Grief is an ugly, important thing. Natasha values it in the same way she values memory: she understands its purpose, it's transience, and the fact that her experience with it is different to most people. Patriotism, on the other hand, is more dangerous (she loves Steve dearly but she will always call the other side of that coin.) Natasha watches for it with a canny eye, still trying to understand why these men and women died.
When she's not making careful conversation with people from all over Zion — mechanics, children, political aides — she joins in the preparations. Most of the tasks are new to her, but she's patient and curious, a good listener and a fast learner, and soon she knows how to knead bread quietly as others talk around her, and which way to place the flowers into the intricate and colorful net. She works like a bird, with bright eyes and quick movement, her hair a guttered flame crested on her head, her woolen sweater too loose at the neck and too long at the wrists, plugs visible in a line at the top of her spine. She wears a black band at her wrist, and introduces herself as Widow.
Later, she attends the funeral as a stranger. Her clothes have a military cut and crispness, and the scarce visible skin is nearly entirely inked in henna patterns. straight black hair falls to her cheekbones, and her cheekbones are heavily bronzed, her eyes lined and smudged in smoky browns. Even the way she holds herself and moves is different, older and far more indelicate. But still, those who know her will still look into her face and see Natasha looking back coolly.
((feel free to get in touch if you want to orchestrate a specific incident or meeting, and i can write a starter with more specificity.))
NATASHA ROMANOFF / OTA
When she's not making careful conversation with people from all over Zion — mechanics, children, political aides — she joins in the preparations. Most of the tasks are new to her, but she's patient and curious, a good listener and a fast learner, and soon she knows how to knead bread quietly as others talk around her, and which way to place the flowers into the intricate and colorful net. She works like a bird, with bright eyes and quick movement, her hair a guttered flame crested on her head, her woolen sweater too loose at the neck and too long at the wrists, plugs visible in a line at the top of her spine. She wears a black band at her wrist, and introduces herself as Widow.
Later, she attends the funeral as a stranger. Her clothes have a military cut and crispness, and the scarce visible skin is nearly entirely inked in henna patterns. straight black hair falls to her cheekbones, and her cheekbones are heavily bronzed, her eyes lined and smudged in smoky browns. Even the way she holds herself and moves is different, older and far more indelicate. But still, those who know her will still look into her face and see Natasha looking back coolly.
((feel free to get in touch if you want to orchestrate a specific incident or meeting, and i can write a starter with more specificity.))