[log] ironically sentimental and a big boring book [closed]

[mrcreamsicles]

Characters: Davesprite and Natasha
Location: House 76
Date: 195 whenever they return after the event
Summary: Catching up now that they're out of the labyrinth and oh hey presents.
Warnings: Possible discussion of the violence from Winter and Andromeda's memory, probably nothing else.

76: A standard single-story house with a kitchen, living room, dining room, bathroom, and bedroom. All of the doors inside the house have had their handles broken off. They can still be pushed open, but none of them close properly, not even the bathroom. One of the dining room chairs has been smashed, and there's a few dents in the outer coating of the wall, as if a dining room chair had been smashed into it. These may be connected.

Comments

[redrooms]

[Natasha wakes up to find herself on the bed she was sharing with Davesprite, confused and exhausted, so it takes her a moment to register where she is. One of Davesprite's huge wings is draped over her, half in her face, and she nearly sneezes because of the feathers.

Did she just dream all of that up? It didn't feel like a dream, but considering they haven't moved...]

Davesprite.

[Natasha rolls over, gently pushing his wing out of the way to shake his shoulder.]

Davesprite, wake up.

[mrcreamsicles]

[Davesprite's slept poorly in what sleep he could get during this whole mess, which wasn't much at all. The banging kept him up in the room, the hallways were uncomfortable and too bright, and last night came the rush to escape the labyrinth. By all means, he should be dead asleep now that he's in a real bed and it's over—]

[CAW CAW CAW CAW]

[—but he always was a light sleeper. With the memory right there on his mind, all it takes is a little nudging before Davesprite is flapping, falling off the bed, feathers flared and eyes wide without his shades yet on, cawing like the break of dawn outside a Houston apartment. It's more avian instinct than reflexive sense, but in lack of a sword and without bearings for where he is, it's the best he has on hand.]

[redrooms]

[Natasha scrambles out of the bed after him, trying to avoid getting slapped by one of his wings.]

Davesprite. Davesprite, it's alright, it's me. We're safe.

[mrcreamsicles]

[CAW]

[caw]

[fuck.]

Nat?

[Jesus, he really just did that, didn't he? And—nope—his sunglasses are still off. He sees them where he set them on the nightstand, and breaks from Natasha to snatch them up and put them on. Fuck again for that.]

Nothin' like losing my shit first thing in the morning. How many cool points did I just lose, Nat? You can be honest with me.

[The good news is his wings fold back up and away from her. At the same time, though, his voice and hands are shaky and his feathers just won't settle yet.]

[redrooms]

None.

[Natasha reaches for his hands, pausing just before she takes them, as though asking for permission.]

That was a more than reasonable reaction. Are you alright?

[mrcreamsicles]

[The pause helps. It lets him see them first, lets him know she means no harm, and so he lets her have them. They carry the rough texture of his scales.]

I'm fine. Basically fine. Fell through the floor a couple times, and this dude Royce slammed me into a wall once, but nothing permanent.

[The couple feathers that fell out will grow back, and the ones Hange's ass broke in landing on him will molt and be replaced. Bruises will heal.]

Didn't even know what I was doing until the end when shit started to collapse. What about you? Did—did you see the thing at the end? Winter and Andromeda...

[He trails off, but his head turns suddenly to check the door, the windows, gaze lingering there.]

[redrooms]

[Natasha quietly files away the fact that Royce apparently attacked Davesprite, but she doesn't push. She just nods at his question, holding his hands gently.]

I saw it. Your eyes aren't glowing anymore.

[mrcreamsicles]

You want to just delete that whole memory?

[Showing his eyes is special, Nat!!]

[But, slowly, he turns his head back to her.]

Yours aren't either. But come on, we should check the house. I don't know how long we were gone, if we really were gone.

[He doesn't intent to talk more about the memory if he doesn't have to. Confirmation was enough.]

[redrooms]

Delete what memory? Seeing you without your sunglasses?

[Natasha stands up and tries to tug him up along with her. She's certainly noticed he never takes his aviators off, but she's never felt the need to ask.]

Is that a problem?

[mrcreamsicles]

[Only for sleep and bathing. Every other minute, they're on.]

It's the principal, Nat. It's like seeing a dude naked. You got a free cop of my bare peepers without my permission, and now I'm scandalized and worthless for marriage.

[It's vulnerable and open. Eyes are incredibly expressive, and he was taught since he arrived on Earth to keep a poker face.]

[He lets her tug him up, raising to float upright, then goes to take the lead as he heads for the door.]

Watch my back for me.

[redrooms]

[Natasha follows his lead, keeping a close eye on each room they pass. Everything seems to be the same as they left it.]

I'm so sorry, Davesprite. I've doomed you to the life of a spinster, haven't I?

[mrcreamsicles]

Shh.

[He'd normally be up for the joke, but some safe rooms doesn't mean all are. He's visibly tense, hesitating at doorways or the end of a hall, and he doesn't hear anything amiss—]

[But once they turn into the kitchen proper, there neatly laid out on the countertop atop a bed of lavender are two objects: a worn old copy of War and Peace, and...]

Ben Stiller?

[An autographed photo, that is. Natasha may recognize the shades; they match Davesprite's, minus the orange hue.]

[redrooms]

[When Natasha sees the book sitting next to the photo, she's certain she's hallucinating. It's an old, water damaged copy of War and Peace, one she abandoned in Russia decades ago. It's even slightly discolored from blood stains. Whatever levity was in her tone has disappeared completely.]

Do you recognize that photo, Davesprite?

[mrcreamsicles]

You're damn right I do.

[It feels so ridiculous he should be laughing, but how the fuck is it here? Did someone—?]

[Like that was the trigger, Davesprite sees something, a flicker, no more than light and shadow off at the corner of his vision, but he's been dealing with movement that fast his whole life. Instead of delivering explanation, Davesprite jerks around and darts for the door, shouting as he goes:]

Get back here!

[If Natasha doesn't stop him, he'll charge right on out into the snow, where not one footprint can be seen against the white.]

[redrooms]

[Natasha reacts on pure instinct, grabbing for his arm to pull him back.]

Davesprite!

[mrcreamsicles]

[His head snaps back, eyes wide behind his shades even as he jerks his arm sharply against her hold.]

Nat, I saw something. Just now, outside the window, didn't see it clearly, and it's probably whoever left these.

[redrooms]

I didn't see anything.

[Once she's sure he won't run, she releases his arm.]

If something did leave this, it may not be the best idea to run after it.

[mrcreamsicles]

[By then he doesn't bolt again, but he still itches for it. He stares hard at the door.]

It was fast.

[His jaw shifts.]

Real fucking fast.

[And with great reluctance, he turns back toward their gifts.]

What's the book for?

[redrooms]

[Natasha studies him for a moment, but lets him change the subject.]

It was a gift from someone a long time ago. Yours?

[mrcreamsicles]

[Thanks, Nat.]

Same deal, more or less. My friend John got me Stiller's dorky ass shades for my 13th birthday and the autograph came with it.

Yours looks like it's been through hell. Was it like that before?

[redrooms]

[She nods, removing one of the segmented compartments from her belt and tossing it at the book. Nothing happens, and she frowns.]

Not a trap, I guess. The book has always looked like that. A soldier gave it to me during the second World War.

[She's old. Whatever.]

[mrcreamsicles]

[Davesprite is about to move over when Natasha drops that particular bombshell on him. He turns to face her fully.]

Second world war? Natasha, are you telling me you're secretly up in your grandma age?

[redrooms]

[Natasha picks up the book, flipping through the pages. It's so odd to see it here that it's disquieting. She does glance up at Davesprite's question, though.]

Yes. It's not much of a secret at home, and if you ever call me your grandmother I'll start pinching your cheeks. Neither of us want that, do we?

[mrcreamsicles]

And risk wrecking the paint job I gave them?

[He doesn't ask further. He knows Bucky's story, but he's not going to share that he knows, even with her. Besides, it's easy to dismiss as 'superhero stuff'.]

How'd they survive the maze? I've still got the polka dots you gave mine.

[He wiggles his fingers over at her, before floating in to take the Stiller photo. He peers over the edges, the loops of the signature, the hints of adhesive still stuck on the back. He wonders if it would smell like the apartment, were he to sniff it, all the air of three years of magma heat sunk into its paper. He refrains from actually trying.]

This is so fucking weird.

[redrooms]

Still perfect.

[Well, minus Davesprite's questionable paint job, but she wiggles her fingers back.]

They had to have given these to us for a reason, and I doubt it's sentiment.