sixthiterationlogs | Just a walk or three

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Just a walk or three

WHO: Natasha Romanoff + Various
WHERE: House 6, House 57, House 54 (Danny's dojo), around the South Village and road to the north
WHEN: Dec 15-20
OPEN TO: Starters for Frank, Finnick, and Peggy, plus OTA
WARNINGS: None as of now, will update as needed

[Frank, House 6]

House 6 is one of the few houses Natasha has no problem walking straight into. Not that the problem lies in the getting in, with most of them, just that most occupants aren't exactly thrilled with people they aren't on good terms with walking straight into their homes with barely a knock. She knows what she'd do if anyone tried it. But she's been by enough times over the last two months that it isn't at all a strange thing when she turns up one December evening, only giving the door the faintest cursory rap before she opens it and heads inside.

The sight of Frank sitting by the fireplace isn't an unusual one, but the knitting needles in his hands are definitely a little...she wouldn't say incongruous. He's proven he's a man of many skills. But it is a little absurdly domestic, isn't it? "Hey," she says, a greeting that doesn't require an answer, is more of a courtesy to state her presence before she drops onto the other end of the couch to watch. She'd come to invite him on one of her nightly walks, but that can wait for a little while, maybe.

[Finnick, House 57]

Ever since that last illness scare, Nat's made a point of getting up to House 57 at least once or twice a week. It's about as far away from her own place at Number 40 as you can get, on the opposite side of the village, but that doesn't bother her; the walk is good, and gives her a chance to get a look at things as she goes. Ever since that one house burned down, she's been on a slightly higher level of alert.

But things look good today, and even the geese seem to be in a good mood as she makes her way to the door, a covered basket in one hand as she knocks with the other. A small gift, found foraging in the forest, nothing much but every little bit helps, these days.

[Peggy, Dojo]

Danny's budding dojo in House 54 is one of Nat's most frequent stops. It's a good place to go for a workout, increasingly so as the temperature drops and more people like her--used to being active, to staying fit and in shape, to keeping their skills sharp just in case--are drawn in. It's not all that unusual to see other people, and definitely not unusual to see ones she knows, considering a solid third of the village is from her universe, or at least tangential to it, but Peggy is still a pleasant surprise. Natasha sheds her coat as she comes in, moving out into the space towards the other woman, offering her a slightly wry smile.

"Not to use the worst line in existence, but what's a lady like you doing in a place like this?"

[South Village roads + Dojo, OTA]

There's no question that Natasha's little walks every night are something more than that. One might even consider them something of a patrol. Yes, there's a group for that now, something that's been set up with a sign-up list at Town Hall and everything, but Natasha has always worked best out of the spotlight. People know where to find her if she needs to be found. Aside from that, she keeps her head down, occasionally inviting someone to join her for the quiet wanderings through the village streets in the late hours of the night. It isn't incredibly common that she runs into someone else out, especially as it continues to get colder, the damp and chill entirely uninviting, but on those rare occasions she does, maybe she can be convinced to stop and talk for a while, or to accept some company before she continues on.

Despite the late nights, she's also up early in the mornings, and if you're the sort to find yourself in Danny's dojo, you might also find her there, but what she's doing might not look so much like fighting as it does ballet warm-ups. Flexibility is just as important to maintain as the ability to punch someone, after all, and it's gotten her out of way more jams.

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Frank looks up from his spot as she comes in, not alarmed in the least. People used to barge into his Mayoral homestead all the time, or more like tiptoe softly in which is even more terrifying if you aren't expecting anyone. In many ways, he's more on edge than ever but in many others, he's relaxed - knowing anything that came through his front door here is only another resident of the village. And this time it's even someone he wants to say, offering her a bright smile (for him) without pausing in his work. He's learned with knitting that you have to be at a good stopping point before you quit otherwise you'll lose the whole project. He's pretty adept at going through the motions without looking at his stitchwork though, mittens taking shape between his hands quickly enough for her to see the shape.

"Hey," he responds gruffly, since he doesn't have his hands to sign in. She'll know from experience he'll use sign for basic greetings to save his voice usually, even if people aren't always familiar with the language. "Is it already that time?" Their nightly patrol. Jessica had left some time ago, he didn't ask where she was going though he could guess by the flask she brought along that it was probably the bunker. And Kamala's out, likely with the other kids or accounting for supplies down at the Inn. She doesn't come around until late dinner, most nights. Which leaves him as something of a stay-at-home most afternoons, not that he thinks about it that way.

The dogs recognize her, of course, sniffing at her shoes without much fuss. The new kitten they got is getting bolder however and she peers at Natasha with big eyes from the arm of the chair he'd come to think of as Jessica's. Patti the lynx is draped over the back of the couch against his shoulders while Bruno keeps watch at his side.

Peggy laughs as she settles her coat down, clad in her workout wear that she'd been gifted so long ago. It's far too chilly to wear only the simplest of items, but it will do. She's brought the hand wraps as well, if they'll need them, but she has a far more specific purpose on her mind today.

"I was hoping you could show me a thing or two," she replies, and perhaps there's a coy note in her voice, but Natasha did start it. "I think I'm finally feeling up to a bit of a challenge, if you're not too occupied."

Elektra has unsurprisingly taken to coming to the Dojo at least once a day. It's run by an ally against the Hand. That alone made her feel more comfortable here than anywhere else. It also gave her a chance to stay sharp too which is important when your ninja boyfriend isn't quite what he used to be. She never comes a set time out of habit more than necessity so this is her first time encountering Natasha. She's sorely regretting not picking this time sooner. It actually brings back good memories of her adopted parents for better or worse.

"I thought I was the only ballerina here. Well, former. I stopped a few years back." When they died. She doesn't bring that up for obvious reason. Her relationship with them like everyone else is Complicated at best.

She's starting to get used to the menagerie, though she doesn't think she'll ever acquire any of her own. Animals can be useful, but she sleeps too lightly, is too used to having space to herself. It's not a consideration for her right now. But she does appreciate the dogs, offering scratches behind the ears for all that want them as she leans in, getting a look at Frank's ongoing project.

"Yeah, but I'm not in a hurry. Not like the village is going anywhere, and if it is, I'd say we're screwed already," she comments, eyes on his mittens. "Didn't know you knew how to knit. Very domestic of you."

He snorts at that, it's too real. He keeps up the stitchwork, glancing at her eyes every so often.

"Well, everybody's out if you wanna chill. We've got popcorn and coffee, as always." She knows she can help herself to anything Frank has even while he rolls his eyes at her comment. "Someone's gotta put these assholes in Winter gear before we have to wait til Spring to thaw them out."

There's a set of mittens, a scarf and a hat all laying out on the table that prove he actually had remembered she was coming, at least several hours ago. They're all black but he took the liberty of embroidering her symbol in red inexpertly on the corner of the scarf and on the roll of the hat, both easily hidden off she doesn't want to advertise here.

"Those are yours."

Thor's taken to early and late-night walks in an attempt to best familiarize himself with the geography of the village. He tries to wander down the same pathways until he feels like he's committed it to memory, then he'll expand from that, like a river and its tributaries. He finds that he likes to do this just before he tucks in for the night. Something about the cold air on his skin and the burn in his lungs helps him to still the chaos of his mind to allow him to sleep. Similarly, he likes to do this in the early mornings, while the village is still mostly still and asleep. He finds it's a good way to start his day; it helps to put his thoughts in order.

He sees her hair first, though the shadow of darkness makes it hard to be certain. She's a distance ahead of him, but he breaks into a slow and purposeful jog to get closer to her. Once he's sure it's her, he smiles and calls out to her.

"Natasha!" He's mindful not to be too loud given the late hour. "Natasha, it's me! Thor! Banner told me you were in the village, but I've not run into you until now!'

The geese have grown familiar enough with Natasha's occasional visits that they no longer sound angry when she approaches, but there is a change in the tone of their habitual fussing that alerts Finnick to a visitor even before she knocks. (Coco the dog is less useful about that, because he finds a lot of things to bark at, and not all of them actually deserve that attention.) So it doesn't take long for him to answer the door, and he's smiling when he sees her.

"Hey, Natasha. Come on in."

There's pile of sticks by the lounge and a partly-constructed fish trap on the table that he moves onto the floor. He waves a hand around the room. "Take a seat if you want."

It wasn’t exactly pleasant outside, but then again, Reyes’ home planet had mostly been toxic rains and sulphur springs and unbreathable air — so the island’s fresh, chilly breeze and distant scent of pine was, frankly, a paradise in comparison. Tonight, he could be found in an absurdly old-fashioned rocking chair on the porch of the Chaseville, a blanket around his shoulders and a cup of bitter tea in his hands (at least it was warm). The solitude was peaceful, even if the quiet was maddening and pounded oddly in his ear-drums.

Candles in the occasional window didn’t offer that much ambient light to see by, either, but Reyes had been out here long enough that his eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and could pick out the redhead as she moved down their street. He cleared his throat.

“What ho, who goes there? — I think that’s what I’m supposed to say, anyhow.” Dryly amused. Probably more than a little bored, and perking to attention at the presence of another person.

"Only a thing or two?" The smile on her face widens a fraction as Natasha begins her warmups, seemingly unbothered by the chilly air in her tank top and scrub pants. "Well, I might have one or two things in mind I could show you, if you're interested. My dance card's open today, so I'm all yours. Have you warmed up yet, or do you want a few minutes?" She could use a stretch or two, plus the time to get a sense of Peggy's training would be good. It's been a while since she's gone up against anyone remotely close to her size.

Natasha's smile is a touch rueful as she looks up from her butterfly stretch on the floor, soles of her feet pressed together and knees bent, red hair tied back in a messy bun. "It's been more than a few years since I've been a ballerina," she answers, "but I try to keep up with it. It's a good workout, and I enjoy dancing more than pilates. I didn't know there was anyone else here who danced. Is that what you're here to practice, or?" Or the other thing the dojo is actually for, of course. She knows better than to assume based on anyone's looks.

"You know I'll never say no to a cup, if you're offering," she answers, and she's happy to make it for the both of them. It isn't her first time coming by, and it's not going to be the last. But she doesn't seem inclined to get up just yet. The set on the table did catch her attention, and when he indicates them, she leans forward to take them in her hands, admiring the craftsmanship. The tiny, easily hidden hourglass gets a smile, one of those slow, lingering ones that are rare and very genuine. "I did say black was my color," she says, and there's a warmth in the words that's impossible to miss. "Thank you, Frank." Impulsively, she reaches up, pulling the hat down over her head, symbol just off to the left of her face before turning to him, posing just a little theatrically.

"How do I look?"

There might still be warm coffee in the percolator, he can't honestly remember how long ago he made it now. He pauses to watch her accept her gifts, unable to prevent the smile from curving her lips at the dramatic posing.

"Very stealth," he praises, shaking his head. He holds up his needles indicatively before setting them aside so he can get up and check on the coffee sitch. "You taught me how to do this, you know. The first you I met."

Ah, the rare and elusive smile. Quite an accomplishment, even for her. She'll take it and treasure it, honestly. Her eyebrows lift at his statement, almost vanishing under the brim of the hat before she tugs it off, combing her hair back into some semblance of order with her fingers before she sets the bundle down neatly on the table, waiting for them to go back outside eventually.

"Really? Huh. Guess there is some difference between all of us. I learned the basics for a job once, but I really never got beyond 'make something vaguely rectangular without too many holes.' Was she good?"

The voice coming from behind her is familiar, and one she didn't expect to hear--at least not like this. Honestly, she'd expected to bump into him sooner, all things considered, but Bruce had mentioned he might be having a little trouble adjusting to things. Perfectly reasonable, especially since it wasn't likely whoever put them here would let an Asgardian keep their abilities, if Steve couldn't even be a supersoldier anymore.

Still, she doesn't jump, or startle, obviously, but she does turn around, lifting her chin in greeting and waiting until he gets closer before she answers him. "Thor," she greets him, voice low but friendly enough to match the smile on her face. "Bruce mentioned you'd shown up. I figured I'd see you eventually. What are doing out so late? Trouble sleeping?"

The voice coming from the porch makes her pause, eyes finding him immediately in the faint light provided by starlight. He's got good eyes, himself, whoever he is, finding her dressed all in black as she is, but there's the slice of pale face between scarf and hat, and the flare of red hair escaping from beneath it, so maybe not. Either way, after just a moment there's another gleam that follows, the quick flash of a smile, and the hint of laughter in her answer, voice low but carrying.

"Just a law-abiding citizen, out for a walk," she calls back, lifting one black-mittened hand in greeting, and if there's amusement for more than one reason, he doesn't have to know. "Unless you're looking for a more exciting answer, in which case I'm sure I could come up with something more sinister."

"Thanks." Her answering smile is easy, a friendly look as she follows him into the house. He and Annie have a nice setup here. It's...well, maybe domestic isn't exactly the word she's looking for. Comfortable. Lived-in. Reassuring. The basket gets placed on the now-cleared table as she comes in, taking a seat on the lounge and settling in.

"I found a pretty big cache of mushrooms while I was out this morning," she says, gesturing at the basket. "Figured I'd bring some by for you and Annie while I was coming out this way. Busy morning?"

Frank gives her an odd look, then turns towards the kitchen to get them each coffee. This Natasha doesn't know how to knit, another point for the clone theory. But it still isn't Frank's favorite theory no matter how much circumstantial evidence might pile up.

"Of course, yeah." He checks the coffee but ends up putting a fresh pot on. His legs feel stiff and now he knows why. He's been at it for hours. "I wanna show you something."

While that brews, he reaches into a drawer and retrieves a packet, glancing over it uncertainly before handing it off to Natasha as she follows him into the room. Those are her alternate self's knitting classes advertised of course, but she's free to read over the rest of it though of course all the attachments didn't come with.

"I used to give those out to all the new arrivals."

She doesn't know if it would really be a point for the clone theory. Maybe just a point for the infinite worlds theory, the butterfly effect. One Natasha had learned to knit for a job and found she loved it; one Natasha had never found the time to go back and get better at it. No reason there couldn't be a thousand thousand versions of the same person, each of them different in infinitesimally small ways, each of them perfectly unique. It made her feel better about things, anyway.

Natasha stands and follows Frank and the promise of coffee into the kitchen, but is a little perplexed when he hands her a pamphlet. The confusion clears as she reads the first words. "This is a welcome brochure for the place you were before," she says as she realizes, quickly scanning the information. And yes, down there at the bottom is an ad for 'Knit with Nat.' Cute. "You and Kamala." Strange, that the Observers would give him something like this, although maybe not so much.

"You think they might be trying to tell you something, giving you this?"

He nods, getting down cups for them so he doesn't have to face her.

"That's right," he fjords cautiously, then before he can stop himself tacks on: "And Jess."

Usually, he does his best not to ever mention her name. Most people barely knows she exists here, but in Reims it was a very dangerous thing to let on you knew anything about Jessica Jones. He still fucked up, over and over again. He blames himself for so much of what happened with Kilgrave and he can't allow anything like that to happen here. He won't.

Frank doesn't have any fucking clue what the Observers want other than to study them. To watch them react to different obstacles flung into their path. All he can really do is shake his head though it may seem like he wasn't listening or simply isn't answering the question.

Edited (i got too excited sorry) 2018-12-27 20:49 (UTC)

"Well, it is a bit much to ask for a dozen lessons in one day, I like to be practical," Peggy says decisively, with a rather pleased smile on her face, seeing as she does intend to get as many lessons as possible, but you have to start small.

She watches intently, not wanting to miss a single move, even though she can already recognize some of it from Dottie's style. "I did a bit of warm up on the way here. Dreaded jogging," she deadpans, given how much she dislikes it. "Then it's a bit of tai chi," she admits. "A rather new thing for me, but it seems to do the trick."

She shakes her head. Elektra appreciates the credit. Most would just assume she's here for Zumba or something equally ridiculous in her opinion. "Martial arts. My parents always wanted me to be well-rounded. I'd dance one season and learn martial arts another..." She shrugs her shoulders. "They were quite eccentric. I thought it might be fun to keep up while I'm here." She tilts her head towards Natasha. "Of course I didn't know dance was an option before now." Silly her.

Is she fishing for an invitation? Absolutely.

"Bruce is a good friend." It's said simply and quietly, but there's a subdued, underlying emotion weaved in his tone. He will never forget what Bruce did for him and the trouble he went through to get them back to Asgard to save Thor's people. Not only that, but Bruce had also been the one to discover and save Thor from the stupid glass tubes in the underground bunker. He meant a lot to Thor, and he was happy to hear that his friend spoke of him to the others.

"These human bodies fatigue so easily," he complains, "So I am often finding myself wanting to fall asleep when the sun is just setting! But then this strange thing happens where, if I stay up and endure through the feelings of exhaustion, I find that I get more energy. I try to do that because I was told that falling asleep in early evening is generally frowned upon." He lets out a heavy, burdensome sigh. Adjusting to human life is hard. "But I like to take walks before I go to bed so I can clear my head of things. What are you doing out so late?"

The man has risen to his feet and propped his elbows against the porch railing, shifting his weight from foot-to-foot, mostly to stretch his legs and get his blood moving again — it’s easier to stay warm if you’re moving a little, even if just slightly. Their meeting under moonlight is a strange inversion of the usual neighbourly chat over white picket fences, but he’s experienced stranger.

“Honestly, considering how quiet the past few days have been, I’d appreciate something sinister. Someone on a grand heist, maybe, scoping out the bank vault next door? They have trained dogs, you know.”

Not speaking from experience, of course.

(Quiet Edwardian homesteading is such a far cry from Reyes’ sphere of expertise that he finds he’s missing that flicker of adrenaline from tangled and complicated crimes, from schemes, from juggling a half-dozen balls in the air at once. He’ll probably regret that sentiment later.)

"Thanks." It's said with a smile that's bright, genuine in a way that Finnick often isn't here. He knows the value of food in this place, especially in the winter. He'd been trained to think of food as something to be hoarded, collected and defended and only shared with the closest of allies -- at least, until it was time to turn on them. He hadn't played the Games that way himself, and he's been conscious of sharing with the people he's close to, or attached to, in this place. So he appreciates the mushrooms, small a gift as they may seem. "These'll be good in fish stew."

Finnick tilts his head towards the trap.

"Been doing a little maintenance. Funny how the water freezing around them makes the traps break more easily. That never happened at home."

"I can respect practicality. We can start with one or two, and see how you're feeling after that," she answers, a brief smile flickering across her face. It wouldn't surprise her if Peggy turned out to be a fast learner, especially after everything she's heard.

It isn't surprising that there would be elements of Red Room training that were kept through the years, either, and as a matter of fact Natasha would be incredibly interested to hear about Peggy's experiences with Dottie. It might inform a few of her own experiences over three decades later. "Cardio might not be fun, but it's necessary, especially if you want to keep up with all the men with the three-mile-long legs this job seems to come with," she answers, and there's that amusement again as she continues a series of brief stretches and warmups. It's a little less relevant for Peggy, who has several inches at least on Nat, but still. "Tai chi's a nice one, though. If you've been doing it for a little while, you'll see it'll definitely come in handy for some of the things I could teach you. It's all about flow and redirection of force. Use the opponent's weight and momentum against them."

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Just a walk or three

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dojo

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Village

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village roads

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Re: dojo

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