7903/The Widow and the Weary

The Widow and the Weary
Date of Scene:	20 September 2021
Location:	East Village
Synopsis:	Melina finds Natasha going home from the Swordfish. They exchange tense words, questions, and a warning.
Cast of Characters:	Melina Vostokoff, Natasha Romanoff

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Melina Vostokoff has posed:
While Natasha does not often go to the Swordfish, it's more repeat that many other places. In her quiet monitoring, this seemed one of the most common places. Melina won't violate the sancitity of the place -- especially as she suspects it's SHIELD owned -- so she's been waiting at the little cafe across the street most of the evening. Just waiting. Watching. Hazel eyes constantly keeping the door of the Swordfish in the corner of her gaze as the rest of her focuses on the Kindle in front of her. She nurses a beer as she waits, her long legs crossed.

Her face has not changed. The crown of loose, careless braids across her head might be an echo of many things from Natasha's younger days. But otherwise, she looks entirely different. Jeans, a casual, long kimono-like robe made of gauze and flower print across a silk undershirt. Some chunky jewelry. She looks New York City casual at its best.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha Romanoff did indeed eventually arrive, albeit not in as timely a fashion as one might hope. She did, however, not stay long, as is often the case when she goes there alone. While it would be... misleading to call Natasha's appearance 'unremarkable', the uncommonly attractive woman otherwise gives no indication in any facet of her body language, composure, or expression, that she is one of the most dangerous 'mortal' women on the planet. If anything she just seems like a nice person who might be running a little late.

    Regardless, impressive or not, there she is, wandering down the side walk and double checking her jacket pockets like she's not expecting to be murdered at any moment.

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
When the woman finally ducks out, a small, strange smile crackles across Melina's lips. She neatly shuts off the screen of her reader and slips it into the big 'mom-purse' that rests at her side. Slinging it across her shoulder, she stands up and makes her way quickly across the street, causing at least one car to honk at her intrusion into not a crosswalking area. She isn't trying to be hidden. If anything, she wants to give Natasha a chance to look. To know. Should the woman glance across her shoulder, that enigmatic smile remains on the other Russian's features.

She double times her walk to try and catch up to the woman. Her hands are both out and visible, no weapons in them. But then, when did a Widow need a weapon?

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    If there's any giveaway at all to Natasha's nature, it's that her reaction to the debacle shows sharp reflexes, her attention immediately turning to the car with a look of focus rather than surprise or confusion. When she sees that no one's been hurt, and no one's visibly attacking, her expression turns to one of normal concern and curiosity, as she gradually turns to notice Melina strolling quickly behind her.

    Natasha's demeanor is one of friendly concern as she kindly - if a bit ineloquently - "Oh, *wow*, are you okay, that was kinda... yikes."

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
As Natasha finally catches sight of her and *doesn't* completely lose her head, Melina's smile softens just a bit. She looks utterly uninjured, not even having touched the annoyed car. In the dimmness of the night, however, she also looks like a woman who has been around the Red Room for a long, long time. Almost as long as Natasha. Pulled back in for her usefulness with neuroscience time and again. The same braids that mother always put in their hair.

"Fine, just... fine. I simply did not wish to miss you, Romanova. An argument with a car is worth it for five minutes of your time." Her English is gently accented, Russian of course, but fluent. Her voice has that faint rasp that comes with years of abuse or yelling. Whatever the Room did to her, she's eternally stuck somewhere in that mature 30-40 something age, even if there is far more exhaustion behind her eyes.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha goes very still for a moment, looking over this strange woman with new eyes, not sparing a glance to any passerby as she turns to face her. There's... a lot that's familiar here, and a lot that's not. Her old name is not common knowledge, but it's not impossible to find either... though she's not used it in public for a long enough stretch of time that one can be forgiven for assuming she's the granddaughter of any 'Romanova' one might read about.

    Her voice is stern, flat, and absolutely berefit of curiosity as she gets right to the point, "What do you want?"

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
"To talk. I know you killed Mother. You... and the others. I simply want to talk. Ask you a question." Melina holds her hands up, palms forward. She'd still be a good fight, no doubt, if they decided to throw down, but everything she's doing is to scream that she is not mean to be a threat right now. She's meant to blend into the background of New York City. To look like nothing more than an old friend stopping for a chat. Her expression is no longer smiling, but something bittersweet and near desperate behind it. Her eyes are all that gives it away. Everything else is calm and casual.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha's expression doesn't change, her demeanor - if not her voice - still seeming casual and friendly even as the gears turn in her head. She knew survivors would likely come for her, in one form or another. She didn't expect them to have much to say to her, at least not without Natasha being safely disabled. Natasha's voice doesn't match her expression, as she simply says "Ask, then."

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
A slight nod comes from the woman, towards another dive bar across the street. "...Join me? These conversations require vodka. A drink, at least. I will buy." Melina attempts at another almost-smile, but now that the initial facade of casual conversation and happy old friend has passed, she mainly looks tired. Her eyes set her far older than her body does, and she's utterly exhausted.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha's eyes are intense in contrast to the rest of her demeanor, staring coldly for a long moment before she sweeps her arm to the side, gesturing towards the bar. The unspoken command: You first.

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
A gentle dip comes from her head and, with that command, Melina dares turn her back to the Black Widow. It's a position that may very well get her killed. Who knows if she cares or not. She carefully walks across the street this time, ducking into the slightly too-loud dive bar and pausing at the counter only to buy an entire bottle of vodka, sliding a card across the bar, and grabbing two shot glasses to go with it. No ice. Nothing but what they were both suckled on, in certain ways. She's then stalking around the place, looking for the darkest, most quiet back corner. The booth vaguely smells like old smoke and not great cleaning habits, but it works.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha follows at a moderate distance, never taking her eyes off of the fellow Red Room graduate. She's killed more than one in the recent past, and she's made peace with the fact that she will likely have to kill more before Mother's legacy fades away. In a way it would honestly put Natasha more at ease of Melina JUST tried to kill her.

    The moment Melina touches the bottle of vodka, Natasha begins keeping an eye on it - the way one might watch for sleight of hand at a magic show - as they find a secluded spot in the corner. Natasha takes her seat, keeping one arm on the table, and her other arm out of sight as she stares across at Melina, watching her expectantly.

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
The suspicion is not unexpected. Melina is deliberately careful to keep her hands out and clear, not taking any time to possibly slip something inside. Once they are settled, she's even given Natasha the very corner seat, she pours herself the first shot before sliding it across the table. She takes a demonstrated drink from the same bottle. It's a shitty vodka. She only slightly winces. "...I forget shitty American vodka is shit, and shitty Russian vodka is... home. This tastes like paint thinner." She grumbles beneath her breath.

But, once Natasha has poured herself a shot, Melina reups her own. "What. Do. You. Want?" That is the question. The heavy, prevailing thing in her mind. What she's stalked the woman for days, if not weeks, to ask. And now she stares at her across the classic drink. She waits.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    <You go to nice places to enjoy a drink. You come to places like this to get to the point. It does not need to be enjoyable to do that.> She says simply in her native tongue, though her voice is far colder than the otherwise conversational words would warrant. It's a worthy metaphor for this entire situation, really.

    She catches the glass without looking, keeping her hand over the opening. The question comes, and Natasha actually visibly furrows her brow in confusion, struck by the question. "What are you talking about?"

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
The commentary about drinking gets a bitter, tired laugh from Melina, but she lifts her second shot and knocks it back with barely a wince this time. It goes down easier the more she gets used to it. She'll pour for Natasha again when the woman empties her glass, but for now she simply gets through her own. <Wise woman, but then you have slipped the leash far longer than I...> She shrugs faintly.

When the question gets an answer she is sadly becoming accustomed to hearing, there is a new sadness in her eyes. She sets her empty glass down and leans a little closer. "What... I asked is what I meant. You...you are free. You have taken others. But I am asking -- what do *you* want? Now that leash is gone. What do you *want*?"

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha is silent, letting the glass be refilled without comment. It's... a broad question, and one which, troublingly, she struggles to come up with any single honest answer for. Technically she got what she 'wanted'. It brought her little satisfaction, though perhaps some needed closure. She has no great ideal to chase, no practical goal to persue, she's just sort of... living, now.

    Living for assignments. Living to put out fires. Living to protect...

    Nadia.

    And all the girls.

    Speaking Russian to more eloquently - and privately - speak her mind, Natasha says, <... I would like for our generation to disappear quietly. ... I would like for those who came after us... to forget Mother's face.> Natasha takes a drink, and for a quiet moment, she looks her age; an old, old woman, who's seen too much. <I would like 'patriotism' to go back down the toilet it came from.>

    All facts. All relatively impersonal. None of them are especially for *her.*

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
There is a certain sadness which comes with that answer to Melina's eyes. Not surprise, but sadness. She gives a single, quiet nod, and pours them both more vodka. She lets the oddness of silence rest between them for a little too long, nothing but their mingled breaths and the beat of the annoying, old dive bar around them. Her greenish eyes search Natasha's face a bit deeper, looking for an answer perhaps the woman doesn't even know she has.

<I think we... share a wish for those things. But that is not abut *you*. It is about... them. I will ask them too. What they want. But, for today, I ask *you*. If they want to forget... they can. But they are not you.>

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha's eyes narrow, though the overriding response to Melina is surprise more than anything else. The idea that other Red Room agents - anyone from her generation - would ever come to the same conclusion she did is borderline unthinkable to her. But, then, it wasn't the sort of thing they could discuss amongst each other. Black Widows were not often called upon to work together, and there was no real 'hub' for them to gather. They just lived as they were told to, until they were told to do otherwise.

    Natasha looks away slightly with a soft nasal sigh. <... I've not thought of 'me' since I died in Budapest.> She admits softly, referring to the final mission she'd undertaken before Shield recruited her, leaving the Red Room to fear the worst. <Perhaps I felt like I shouldn't push my luck.>

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
Quietly, Melina reaches down into her bag. She does it slowly, so Natasha doesn't think she is pulling out a weapon. And she isn't -- not really. She pulls up a small red vial, resting it on the table between them. No other commentary about it, but it's there. Like an uncomfortable old family heirloom she doesn't quite know how to bury and isn't willing to destroy. She takes another shot of vodka, head finally getting an edge of fuzzy.

It wouldn't last. It never did.

As that burn finishes, she drags in a breath through her nose, tired eyes looking up and ahead, hard, at the other woman across from her. <Why is it worth dying if you do nothing with your death? Your freedom? The other girls... I know 3, at least, who fight. Fought back. Are you a... role model do them? Do you help them...Live? Or do they watch you walk through life... dead?>

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha looks from the vial, to Melina, and her demeanor becomes cold again. <I've already had to rescue girls from looking up to me. I am not interested in being a role model to anyone.> After a moment though, she deigns to ask the more pressing question, <What is this?>

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
A small, quiet huff of breath escapes her nose, <The two that helped against Mother... the youngest...> There is something behind her eyes as she says that. Something more personal that she is doing her best not to let totally slip but this many shots of vodka and this risky meeting? She isn't fully able to hide it tonight. <They will look up to you...whether you like it or not. If you do not live for you... how will they learn they can live for themselves? The other, she may be too broken for any of us...>

Melina shakes her head, taking another drink. She's not yet responded about the vial. She stares at it quietly. Hatefully. A sick mix of guilt and pride on her features. <That is... if they try to take you back by cheating... a way to say no. If they cannot break your brain with actions or training, they will try other ways. Drugs.>

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha is silent. Melina is right, of course... but the notion that Natasha hasn't done enough is... frustrating. She made herself a target for them. Killed the figure that loomed over all of their lives. Personally murdered a dozen perfect duplicates of herself - some of whom had her memories implanted, who were effectively and literally *Natasha Romanoff* the person - and has lived with THAT for months now.

    At that point, the vial is a welcome distraction. She touches it slowly and carefully, asthough it might burn her, before picking it up. <... Noted.> She says softly. There's no way she isn't letting people examine the hell out of this stuff, but she doesn't need to tell Melina that. <I'd be shocked if the Red Room could cobble itself back together enough to be that effective again, though.> It's not dead by any means, but... Mother sure is.

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
A tighter smile crosses her lips as Natasha comments about the Red Room getting itself back together. Melina gives a faint shake of her head, another round of vodka, and the faintest twitch at the corner of her eyes. It's like something is ripping itself a part internally right before Natasha's eyes. But she breathes through her nose. She pushes it back. She fights to keep focused and present.

<There are... will be... other mothers. They think this is the time for my... work... to prove itself essential. We are still out there. I found you. Underwood. I've seen Nadia. If I do not do it -- do not bring you home -- others will. They are broken, but not weak. When is a Russian at their best, if not when broken?> She smiles bitterly.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Any pretense at civility visibly drops when Melina mentions having seen Nadia. Any comfort of shared experience goes into the garbage in favor of practicality; doubly so when the woman visibly seems unstable. Very softly, and very coldly, Natasha replies <How would we know? We have never been whole.> Natasha pounds her last drink and leaves the glass on the table as she stands. <I am done with this.> She says icily, glaring down at Melina. <If I see you near Nadia, I will kill you. Do not bother me again.> before she immediately begins to walk away.

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
<Yelena was my daughter.> Melina calls out, to Natasha's back, as she turns to walk away. It's the first time in this conversation where she truly sounds almost desperate, and earnestly emotional. But there, her cards on the table. <Not... blood, but... a few years. A mission. When she was young. I want her... she deserves a life. Her... and Nadia. Help them... have that. Keep them out. Free. Others... will come, if not me.> Part of Melina fights so hard, desperate to keep control, to keep her own mind. She bites at the inside of her own cheek enough to draw blood, to keep her focus.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha stops dead in her tracks, her hands still stuffed into her jacket pockets. She is very still while Melina speaks - seemingly oblivious to the stares they're now drawing. Slowly, Natasha looks back at Melina over her shoulder, craning her neck with a stony expression on her face. The absence of emotion is the most easily read thing she's given Melina to date. Natasha was taught not to react with expression - in face or voice - unless it was a conscious choice on their part. The fact that she's gone this blank, this monotone, can only mean she's momentarily lost control of both of those things as emotionlessly says <They will die trying.>

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
Fighting for control, just in her own way, Melina gives a single nod of understanding towards Natasha. Approval, in fact. <I hope so.> And then Melina drops eye contact. She lets the woman go, remaining alone with the bottle of vodka.