Owner	Pose
Wanda Maximoff	"The noodle restaurant has a robot delivery cat." This reported statement instigates hauling James Buchanan Barnes out of whatever he does, with his terrible diet, to try something fulfilling and carb-heavy, but different. Possibly not so different if he was ever sent east, where Chinese and Mongol cultures blend with the various -istans under the former Soviet regime. Tajik, Turkmen, Uzbek, Kazakh: all have their place in the noodled heavens of Cafe Kashkar. Wanda wears a high-necked top and long skirt for an evening out in the marketplace, Brighton Beach a place of teens in bikinis and board shorts, babas in disapproving stares, and the mafiya guys in their Mercedes or BMWs too obvious. The world outside the tinted windows are completely apart from the ancient culture within, and quite frankly, with piles of noodles blocking the view, who cares? "I normally am neutral on robots, but this one sounds so cute. We should see, shouldn't we?" Russian, of course, as they step in. "The tea will be worth it."
James Barnes	...cat robots? Dear God, next thing he knows, he'll be holding her purse at the mall while she tries on two million dresses and buys the first one she tried on.     "Sure..." James replies, barely managing to keep the 'really do we have to' out of his voice.     Hey, at least it isn't tofu? Him? He's just wearing a pair of jeans, boots.. gloves and a long sleeve Henley. He's coming more and more to terms with the piece of himself that shirt hides, but he's still not fond of the staring in public.     "I guess it won't shed in the food at least?" Bright side.
Wanda Maximoff	Cat robots. Cute little white and black, glowing feline extravagance comes rolling down an aisle to bring food and earn pets from the diners. A failure to pet produces a mewling sound from round white eyes that scrunch up. The fact it's a mechanized sort of adorableness doesn't detract from the fact the cat is the waitress, and another waitress or waiter deliver more complex noodle dishes, tea, and the varieties of delicious food in different manners. Wanda isn't the sort to need much for clothes. She doesn't shop like that either, but being able to conjure whatever she needs at the snap of her fingers helps. "If you haven't been here, it's worth it. I could probably live off noodles." A smile at her lips, she gestures to one of the booths. "There? Or do you want a table closer to the back?" Nothing like running from their kitty overlord by racing through the kitchens and out the backdoor, possibly. The way she moves here is natural even if James is that much more wary and watchful; maybe she hides it better. "It won't shed in the food. See, you are coming around." <<Thank you. No need to fear new things.>> The chuckle mentally is soft.
James Barnes	Wary, yes he is that. James takes the lead once inside and it is to a seat closer to the back and he makes sure he's the one sitting facing the door... with a good view of it. Some things will take longer to fix than others and that one might not get fixed until they fix what's in his head.     <<Do we leave a tip?>> It seems a serious question.     "It's like one of those weird cat cafes," he murmurs. "...only weirder.." He's here, he's sitting, but he's not entirely certain he wants to be. His smile seems a little forced, faded blues eye those robot things with a little concern. "...think they have cameras in their weird little eyes?"
Wanda Maximoff	Happy to sit away from the door, Wanda either shares very little worry about dangers aimed at her head or back. "The tip goes to the server, not to the cat. It's an assistant. Think of a busboy cat." The concept at least flies when she exchanges between verbal and thought statements, flipping through the delicately wrought menu printed with corresponding descriptions. "Do you like dumplings? Kushang is excellent, but a fried dumpling. Mm, and pelmeni, though we can get that anywhere." Her gaze skims between the various noodle offerings. Most come with meat: lamb meat, steamed beef, fried liver, chicken. The egg-dough dumplings ought to be familiar, the combinations of carrots, peppers, and Chinese chives indicative of an eastern influence rather than the west in places. The sort of thing that makes her smile briefly to consider, while she pauses for the actual human server to greet her and James. "Black tea, please." Better than ayran, since salt and yoghurt is a bit much. <<We can ask for just a human server. Nothing says otherwise.>> The smiling woman offering to take their order for something to drink is certainly flesh and blood, hearkening to an ancient tradition.
James Barnes	"Coke please," Bucky tells the waitress, the flesh and blood one, he's pointedly not looking at the weird cat things. ... of course his choice would be filled with sugar and all the other nasty crap in a glass of soda, wouldn't it.     "Dumplings are fine." Awfully agreeable isn't he? Truth be told, he hasn't spent a LOT of time outside his little house lately. Maybe he's even spent too much time in it? "Robots are fine..."     "Dumplings sound great."     He hasn't even picked up a menu yet. Finally he lets out a little bit of a sigh and admits. "Wands, I haven't eaten in a restaurant outside of meeting once with Phil in... fuck, months? Six months, longer? Drive thrus and carryouts, sure..." Little overwhelmed, but willing to stick it out, it seems. "Just order what you think, but not too spicy."
Wanda Maximoff	Mmm, cola products, the worst kind of sugary happiness for the soul. After that, everything else barely compares. Wanda inclines her head at the admission for not eating out in restaurants, but neither does she look especially surprised. The clientele here is mixed New Yorker and Asian or Russian subjects, none particularly numerous, with spaces of unoccupied tables and booths scattered throughout. <<I don't think they have eyes recording, but I can throw a field around us anyway if you want me to.>> The offered appetizer turns into an order in Russian, since it's easiest to be precise. Dumplings and noodles with the beef, not too spiced, but not the jerk beef either. No one needs ancient preservatives oversalting something. The server smiles and nods, then heads off on her way. "Phil Coulson took you out? Or a different one? Phil's an excellent choice for a dining companion, I'm told." She reaches across the table, tapping the space between James' hands. "This is not a test. It will be okay, you know?"
Sharon Carter	The real test was keeping Sharon Carter still in a world where she was meant to keep moving. In how she finally finds Wanda Maximoff and James Barnes was a wonder, perhaps the secrets around the Playground and the Trisk was that Sharon actually bugs the people she cares about. So when she shows up, she either needs companionship, is bored, or someone is in trouble. Though this time, none of the three fit. It was more of a curiousity thing; she had last seen Wanda and James in mother Russia, and then disappeared off the face of the earth. Not wanting to risk being seen as a skrull, she pops up at the Brooklyn eatery in all plainsclothes. Jeans. T-shirt. NY baseball cap. A waittress notices her entrance and greets her with a smile. Sharon tips her hat up a bit and speaks in Russian, 'Looking for my friends, man.. woman.. ye high'.. Demonstrated by levels of height by hand with accuracy.
James Barnes	For months it was nothing but running and fighting and Sam bringing home dinner or even choosing for him in a drive-thru if he wasn't eating Twinkies or whatever garbage he picked up at the store.     "No, I... met him in a diner to drop some intel. So, not really. It was a working thing." Because just living life wasn't something he did, not really.     It's more proof of how wary and on guard he is when he picks up Sharon's familiar voice out of all the din in the restaurant. "Sharon's here," he mentions. There's a hint of a smile there, just a ghost of a thing. For a beat he considers calling out to her, but doesn't in the end. Too much attention, not something he wants.
Wanda Maximoff	Wanda isn't facing the door, but she nods slightly. Using a window for a dull reflection or looking over her shoulder would normally be the standard way to confirm information like an incoming individual's identity. Instead, she arranges her napkin to the side to accommodate a battered metal pot and a pair of ceramic, handleless cups brought in. They are much more Chinese than Russian style but that is no problem. Pouring out a cup for herself and another steaming one left in the middle of the table preoccupies her. James gets his Coke with a glass of ice, freedom to pour it for himself, and the cat robot rattles down the other side of the restaurant to deliver its adorable message of love and FEED ME! operatics to those it is literally feeding. Rolling her heel against the floor, she nods. The lines marking her brow stay for a little. Sharon arriving will have a smile, anyway. It isn't hard to find the pair tucked to the back of the restaurant somewhat. Those green-gold eyes are bound to lift as soon as the woman is closer, if she gets there. A roll of her thumb against her titanium ring, one paired on her forefinger, sends a hint of red motes into play through her gaze. Nothing happens. Nothing outward, but phones won't save data, cameras won't copy information, and obscured out of focus trouble tightly weaves around the booth.
Sharon Carter	As the waittress directs Sharon to the location of where Wanda and James sit, Sharon offers her thanks with a nod of her head and a smile, along with a swipe of the menu from one of the unoccupied tables. She doesn't say much as she approaches, only taking a seat as if she were meant to be there, invited first off, invitation accepted. "What are you guys having?" Normal as possible, it was clear that Bucky was uncomfortable. Sharon didn't outwardly know what Wanda was doing with her ring, didn't see the red motes, but there was that feeling. The feeling of safety, and perhaps it could have been the numbers and just exactly 'who' she sat with. "The Kovurga say looks good.." And finally she looks to them, grinning. Sharon was alright, but more importantly, -THEY- were alright. And it sits well.
James Barnes	Right before Sharon sits, James does rise to place a quick kiss on her cheek and whisper, "Missed you, Lil Bitch, all good?" in Russian. It's something he always avoided before, speaking *that* language, always afraid of how people would look at him if he did, all side-eyed and afraid. But it makes sense doesn't it? That he'd be comfortable with it? How many years did he live speaking that language almost exclusively?     He settles back down into his seat, but those baby blues are on Sharon, waiting for answer, or her lack of a substantial one and the tells that'll go with it.     With Wanda doing her Witchy thing... he rolls his shoulders a bit, like he's letting go of the tension in them. He reaches across the table to place his hand over hers for a second, thumb brushing the top of it before pulling back again. Just a quiet little 'thank you'.
Wanda Maximoff	"Geiro lagman, somman, and khushang." A rather straightforward order off the small menu amounts to noodles, vegetables and beef; doughy, tasty dumplings; and fried dumplings filled by ground beef instead of lamb. Happy, delicious noodles exhibit the best mix of Russian and Uighur, spices and suggestions of Chinese flavours worked among them. Clearly, a good little meal full of comforting foods, rounding out nutrition and company, though it remains sharply boxed in by James' discomfort. Threads of that swirl like an autumn breeze, cutting and turning unpredictably perhaps. "Good evening." It falls to her to sip her tea again, and she flicks a look at the cat robot rolling past. The arrival of food will be its own special blessing, but not quite yet. "Keeping busy, are we?" Tracing a sophisticated pattern or a plain one against her hands is a resurrection of the spells she often casts, assimilated into a carelessly easy gesture by the looks of it. Her hand retreats, gesture made easily thus.
Sharon Carter	The cheek kiss from Bucky was accepted, along with a tilt upward of her hat from his greeting. All the while, Sharon attempted to remain poised until she was comfortable, hidden somewhat by magic, and eyes upon the menu then the two with a great big grin. Sharon's request of what sounded good was already on the list to be delivered, glass of water is always on the menu. "It's all good." The conversation remaining in Russian, as it never hurt to practice. If words were said that were wrong? She'd rely on the two to correct her. But she was comfortable. "Therapy. Much needed therapy." She says, her shoulders relaxing, menu set down and water taken in with a sip. "It was a lot of talking that I needed to do to work with, and reconcile a lot." And for once? Sharon looked.. normal. Not as an operative, a spy, or a SHIELD agent or second. She looked, regular. "I'm sorry, you guys."
James Barnes	"Sorry for what?" James asks. "Ghosting?" There's nothing hard in his tone, not at all, just the opposite, as if he has room to judge there? A glance at the damned cat robot thing and away again is followed by, "I still think those are creepy," muttered but with a little bit of a grin, a hint of a smile that might even reach those baby blues of his.     "I won't say I wasn't worried..." Once he remembered he should be anyway. "But I get it."     Food, it's eyed a little dubiously. It's not Twinkies or hamburger or really anything that's been on his menu of late, but it smells good?     See, the thing about Super Soldiers? Even when they're not running a hundred and ten to try and just survive? They have a hell of a metabolism. First bite and he's *hooked* ... it might be record time that he finishes. Does he even breathe between bites?
Wanda Maximoff	Wanda speaks better Russian than English, and other languages better than Russian. They share the pointed consonants in common, so might as well take advantage of it. The dark distillation gathered on her tongue reveals deeper notes, rich and earthy. Swallowing, she puts the emptied cup down and pours another splash of tea for herself. The second unattended cup is for Sharon or James; she doesn't touch it. Hamburger is in the fried dumplings. That's beef in there, after all, just in a looser ground form. Noodles look like noodles, wider than spaghetti and certainly no stranger overall, surely, to a man even from a long way away. "No trouble, no foul," she murmurs, though the maxim loses some of its value when in another language. Rolling her heel, she shuffles over to leave space where they sit comfortably. The object of the statement isn't clear. It could be an apt response to all. Noodly goodness takes her longer to eat, but not much. Ever met Pietro Maximoff? He'd put supersoldiers to shame. He can put down the calorie count of a starving sumo wrestler and still complain about hunger ten minutes later. The Flashes are probably the only ones who really get it, and even then, metabolism shared with his twin sister goes for those steaming, joyous dishes that provide the content to keep up her blood sugar and manipulate reality at its core to... get more noodles? Apparently a second dish might be on its way. They pay attention to who shows respect for the food 'round here. Two forkfuls in, she might be praising the cook as a saint. Homemade noodlery is magic. "Good to find your head in a clear space. It is important for your line of work, I'd say?"