JULY PLANET MINGLE

[save_the_souls]

Who: YOU. ME. EVERYONE.
Broadcast: IF YOU WANT
Action: YEAH!!!!!
When: July!

[Congratulations to the crews that did not get themselves blown up! Welcome to the Blue Planet, a planet full of charming islands and even less charming weather patterns! Are you going to take the time to enjoy the beach? Help out with the local Nunnilis population? Get caught in a storm with another person and have a rating boosting sexual tension moment? The world's your oyster!]

[Yeah in other words: ITS A MINGLE GET IN HERE]

[July Planet Info!]

Comments

[tothefly]

[She takes the invitation for what it is. A peace offering, a vulnerability displayed. Whatever his Natasha is like, she knows that her own instinct to take advantage of weaknesses is innate. She's always been a survivor, using the tools at hand. He's giving her one now, and she knows what that means.

The Soldier was never this patient with her curiosity.

Natasha studies the star, the differences in metal--not stainless steel, not the mottled alloys of Russian science. This metal is different. So is the craftsmanship, subtly; the joints are the same, the plating shifts in ways she recognizes intimately, but there's a signature here. She reaches out fingers, waits for permission.]

Stark?

[redactions]

​​​​[ It's not wise, to offer this to someone he barely knows, but he comforts himself by thinking it's not like he's showing her the internal wiring. The outer plating has been made to withstand a Widow's Bite and more besides. He's not going to be caught with it as a dead weight. ]

​​​​[ With faint fondness, ] Tony, yeah.

​​​​[ He meets the curiosity by brushing his metal fingers lightly against hers, and letting her hand come to rest where the pulse would be on the wrist, if it were flesh. ]

After a long lecture about Cold War chic.

[tothefly]

[He barely knows her, and maybe his casual, almost joking manner is just how he treats all strangers. But he knows someone like her, and he clearly lets that influence how he reacts around her. She wouldn't be Natasha if she didn't take advantage of that, at least a little--in the ways she can let herself. On the one hand, she doesn't turn down any advantage she can find. On the other, that other woman isn't her and she doesn't need handouts, even from strangers.

But he gives her permission, the faint brush of metal against her flesh-and-blood fingertips, warmed by the sun and by whatever servos whir inside. Her thumb rests along the outside of his wrist, palm arched over his own, as she explores the fine join of plates, hand wandering upwards over the artificial forearm. She looks at the arm, not at him, but there are faint notes of distracted amusement in her voice.]

I'm surprised he didn't talk you into chroming it. Man's got a serious hot rod problem. At least, the one I know does.

[redactions]

​​​​[ Once upon a time it would've been, when he had nothing to prove to anyone but himself. Nowadays it gets kept away, to be used like any other tool. He's giving away that he'd like to trust Natasha — does trust Nat intimately if there's no wariness in how he hands over this part of himself. But he'd rather die trusting her than not. She walked away from the Red Room too, didn't she? That intersection means everything. ]

Oh, he tried. ​​​​[ with an affectionate mockery of his own accent, ] My tongue's just as silver as his, darlin'.

​​​​[ He's grinning boyishly at her. ]

[tothefly]

[It's a weakness, that trust. She hasn't earned it. Doesn't know if she will, or can afford to. Not in a place like this, not when every day is another chance for things to go wrong. She has her own survival to think of, and it makes her ruthless.

But he isn't the man she'd expected him to be, and that--this offer--means something.]

[She glances up at his words, and there's a glimmer of something in her eyes, for sure, something that's half laugh and half challenge, her fingers resting on his arm.]

Really? You're going to just give away your advantage like that? No 'shucks, ma'am, I'm just a humble Brooklyn boy?'

[redactions]

​​​​[ He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, his attention drifting. ]

Who says that's my real advantage? Maybe my right hook is my secret weapon.

[tothefly]

I'm sure that's a hit with the ladies.

[Tone dry, she shifts back in her seat again, fingers trailing down the slick metal surface to brush over his fingertips, finally withdrawing her hand to take her fresh drink.]

So. Stark tech on your arm. I'm surprised they let you keep it.

[redactions]

[ The smile disappears. Things he doesn't like joking about: that. No matter that the women of his acquaintance can hit back, and harder. He shrugs. ]

It's an asset. We were in a war. There wasn't time for ifs or buts.

[tothefly]

[She logs the change in attitude the way she tracks the rest. Curious, not thrown off by it, as she sips her drink.]

I mostly meant Atroma. Seems like the kind of thing they'd take.

[redactions]

That was a good trap.

[ He makes a soft, amused noise, resignation and tolerance mixed into it in generous amounts. ]

Guess I got lucky. They did take the shield.

[tothefly]

Unintentional. I promise.

[Whether or not he believes her is up to him. The words are as much part of the game as anything else.]

Guess it counts as a prosthetic, more than a weapon. Hopefully the lab support on your ship has the tools to handle any maintenance you need.

[redactions]

[ He smiles crookedly. Intentional, unintentional, it wouldn't really have mattered. ]

Yeah, and I'm an engineer at least. Anyway. I haven't had that much problem with it.

[ Though it seems like you do. He leaves the question unspoken. ]

[tothefly]

It looks better when you leave the sleeve off.

[The statement is as impulsive as the urge to touch. An answer to his unspoken question. It's less of a problem when he doesn't try to hide it. At least then it's clear enough what it is, who he is. She doesn't like the implications of hiding. Like she can't handle it. Like he might mean something more by it.]

[redactions]

[ It shouldn't surprise him, not after Nat herself has said those same words. He tries not to look for Nat in Natasha; if there's overlap, well and good, he prefers familiarity. But even so, the expression she gets is a mixture of shock, a flicker of pain, and some bashfulness, before he says, quietly, ]

You think so?

[tothefly]

[That look on his face is complicated. Complicated with capital letters, and she knows she isn't the first Natasha to say that to him. For a moment, she considers taking the words back. She isn't that other woman, and any similarities he points out with words or looks or actions make her defensive of her sense of self. But the words are still true, and taking them back would be a sign of weakness. So she simply shifts, almost shrugs.]

I do.

Why hide it?

[The question could be rhetorical, or it could be genuine. She leaves the choice to him.]

[redactions]

​​​​[ Wryly, ]

For starters? Its existence is classified.

[tothefly]

Doesn't mean anything to the folks here.

Guess old habits die hard, though.

[redactions]

​​​​[ He tips his glass towards her. ]

I'll drink to that.

[tothefly]

[She lifts her own glass, tapping his. Worse things to drink to, anyway.]