dahlia dewitt. (toepoints) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2018-05-29 03:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, * jach, r: ananya amin |
WHO: Ana Amin.
WHERE: Her home.
WHEN: Monday evening; dinner time.
WHAT: The Red Room.
RATING: Low.
STATUS: narrative; complete.
Ana’s kitchen is a swirl of colors, sounds, and smells. Her kitchen windows are thrown open, letting in a soft spring breeze. She can hear the birds chirping out her window and it’s the perfect compliment to Copeland’s Appalachian Spring suite playing through her bluetooth speaker. Oil bubbles in a pan on the stove as she fries pirozhki for her dinner that evening. She’s been craving Russian food non-stop lately, and finally gave into temptation. The medovik she’d made yesterday for dessert is practically calling her name. She slides the fried pastries to her plate and takes a moment to clean up the kitchen around her before starting in on her meal. And perhaps it’s then, surrounding by the smells of Russian cooking and ballet music, that something primal is triggered within her. ”What if I fail?” “You never fail.” She remembers relentless ballet routines. Combat lessons. Weapons training. She does best with guns. Her aim is nearly perfect. She remembers being forced to battle her classmates. And not everyone lives. And while she remembers all of this, Ana’s heart-rate never waivers. Because Natasha was trained how to control herself. Ana stands there, her hands resting gently against the side of the sink, lost in terrifying memories, but somehow her body doesn’t even twitch. She remembers graduation. She remembers being released on the world. Black Widow. “You are made of marble.” The vividness of the memories fade and Ana exhales. They are still there, but not as controlling now. She can compartmentalize and push them backward in her mind in order to process. She’s heard whispers around the town. Whispers of dreams and visions of other lives. They hadn’t made sense to her until this moment. Now she understands. The memories will not leave her. She will carry them. As will she carry Natasha. An assassin turned spy who still considers herself a monster. A flick of Ana’s fingers bring the music to a stop and she sits down at her dining room table with her food. As she takes her first bite of the pirozhki she can sense Natasha’s approval. "Spasibo." |