#sh.starter

Acknowledging it though or reaching for that sai only gave them power over her. Granted them the privilege of getting to her. And tonight, she was not particularly inclined to grant that to anyone - instead, she refused to look up from her martini, taking a sip before speaking loud enough to ensure the other would hear. 

“Unless you intend on making this worth my while, I suggest you not interrupt my drinking.” 

The day that had been forecast as sunny was instead cloaked by torrential rain. Bucky was making his way back from work and was still thirty blocks away from his apartment. He was drenched to the skin, and the sleeves of his Henley were sticking in the metal plates of his arm, so if anyone bothered to look he could be arrested within the hour. Also, his dog was shivering, which made him irrationally grumpy anyway.

He'd found the husky on the corner of his street on a day not unlike this one. He'd tried to walk past her, but she was the only living thing for weeks to come over to him, and once he found she was missing a leg, he couldn't leave her to rot. Now, he was admittedly attached.

Rooting around in his pocket found he didn’t have enough for a taxi, which was hardly surprising. He ventured into a Starbucks and sat down at an outdoor table with his dog, trying to shield her with the table’s umbrella. Water dripped down his baseball cap, and he knew he looked a sorry sight. Perhaps that was why the stranger came up to him. Bucky glanced upwards and then quickly away again.

In comparison to most of the days Monica had lived through since arriving in New York which were always packed with activities, or at the very least events, this day was a slow one. She had actually woken up early (for once), arrived at work five minutes early, a new record, and had a relatively productive day, up until the point her boss told her he had to let some of the waitresses go. She could have fought to keep her job, but what was the point, considering he’d been angling at letting her go for a while now. No, as usual Monica kept her head held high, passed over her apron and walked confidently out of the restaurant, acting as if she had a clue what she was going to do with her life.

On the way back to her apartment, she stopped in front of NYU. On the phone the previous night, her mother had worriedly asked if she had any friends, for if she had, her mother had never seen them. Monica held up her phone to take the obligatory picture to send back to her mother and reassure her she hadn’t gotten a face tattoo yet, and looked around when her mum sent a text back, ‘show me your friends!! Xx’

In desperation, Monica grabbed the first person she saw. “Take a picture with me,” she said, “and save a life.” Specifically, Monica’s.

This wasn’t the type of place where she’d normally spend her Friday evenings, and truthfully, she didn’t have a clear explanation for what drove her there in the first place. Trying something new for the sake of it, maybe — but there was something familiar about this bar. Not familiar in the sense that she had been there before ( and of course not; on any other night, she wouldn’t even dream of stepping foot in such a dingy, loud, poorly-lit building ) but in the sense that there were thousands, possibly millions, of bars exactly like this and filled with exactly the same types of people she would find here. She took the shot of vodka — she had to represent, didn’t she? — she had been turning in her hand; it was her second one that evening, and it wouldn’t be her last.

And then she noticed a figure wandering across the bar, someone who doing an impressive job of blending in. ( Natasha was almost jealous. ) They weren’t attracting attention, no more than necessary, but they stood out bright and clear to her because Natasha noticed everyone. Her eyebrow rose in the tell-tale way that served as both a subtle hint and a warning that Natasha wanted to make everything a little more interesting, and she abandoned her shot glass — the only giveaway that she had been there and occupied that seat at all. With quiet, paced steps, she approached the figure, and stopped by their side. Glancing to them, she leaned forward to prop her elbows on the bar and spoke in her heavy, low tone.

Remy walked through the double doors of Forbidden Planet and went straight to the Pop Funkos. He was planning to buy a box of Game of Thrones Mystery Minis. Like all six of them. He figured he'd grab those and the new issue of Star Wars: Poe Dameron while he was out. Sure, he was in full get up. But it was a late night and Forbidden Planet was open until midnight. "Wha'ya lookin' at, ami?"