Owner Pose
Natasha Romanova Natasha Romanoff is currently sitting in a seat at the bar. A small shot in front of her with an ice cube that had long since melted. Natasha was sitting on her own, occasionally looking through a book that had very well worn pages. In Russian, the title being 'Casino Royale' if one could catch a glimpse of it. To the side of her was a black and white photo of a tenement apartment building covered in barbed wire and with trenches surrounding it that looked like it was taken in the nineteen fourties.
Dottie Underwood Dorothy Underwood isn't sure why she's here. Aside from the fact that they let her in. A foolish leniency. It couldn't be an oversight. Her grin is pointed as she takes in the bar, eyes flicking to the walls as she notes where they don't quite meet seamlessly. She slips into a vacant seat in a small void of vacant seats.
Natasha Romanova Natasha Romanoff would glance at Dottie for a moment. Evaluatingly. And then finally with a rare bit of sympathy. Going to speak over in Russian quietly, "You look like you could use a drink. Or a few of them." She would give a small wave of invitation.
Dottie Underwood She must be spending too much time with monsters to make a slip like that. Curse Cal'hatar and his insistent acceptance. The pity turns her stomach, but Dottie swallows her disgust. The smile becomes softer, welcoming with a grateful tug at the corner. "Spasibo," she thanks the other woman.
Natasha Romanova Natasha Romanoff would glance at Dottie and give a slow nod. Glancing at the picture that she had been using as a bookmark. "What storms are dancing through your mind?" As if whatever that old picture had some of her's.
Dottie Underwood Dottie snorts. "Drinks first, Vedova." And she nods to the bartender.
Natasha Romanova Natasha Romanoff would go to hold up a hand, "So one bottle or two?" That seemed like a good start as far as she was concerned. "For you, I presume. I'll have my own."
Dottie Underwood Dottie gestures her acquiescence. "Drink for drink, Vedova. Shot for shot. One for you and one for me." When the bottle arrives, she opens it. It's going to be a long night.
Natasha Romanova Natasha Romanoff would pass it along and over, "Of course." She would go to take her own glass, throw back the drink in it before going to fill it with vodka. "Lead us then?"
Dottie Underwood "Payehali," Dottie says with an arch of her eyebrow. She downs her drink. "And what of your storms?"
Natasha Romanova Natasha Romanoff would shrug, "Oh.. Just early bits of childhood. Sorting out what I remember that happened that actually felt real. That happened the way I thought it did."
Dottie Underwood Dottie pours another drink. And drinks it. All of her own childhood is markedly clear. Although childhood is a poor word. She was trained, cultivated, made a perfect weapon; she was never a child. She cants her head in inquiry. "Tell me of your childhood, Vedova. What would you remember?"
Natasha Romanova Natasha Romanoff would shrug, "Screaming. Crying. Some of those is real. Some of it might not even be staged." She would casually go to drop down a photo. "Stalingrad. Great Patriotic War. Pavlov's House, if you've ever heard of it. Used to be quite the popular tourist destination."
Dottie Underwood Dottie's smile curves dangerous once more. "I remember Stalingrad. I was there. Beside Colonal Fyodor. And at Finow, too. I have not been there in a very long time. I doubt it matches my memories now." She pours another shot and without hesitation pours it down her throat.
Natasha Romanova Natasha Romanoff would go to pull it. "Yes. I grew up there." She would muse, "Those are the first memories I had, where something felt.. Well, more than a child crying, being afraid, being angry.. Running back and forth along hte trenches, carrying things. In the cold, in the rain.. It all felt meaningful. That is the first thing I can remember that stands out in my mind."
Dottie Underwood "Stalingrad was...messy." Dottie should wrinkle her nose in disgust. She doesn't. She does control the twitch in he lips. "That must have been difficult. For you."
Natasha Romanova Natasha Romanoff would give a distant nod. "It was. In the trenches, in the cold.. but, it was merely the start of what life was to come." She would take a drink of her own. "Your turn."
Dottie Underwood Dottie shrugs. "I was killing men in Stalingrad." She takes another shot.
Natasha Romanova Natasha Romanoff would allow, "Close enough." She would take a chug of her own. "So, first memory of any real import. I don't mean about crying or getting a present or seeing someone dead."
Dottie Underwood "Oh, that wasn't my first memory. Those men weren't the first people I'd killed either. I'd already graduated from the Red Room, then." Dottie does her best to quell her pride. Everything was simple then. She was a weapon that never misfired. There were men to kill and she'd killed them.
Natasha Romanova Natasha Romanoff would nod, "oh? No going back to as a little girl something that made you feel pride? No seeing the Tsar's men walking off to war against the Huns? No helping to hunt a wolf? No working on one of the collectives? What were things that you remembered, then? When things gavea sense of purpoes?" She would take a shot of her own vodka once more. She'd agreed to.
Dottie Underwood "I too remember the cold and the hunger. And the screaming. I remember war games before the war. I remember sharing a bed -- for warmth, for lack of beds. But only so many to a bed. Only so many bodies would fit. Only so many shackles too. Eventually there were fewer warm bodies. And so there were more beds. The purpose of every day was to wake up alive the next morning." Dottie investigates the bottle. It's not empty yet. So she takes another drink. "It still is."
Natasha Romanova Natasha Romanoff would move to take a sip of her own. "Yes. Curling up and wonderingi n the morning if the coldness was from the air or if the person next to you had frozen to death over the night. And whether you would cling to them for awhile or just take eveyrthing they had on them for yourself to get by for another day."
Dottie Underwood Dottie nods. "Whether you would kill her when asked or ordered. And you would. I would."
Natasha Romanova Natasha Romanoff would nod over at Dottie. Taking a pull from it. In agreement. The sorts of things that the two women shared and understood.
Dottie Underwood Dottie pours out the last two shots from the bottle. She raises her glass. "To all the little girls who would not. Who could not. Zemlya pukhom. Let the ground that holds their bones be soft."
Natasha Romanova Natasha Romanoff would raise her glass up and over then and move to take her own shot. Murmuring in agreement over with Dottie while moving to pour her own back. Not bothering to hold back what one might almost -swear- was an actual look of emotion on her face.