pennysheets | Vampire cult nonsense (PSL for Natasha)

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Vampire cult nonsense (PSL for Natasha)

It had taken her a while to get far enough into the ranks of this... organization. They have half a dozen names for themselves, depending on where one gains entrance, and most people don't ever go beyond those half-dozen entrance groups. Natasha is good, but these people are paranoid, and death cults are not a thing that you get access to immediately.

But because she is good, here she is finally, fresh from the ritual bath and dressed in undyed cotton, barefoot, ready for her first ritual. She's the only new one today, but there are other junior members walking in their two lines from the baths to the ritual room and its five sealed coffins. Natasha has yet to be told what's in them, only that they are very powerful.

"Which one is it today?" the young man who'd introduced himself as Stolen Moon (junior members tend to pick very pretentious ritual names) asks, quietly, of the senior member walking in front of him, who was known by the (slightly less pretentious) name Fox.

"You'll see when we get there," Fox says.

"Don't ask questions in front of the initiate," adds the senior at the head of the second column, an older woman called Hawk.

There are already three senior members waiting inside: Raven, Star, and Shimmer. Fox and Hawk motion for everyone to take their places, in an outward-facing ring inside the circle of coffins, and then join them, each standing between two of the coffins.

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He visits the bookstore. He visits the movie theater, too, watches a dumb romcom that he absolutely does not understand and feels like he ought to be offended by, actually. He does text her twice, but it's with pictures of random shit around town rather than actual words. Nothing that might give away where exactly he is: a picture of the stack of books he bought, and a picture of a bundle of snakeroot flowers from a path outside town. Mostly he thought she might find them funny.

He's later arriving than she is, just barely on time in fact, because catching a meal and getting far enough away afterwards meant a tight schedule. But he's presentable, and he drops into the opposite side of the booth with a wry little smile, one not big enough to show fang. "You were up early this morning," he comments.

She's ordered them each a bottle of beer by the time he arrives, knowing he probably won't drink his, but not wanting to draw any undue attention. She wasn't followed, and she's paying cash so there won't be a credit card trail, but certain habits are ingrained for a reason.

She meets his comment with a mock-sheepish look and an admission of, "I'm morning person. It's one of my few flaws. You settling in all right?"

He does pick it up and flick the cap off, at least to smell it. Maybe trade it with hers once she's had some, so it looks like they both drank half their beers. "Yeah, it's a nice place. Quiet. Definitely better than the last place."

He clinks their beer bottles together with a soft tink. "You gonna be in town long enough for a visit? Or you got some other plans you're thinkin' about roping me into?"

"I'll be around for the weekend," she says. "There's a nice little hotel on the beach that does an amazing brunch."

And means she won't be intruding on his privacy - or, more importantly, staying in the same place he is, and risking drawing notice to it if anyone manages to track her position.

"But I am planning a trip soon. Taking in the sights, visiting some old friends. You should come."

If he had a working heart, it would be beating harder now. She means Pierce. He knows she does. She's gearing up to take him out, so it's time to get his own ass into gear and get prepared, himself. He needs to not be fucking terrified of it.

He looks up from his beer, at her face, and quirks a smile, just a hint of fang. "Sounds like fun. I wouldn't mind going somewhere with company, for once. Got any idea when you wanna do this trip?"

"Not for a couple weeks yet. I need to make arrangements for the kids."

Which she hopes he'll interpret correctly - she has a plan to draw off at least some of the operatives within SHIELD's structure, she just needs to get the pieces in place. She doubts they'll be able to get him entirely isolated, but the fewer guards, the better their chances will be.

And the less chance he'll have to use any of the truly nasty magic he might have to hand.

He understands. There are still plenty of preparations to put into place, which he probably should've guessed. That's going to be a long couple weeks of pacing and fretting and imagining horrible ways all of this could go wrong, though. "I'll make sure I'm free," he promises, which comes out a little wry. What else is he gonna do, anyway?

"I tried looking up our old friend, from overseas?" he says. "Marge?" Another nickname for Margaret, which hopefully she'll know. "Not a lot of luck. All her old numbers are out of service. Don't suppose you've got a new number for her, do ya?"

"She's been staying with family," Natasha says. "I might be able to get her new number from her niece - she's on my Christmas card list."

SHIELD, she means, and clean.

All this spy talk is going to get exhausting, he can tell, but it's necessary for now. Maybe for a long time. He doesn't think there's any cultist spies in this town, but it's still not something you can really talk about out in the open.

So he does nod. He'll trust for now that Natasha knows who's safe. "I'd appreciate that. I miss her, you know?" Or what knowing about her might tell him. If she's hinting Margaret Carter is actually still alive, though... she might be able to tell him a lot.

"She hasn't been in the best of health," Natasha warns, which is a dire understatement. She doesn't know the precise extent of Carter's illness, but Sharon had mentioned memory care, which never bodes well.

Still.

"But I think she'd be happy to hear from an old friend."

"Not sure if she'll really still think of me as a friend," he says with half a smile, almost self-depricating. "But I'll give her a call if you can get the number. See if she still thinks fondly of me. Thanks."

He looks around, offers, "Feel like a walk?" Because yeah. Spy talk is running out his nerves.

There's a brief flicker of sympathy, little more than a slight tilt at the corners of her eyes and mouth. It may be second nature to her, speaking entirely in implication, but that doesn't mean she's unaware of how awkward it must feel for anyone not accustomed.

"Sure," she says. "It's a nice night for it. Along the shore?" Where the surf will interfere with any attempts to eavesdrop on them, should anyone have managed to evade both their notice

"That sounds nice," he agrees, and plucks the beer bottle up to take with him as he slides to his feet. That way no one can see that he hasn't actually had any. He can leave it out on the beach and someone else can happen upon it and have a good time. "I've been doing a lot of walking around, but I haven't really been down by the shore much."

"Well, we definitely need to fix that." She stands, dropping a few bills on the table to cover their drinks and tip, then heads for the door, angling a teasing smile his way over her shoulder.

There's no one watching them closely, but there's also no reason not to ensure anyone who does take note comes to the obvious conclusion about why they're leaving after only one drink, and not even the entire drink, in his case.

He smiles, back, only just small enough to keep the fangs behind them. It manages to look fond rather than strained, at least. They're old friends, old flames maybe, reconnecting. Slight better role than the random hookup they'd played last time, but not any easier.

He does offer his arm for her to slip hers through once they're outside, but what he says, quietly, is, "No sign that anybody knows what you're up to yet?"

She tucks her arm through his, leaning in close like she's snuggling up to take advantage of his warmth against the breeze coming in off the ocean. There's a little private amusement at the knowledge that she's the one with body heat to spare, though she doubts either of them would choose to be quite this close if it weren't for the fact that it makes it all the easier to speak quietly.

"None," she says. "I'm good at covering my tracks, when I'm not trying to be found. There's still some exposure risk, but so far, so good."

He leans a little, too, mostly for show, but a little bit because warmth is not a thing he's used to except when he's feeding. And it's nice. "Good... good. Cuz then you'd have to go on the run with me, and then your partner would try to kill me," he says, mostly joking. "I'm a little surprised he's not following us with that weird bow of his right now."

He saw what Clint had been carrying in that temple. Weird weapon to use in this day and age, but also memorable.

"It's quieter than a gun," Natasha says, with a smile that skews a little bit crooked. She's grown familiar with Clint's quirks over the years - and come to respect a weapon that can drop an enemy at range, with precision, nearly soundlessly. At least in the hands of an expert marksman.

She'll keep her guns, and her knives, and her Widow's Bite.

"He's working a different angle. And if we both decided to take a seaside vacation, someone might notice."

The vampire is quiet a beat, then, just to make sure, he asks, "You trust him?" If her partner is somehow hiding his knowledge of the cult from her... all of this will be for nothing. Clint knows about him. Clint probably knows everything she does.

"With my life," she says, without hesitation.

She pauses for a moment, then adds, "He had a bad run in a few years ago with someone who shared their opinion on free will. He isn't your biggest fan, but he wants this cult taken down."

He pauses, digesting that, then nods at last. "All right. I can buy that. Should I even bother trying to convince him I'm not as much of a monster as he seems to think?" He's a little bit of a monster. Maybe even a lot a monster. But he's not some completely undisciplined moron or sadistic beast, either, even he can admit that.

Natasha shakes her head slightly. "Just give it time. He'll come around. Or I'll remind him of some of the calls he's made over the years."

There isn't that much difference between where the vampire is now, and where she was when Barton had made the call to bring her into the fold all those years ago. Which means there's still a chance he'll turn on them - but he deserves the opportunity to make that choice, and find some sort of life outside the cult's control.

He sucks on a fang for a beat, then asks, "Why are you even doing all this?" The safehouse. The cash. Cutting him loose. Unbinding him, to begin with. It feels like so much. "It can't just be the intel. You could probably get it just as well from someone else. Star, maybe."

Natasha glances up at him sidelong, studying him for a long moment before replying quietly, "Years back, before I joined SHIELD, I was part of something ugly. Offshoot of the KGB, very big on old-school conditioning. I know what it's like to be looked at as a tool instead of a person - and what it means for someone to offer a way out."

Her smile returns, still a little crooked. "It's a gamble. But worst case scenario, you go to ground, and we've still deprived the cult of one of their most effective operatives."

Of the things he'd been imagining, that wasn't really one of them. Part of him wants to think that someone who'd come out of anything remotely like what he had would know him for the danger that he is. But he doesn't have anyone else, either. She's his only connection to the cult, now, besides the intel in his own head, and even more, she's the only person who knows what he is and instead of seeing a monster, she says she sees herself. He wants to believe that, too.

"Oh," is what he says, a bit blank, maybe a bit lost-sounding. She's not wrong. It was a gamble. He is still a monster. Side by side with the fear is the anger, the urge to find every last one of the people who kept him and tear their throats out. So far, the fear has won, but it might not forever. He doesn't know if he'll kill innocents when he runs out of cultists, but he feels like the possibility is still there.

Then, a beat later, he asks, "What put you on to the cult to begin with?"

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