Steve Rogers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
paragon) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2017-01-10 12:51 am
paragon) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-01-10 12:51 am
Entry tags:
it takes a village
WHO: Steve Rogers
WHERE: The inn, The Florence, about town
WHEN: Evening of January 9th
OPEN TO: Natasha Romanoff
WARNINGS: Sadly, none.
STATUS: Ongoing
It's one of the few times he's ever been grateful for the cold. Steve opens the box with his name on it that he finds on the porch one morning (he's heard of them appearing, but never gotten one himself) and knows immediately and with a deep, steadying breath, the fog of condensed air in front of his mouth a visible, ephemeral proof of his nerves, what he'll use it for. But he needs a day or two to secure time to himself in the inn's kitchen, to ask Sam to clear out that evening, and to ask Miss Kate for some of the salt she hoards so closely. For a special occasion, he ends up telling her. Hopefully, he doesn't say, though she also lets him have a pinch of pepper from her supply, and rosemary when he asks for it for the potatoes, so he figures he didn't have to.
(She warns him only to use a little, because their taste buds will feel the kick more intensely after months without, which sounds promising to Steve.)
In the meantime, the box will keep just fine, nestled in the snow by the side of the house (and secured against any foragers, like Tony's pet raccoon, of all things). When he opens it again it's two days later and a couple of hours before he plans to get started in the kitchen. The meat needs the time to thaw, after Steve carries the box to the inn with the spices. There's (unsurprisingly) little of the wine left from the Thanksgiving meal, but with the gifts last month they've preserved enough of a supply to be sufficient for cooking and a couple of full glasses, and he has no compunctions about using it for this.
After more than one trip between the inn and the house (and pressing the man named Gaius into standing lookout in case Natasha had come down the stairs in the meanwhile, though it'd involved a bit of miscommunication at first thanks to Steve's barely passable Italian and the combined efforts of Bucky and Tony on him until they'd all three formed a sort of motley guard around the entrance to the kitchen), Steve closes the door to his and Sam's place to head to the inn one last time. He looks up at the sky as he crosses the porch and heads down the steps again — it's not quite as bright as day, but the auroras illuminate everything below them well enough for none of them to need help to see where they're going at night now. Safer, too, though it's not the selling point he's planning to go with.
Steve pulls his hands out of his pockets to open the inn door, the shape of it familiar now, and once inside heads directly to the stairs. He goes to Natasha's floor and then her room, knocking once on the door. "Nat? I'm gonna take a quick look around outside before turning in, if you wanna join me."
WHERE: The inn, The Florence, about town
WHEN: Evening of January 9th
OPEN TO: Natasha Romanoff
WARNINGS: Sadly, none.
STATUS: Ongoing
It's one of the few times he's ever been grateful for the cold. Steve opens the box with his name on it that he finds on the porch one morning (he's heard of them appearing, but never gotten one himself) and knows immediately and with a deep, steadying breath, the fog of condensed air in front of his mouth a visible, ephemeral proof of his nerves, what he'll use it for. But he needs a day or two to secure time to himself in the inn's kitchen, to ask Sam to clear out that evening, and to ask Miss Kate for some of the salt she hoards so closely. For a special occasion, he ends up telling her. Hopefully, he doesn't say, though she also lets him have a pinch of pepper from her supply, and rosemary when he asks for it for the potatoes, so he figures he didn't have to.
(She warns him only to use a little, because their taste buds will feel the kick more intensely after months without, which sounds promising to Steve.)
In the meantime, the box will keep just fine, nestled in the snow by the side of the house (and secured against any foragers, like Tony's pet raccoon, of all things). When he opens it again it's two days later and a couple of hours before he plans to get started in the kitchen. The meat needs the time to thaw, after Steve carries the box to the inn with the spices. There's (unsurprisingly) little of the wine left from the Thanksgiving meal, but with the gifts last month they've preserved enough of a supply to be sufficient for cooking and a couple of full glasses, and he has no compunctions about using it for this.
After more than one trip between the inn and the house (and pressing the man named Gaius into standing lookout in case Natasha had come down the stairs in the meanwhile, though it'd involved a bit of miscommunication at first thanks to Steve's barely passable Italian and the combined efforts of Bucky and Tony on him until they'd all three formed a sort of motley guard around the entrance to the kitchen), Steve closes the door to his and Sam's place to head to the inn one last time. He looks up at the sky as he crosses the porch and heads down the steps again — it's not quite as bright as day, but the auroras illuminate everything below them well enough for none of them to need help to see where they're going at night now. Safer, too, though it's not the selling point he's planning to go with.
Steve pulls his hands out of his pockets to open the inn door, the shape of it familiar now, and once inside heads directly to the stairs. He goes to Natasha's floor and then her room, knocking once on the door. "Nat? I'm gonna take a quick look around outside before turning in, if you wanna join me."