[Natasha laughs. Sh grabs her keys from their spot, and then presses the button to set her alarm before leading the way out the front door and down the steps that lead up to it. When she reaches the sidewalk, she turns to look at him, hands tucking into her pockets so she can stash the keys away.]
Next thing I know you'll be telling me to get off your lawn. [Her head tips to the left, indicating the direction they'll get started in. Not something she typically does - and she half suspects he's already mapped out her neighborhood - but he's wary enough in his skin to warrant her broadcasting her moves more than she usually would.]
You might like online shopping. Anything you could want brought to your door. Even groceries.
Fancy people have lawns. I might have a doormat if you're lucky. [Although, she's probably welcome to stay on his doormat as long as she wants.
If he's scouted out her perimeter already - no, that's not a euphemism for anything - it doesn't show. He follows her directions and seems to be watching the people they pass by with an unhealthy amount of wariness before he looks back at her again.]
My therapist says I should get out more. [He has acquired lifelong bad habits that are near impossible to break, but at least she's trying, and he's begrudgingly taking life advice from a stranger who thinks she knows better.] Do you even trust people bringing you things?
They do make doormats that say 'go away.' [Something in her tone seems to say 'but you know that won't work on me. She turns so they can start to make their way down the sidewalk. If she makes note of his wary attention to the others they pass, she doesn't remark on it. That's not a glass house she can throw stones in since she makes a quick visual assessment of her own. Looking over her shoulder has been second nature for years now.]
I don't disagree with your therapist. But I think there's something to be said for meeting someone half way. [Like trying out online shopping in addition to getting outside of the comfort zone. She shrugs in agreement at his question.] I check the things I have delivered. And it's not like I'm ordering anything delivered to Black Widow.
That only works on people who don't come in through the window. Or
skylight. [Or hidden trap doors that Bucky doesn't know about. To be
fair, so far, most people seem to either know or at least believe that
unexpected appearances might set him off in some uncomfortable way, so they
do either call ahead or plan to meet somewhere else or come through the
front door. ]
You have to use your real name though, don't you? [Assuming Nat is
her real name, which. He thinks so, and all the records that were dumped
online probably confirm that, but you can never really be sure.]
Maybe I'll. Try my next cleaning supplies run online. [That seems
like a safer and easier thing to find inside the amazon than going straight
to having someone else rub his oranges and squeeze his velveeta. (Are they
still talking about groceries?)]
Yeah, they make weapons for the people that come in through windows. [Is that humor too dark? Eh, maybe. It's still comparatively G rated when held up to some of the shit they've both been through. A smirk lingers on her lips as she comes to a stop at the end of the block long enough to check for traffic. And then she just jaywalks right across the street to the other side.
She hums her agreement to his question.] If someone's going to come after me, they're not going to want to do it through the mail. [Practically impossible to confirm the damage that way. No, anyone out there that still has a vendetta against her is going to want to see the look in her eyes when they come for her.
Look, for all her talk about getting back on the road to normal, normal is still a malleable concept when the start of the path is 'exhaustively trained Russian state agents.' With her brow arched, her head tips so she can flash him a little grin.] Is your internet connection secure?
Or cat doors. [Would cat doors in windows actually help? He's not
sure. They're probably a little bit more practical for those that would
prefer to exit via the window without accidentally defenestrating
themselves, than those trying to come in through the window. But maybe
they'll just have to put one to the test to see.]
I don't know? I don't think so. [He's no networking or cybersecurity
expert. Easy to snoop around, glance over the shoulder, watch the
neighbours just that little bit too closely. Not so easy to figure out
anything beyond the black box with the flashing lights or the touchscreen
he struggles to use with his vibranium hand.]
I mean. Nothing's really secure. [He'll barely get targeted or
scammed if he barely uses his phone, right?] Do you trust
the internet?
In a window? [Her expression is thoughtful as she tries to picture it. It mostly seems like a good way to accidentally on purpose adopt a stray cat.] The big challenge would be to install it without creating weak points in the glass. If you wanted it as a quick exit point, it might work to do a window that tilts out but can't be opened from the outside.
[She lapses into silence to listen to him as they walk. The restaurant is just two blocks up ahead on the other side of the street. She flashes him a quick smile at his question.] No one should trust the internet. It's a necessary evil. If you want, I can give you a flash drive before you leave with some security protocols on it. I have a couple of spare untraceable burner phones too if that would be helpful.
[He swallows and shakes his head.] Rather not have a phone
at all. [Than have to deal with even more phones, especially. He
barely even uses his current one. If it wasn't absolutely necessary to stay
contactable - nevermind the fact that it's often one way contact with him -
he might not even bother.
Besides, it's far more important that she stocks up on those phones.
He imagines she deals with far more emergencies on a more regular basis.
He's quite content not getting too involved in everything and - for the
most part - being left alone to enjoy the quiet solitude. Or as quiet as
living in Brooklyn can be, anyway.]
This it? [They cross the last traffic light and come up to a
promising-looking place. There's a lot of mixed smells wafting past them
but nothing too off-putting at least.] You know a lot of these hole
in the wall places.
I get it. [The answer is easy, clearly not surprised or bothered by his lack of interest in the burner phones. He's still got a lot of catching up to do, and a lot of work in trying to feel comfortable with the way his life is now. Besides, there's something to be said for inviting trouble, and she can see how accepting burner phones would be somewhat akin to leaving the door wide open for that trouble.] Let me know about the flash drive. No expiration date.
[There's no rush. She takes a quick glance for passing traffic and then crosses the street. With a smile, she looks over to him and opens the door of the wing place so they can walk in. It's a small restaurant, not too busy at the counter this time of day, but the staff are still busily preparing pre-orders.] I like shopping local. It's a way to support the community I live in now.
Never used to know what that meant. [Shopping local was the only option back in the day. Before the big companies came in and either bought everyone out or pushed them out. Now it seems like there's an overwhelming amount of options, and yet everything is more or less the same. There might be more variations in cuisines, flavours, people and all that, but. Things somehow felt less... homogenous, before. A little more random. A good kind of not knowing what you're going to get. Now he kind of knows what's going to be on the menu in a place like this and roughly what it all is going to taste like before he even sets foot inside. Or maybe that's just grumpy old him talking, having tried a lot of different things throughout the years.]
Not many places left that were here since before the war. [If the alien invasion didn't take them out, the blip did. Somehow it feels simultaneously like the place he's always known, and completely foreign at the same time.
He follows her to an unoccupied corner and sits down quietly, checking over his shoulder to see what he's turning his back to before making himself comfortable.]
This is the most normal abnormal thing we've done. [Does it feel uncomfortable?]
It didn't used to have any meaning. [Well, there's always been at least the inherent sense of capitalism. Creeping in around the edges, nudging the world towards innovation. Bigger, better, quicker access. It's nice to find the little pockets like this.
She hums thoughtfully and takes a look around the restaurant. Though she doesn't know the full history of this place, she'd confident in saying that it sprung up after the alien invasion but before the blip. There's no commemorative newspaper articles framed on the walls from the invasion.] Have you been to any of the bars or restaurants that have been open since the 1800s? It's weird to be inside when it's quiet and see how busy it is out on the street. [Like a window through time.
She pulls two of the paper menus out from the holder on the table and hands him one, her eyes skimming the other. She glances up at him with a half smile at his question.] What's the most abnormal normal, then?
Been to a couple of pizza places Steve and I used to go to. [Bucky pulls the menu closer so that he can lift it up and basically hide behind it. She can either make eye contact with him or she can listen to him talk. Wanting both is going to need a lot more work.] Just not the same, going alone.
[Flipping the menu over, he feigns some interest in the various offerings although he's not really reading through everything. He has to think about their abnormal normal deeds, but the only one that really stands out is one that still stings a bit. He doesn't really want to talk about it but he's banking on both her wanting him to talk but also her not wanting to talk about it either. Hopefully they can change the subject after this. Or just stuff their faces with chicken so they don't have to talk.]
[It's clear she's not deterred by this - that she might have even offered him the menu specifically so he can hide behind it.] Well, I happen to like pizza. [It's more of a statement than an offer. A 'take it if you want, I won't be offended if you don't' bridge. Her eyes return to her own menu, a thoughtful expression on her face as she skims the options. She's not all that hungry but she suspects eating her way through a few wings is the best way to get him to eat too.
His answer causes her to glance up at him over the menus, a quick, sharp assessment of posture and tone, before her eyes are back on the list of sauces. It's not something she particularly likes to talk about, no. And not just because she hates to lose. Prefers to help people.
It really stings to feel like the cause of so much suffering on such a massive scale.]
[He tilts his head visibly although he doesn't quite lift his gaze. She doesn't have to invite herself along twice.] I'll take you then.
[It's a complicated world out there these days. Used to be the only aliens they really needed to worry about were the likes of the Red Skull. Most of their problems could be solved by a .45. And the problems that couldn't be solved by a .45 could be solved by taking the best bottle of whiskey down from the top shelf, walking on over and talking things through.
These days. Who even knows what the fuck is going on anymore?]
Just let me know when. I've been known to re-arrange my schedule for good pizza.
[Not really. But she's not exactly opposed to it either. Life has always been complicated, and that just seems to compound with every passing year. She figures as long as she can keep moving forward that she's at least in decent shape. One foot in front of the other. Which was another part of why all that loss had been so hard.]
Course not.
[The answer is delivered with easy conviction. Anyone else would have believed it - she's a natural born liar that was trained from her earliest memories. There's a good chance it won't fool him, but she's banking on him not calling her on it the same way he had when he broached the subject.]
Buffalo. With ranch. [He says it with the speed and conviction of somebody who's ordered the same thing over and over again since before she was born. He's not entirely unadventurous, but unless nudged or having it done for him, he isn't likely to take the plunge and try something different.
Although, apparently there are blue cheese people and there are ranch people. While he doesn't necessarily feel strongly one way or another, ranch seems like the safer, tamer option.]
...I'll try anything that doesn't have pineapple in it. [And that extends to pizza too, so. No pineapples with his pepperoni.]
[It's clear by the look she gives him over the top of her menu that she's going to rib him about his basic choice of wings. It'll be good natured, but still. When he tacks on that he'll try anything sans pineapple, she can't help but smile a little.]
It doesn't taste fruity when it's mixed in with the sauce. It's just a little sweet kick. Do you want to come up with me to order or wait here?
[Bucky isn't particularly ashamed that he's a basic bitch when it comes to wings. Anything too over the top - even if pineapple doesn't taste like pineapple anymore once it's been cooked - and they'll be sitting there all night with Bucky glaring at his food like it personally offended him somehow.]
I'll wait here. [He has no reason not to trust that she can't get their order. Even if he is a little wary of getting pranked by an adventurous order.
And, you know, maybe he wants to check the place out visually. Watch her back. Can't do that when they've both got their backs turned to the front door. He'd rather force himself to try something a little weird than get jumped, however slim the likelihood of that is.]
[Natasha's at ease as she slides out of the booth. None of the casual diners will note the quick way she checks her exit points and assesses the people around her as she joins the line at the counter. She doesn't doubt that he'll notice. Or that he's probably doing the same thing.
When she reaches the employee at the register, she orders six BBQ wings, six buffalo wings, then adds on three garlic parmesan and three sweet and spicy wings. Look, she can't resist the opportunity to see if she can get him to try something out of his comfort zone.
When she returns to the table, she's carrying a receipt with their order number on it and two glass bottles.] Cream soda or root beer?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Next thing I know you'll be telling me to get off your lawn. [Her head tips to the left, indicating the direction they'll get started in. Not something she typically does - and she half suspects he's already mapped out her neighborhood - but he's wary enough in his skin to warrant her broadcasting her moves more than she usually would.]
You might like online shopping. Anything you could want brought to your door. Even groceries.
no subject
If he's scouted out her perimeter already - no, that's not a euphemism for anything - it doesn't show. He follows her directions and seems to be watching the people they pass by with an unhealthy amount of wariness before he looks back at her again.]
My therapist says I should get out more. [He has acquired lifelong bad habits that are near impossible to break, but at least she's trying, and he's begrudgingly taking life advice from a stranger who thinks she knows better.] Do you even trust people bringing you things?
no subject
I don't disagree with your therapist. But I think there's something to be said for meeting someone half way. [Like trying out online shopping in addition to getting outside of the comfort zone. She shrugs in agreement at his question.] I check the things I have delivered. And it's not like I'm ordering anything delivered to Black Widow.
no subject
That only works on people who don't come in through the window. Or skylight. [Or hidden trap doors that Bucky doesn't know about. To be fair, so far, most people seem to either know or at least believe that unexpected appearances might set him off in some uncomfortable way, so they do either call ahead or plan to meet somewhere else or come through the front door. ]
You have to use your real name though, don't you? [Assuming Nat is her real name, which. He thinks so, and all the records that were dumped online probably confirm that, but you can never really be sure.]
Maybe I'll. Try my next cleaning supplies run online. [That seems like a safer and easier thing to find inside the amazon than going straight to having someone else rub his oranges and squeeze his velveeta. (Are they still talking about groceries?)]
no subject
She hums her agreement to his question.] If someone's going to come after me, they're not going to want to do it through the mail. [Practically impossible to confirm the damage that way. No, anyone out there that still has a vendetta against her is going to want to see the look in her eyes when they come for her.
Look, for all her talk about getting back on the road to normal, normal is still a malleable concept when the start of the path is 'exhaustively trained Russian state agents.' With her brow arched, her head tips so she can flash him a little grin.] Is your internet connection secure?
no subject
Or cat doors. [Would cat doors in windows actually help? He's not sure. They're probably a little bit more practical for those that would prefer to exit via the window without accidentally defenestrating themselves, than those trying to come in through the window. But maybe they'll just have to put one to the test to see.]
I don't know? I don't think so. [He's no networking or cybersecurity expert. Easy to snoop around, glance over the shoulder, watch the neighbours just that little bit too closely. Not so easy to figure out anything beyond the black box with the flashing lights or the touchscreen he struggles to use with his vibranium hand.]
I mean. Nothing's really secure. [He'll barely get targeted or scammed if he barely uses his phone, right?] Do you trust the internet?
no subject
[She lapses into silence to listen to him as they walk. The restaurant is just two blocks up ahead on the other side of the street. She flashes him a quick smile at his question.] No one should trust the internet. It's a necessary evil. If you want, I can give you a flash drive before you leave with some security protocols on it. I have a couple of spare untraceable burner phones too if that would be helpful.
no subject
[He swallows and shakes his head.] Rather not have a phone at all. [Than have to deal with even more phones, especially. He barely even uses his current one. If it wasn't absolutely necessary to stay contactable - nevermind the fact that it's often one way contact with him - he might not even bother.
Besides, it's far more important that she stocks up on those phones. He imagines she deals with far more emergencies on a more regular basis. He's quite content not getting too involved in everything and - for the most part - being left alone to enjoy the quiet solitude. Or as quiet as living in Brooklyn can be, anyway.]
This it? [They cross the last traffic light and come up to a promising-looking place. There's a lot of mixed smells wafting past them but nothing too off-putting at least.] You know a lot of these hole in the wall places.
no subject
[There's no rush. She takes a quick glance for passing traffic and then crosses the street. With a smile, she looks over to him and opens the door of the wing place so they can walk in. It's a small restaurant, not too busy at the counter this time of day, but the staff are still busily preparing pre-orders.] I like shopping local. It's a way to support the community I live in now.
no subject
Not many places left that were here since before the war. [If the alien invasion didn't take them out, the blip did. Somehow it feels simultaneously like the place he's always known, and completely foreign at the same time.
He follows her to an unoccupied corner and sits down quietly, checking over his shoulder to see what he's turning his back to before making himself comfortable.]
This is the most normal abnormal thing we've done. [Does it feel uncomfortable?]
no subject
She hums thoughtfully and takes a look around the restaurant. Though she doesn't know the full history of this place, she'd confident in saying that it sprung up after the alien invasion but before the blip. There's no commemorative newspaper articles framed on the walls from the invasion.] Have you been to any of the bars or restaurants that have been open since the 1800s? It's weird to be inside when it's quiet and see how busy it is out on the street. [Like a window through time.
She pulls two of the paper menus out from the holder on the table and hands him one, her eyes skimming the other. She glances up at him with a half smile at his question.] What's the most abnormal normal, then?
no subject
[Flipping the menu over, he feigns some interest in the various offerings although he's not really reading through everything. He has to think about their abnormal normal deeds, but the only one that really stands out is one that still stings a bit. He doesn't really want to talk about it but he's banking on both her wanting him to talk but also her not wanting to talk about it either. Hopefully they can change the subject after this. Or just stuff their faces with chicken so they don't have to talk.]
Shooting aliens and letting everyone down anyway.
no subject
His answer causes her to glance up at him over the menus, a quick, sharp assessment of posture and tone, before her eyes are back on the list of sauces. It's not something she particularly likes to talk about, no. And not just because she hates to lose. Prefers to help people.
It really stings to feel like the cause of so much suffering on such a massive scale.]
Not really one of the finer moments for teamwork.
no subject
[It's a complicated world out there these days. Used to be the only aliens they really needed to worry about were the likes of the Red Skull. Most of their problems could be solved by a .45. And the problems that couldn't be solved by a .45 could be solved by taking the best bottle of whiskey down from the top shelf, walking on over and talking things through.
These days. Who even knows what the fuck is going on anymore?]
Yeah. It was a shitshow. But it wasn't on anyone.
no subject
[Not really. But she's not exactly opposed to it either. Life has always been complicated, and that just seems to compound with every passing year. She figures as long as she can keep moving forward that she's at least in decent shape. One foot in front of the other. Which was another part of why all that loss had been so hard.]
Course not.
[The answer is delivered with easy conviction. Anyone else would have believed it - she's a natural born liar that was trained from her earliest memories. There's a good chance it won't fool him, but she's banking on him not calling her on it the same way he had when he broached the subject.]
So, what are you thinking on flavors?
no subject
Although, apparently there are blue cheese people and there are ranch people. While he doesn't necessarily feel strongly one way or another, ranch seems like the safer, tamer option.]
...I'll try anything that doesn't have pineapple in it. [And that extends to pizza too, so. No pineapples with his pepperoni.]
no subject
It doesn't taste fruity when it's mixed in with the sauce. It's just a little sweet kick. Do you want to come up with me to order or wait here?
no subject
I'll wait here. [He has no reason not to trust that she can't get their order. Even if he is a little wary of getting pranked by an adventurous order.
And, you know, maybe he wants to check the place out visually. Watch her back. Can't do that when they've both got their backs turned to the front door. He'd rather force himself to try something a little weird than get jumped, however slim the likelihood of that is.]
no subject
[Natasha's at ease as she slides out of the booth. None of the casual diners will note the quick way she checks her exit points and assesses the people around her as she joins the line at the counter. She doesn't doubt that he'll notice. Or that he's probably doing the same thing.
When she reaches the employee at the register, she orders six BBQ wings, six buffalo wings, then adds on three garlic parmesan and three sweet and spicy wings. Look, she can't resist the opportunity to see if she can get him to try something out of his comfort zone.
When she returns to the table, she's carrying a receipt with their order number on it and two glass bottles.] Cream soda or root beer?