Natalia Romanova (616) (ex_tasha895) wrote in wtnvgame, @ 2020-11-12 12:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | -player: r, marvel: natalia romanova, â‚´inactive player: squid, â‚´inactive: clint barton |
Balancing three pizza boxes in one hand, Natasha fumbled with the keycard to let herself back into The Last Resort condo that she shared with Clint Barton. Living with him had proven to be less of a challenge than she'd expected. She assumed at least some of that was due to the fact large-scale trouble seemed to have a harder time finding them in whatever pocket dimension they'd stumbled into; it was...nice.
Too nice.
Something in her old (technically, new, she supposed) bones told her that she shouldn't trust anything here. Of course, that didn't quite extent to Clint - she couldn't not trust him - but the respite they'd found here had to be an illusion of some kind. If she was being honest with herself, the fact that Clint had managed to spill a few coffees and destroy a few shirts actually made her feel better - because it was normal. His mishaps felt more like stability to her than anything else in this strange, unsettling place.
She didn't really understand how people could just mill about their business, getting jobs and making friends and pretending that ghosts from their pasts didn't just show up from nowhere and waltz through the place. Maybe it was because the ghosts that appeared to them weren't like the ones from her own past who didn't need a magic place like this to haunt her, but she couldn't be sure.
Opening the door a bit before readjusting the boxes in her arms, she caught a glimpse of Clint's back, he was leaned over the kitchen sink, drinking another cup of coffee: clearly not taking any more chances. She smiled to herself, still hidden from view, and let her shoulder rest against the doorframe for a moment. She imagined the look Tony Stark or Carole might give her if she told them that right now, Clint Barton signified stability to her and had to hold in a bit of a laugh. It was true though, and it wasn't just the surreal nature of this place that had made it so. Clint was as constant as the tides in his own way, and she believed he'd be there for her with the same persistence as the rising sun, if she needed him.
"Pizza," she sighed as she held the door with her food and gracefully slid into the front hallway with the boxes, "I don't know if you'll like it, though: it didn't come from a dumpster and it's still hot."