867/California, 1984

California, 1984
Date of Scene:	09 June 2017
Location:	California
Synopsis:	Natasha Romanova approaches Ares once more for assistance
Cast of Characters:	Ares, Black Widow (Romanoff)

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Ares has posed:
    The wind's always rough when it comes off the desert. It carries that heat and the dust with it, small motes of sand dancing on the brush of its breath even where it meets what passes for arable land in these parts. Maybe some years ago it had been better here, the grass might have been greener, less brown. The fields would have had some protection from the wind with that copse of trees that had been lost some years ago in a brush fire. Not that it's a barren place, far from it, just with the water being shunted off to the city of Angels... it's left an impact.
    The homestead that the man had taken to is straight out of the fifties, similar to the other homes that were built at the time, even though it's a good two miles from his nearest neighbor. His property abuts a forested stretch of land that he shares with some of the other farmers in the area, and apparently he's tried to make a go of it. But at a glance, she might see the tell-tale signs of entropy encroaching upon that land and his home.
    Over there towards the barn the paint is peeling, the red giving away to the grey wood. The porch looks like it could use a fixing to a few of the steps. And the car that's in the driveway is an old pickup that looks like it's done a few rounds with rust and lost half of them.
    At first one might think the place was abandoned. But then a sound is heard, around the back of the house. A short sharp /thok/ of wood being split, rhythmic at times, only broken up by the faint clatter of wood falling into a pile of wood.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
Chopping wood can be cathartic. Allowing someone to work through thoughts. Lost in the wanderings of their own mind. That may be the case.

People who know there is danger around every corner and that there is no place safe? They would not be lured into that state.

He likely will hear the car pulling up out front, parking next to the pickup. The sedan is non-descript, forgettable in it's normalcy. The door opens to allow a small figure to exit. She is wearing a dark pants suit with a white shirt, her red hair pulled up in a little bun at the top of her head. It's still the same red. She has aged a little, looking to be in her twenties perhaps, but not the age she should be considering when they first met. A pair of dark sunglasses hide her eyes.

She glances at the barn, the land, the farmhouse. The sound in the back draws her that way. She comes around the corner of the house, taking off the sunglasses and tucking them into the pocket of her jacket as she stops within his line of sight. She says nothing as she waits for him to acknowledge her.

Ares has posed:
    Even before she emerges from that corner the axe has been set down, angled into the stump and the handle jutting up towards the sky. When she emerges she'll see the old stump that serves for the splitting. There's an old shed that's seen better days nearby where the firewood is stacked, and then there's the target.
    It's almost like he hasn't aged a day. Oh he looks better than when they first met. The haggard pain of a hunched over prisoner has given way to... a tall outdoorsman. He stands a full foot and more higher than her, and as then their eyes meet. There's that same furrowed brow she had seen back then, those same intense brown irises. He's wiping his hands on an old rag, his white t-shirt soaked through with the exertions of only a moment ago, clinging to the lines of his form.
    She can see the moment recognition dawns on his face. It's not a pronounced thing, no jaw-dropping shock. Instead it's but a shift of his brow upwards for a bare second, and then down as the realization of what this must mean.
    His work boots are dirty, as are his jeans, yet he walks over towards her with something almost... regal in his manner. Oh the circumstances are different now. Perhaps the roles reversed. He is not weakened, not curled inwards. He advances on her, and then... perhaps surprisingly he'll say to her simply...
    "You've aged well," She might have a moment of wondering how to take that, but then he actually... smiles.

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
It's the strangest thing, seeing him looking the exact same. At least when it comes to age. He looks one hundred percent better than he did the last time they met. She lets her gaze flick over him briefly before he advances. She doesn't move, holding her ground with a quiet confidence. Even when she has to look up at him. Way up.

"I could say the same to you. You haven't aged a day." She tilts her head to the side as she considers. "Not the first place I would've thought to look for you. I'd have thought Greece or at least somewhere in Europe. Maybe even the Soviet Union. But America? And farming?" Her own smile is friendly, as though they are old buddies getting together after a short time apart. "I think it agrees with you," she says in an approving tone.

Ares has posed:
    A nod is given as he looks away, most likely towards the vehicle she arrived in. Then he looks back. She can almost imagine the workings of his mind as he takes into count each element she's given him. She represents much to him, a personification of a time, of a decision, of a debt. "I tend not to," He tells her, squinting a little against the haze of the distant setting sun, not quite over the horizon.
    Then she mentions his rather... terrible attempt at farming and he lets his smile shift to a wry smirk as he looks around, still wiping at his hands with that rag and then tossing it aside. "Even though I'm terrible at it?" He shakes his head and then steps towards her... and past, giving her his back. Perhaps it's simply done without thought, or perhaps it's a small offer of trust.
    Over his shoulder he says, "I could use some lemonade, do you want some lemonade?" He starts to step up the stairs to the porch, pulling open the screen door with a creak of unoiled hinges. He holds it for her and steps out of the way. "We can talk inside."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
The giving of his back has to be a sign of trust. He knows what she is. She has some ideas he is no different from her yet, she doesn't know much about him really. She glances over her shoulder to follow his passage then turns, tracking his progress toward the house. "Like I know anything about farming to judge if you are good or bad at it? Not a skill I was taught." He keeps going and she finally starts to follow.

He's already holding the door by the time she climbs the steps. She doesn't hurry. Inside has less chance of being spied upon although it wouldn't be impossible. Not that it's likely either of them is being watched but it still is something she considers. Although he does have the advantage in the house.

She doesn't hesitate and walks inside, stopping just within the door and stepping to the side so he will be able to enter behind her. She glances around at the room, a casual observance. "Lemonade sounds wonderful. You can tell me all about yourself while you pour," she says with a bit of a smirk, glancing back over at him.

Ares has posed:
    "If the stuff grows, I find, to be a good yard stick." He ducks under the jam of the door, just a little too low for him. But then he's into the kitchen. At a glance it looks like a thing she might have seen in those magazines about homesteads. It's yellow and white with some little decor save for what might have been there when it was first made. There are a few pot holders hanging near the stove, some token attempts at artwork on the wall though they're clearly bought and not entirely fitting to the general feel of the house, as if the owner is making an attempt at normalcy and failing.
    He opens the refrigerator door and pulls from within a carafe that clinks with the sound of ice cubes. Then he's to a cabinet and pulling out some glasses, giving one a shine with a small cloth before setting it down in front of her. "What do you wish to know?" He asks her even as he pours, the lemonade sloshing into the glasses each in turn.
    "You can ask, and then you will think me mad. You can demand more, and you will leave angry that clearly I am a liar. You can threaten, and our relationship will end." The carafe is set down and then he gestures her to a chair if she so should wish, then takes one himself. "Can I not be what I am? A man who owes you and thinks well of you?"

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
Natasha settles into the chair on the opposite side of the table, much as she did their last meeting. Then it was wine. He was looking worse for wear, having been a captive for who knew how long really. Now? He's vibrant, alive, strong. There is still that something about him. In the world there are wolves and sheep. He was most definitely a wolf. There was still that danger about him. She stretches her legs under the table, accepting the glass when it's offered.

"Thank you." They have both been sticking to English. When in Rome and all that jazz. "I don't intend to threaten you. I just am curious how you came to be the same. My own story is rather unbelievable to most but it doesn't make it any less true. However, if you don't wish to waste time with the niceties of getting to know one another, then I can get down to business."

She takes a sip of the lemonade before continuing. "I want to call in that favor. I need help with a situation."

Ares has posed:
    Most likely he had expected something along those lines, had expected that she was here for that exact reason. He frowns a little and takes a sip of his lemonade and then looks back up at her, his own expression level as he meets her gaze. It's only a moment that passes before he gives her a single slow nod. Not out of hesitation to commit, but her calling in that marker, it is a thing of import. He mentally accepts the likelihood that his life here is over, and that he will do what is required to match her wish.
    But then he seems to see something in her eyes, something that gives him a moment of trepidation. He holds up a hand and then says to her, "Tell me what is passing, and if it is of due import then I will aid you." He sets his glass down and sits up further in his seat, the wooden chair scraping the floor slightly. "For calling in the marker I have granted you is no small thing."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
"I wouldn't ask if it was," Natasha returns, equally serious. She doesn't shift, remaining sitting comfortably. She has her hand wrapped around the glass of lemonade sitting on the table in front of her. "There is group of extremists here in the United States. The wish there to be war between their country and mine." She watches him closely as she continues. "With my country choosing not to participate in the Olympic games, they found their opportunity. They will leave evidence that will point the finger at the Soviet Union." She let's that hang in the air for a long moment.

"The explosion will kill potentially thousands during the opening ceremonies. We cannot simply tell the United States government for they do not trust us enough to believe. We have tried to feed information into their intelligence networks. Their security measures may not be enough. My comrades are few and far between in this area of the country so I find myself seeking the help of anyone I can find as an ally. This is bigger than my country or theirs. It's about innocents being slaughtered for no reason."

Ares has posed:
    The tall man watches her steadily with that grim resolve clear upon his severe features. The tendons in his jaw bunch as he considers the ramifications of what she has said and what would pass if these things occurred. His fingertips tap lightly upon the tabletop, and then he looks back into her green eyes. "Natasha." It's like a key uttered to slip past the door of their interaction, to ease past the faces they wear and the identities they claim.
    Her name hangs there, and then he tells her quietly. "I am fond of my adopted home. I will help you as it will not only aid you and yours, but the people here." He takes a deep breath, as if girding himself for a battle of sort, those eyes lowering and then coming back up.
    "But I will do so of my own will. Save my debt to you." He looks aside, then he looks back to her. "How many years have passed between us?" A small ghost of a laugh slips from him, "Thirty five is it?" He looks up to the side a little, searching, then looks back. "Forty?"
    He shakes his head and then lowers his eyes. It's strange as he says this he cannot meet her gaze. "I can see that those years... have come at a cost." He holds up a hand as if staying her from speaking. Then he looks back up to meet her gaze and tells her with such intensity, such severity of conviction that she might well think these words fall from Mount Sinai to her ears.
    "Once we finish this, if you ask me to free you of what binds you. I will do so. And there is not a being in the universe that will be able to stop me."

Black Widow (Romanoff) has posed:
Things have changed in 40 years. Then, Natasha ran when he pointed out that he knew some of her secrets. Now? She doesn't bat an eyelid, nothing about her demeanor changing in the least. She does give a little smile though, everything so well hidden they could be discusssing the weather.

"Forty years. And I'm sure you have changed as well." She isn't denying that she's changed. She knows there has been a cost. Her soul was condemned long ago, shortly after their first meeting. The things she has done would be considered evil by some. She is what she is and she does not regret it. Not anymore. Perhaps twenty years ago she may have. Now? She is truly the Black Widow she is named after. Cool, calculating, waiting for the right moment and killing without hesitation. He saw blood on her hands when she was a teen. He likely sees her swimming in it now.

"Once this is finished, I will ask nothing of the sort from you. I know what I am and I have no desire to change that."

Ares has posed:
    A nod is given as she answers him, but the way he looks at her askance hints at perhaps the slightest touch of trepidation? Dubiousness? Yet whatever it is, it is gone in the next moment. He gives her a second nod, then gains a small smile as he answers her words, "I am not so sure about myself,"
    The tall man reaches for that carafe of lemonade and refills his glass and hers as well, shaking his head slowly. "I have tried to strike out on a new path." He gestures with one hand towards the outside, as if the proof was in the pudding as it were. "I am making a mess of it." He shakes his head, looking to the side, "And Americans. They can be so... strange."
    A sip of the drink is taken then he sets it aside. "But yes, this is not a time for catching up." He cuts off that path of the conversation and then leans forwards to ask of her, "What is it you need me to do?"