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autumn red
Who: Natasha (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
redweb) & Open (ish)
What: Catchall for Intro stuff
When: September
Where: Probably mostly Olympia
Warning(s): None, will add if needed
[ooc: catchall for starters and where people can drop prompts for things we've plotted. That said, I'm always up for plotting, and if you want me to write something up or want to direct me to your top level, just poke my CR post / hit me up on Discord @ natalia_vdova#0150. Or![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
natalia_vdova works too in a pinch.]
redweb) & Open (ish)What: Catchall for Intro stuff
When: September
Where: Probably mostly Olympia
Warning(s): None, will add if needed
[ooc: catchall for starters and where people can drop prompts for things we've plotted. That said, I'm always up for plotting, and if you want me to write something up or want to direct me to your top level, just poke my CR post / hit me up on Discord @ natalia_vdova#0150. Or
no subject
However, he was an expert, and he smirked as he slung the bag of bones across his shoulders, adjusting them to make up for any stiffness he might have given in his gait from his realization. Much like Barnes, he decided to hate himself and use his sort of alias. He never went by his first name, hated it even, but there were circumstances where that was useful.]
It's Brock. I'd say it's a pleasure, but... we're literally grave-digging, so maybe we can save that for after this is done.
[He followed in her wake, watching how she moved more than anything else. She was fluid, graceful even and there was a sure confidence that he could instantly see as a Black Widow trait. Of course, maybe he didn't exist in her world? He had no idea how STRIKE operated in other worlds after all. It wasn't like many talked to him or vice versa.]
No, unfortunately, I was in cryo so I missed it. You?
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Brock is a common enough name so that it doesn't spark anything immediately. She knows what Rumlow looks like, or thinks that she does. And in her world he'd never been particularly subtle, so it's easy enough to nod and move deeper into the graveyard.]
That we are. I suppose we can congratulate ourselves at the end.
[She moves with an innate grace, a confidence in her body, something dangerous that curls inside of her to those that know how to look. Even here, more or less playing normal, it was a hard thing to smother down completely.]
No, I'm pretty new here. Showed up with the ghosts, I guess you could say.
[She doesn't seem particularly surprised about the ghosts, if a little less than pleased. Eventually she points the shovel at a plot, and the ghost swirls around the headstone, talking in a litany about the importance of his family, but Natasha mostly ignores him in favor of her new companion.]
I guess this is it.
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He thought he might have a one-up on her for that. He would ask, but... it would make it too obvious that he knew that she might actually be a person who could pull his anus out of his mouth with little effort.
He decided on a different track instead. One that was less obvious he was information digging.]
Depends. Is this your first time digging a grave? That's reason to celebrate with... like a glass of wine or something.
[He followed after her with a swagger and then he looked at the site that they had arrived at. He yawned at the litany of lineage and purposefully shrugged off the bag of bones to the ground, though he didn't actually let it crash to the ground. He waved the ghost aside with a hand.]
That's great, but we need six feet of digging and I'm not doing that with you talking about your family history. Now where is the proper place to start digging so we don't unearth the rest of your precious lineage?
[The ghost seemed sour but at least pointed to a spot that they could use. He stepped over and rolled his shoulders, taking the shovel for the first run of digging. He cracked ground and set it aside with a practiced ease.]
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[She raises an eyebrow, a touch of humor on her voice. She certainly doesn't to most people; not unless you could see how deadly she was behind the red hair and blue eyes and the curves that tended to distract people. She hasn't had to bury as many corpses as Rumlow, no doubt, but she has buried a few bodies.]
Besides, I didn't think to bring a bottle of wine with me to a graveyard.
[She plays it off with perfect polish, not a flicker of anything she doesn't intend, casual as anything as he swaggers after her. She also didn't seem to be particularly concerned by Rumlow's lack of concern for Casper. But, the man was right-- he was overly talkative. It was how she'd gotten roped into this in the first place.
She handed over the shovel, and then found herself a perch sitting on the edge of a nearby stone gargoyle of some sort no doubt intended to command respect.] So you were in cryo?
[There's something to her voice at the question, subtle, and then gone.] This your first time waking up?
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[He decided to play dumb with a hint of humour, since they were obviously on a mission to dig up a grave for the bag of bones. She didn't seem disconcerted by it after all, which meant that she clearly had done it, wasn't bothered by it, or was just that good at hiding her emotions on that fact. Really, she was good enough that if he didn't know who she was, he probably could have never guessed what the answer actually was.
He shrugged his shoulders between shovelfuls of dirt being put aside. He worked like a soldier, his head bent, but clearly listening for danger. He put his back into the exercise, like he was digging a slit trench for himself. He was handy with a shovel, and while it wasn't that he wouldn't give her a turn, but he was willing to take the first shift without complaint.]
I bet this guy would just love it if you showered his family plot with wine in order to honour their great lineage. T'sk, t'sk, Natasha.
[And he played his hand as the humourful soldier, not too serious but aware of how to work. He kept the corner of his eye on her all the same, not that he didn't trust her (he didn't), but with a complete awareness of his surroundings. Old soldiers never truly died from surprises by this point.
He paused in his digging to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand and looked at her, smirking.] We were all in cryostasis once. And no, that was my second stint, which apparently happens from time to time. That bothers you?
[Wait, did this mean that she had a Winter Soldier too? A guy that moved in and out of cryostasis like some frozen chicken breasts and without the freezer burn?]
no subject
[She leaves it there, although there's an arch of an eyebrow there that given the current circumstances, the punchline is that it looks like them. She watches him as he takes the first shift with the shovel, how he moves, how strong he is. Natasha didn't expect to get out of this without doing some of the work herself, but the simple truth was that digging graves went better in shifts. And taking second turn gives her some time to pick up on her new acquaintance. Soldier, she thinks. Not a bad thing. She was too.]
Well, guess he'll have to be glad that we're burying him at all. Besides, if I did have the wine, not sure I'd waste it on his lineage.
[Which is only half true. Around company she didn't trust, drinks were more social lubricant, a way to get the other person a little off-kilter while she stayed on point herself. Opting for dinner made him smart in a variety of ways. She nods, files that away, though all she gives in response to the question of whether it bothers her or not is a shrug of her shoulders. (Yes.)
She hasn't been back to that place since she woke up. Hasn't looked for her friends, hasn't wanted to have to see them there, like that. Just like she'd seen James once. It was one of the few things that scared her.]
Well, I just woke up. Simply hoping I get to stay that way for a while.
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And the fact that she doesn't answer but still answers with a look wasn't unique to the Black Widow, but it was definitely something that he associated with her. Saying without saying, telling without telling, insinuating but flirting around the idea. Romanoff was a master of it, as much as she was a master of the combat that she decided to engage in.]
Well, seems like if you had brought any, you'd be half a bottle down by now.
[He dug until there was sweat building down his spine and on his arms, where dirt coated his skin as well. His hair fell forward into his face, but he worked until he was tired enough to require a break, not before. He stopped, shoved the shovel into the dirt and then pulled himself out of the hole he had dug about four feet down in. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his arm, smearing dirt in the process and then grinned at her.
Just woke up, huh? That explained a few questions that he had. He hadn't been as good at checking the pods lately, so that was honestly a mistake on his part.]
Well, it's better than burning, I can tell you that. [Scars around his eyes would make that clear.] Anyway, your turn. I need a bit of a rest.
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[She says it with a smile, but it's more playing to the idea of being someone that isn't who Natasha is. There are many situations where she says no to alcohol. It takes a lot to get her tipsy, but she just generally doesn't trust it unless she's somewhere safe. She's the sort that will nurse a glass all night with few people any wiser. She did like a good red, but it was home alone, or out to dinner with someone she trusted. But it was a believable lie.
But she watches him as he digs. Watches the way that he moves, the exertion. Very well trained, but not enhanced, is the read she gets. Not that he couldn't be downplaying it, but this is all about first impressions. Almost reflexive, really, the way she tries to figure out what boxes he fits into. He seems like more than just muscle, but she's still working on that part of the equation. The fact is that old soldiers are always sharp or damn lucky, and she prefers the sharp ones.]
Sure. I'll see what I can do.
[She hops down, easy, light on her feet. She holds her hand out for the shovel, a slight tilt of her head as she looks him over. There's a sly sort of amusement there, but she shows no particular hesitance about jumping into a hole in a graveyard.]
I'll let you know if my arms are about to break.
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[Maybe a double-innuendo for another time and place. The way that she smiled and played along with the conversation reminded him so strongly of the Romanoff that he knew, though she almost seemed... more aged for it. He had no idea why that would be, but it stood to reason that no two Romanoffs were the same. She was good, and he knew that he had to be very careful around her.
He also suspected that any dinner wouldn't come with alcohol for either of them. Or if it did, they would milk the hell out of a single glass and keep all of their capacities. She was not someone he wanted to shoot his mouth off to, and he figured that she was too careful to do the same with a stranger. That she didn't recognize him was a bit odd, but maybe he didn't exist in her world?
He made no effort to stare too much at how she worked. She took to it like a soldier, like someone who had seen hard times and saw themselves through it. True Russian spirit old man Pierce would call it. She didn't shirk, didn't try to pretend to be frail or too feminine. She got to it and that was that.
He watched their ghost friend pacing eagerly, blabbering about the glory and honour of being set with the rest of his family. He tuned it out and looked up at the night sky instead, legs still dangling into their hole.]
No need. If they do, you can just dig with your feet.
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[There's something to how she says it, a whisper that catches on the edge of that double-innuendo. Something to how he says the words, like she knows it means more than surface level. Red Death was one of her many names, red always the color that echoed the most closely, even if her outfit was always black.
If he gave her his full name, she'd have been able to place him, but he wasn't the man that she knew. Which in her view would be a good thing when she was eventually confronted with the truth. The Rumlow- better known as Crossbones- that she knew was a thug, and not a particularly bright one, even if he did seem to be about as stubborn as a cockroach.
Of course, Rumlow not be able to pick up on it, but she was downplaying her physical strength more than a little. It was almost habit more than anything. She disliked when people pegged her as being something other than skill and determination. So she doesn't really put her back into it, not really. She doesn't play the gentle femininity card, because she feels like he's already read through that one too well. So instead, it's just- a woman that's good at using what strength she has.]
Not so sure about that one. But that should deep enough, don't you think?
[She's clearly ignoring their ghost-companion by this point, just eager to get this finished and shut him the Hell up. Hopefully for good. This is worse than having Lion trailing around after her. At least he'd been somewhat useful.]
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[The way that she replied made him think that she had caught his play on words. That meant she was sharp, that even as they conversed she was reading the field and squirreling out information. He would have to watch himself around her, but he had done this before, many times over. Part of being a member of HYDRA in a position where capture and torture were very real possibilities meant he was assessing the situation constantly and knew how to keep information to himself.
She wasn't struggling with the shoveling, and he wasn't going to help her with it either. Fair was fair, and he believed she was as capable as digging as he was. So, he watched her as she finished the last few feet and even leaned back on his hands on the grass.]
Seems plenty deep where I'm sitting, and our bodyless friend doesn't seem to be complaining, so let's go with that. [He leaned and reached over to grab the bag of bones, ignoring the hovering ghost and offered it to her. She had them, so this was her job. He was just here to move some dirt.] I hope we don't have to say a few words. I never was good at eulogies.