And it's real bad news

[paragon]

WHO: Steve Rogers
WHERE: The Windemere
WHEN: Morning of November 25
OPEN TO: Annie Cresta
WARNINGS: Only current plot, will edit if necessary.
STATUS: Closed

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Steve's been spending less time in the woods since the onset of the snow. Not that he's abandoned his one-man logging operation entirely — he doesn't know what he'd do with himself if he didn't having something to keep his mind and body occupied, something useful, and they're gonna need as much wood as they can get — but maneuvering both his body and fallen trees through the snow means more effort, means he gets tired quicker. Not as quickly as a normal man, but still sooner than he'd like, emerging from the woods with his haul usually not long after midday. That still leaves a lot of hours to fill before sundown.

It hadn't been a problem yesterday, between arriving early at the inn as usual to find the feast, and somehow finding himself trying to convince Natasha not to abscond with all the candles, and then the woman's, Karen's, death. There had been plenty of work to do after that, though Steve still rises early, finally cleaning himself up as soon as he has the light to do so, and it's still far from mid-morning before he makes his way to the outskirts of the village.

He doesn't think anyone will have told them yet; they'd left, unsurprisingly, long before dark, though he'd been glad to see them at the inn for as long as they had stayed. He also knows they didn't go back to the woods. As much time as he spends out there himself, he would see them if they were still around. He figured weeks ago that they'd found a better place for the winter, survival taking precedence over paranoia, and there's only one house out here that he's seen lately with smoke rising from its chimney. He climbs the steps to the door, cautious of any boobytraps, and raises a hand to knock.

"Annie, it's Steve," he says to the painted wood, breath fogging the air in front of it.

Comments

[treadswater]

Her first reaction to the knock is fear: her first reaction to Steve calling her name is nothing but annoyance.

It'd taken her so long to convince Finnick that, yes, it's cold enough for long enough now to warrant a fire. That not using the tools and environment they've been given, with the kind of weather that's set in, is a mistake. That, maybe, it'd help their spirits if they could actually wash with hot water, have hot meals, wash out their clothes. Finally, finally she has. It's not that Finnick is foolish or unreasonable, just he can be cautious to her decisiveness sometimes. Just that sometimes, they have differences of opinion and different lines in the sand.

When Steve calls out her name, Annie can nearly hear her lover say, I told you so.

He doesn't.

Not out loud, anyway.

But they are Careers, so their first priority is to work out what to do. Some quickly hashed out strategy later, and Annie walks from the kitchen to the front room, the living room. Not seeing anyone at the windows, she gestures behind her back to Finnick to signal as much. Finnick, who is staying in the kitchen. Waiting.

She's not empty handed, either. She has a branch in her hand, smooth-barked and nearly straight. It'll do for a stave. It'll do as a reminder that she's not helpless. She might be a short woman, not at all dressed imposingly (white denim pants, the flannel longsleeved shirt, socks, her hair a fishtail braid curled around her neck to hide the bruise Finnick's mouth had made on her skin last night), but she's not easy prey.

She doesn't open the door. Instead, she stands back from it, lifts her chin, and calls out.

"All right, Steve. Come in. But sit down once you're inside."

She likes Steve. He'd been normal at her, when she'd been in a tree and he'd talked to her about art. But he's more than twice her size, and although she's got Finnick (hidden) at her back, she just wants to make things clear. She doesn't trust him, just yet.

[paragon]

Steve frowns at that but lets himself in. Once in the open doorway he looks from the stick to Annie, mouth pressing into a line and his next breath pushed out through his nose. Crystal clear, he'd say, and her stature has little to do with it either way; he knows what a woman her size can do. It's not that he can't appreciate that she has reasons for her caution, and no, one conversation about art isn't enough to establish trust. But for him, it's enough to establish a basis for choosing to go forward, his disappointment for the fact that she hasn't met him halfway. Still, it's why he closes the door behind himself and does as she asks, keeping his hands in her line of sight while he moves to the couch and sits on it. He wishes he'd been able to completely clean the dirt from digging Karen's grave with Frank last night from under his nails, but he's not sure he won't just need to let the deepest grit work itself out or hope they come by a brush or file.

"Something happened last night that you should know about," he says, looking Annie in the eye and not at her makeshift weapon. "Both of you."

His gaze stays on her and doesn't stray toward any of the rooms where Finnick is likely hiding, because he doesn't mean to rob them of the illusion of safety or make his statement into a threat. "I'm not gonna attack you. Will you put it down so we can talk?"