sixthiterationlogs | [MINGLE] Wendi-go-go to the inn

WHERE: 6I Village and Inn
WHEN: 27-31 July
OPEN TO: ALL - Mingle
NOTES: The Wendigo threatening the village will be killed mid 28 July, with a Blue Lily, per these threads. Plot details here. Note: The final fight is close enough to be seen from the upstairs inn windows.
WARNINGS: Wendigo attack mingle, please warn in comment headers if discussing violence, gore, or related trauma. Possible mentions of character death.

The urgent warnings come from villagers returning south from the lake: a creature twice the size of a man, antlered and voracious. Larger than any they've seen on the plains, stalking its way to the main village. Some might have their own names for this hunger in a skin of shadow; others might remember that it was the first to claim a life, in their village's short history.

Whatever context one has for it, best to secure all pets and loved ones before it arrives. With weapons and food stores at the inn, the call goes out to gather — And to bring back any tools, because there's no telling what doors and windows can do to stop such a creature.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He'll learn soon enough that her sense of humour didn't really come out when it was appropriate. Especially in cases like this where he hadn't been injured to this extent for some time. Yes, it did hurt, but in time he'd maybe he'd use it as some kind of grounding force to remind him he's human.

Natasha does pick up on the subtle pain indicators he gives and decides if something is broken it's likely a hairline fracture and the tape was what would help the best.

Ripping off a nice wide strip, she starts making a crosshatch pattern.

"Well, I don't need to tell you it could have been worse," she mentions, briefly looking up as she cinches the first piece tape tight across the top part of his ribs. "How've you been coping with everything else?"

It's a pretty broad question, but she means not having the enhanced physical traits.

He's not hating on it, he'll take inappropriate humor all day long, it's just that in this particular moment he's consumed with a heavy mix of bad. She's not wrong about grounding him, though, it's certainly a more humanizing experience than he's had in a while.

He settles beneath her hands, arms hovering at some midway point in the air, studying her while she works. A small frown plays around his lips, but it's less to do with her and more to do with the situation.

He huffs a little at the observation, just a small derisive laugh.

"Yeah, no kidding." He could be dead in the dirt, or worse, dying of a punctured lung. He sighs, "Okay, I guess, other than this. Shoulder's a pain in the ass, but I'm getting used to it."

Without the constant healing, the weight of his prosthetic causes an almost constant, annoying ache. Must be what old age feels like. "How're you holding up?"

Once the question is asked Natasha's green eyes return to the task at hand and she listens as she tears and fixes another piece of tape under the first, glancing up briefly when she can. There's a comment on the tip of her tongue when he returns the question, which she starts to answer with a look of slight exasperation.

"Besides becoming an adopted mom to a blue pit bull? I'm doing all right. I'm still who I am, only in a different place." she shrugs lightly.

It meant she still carried everything around with her and it wasn't at all easy to not think about what happened before arriving there.

"I think I might die of boredom though. Sooner rather than later."

A rare smile and laugh sound as she sticks the next strip of tape down without looking up.

"Dog, huh?" he muses, looking at her with something wry and almost fond. They're not particularly close aside from the few outstanding moments cementing them firmly on the same side. They're allies and they've fought together, which brings a certain sort of bond. Friends, however, is a strong word that he doesn't feel applies to them just yet. He think he might like it to, thinks he likes her, thinks he's starting to know her. Not completely, nobody could ever do that probably, but he knows her in the dark ways he knows himself.

What she's capable of. What they tried to take from both of them. Humanity, mostly, and the desire to want or care about things.

Like dogs.

It makes him smile, softly pleased that she's overcome things so well, that she can have things like that. Selfishly, he thinks, it means that he can too, eventually. When he's had as much time to come to terms with things as she has. He understands her boredom, though; even the delight of normalcy weighs too heavy on shoulders used to the stock of a gun. "You know you can train those things to open your fridge and bring you a beer?"

He's seen it in a vine. Shuri fucking loved vines.

The word 'overcome' wouldn't be a word she would use herself. Accept, yes. She is who she is no matter what she does, the past can't be erased no matter how hard she justifies all the good things she does now. Her punishment was to never forget. His? Well, he might eventually remember more than he does now, but that's probably a good thing.

As far as the dog goes, she's just as amused, though getting Eastwood was not her idea and wouldn't be even if she thought she could handle it. Really, she's beyond surprised he hasn't gone missing or been hurt or killed accidentally.

Natasha's smile grows a little more. "Or at the very least some potato vodka." Given that was about all one could get around there. "He's a bit small still and can't turn around without tripping over himself but he'll get there. I can bring him by some time, if you want?"

Normalcy is how Natasha has gotten through the harder times. By working alongside Steve and Sam, she's been able to focus on that. Since there isn't much for her to do in the way of work, she's slowly starting to put something else together.

Pressing on the last piece of tape, she steps back and looks up at him thoughtfully; as if she wants to say something but decides against it.

"There you go," Natasha says instead.

That wry smile turns into something a little sad; his first instinct had been to refuse, because something that small and gentle shouldn't be allowed something like him. He realizes, though, that it's a dark and inaccurate way of thinking. That he isn't some walking murder machine, and simply existing in the proximity of something innocent wouldn't be enough to hurt it. After all, he'd done his fair share of goat herding, hadn't he?

So instead he nods, ducking his eyes. "Yeah, that'd be good."

If nothing else, because it would give them an excuse to get to know one another a little better. Maybe to address some of the questions lingering in the back of his mind, some of the memories he's got that he thinks may include her.

But that's not a subject for right now. Instead, he flicks his eyes down to examine the tape on his rips, the way the support takes some of the pressure off, eases his pain a little.

"Thanks," he murmurs, and it's sincere.

[MINGLE] Wendi-go-go to the inn

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