01. arrival

[tothefly]

WHO: Natasha Romanoff
WHERE: South Village Fountain, Inn, Town Hall, aroundish.
WHEN: afternoon of Oct. 16th, the few days after
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: none yet, will header in comments if anything pops up

Fountain arrival: open to first two

They had been in Wakanda. She's sure they had been in Wakanda. Barnes had just gone back into cryo while they waited for test results, something to undo what HYDRA had done to his mind for all those years. Steve had been with him. Natasha had been...she'd been...

She hadn't been underwater, and now there's water all around her, and she's choking on it as instinct kicks in and she propels herself to the surface, all thoughts of where she'd been and how she'd gotten here lost for the moment in the rush for oxygen and survival. There's the surface, and she breaks through with a gasp and a choked cough, and every limb feels so heavy she could just sink right back below the surface, but there's an edge right there--is she in a pool? It doesn't matter, she hauls herself to the edge and then out, sliding to the ground and waiting for breathing to feel a little less like a foreign concept. This is definitely not Wakanda, she thinks, and she is definitely not where she went to sleep the night before. There's a lump behind her back--a backpack?--and she immediately pulls it around, going through the contents looking for answers and finding nothing but more questions.

If T'Challa had wanted her out of the country, he could have just offered her a ride, she thinks, vaguely ironic. It's fine. It's fine. She'll take a moment here to catch her breath--just a second--and then she'll be on the move again. She's woken up in worse places before.

Inn: OTA

It hadn't taken long after that first conversation for her to start feeling the itch to move, the exposure in the open space highlighted by the chill of damp clothing. The inn had been the obvious answer, and the bathroom upstairs had afforded her a better look at herself and the contents of her pack before drying off and changing into a fresh set of scrubs. The color seems to mean something, if what she's seen so far is any indication, but what exactly it's supposed to mean still evades her. At least she's always looked good in black. After a quick change, Natasha makes her way back downstairs. She isn't in Wakanda, she isn't anywhere anyone seems to have heard of, but that doesn't mean anything. Time for a little recon of her own, she thinks, and starts her exploration in the front room downstairs. It doesn't take long before she finds the village census and public records. There's a lot of information to unpack here, but she keeps finding herself going back to the same pages, over and over. How is her name in this book, if she's never been here before? There have to be answers somewhere.

Open locations: OTA

It doesn't take long for Natasha to start trying to familiarize herself with her location. Even if she's stuck here, that doesn't mean she has to stay blind. You're likely to run into her over the course of the next few days in any number of places, both public areas and maybe a few less-public. Empty houses are also a safe bet, as she tries to find a place to set up a home base, as it were, and frequently the inn, as she keeps returning to study the public records and census. No information is bad information, right? Anyway, before she goes looking for this bunker she keeps hearing about, she wants to have a better idea of what to expect out there, which means approaching people (more often than not the ones she doesn't recognize) to ask questions and hear about other peoples' experiences with the uncomfortably-named 'Observers.'

Comments

Inn

[notsoangry]

Bruce has spent most of his time in the schoolhouse lately to try and organize his thoughts on all the needs and ideas floating around at the moment. It's easier for him to have a place where he feels comfortable thinking, and they don't exactly have a lab here. Still, one of the biggest things he's doing is transferring all the information from the inn into his own series of notes and notebooks, newly gifted to him by the Powers That Be (whoever they are). So he's been going back and forth between the two, lost in the pages and the big picture of what they had to do next.

He's comfortable there now too, which means he doesn't really think much of wandering into the inn, not looking up from his notebook right away. His glasses are permanently on these days as he's always reading now. He has tea with him and to all appearances seems like this is an ordinary day, not the extraordinary situation they are actually in. His hair is shorter than she'll remember; it was cut close by the Grandmaster but it was growing out since getting there. It still has that natural curl on the graying edges.

Bruce finally looks up and only sees the back of her head, and that's all he needs. He has this sense that if they were in a dark room, he'd still be able to recognize her outline, and that's the kind of strange observation he keeps to himself. "Nat!" He saw her only once before she and Clint disappeared, and while his mouth moves first, his mind already knows that this is a different version. The hair is a dead giveaway. "...hey."

[tothefly]

She's seen his name in this book. His name, and Tony's name, and Clint's, and Steve's, others she knows, too, but reading a name and hearing a voice are two completely separate and distinct things. She'd always thought she'd be prepared to see him again, whenever he came back. And yet, here they are, and he's calling her name and the look on her face as she turns is full of unguarded surprise, rarer than anything else as she automatically answers. "Bruce," she starts, and is uncertain how to continue. This place--she doesn't have the right syntax yet. Doesn't have context for timelines or theories or anything but the fact that she's relieved to see him. "It's...been a while."

An understatement. It's been a year. A lot can happen in a year. Just look at him. She is. She can't seem to not.

[notsoangry]

Bruce looks at her and he's never been great at hiding a single one of his thoughts. Their relationship is complicated to say the least, but he will always be happy to see her. He always wants to see her. Which is not a great instinct, in a place like this, but it's not like he can help it. He's so busy looking at her and trying to gauge what emotions he's allowed within the boundaries of their relationship, that he forgets he's holding a hot mug. He kept moving it from hand to hand until it cooled before, and it stuck too long in one hand. The burning is too long and he feels the sting of pain and winces, quickly setting the mug and notebook to the side.

Smooth as always.

They had no time to talk when he landed back on Earth. There were a lot of things he owed her. A lot of things he needed to hear now. And no idea how to approach it, how much they could now. For a time she was someone he felt himself opening up to, even before their stolen and brief moments. He never knew where to start. "Yes, uh, can I ask how long of one?" Because she's not the Nat who was here, but she also is not the Nat from the fight with Thanos. What he really wants to know is if she's before or after Ultron, and he knows what he wants to hear, and how selfish that would be.

Near to the Inn

[fooloftheking]

Between scavenging, the kindness of strangers, and not giving a shit, Bobo has at least found clothes he's comfortable in. Not that red scrub, a tee shirt, and a long fur coat is entirely fashionable, but he at least feels at home.

He's possibly one of the few that hasn't gone to the bunkers, already having found one person here he would rather not be in this place, and he isn't in the mood to be wary of others.

The Inn is much more useful to him, enough so that he takes regular hikes down from the North village to check the storerooms and rummage things he can use for his house. Which is why he's carrying a skinned badger with him, gaze sharp as he looks for a familiar face and seeing, in the end, one he's never seen before.

Head canting, watching her curiously and openly, offering a nod. Every time it's one less person he actually knows before this place, the better in his mind.

[tothefly]

The fur coat is new. She's seen some folks in things that aren't these color-coded scrubs, and she's been able to pick up that sometimes, the inhabitants of this place are given other items that wouldn't normally be here. It's useful information, she thinks, and casts a particularly practical eye on the coat. She's not sure what the winter's going to be like here, after all, and it's pretty apparent that the autumn is well underway at this point.

He nods at her, and Natasha nods back, not at all bothered by the eyes on her. It's not like she'd made any pretense of her own assessing gaze. "Nice coat," she offers, and it's not condescending in the slightest. "Any chance I'll find one like it somewhere around here?"

[fooloftheking]

Well, that's new, so points to her. It's so second nature to himself, he doesn't think about the fact that in a few months, it'll be a hot commodity.

"There were some capes in the storeroom, and another one like this in a house..." He pauses, considering. It's only been seven weeks, but time in this place just feels different. Likely being out of Purgatory for the first time in over a hundred years. "South village, near the fountain. We didn't walk far. Probably one of the empty ones over there," he says, pointing.

In truth, no one had asked before so not reason not to share.

Open Locations: Bunkers

[freightcars]

When Natasha does eventually gather her necessary intel, when she does all of her researching and she packs a bag to take the long trek toward the bunkers, she does it on a day that coincidentally Barnes has taken up Bunker Duty. They switch off between a select list of people, sending one a day out there to check on the status of things. If they can catch a new member of the population while they're still in a stasis pod they let them out, clean them up, give them the rundown. It's generally a less jarring experience than nearly drowning, and they like to intercept when they have the chance.

After that, or if nobody hovers in fluid waiting to be awoken, they do a precursory check of the place. Search the terminals, do a sweep of the floor, check the vending machine that apparently dispenses powers for anything new or useful. It's unfortunate that Natasha slipped through the cracks, but it's hard to catch everyone before they wind up getting shot up through the ceiling like Augustus Gloop.

He hears the mechanical whirring of the transportation pod that signifies a descent into the bunker, and he makes his way toward the entranceway to greet whoever took the time to come here. He can't imagine someone made a mistake reading their assigned day, tough shit for them if they did because it's one hell of a walk.

He's startled as hell when her form comes into view, almost can't believe who it is he's seeing at first, and he seems suitably stunned when he finally finds words. "Thought you were gone?"

That had been the reigning decision, what with no sign of her and no response from her wrist device for days even after direct messaging.

[tothefly]

There's a moment when she sees him ahead of her, sees the light glint off that metal hand, and suddenly she's back in the UN building with that hand around her throat, in the streets of DC with a bullet burning through her shoulder. Never mind that he isn't that soldier anymore, isn't the soldier--зимний солдат, she thinks, and some habits are hard to break--and never mind that he, like all the others, thinks she's a version of herself she isn't and has never been. Never mind that he seems as surprised to see her as she is to see him.

It's the bunker, she thinks. They've both spent too much time in places like this. The thought helps a little, helps her keep her face level, her tone just this side of casual. "She might be. I'm new," she says, and below the surface the words dare him to disagree. "Last time I saw you, you didn't have that anymore," she says, with a nod towards his arm. Maybe that will give him some context. She could use some of that, herself. He seems much more...psychologically sound, than the last time they ran into each other.

[freightcars]

She's incredibly good at hiding her tells, she's inscrutable when she wants to be, she belies no fear. They're incredibly alike in that, they practically speak the same body language sometimes, and for just a second he can see a shift. Just enough to know that no, in fact she isn't the one who recently left. They hadn't gotten close despite their shared time here, but she'd been friendly enough. Bandaged up his wounds, introduced him to her dog which... still baffles him that she'd even gotten one, but the point is she'd gotten accustomed to his presence enough not to steel herself when she saw him anymore.

It's gone now.

He suspects their environment isn't helping her feel any more welcome. His lips press into a line, but the rest of him stays impassive. He glances down at his arm, back up at her, and... ah. So she's from around the same time as Steve then. She doesn't know about what's to come.

Maybe that's for the best considering they can't do anything about it here.

Best to blow past that subject, and to not make her feel like she's an amnesiac or something. He's been in her position — out there, yeah, but in this town too. There was another him right before he got here. It's an uncomfortable feeling, viscerally. So he opts for the 'act like everything is normal' approach, like this is a briefing. He gestures behind him vaguely, murmurs, "You been in here yet? Crazy stuff."

It's an offer and an out. He'll show her around if she wants, or he'll give her space.

snagging a Fountain Arrival pls

[oorah]

Frank had once gone out of his way to make his ugly mug the first thing New Arrivals saw in Reims. He had a dedicated newbie booth and all the information they would need to survive that bleak place. He supposes it isn't so strange then that he became mayor of that depressing, lonely place. The Villages here should be better, in every logistical way they are. Still, he's taken it upon himself to walk past the fountain at least once in a day to make sure no one new is coming up. He checks the bunker too, but he had just gone down there last night to use that powers vending machine - probably a mistake though it seems so far to be working out alright. The splash of her cutting through the surface of the water startles both the man and his dogs, the croc-dog in his arms springboarding off of him and hiding behind the slim gray pitbull who is currently hiding behind Frank's leg. The black-and-tan bloodhound takes a more active approach, braying close to the edge of the fountain. Business as usual for her, and Frank to some extent as well. He reaches an arm out to catch hers just above the elbow, hoping it doesn't scare her. "Natasha," he mutters softly before he can edit himself, helping her out of the fountain if she'll allow him to. The dogs all rush to her sides, lapping fountain water off her clothes and hands. He gives her a shrug, knowing she probably won't recognize him, even if she is a closer mark looks-wise to the Nat he'd known in Reims. Frank worries his lip as he searches for the words that once so readily sprang to his lips (or to his hands, in the case of Reims.) He finds himself missing sign language in moments like this, though he does manage an even quieter, "You OK?"

yes, awesome :D

[tothefly]

A hand is a hand, and any hand is a way out of the cold water threatening to drag her back down. Any actions beyond that...well, she's never been unable to take care of herself, no matter the situation, and once she's got her feet under her, she'll be fine. She's always fine. This situation--it's just one more to figure out. So she lets that hand grab her by the elbow and pull, her own fingers finding purchase on his wrist and holding tight as she hauls herself out of the water and over the lip of the--fountain? Is this a fountain?

It looks like a park, she thinks vaguely, her first impression one of flashes as she gasps for breath. Open plaza, man with dark hair and eyes looking at her like he's concerned, like he knows her, he says her name like he knows her, and she knows for a fact she doesn't recognize him. That's as far as she gets, the look on her face just this side of accusatory, tense, before falling into something more like shock at the sudden surrounding of dogs. She's never had a problem with dogs; animals tend to like her, or at least accept her presence, but she's not used to being surrounded like this, and her heart is still pumping with adrenaline as she looks for an exit, some place to gain a little space as she pulls her hands up and out of tongue range (is that a dog, she isn't sure, not when it looks like that), looking instead to the man once more.

"I just need a second," she says, instead of what she's really thinking. "I'll be fine. Sorry-do I know you?" Should she?

[oorah]

As she grabs his wrist, she might notice the leather bracelet he wears on the opposite hand from his bright teal communicator: it's obviously handwoven, the knots Celtic though he seems anything but Irish. He takes a step back from her when she's on her own two feet and gestures for the dogs to do the same. The weird-looking one hops back up into his arms instead and he rolls his eyes, holding the chihuahua-sized creature under his arm. So, definitely not the Nat who was here before. What iteration does that make her? Or is that only of one version? That list rose many more questions than it answered, and that's only if it's not bullshit to begin with. Frank works his jaw as both dogs edge behind his legs, though Aretha looks about to burst forward again any second. She loves people as much as Aloe is wary of them. And Frank, naturally, lies somewhere in the middle with attention to both. He offers up a pithy OK symbol, his favorite way of expressing himself, and waits for her to calm down some. Once it seems she's taken a breath, he shakes his head 'no' at her question. "We should get you dry," is all he says, and that's after a long lapse of silence. He turns away from her and the dogs follow him, though the bloodhound still looks like she wants to go back for Natasha. Frank acts like he doesn't care if she follows, mostly because he can't. Besides, if he doesn't help her he knows the other Avengers will. It really isn't his responsibility, right? But Nat was a friend of his. She helped him once, even if it wasn't this version of her, and/or she doesn't remember it, that's never mattered to him before.

Inn

[womanofvalue]

Sometimes, Peggy feels as if she's on a carousel, in which she stays still and around her, everyone moves ever-changing, taking old friends and then returning them back to her. She'd heard a rumour that Natasha had been sighted around and Peggy instantly wanted to see if that was true, given that she'd been missing the other woman.

Of course, it also meant they had to start all over from scratch, something that she wasn't so pleased with. Heading to the inn, she has to see with her own eyes whether she's really there, but lucky for Peggy, it doesn't take long to verify.

"It really is you," she says, as if Natasha somehow needs the warning (when she probably had already had Peggy clocked the moment she walked in). "Hello again, Natasha."

[tothefly]

The footsteps aren't familiar. Give her time, and they will be, she's always had a knack for this sort of thing, but right now...no. The face, though--she recognizes that face as she turns around, even if it isn't in the context that Peggy might hope for. She remembers that face from a faded photograph in a bunker in New Jersey, a memory of a more optimistic time. She hadn't known that face then, and Steve hadn't said. It meant she'd had to work harder for the name than she'd expected. Good thing Natasha had always appreciated a challenge.

This is a different sort of challenge, she thinks, and while her answer is pleasant enough, the phrasing is careful. "Agent Carter. I'm sorry--I don't think I'm the woman you were expecting." As odd as it is to think. The idea that she isn't the first one, the only one. The idea that Margaret 'Peggy' Carter, co-founder of SHIELD, can be standing here in front of her, looking like she just stepped out of 1946. It's a big multiverse, she's read Dr. Selvig's papers, and yet one is rarely confronted with proof that their identity isn't actually unique, and that time isn't quite as linear as you've always thought.

[womanofvalue]

Her smile is sad, though unsurprised. She hadn't expected Natasha to know her, though she can't say that she isn't a touch disappointed, of course. "No, I know," she assures her, hoping that Natasha won't feel compelled to be that other woman when Peggy truthfully doesn't have any expectations for her to do so.

She's just glad to see her back, even if she finds herself at the base of a hill, knowing she'll have to work uphill again to earn her trust. "I'm not sure if you've found out yet, but you've been here before. I knew you, then."

outside house #9.

[scathefires]

There's not as much trouble to get into as Jason's used to, so ever since the appearance of the library, he's defaulted to spending a lot of his free time reading instead. Perched on the porch of the little red house he's claimed is a favored spot, and he's still squinting over an instructional guide on knitting when Natasha approaches him.

"Tell you what," he says, one eyebrow arched, holding up the open book in one hand, "I'm pretty sure this is in English, but I can't make heads or tails out of it. You tell me if this page makes any sense to you, and I'll answer a question. Deal?"

[tothefly]

It's not a bad idea. Natasha's spent some time among books herself since she's gotten here, though it's mostly been confined to the census and public records so far. Once she's found a place to call her own, once she knows their surroundings more, maybe she'll start making her way through what the library has to offer. As it stands, she's more interested in Jason than in the book in his hands, but it's a reasonable trade to make.

Arching an eyebrow as she makes her way towards the porch, Nat takes in the diagrams shown. Fortunately, it's nothing super advanced. She'd never really stuck with knitting as a hobby. "Sounds good to me," she says, holding a hand out for the book to take a closer look. After a moment, she hands it back, and with a completely straight face gives him his answer.

"Yeah, it does. What's your name?"

Bunker

[minus1twin]

Wanda had lost Clint and then shortly after that Natasha had disappeared as well. Her home had gone from being nearly full to almost empty. Picard and Beverly were always there and they were trying their best to help Wanda but it wasn't the same. Clint and Nat knew her and understood her in a way that very few could. They'd seen the dark sides of war and had done horrible things, deciding later to turn their lives around. They were people who Wanda looked up too and now they were gone.

Her thoughts were troubled and turbulent when she once again spotted Natasha in the village. She wasn't the same person, her hair was the same color but there was no doubt in who that was. Wanda felt her heart seize as it turned through an emotional whiplash. It hurt and as she approached, she knew that there was a chance that Natasha wouldn't know who she was or believe that she was on the wrong side of the fight.

Even so, Wanda couldn't bring herself to just walk away.

A large dog walked at her side and while he smiled at Nat, he was trained to stay with Wanda until she told him otherwise. Clint had spent a fair amount of time training Arado to help them hunt. "Hey," She tried to smile but the expression looked forced. "Looks like you're back. You don't remember being here, do you?"

Re: Bunker

[tothefly]

Natasha at least recognizes Wanda. Recognizes and more; they'd been on the run together for a few months at this point, Natasha and Wanda and Steve and Sam and the rest. It had been a little strange at first. Not that she was complaining about having another woman around, just, her particular profession happened to be one that was largely both solitary and male. But it had been nice. And now, here's Wanda again, another familiar face she'd just seen a few short days ago, looking at her like she's a ghost. It's not a comfortable feeling.

Her own face shows none of that, just a smile of her own that carries a faint hint of resignation. "Probably better to just treat me like the new kid," she answers, and there's a hint of wryness to the words. She doesn't blame Wanda for being disappointed, like she doesn't blame Peggy, or Frank, or anyone else. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry." It's difficult to lose a friend, and then to see their face everywhere. She knows what that's like, even if it's her first time on this side of it.

Snagging second Fountain

[nonstopnarcissist]

Running a forge means, for safety reasons, having water on hand for stray sparks, quenching, scrubbing up before and after, etc. It means a good portion of Tony's day is yolking up and hauling buckets to fill a barrel when the rain hasn't taken care of filling his store. Stocking up a little in anticipation of a few projects that'll keep him busy enough he won't want to waste time and energy (making sure he doesn't overwork himself has become more of a priority with people worrying at him on the regular) that could be spent on design and fabrication is also often a thing, much like today. He's on his third and final trek to load up when sopping red catches his eye-

Not copper, not strawberry blonde like he'd hoped for- ever- but Red.

"...Romanoff?" He braces his yolk against the side of the fountain, head cocked faintly, brows lifted.

[tothefly]

The sound of a familiar voice might be a comfort to some people. It might even be a reassurance to her, if it weren't for that particular voice, and the circumstances of the last time she'd heard it. There had been no love lost between the two of them, frustration and anger and misunderstanding. But he's still a face she recognizes, and that factors into the way she looks up at him, surprise and calculation in her eyes.

"Tony? What--" Did she get snagged by a patrol? Hardly likely, but she has to consider every option. If she did, though, maybe she should reconsider her line of work.

inn

[borneinblood]

Druitt has, at least, been aware that people can leave and than return again. He is, admittedly, entirely unaware that this is the case, when he spots Natasha near the census and public records, but the idea is something that he's passingly familiar with. He's never really much stopped to actually see what is in the public record either, and he figures this is as good a time as any to actually do more than proceed to ignore it entirely.

(Plus, he's noticed the way she keeps flipping back and forth through the same few pages and he can't help but be a little curious.)

His approach isn't silent. But he's not really doing a lot to call attention to it either; depending on how engrossed she is in what she's found it might well pass entirely unnoticed until he speaks up.

"Looking for something in particular?"

Re: inn

[tothefly]

Approaching footsteps never pass unnoticed by someone like Natasha, especially in a new place, but neither are they greeted by aggression or sudden response. Better they think her guard is down, just in case. Better they underestimate her hearing and response times, just in case.

But neither does she startle at the sudden sound of a voice, or the looming presence that's appeared over her shoulder, instead glancing up briefly with a pair of curious, assessing eyes before turning them back to the pages in front of her.

"Not really. I've learned the first few times you read new information, it's better to just absorb it all, and there's a lot to absorb. The residents here are a pretty skilled group, I'm impressed. Are you in here, somewhere?"

Inn

[ethnobotany]

Beverly tends to take at least one meal a day in the Inn, just for a little extra socialization. Usually, it ends up being the middle of the day when she can pry herself away from the hospital and her garden and the numerous household pets she, Jean-Luc, and Wanda share. Today is no different and she makes her way in to drop off some chamomile clippings to supplement the stock already in the kitchen. Afterwards, she decides to actually make a cup to enjoy for an hour or so before she returns to her work. It's only once she steps back out with her cup in hand that she spots a familiar face, one she didn't think she'd be seeing again so soon, if at all.

Naturally, Beverly makes her way over, aware of the chance that Natasha might not remember her last stay, but unable to keep herself from hoping all the same. "Natasha?" she calls gently once she's close enough, her smile hesitantly hopeful.

[tothefly]

She really doesn't like disappointing those hopeful smiles, though it doesn't get less weird, people looking at her like that. Like they know her. Despite everything after Washington, despite the press releases and the exposés on her activities, despite the very public appearances, she's still not used to people knowing her, even superficially. It makes her uncomfortable. And yet, some version of herself had considered these people friends. It's enough to merit a gentle let down, and she shakes her head, offering a faint smile in return.

"Yeah, but not the one you're expecting. I'm sorry."

She really is.