03 | text

[brainsqueeze]

Natasha's gone.

( It's something that Maria had known for a few days but she'd wanted to check. Messages had come back but maybe the bracelet had gone. Deep down she'd known the truth from the start but she'd rather have really checked for her friend than to give up straight away. You don't just leave someone )

She didn't have much. Sorry if she was working on anything.

( Who knows? She certainly don't. She's also got some Natasha code to try and crack. Short and sweet, right? )

Does anyone know who had the bar?

Comments

private text (and abundant tl;dr)

[selfmadman]

[ He's in the new apartment, eased against the kitchen counter and pouring an inaugural drink. He absorbs it as a welcome shock and rolls the empty glass between his palms. Idleness, light glancing off his bracelet: that's all it is. Most days the network's silent. Maybe that's the end of the world, having nothing left to say. ]

Thanks.

[ She's already gone but he feels her slip away. He bangs down the glass, clutches the edge of the counter with both hands. They'd never been acquainted, just interlaced. Meeting without surprise or disappointment. He slams his hands into the counter. The glass jumps.

Later he rereads the message. It's impersonal. Maria's grasping at something. He tries to reason what it could be, but he's tired of secrets and his last hope of discharging them is gone.

The heat stutters on. The room starts to fill with the smell of burned dust. ]

As for the bar, I don't think you were next in line.

private text. how dare you tl;dr gosh!!

[brainsqueeze]

That wasn't why I was asking.

...WELL YOU ASKED FOR IT

[selfmadman]

No?

[brainsqueeze]

I was hoping it would be staying open.

[selfmadman]

[ He turns the bracelet over in his hands, shuts his eyes. Makes a noise like a punctured laugh. ]

Does your concern extend beyond tonight?

[brainsqueeze]

We'll still need the place.
That and it's part a safe house.

[selfmadman]

For who?

[brainsqueeze]

For anyone that needed it. It was against Thiazi anyway.

[selfmadman]

[ His first day in Asgard he threw the bracelet. He's never been so tempted to repeat the gesture, ache with anger and futility in those same places. He doesn't, of course. He slaps his fitted shackle down like bus fare.

The bottle and the glass, he takes.

Deep into the night, he picks up the bracelet and the conversation. ] Well that's very noble.