

[He didn't know a lot of this strange new world aside from the fact that there were countless dangers, that even now an illness of paranoia was rampant throughout the population here. He knew that it required a skill of survival to find shelter, food and ways to protect oneself in the ruins and that there were temples that people went to ask for blessings with. Beyond that, the struggles of the people here was largely unknown to him, and until this moment, it hadn't mattered either.

How many people knew them? How many people could honestly say that they knew all there was to know about their reputations? The world here might be dangerous, but they had their secrets here. There was no government to hunt them or require them to ask questions, to dump their secrets on the open net and to be so exposed for the safety of the world. Here, there was a possibility of a new beginning, and he had never actually considered that before stepping out with only his nerve and a handful of flowers.

And when she took his hand, he stepped closer to her, seemed to glide silently into the spot directly behind her. Slow and careful, his metal arm moved to slide around her waist and he held her as he could remember doing only a short handful of times while on missions for the Soviet Union when she had risked following him. He pressed his chest to her back, allowing himself to know this sensation again after so long debating if it had even happened.

Now he knew that it had. He took a risk in a new world and verified for himself that the memories he could recall had been true.]

I would have, but... I couldn't tell if you would have told Steve about me. I didn't want you to have to keep more secrets from him. [But he hadn't been ready to face Captain America, could risk being a danger to someone that earnest, that stubborn. Steve would have torn everything away for him, and he couldn't say he was worth that sacrifice.] When did you or I exist in safe spaces? We would be bored otherwise.

[She's still getting her bearings here too. Gods, illnesses that seemed to have some sort of magical component, monsters- it was not exactly her usual parameters, but she'd found herself deeper and deeper in this sort of thing, so it's not even too surprising. The chance it offers, that is new. Maybe not to be someone else, but to not have her name hold the same weight that it did, headlines and encrypted files spread out all over the internet.

She's thought that SHIELD was her second chance, but she'd been wrong. The lines between HYDRA and Leviathan were very, very thin, at the end of the day. She hadn't known, had spent ten years fighting and risking her life, doing bad things because she thought they were the right things, only to find out that it all trailed back to HYDRA in the end. But this? This could legitimately be a chance at something else. To start over, and see what that meant, where that left her, what it felt like.

His hand is warm under her fingers, and she smiles as he slips in behind her. Her grip is light, but she doesn't let go. His metal arm slides around her waist, and she leans into the contact a little. Touch, contact, it makes her heart race for a breath. That moment where she remembers the old risk, how touching like this anywhere except for briefly stolen security was always risking it all. It had been worth it, and she wont deny Bucky's choice for saying that it couldn't have been for him.

It's nice. Having this. The world here might not be kind, but they're both people that were forged in unkind places. In truth, she would have kept his secret. Because she knows that sometimes you need the space, that it's too much. She knows how crushing it had been when she'd first been brought into SHIELD. Clint had been good, but sometimes he had been too much, too. She ran a few times. Not to escape, to vanish, but just into the city, to breathe on her own and figure out what that felt like.] I understand.

[She laughs a little, tipping her head back to look up at him.] Mm, that's true. What's living without a little risk?

[They were adaptable, and it had little to do with training either. That was their personalities, the ability to blend, to move with the flow, to disrupt where necessary. That they were in a new world that held obvious and hidden dangers should have been disconcerting, but like everything else, it was better to compartmentalize and take it all in stride. They needed answers, a way to survive, and a motivation to keep going.

It didn't seem like the usual elements were here as well. No SHIELD, no HYDRA, no Red Room, no actual functioning government. It was more a free-for-all of survival.

He had been doing more than that the last while, so he could put up with this, especially if it came with a second chance were someone might not suddenly spill his image on the wide web and seek to flush him out of his quiet hiding spot. Was there anyone to do that here? If they were, people might be too concerned surviving disease and deadly plants to care much for someone who was only trying to the same tactics they were: survive.

And it was almost like a dare at the world at large, taking this open risk and waiting for them both to be ripped apart again. He couldn't recall the exact year when they had been torn apart, but he had mentally measured it to be around fifty. A shiver ran down his spine as they stood there, his arm around her, her hand around his and their bodies leaning against each other.

When she looked up, he tipped his head down to regard her, and a small ghost of an old smile found his lips briefly.] You wouldn't be able to stand it. I seem to recall all you do is push boundaries and rules to suit yourself.

[Slowly he lowered his head until he could rest his chin against her upturned forehead. His eyes briefly closed, savouring the contact. He was used to being alone, used to the isolation of paranoia to keep agents off of his trail. He slowly relaxed against her body.]

I'm waiting for the situation to be thrown on its head at any moment. Is that unusual?

[In a way, this was the sort of place where people like Natasha and Bucky were designed to thrive. Survival was what they were good at. Because they'd been trained, but mostly because they were fighters, because they knew how to fit into a situation and make the most out of it, how to count the angles and see where the wind blew.

It was less about their training, and more the reasons how they'd survived the training. It had been hard on both of them, even if in different ways. The people that had made and shaped them were not adverse to breaking their tools to make sure they had the strongest one. But they had found each other, again, decades later, and that was something. A testament, perhaps.

She sees that touch of a smile, and this one isn't so stiff, and that warms her a little, just seeing how he's doing, piecing himself together. She knows just how hard that can be.] You're not wrong. But I only break the rules I don't like.

[He's right, she's always pushing boundaries, toeing the line, and taking risks. She'd even had a bit of a reputation for it when she'd first joined SHIELD. But, those rules were more methods and operations, less restrictive, and so she'd eventually found her way to playing by the rules most of the time. There were times when they just weren't good enough, when they didn't fit. And then, she improvised.

But that says something to her, about what he remembers. And that makes her smile, a low pleased sort of hum on her lips as he rests his chin against her forehead. She can feel him relax, and that surprises her almost more than the contact. But it's a good thing. Not that either of them can afford to get complacent, but letting go of a little bit of the tension... that makes her smile.]

No, I feel it too. Maybe the more we do it, the less dangerous it'll seem.

[Her words are playful, teasing, but she means it too. When all the associations they had were that touching and affection lead to punishment... well, maybe they just needed to make some new associations.]

[Some part of him wondered if this was a dream, a stimulation by some branch of the Raft for dangerous people like them. Some government experiment to put them in a temporary good place, to learn how to take them apart in a far more high-tech manner than the Red Room ever had available. However, that very idea was his normal level of paranoia, knowing that he could be sleeping and not even realize that this pleasant little dream was just that: a dream.

He tightened his arm on her, willing to endure because that's what he had been made to do. It was what he had always done, just way back then, it was with a smile on his face and an ability to amuse young women and lose himself in that moment. Now, he was scarred up and knew the terrain and all the possibilities, knew the pain that could come.

And at the base of it was her, Natalia. Flipping a situation like this where he could sit and think for hours and hours on its head because... she just knew she would deal with whatever came. That was her gift, pushing back.]

And rules that get in your way; you could be impartial to them and still break them.

[He shifted his chin slightly, rubbing his stubble on her forehead. His eyes flicked around but they were alone here where she had been doing yoga. His enhancing hearing could pick up nothing unusual, and yet he still felt very exposed like this. From what he could remember, their relationship had been top secret, only the two of them knowing, only the two of them matching wits against the entire Red Room and KGB.]

Is that what you want? Is there... a place to try this again here? I mean... we can just be friends if you'd prefer. I don't... have a lot of friends, what with... you know, being almost one hundred.

[His arm tightens around her, and she doesn't tense. To say she trusts him might sound like a strange sentiment, but she understands why he tried to kill her, and she doesn't think he will now without a reason. She trusts people to be themselves, and with James, she doesn't think that means hurting her. So instead, she just leans into him a little, lets him hold on tighter if he needs the reassurance. It's nice for her, too. To know that he's here, and close, and that for now, there's no one pulling them away.

Her smile turns a little bit lop-sided and she shrugs her shoulders a little.] Well, if they got in my way, then I generally didn't like them very much.

[It's so strange, and yet nice. This ability to tease him and let things shift between them, and see what happens, where this goes. She laughs a little, scrunches her face up as he rubs his stubble against her forehead, and the scratch of it is almost ticklish. It was such a strange thing, but good. Being able to enjoy this, to just let it happen. The threats here were monsters in the brush and not people that saw them only as weapons. It was a thought she kept coming back to, but it was impossible to help thinking of what had happened before. They'd been so arrogant, so young and so sure they could win.

And then at that question, she pauses, quieting for a moment as she leans into his body and tries to decide how to frame her thoughts. It takes her a minute, and she doesn't say it, but that joke makes her feel a little bit better about it. Easier to talk about when the air's a little bit lighter.]

It's not only about what I want, James. But maybe we don't have to choose. We can just... try this, and see what happens. And either way, I'll be your friend when you need one.

[She smiles soft, her voice a little bit warmer.] I do like the flowers. And just- being like this.

[He forced himself to ease off when all she did was lean into him and put trust that he wasn't about to squeeze the life out of her. Like always, she managed to adapt, to change with the situation and carry on the conversation as if they were doing nothing abnormal. Like giving her flowers, seeking what she wanted, standing around were activities they had done in the past where in retrospect, they had lived most of their lives together in the shadows.

Always hiding. Always pretending.]

The only reason that attitude didn't get you killed was because you were so good. They knew you would be the Black Widow. [He managed a forced smile.] And what a Widow you made.

[He didn't deserve any of this, the teasing, the leaning, the touching, not after all he had done. He was still coming to terms with a lot of it, trying to reconcile himself to the fact that he had much to make up for. A lot of people had been harmed because of his actions, even if the constant would always be that he didn't have a choice. It was still his hand. Natalia might be one of the few people who understood the sentiment.

That was likely why he had brought her flowers. It was something different then they were both used to.]

You mean, you want to fly by the seat of our pants and hope we end up somewhere we both like? [Still, knowing he had a friend in her was nice, comforting even. As far as he could tell, there was no Steve here.] You know, I hate it when people call me James. It's too formal, too stuffy, but I've never minded when you say it.

[He snorted.] I'm as likely to get you flowers as a knife, I'm afraid. Enjoy them until they wilt.

I knew. I was always determined to be the best. Did they ever tell you about my first mission?

[She says it like it's something cute, something coy, when on the surface it's anything but. But when she offers it to him, these things become both less and more, something shared, something she knows that he'll understand. Only the best survived, and Natasha had been determined to do more than survive. There had been Black Widows before and after her, and yet she was the one that people meant when they talked about the program.

A legend in her own time, which was dangerous as much as it was what she had fought for. So tied to the name that even SHIELD had decided against trying to pull it away from her. She understands what it is to not have a choice. She had more choice than he had, once they took it away from him because they decided it was too risky. They didn't want weapons that could feel. That wanted things.

She smiles, humming thoughtfully at the question.] Just at first. I just don't want to push too fast. I don't want to have to feel like we're doing it wrong if things aren't exactly like they were before. I just.. want us to have the space to see what we like, and to choose that for ourselves.

[Her voice is quiet, but steady. She doesn't really falter, just speaks in an almost whisper, like she only wants him to hear. There's a breath, a moment, then her words are less secrets woven between them.] Would you rather I called you Bucky? I always liked James because it was foreign. It made you sound exotic. The American. And lucky for you, I like both knives and flowers.

[There's a pause, quiet, just leaning back into him for a moment. There's more she wants to say. That she does want it, want him, what they had once, so very long ago, but like she said -- she doesn't want to push.]

Is that the snow storm mission?

[He had been debriefed on her file before they had handed her off to him, and in there was the details of many of her missions. She was a cut above the rest, but he knew that such actions came with a price. Back then, he was certain that he wondered if being the best was all she had had to live for and that her will to survive happened to be greater than all the other girls that she went up against.

There was no room for error in the Red Room. Only the strongest survived, and she had set the bar high in her time. Of course, he wouldn't know that until he had picked his way through the revealed secrets of the info dump in his need to chase down leads.

He nodded his head in understanding, finally removing it from where he had set it upon her forehead. His arm still remained snug around her waist though, keeping her close. Who they had been back then wasn't necessarily the people they were now. There were more scars.] Taking it slow would be best. We aren't as young and brash as we were back then regardless of there being no Red Room. Maybe we won't like each other very much anymore? [That was plainly false in his mind, but she had lived a lot more active years than he had.]

No, you're the only one that makes James sound exotic. [There was somewhere in his memory her attempt to speak it American, how she hadn't been strong in English. He had been Yasha then to her and later on, James. As for the flower and knives, he smirked.] Next time I'll put a knife in the flowers to make it extra special.

[This was probably the longest he had ever held her in a potentially public place. It was easier now. He was less on guard and twitchy about it. No one had stormed it and demanded they let each other go. It was strange and foreign.]

No, before, when I was young. It was a kill mission, and it was my first, so I was supposed to go with one of the other agents they had. Some me the ropes, make sure I did it clean.

[She leaves her story there for the moment, waits to see if the basics stir up any memories. She carried the scar from it for a long time, but by now its faded so even she can't see it even when she looks for it. It hadn't been so much an error as a learning experience, proving that she could handle more than they gave her, that she was better than what they thought of her.

She looked up at him, leaned into him a little as he lifted his head away, and she blinked her green eyes, watching him as she let her lithe body rest back against his chest. She smiles, though her laughter is silent, mostly in the glitter of her eyes.] I don't think not liking you is a problem that I'm going to have.

[She smiles softly, lets go of his hand to reach up and brush a soft touch against his jaw, lingering for a moment. Nervous, but brazen.] I just want to give ourselves time. We never really had that before- always so aware of how it could all be taken away. And I don't want you to think I need you to be who you were before. I want to learn who you are now.

[Her desire to take it slow wasn't because she didn't want to see what laid between them, but just that she didn't want to go too hard and too fast and to end up missing something. And trust, friendship, someone to lean on- that was important to. She wanted him, though. Wanted what they had so long ago. It was a memory she'd never quite lost, bittersweet dreams.]

I know that mission.

[The mission where she went against orders and decided to kill the target on her own. She had taken a nasty injury from it, and the instructors had been furious but proud of her at the same time. That had been long before she had been handed over to him for training and teaching those worthy to learn English, to be American. Those memories weren't always in the right order, but he had figured most of it out by now.]

Do you still have the scar, or has it long faded now? They punished you, did they not?

[He snorted softly through his nose, nodding his head. It was clear that some of that old flame was still there, but a lot had happened between them back then and the them of now. It was better to be slow, to perhaps learn to be friends before seeing if the old spark was there. He wasn't entirely certain how much he had to give at this point. It had been a very long time since he had even considered friendship as a viable option for him.

He leaned into her touch just to experience it and mull over how that felt. Her fingers were soft but deadly, and he knew well the strength of them.] I think we should take it slow, give it time. I'm not... as together as I was back then. I'm not sure how much I can provide, and to be honest, I've never really thought about it in a long time. I'm... so used to being alone.

[He sighed a bit heavily and looked around and then because their hands had been separated, he gestured at the one still holding the flowers.] It took me quite some time to come up with that and then finding them... geez, you'd think a nightmare place like this would know about crocus.

[He shifted where he stood but didn't relent in his hold around her waist. He regarded her seriously, his expression one of brute honesty.] I may not be good for you, but maybe shared life experience will land us somewhere? I don't know. You deserve happiness after all you've been through.

[It makes her smile a little, just that sense of being able to offer him pieces and have him able to put them together. It's more than she'd hoped for, when she'd seen him in Odessa, and then in DC. Wondering if he'd be able to pull through, to put the pieces of himself back together again. It was a relief to see the progress that he'd made, that he was making.]

It's faded, but you might be able to feel it. They punished me, but not too badly; they cut my food rations in half for a week, and I got dragged out of bed two hours before everyone else and made me run laps around the facility in the cold.

[It was more a slap on the wrist, really. They didn't beat her for it. It was a reminder that disobedience is not permitted, but there was also an acknowledgement that she was good, better than the rest. And that was what she'd needed them to see. It had been her first victory, if she's being honest. The first strand in the web she'd started to build.

He leans into the touch, and her fingertips brush against the stubble of his jaw with a light smile. Coarse hair that scratches lightly against her skin, and she enjoys the sensation.] We'll figure it out. We can just go at our own pace. And I don't think it means we have to draw lines. We can just be.. whatever works. Because I rather like getting to touch you.

[And that was admittedly a little bit more than friends; being here, like this, with flowers and his metal arm around her waist. But it was honest, that small admittance, that she liked touching. She was always a little bit more tactile, affectionate, than people assumed, but that was because it meant accepting a certain level of vulnerability, and that could be difficult for her, depending on the person.]

Well, I'm glad you put in the effort. They really are pretty. I don't know how long they'll keep, but I'll keep them for a while. [The 'and think of you' part goes unsaid. She looks up at him, her green eyes meeting his blues as he looks at her with a seriousness that makes her quiet.]

I'm not too worried about what's good for me. But happy would be nice, for both of us. I like how this feels, being close to you.

Edited 2018-03-26 05:55 (UTC)

[In the grand scheme, that was not punishment at all in Red Room standards. It was the instructors putting in enough effort of punishment that the others were unlikely to try something similar, but it wasn't actually disciplining her. That sort of detail wouldn't have been in her file and thus he wouldn't have read about it. Some of what he read back then he still couldn't recall in more than a gist of the subject.

In the quiet around them, he could hear the gentle rasp of his course facial hair against her finger tips, and he sighed as he closed his eyes to continue leaning into her contact. He nodded at her assurances that she would give him the time and space to find his stride, if it were even possible after so long. He might have much of his memories intact, but he knew he wasn't the same person that she had once stroked her fingers along his skin.]

Our positions in the world have always had to be fluid, adaptable. I guess we're going to apply that to whatever is going on here too then. [He huffed softly at her want to touch him.] There may be many better people to touch, you know.

[But there was something to be said about having a friend in her to start. She, unlike most, could understand the world in which he struggled to part himself from, since she had been there herself. Hell, as far as he could tell, she had struggled in a similar way to how he was, only she had done so without the benefit of anyone else who had existed in a similar space at her. She had always been the strongest person that he had ever known when it came to enduring.]

It's not like there's a vast, and staying in one place for long probably isn't advisable anyway. [He cracked one eye open to peer at her, nodding his head in acceptance. It wasn't as if she were striking a hard bargain.]

Happy may be a long way off.

[He sighed, leaning into the contact of how they pressed into one another, and that made her smile. Maybe it was selfish, but she wanted this. Careful, making sure it wasn't too much, but she liked affection, contact, and she especially liked it with him, even if it had been so very long since it had been anything except whispers and dreams.]

Oh, are there? Well, until I find one, I suppose you're alright. [Her voice is light, teasing rather pointedly. But she doesn't let it hang in the air too long, and her voice is genuine when she corrects:] I want to touch you.

[She knows that's impulsive, it's been so long, there are reasons to take it slow. But the fact that it's been so long is also why it's so hard to hold to that entirely. Because she misses it, misses him. She doesn't want to give up the way his arm around her waist feels, his chest pressing against her back. Maybe theirs is an attraction with no room to exist outside the Red Room, but she doesn't believe that. And even if it is, she wants to try, wants to find out.

But, she thought they could both use a friend. Someone to lean on whatever happened here. She shifts in his arms a little, so she can let her hand slide down his body and wrap around him as well, her fingers curling against his back. Who knew how much worse this place could get than plants and illnesses? And she didn't have Clint, and neither of them had Steve. But she thought that together they could be good. Learn about this place, and about each other.]

True. But we'll see what happens. And I'm okay with happy being a long way off. We have a chance to try for it. And I think that's something. [Without having to hide it or pretend, or lie about it, or steal every shred of something good. It was still a thought that made her smile.]

In a week's time, I'll be able to suggest a few.

[At the same rate, he suspected that she wouldn't particularly be interested in taking any of his suggestions, even if he might have good taste. It also might have something to do with this being the first time in many, many years that they had touched each other without the usual violence that came from their meetings, the nearly incapacitating or driving the other off.

He wondered if he was honestly ready for this, but her touch assured him that for as little as he deserved it, she still freely offered the affection. It was amazing she wanted to be close to him after all he had done to her, the hell he had put her through, even if they weren't counting the sudden break to their relationship.]

So are we including touching in the friendship aspect this time? Since, we never had a friendship before.

[He hadn't actually spoken to anyone about what happened, what he now remembered. There hadn't been time, and then the situation never seemed right. He found himself stuck inside of his own head, and even now, he wondered if that's where he would be at most of the time he wasn't trying to survive. Talking had long ago stopped being his strong suit, and he wasn't so certain that it was a skill he would be returning to any time soon either.

He eased his grip a bit as she shifted, not preventing her from turning entirely in his grip if she wanted to. This was more actual affection than he had experienced since they had been... whatever they had been back then. HYDRA wasn't known for its gentle treatment.]

As long as one of us gets there, right? They can share with the other what it's like.

[There's a catch of a laugh at the idea that he'd have suggestions if she gave him a week. She's not against hearing his thoughts, but it wont change her mind. She really does want to try this, even if it's slow and careful. She wants to see what happens when they have space to breathe. This place may be dangerous- and she very much suspects that it is- but it's not in the same way, not oppressive and strangling. Even for Natasha, there's never really been a point in her life where she didn't have someone she was reporting to, even if SHIELD ended up giving her a very long leash.

She doesn't blame him for the things that have happened, for what he did to her. The fact was that he hadn't had any control over it, and she knows that, even if she still bears the scars. She knows that in the end those marks on her flesh will cut both ways. But they'll deal with that when they get to it. Instead, she focuses on the question and smiles, a little coy, almost a grin.]

I'd like to. And no, we didn't. But given this place-- I think it might be a good place to start.

[She doesn't push him, doesn't ask how much he remembers, doesn't ask him what they were back then. Instead, she just lingers in the moment, looking up at him, watching. He might not be the most talkative, but he's still charming in his own sort of way. Not that she was about to say it out loud, but she couldn't help thinking about it when they were touching like this. Couldn't help thinking about how charming he'd been before, in his own way.

She leans her head against his shoulder, still looking up at him with a slight smile and a nod of her head. Maybe this isn't quite happiness, but it's definitely something. The beginning of happiness, maybe. A flicker of contentment. It feels like something good, and that's enough for now.] If one of us figures out happiness, maybe we can help the other get there, too.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Test Drive Meme #30

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject