[He doesn't dress up. To be fair, he doesn't exactly have nicer, dressier clothes here. What he's got has been primarily economical and functional, and fashion has been not at all at the forefront. When stocks are constantly changing with no consistency as to material, style, size, one takes what one can get.
So he's in nothing special. Bog standard. Couple layers of shirts, a sturdy jacket, dark pants, boots. He does his hair the same as always, so it's no fluffier or flatter than any given day.
But he's got two bottles when he gets there. One seems to be, in fact, some form of white wine. One is much more adventurous, a dark bottle of something with a text not of any Earth he knows, but which he's assured is not unlike tequila. So, something they can get experimental with if they want, or water it down with something if need be, or... There's options. Is kind of what the point is. One of these at least is definitely not strong by any definition! He's going to stop worrying about it and knock on the door.]
[Nadine has made a bit of an effort. Not exactly because of Clint, specifically, she's simply trying to put in more effort in general. There's no need to hide in shapeless, neutral tones anymore. It was something she'd done so as not to draw attention, not to 'tempt'. Which she knows is messed up, but that had been her life. Flagg had messed it up starting in her childhood.
When she opens the door she's dressed in a long blue sundress with a white flower pattern. Not anywhere near fancy, but certainly a far cry from her usual oversized sweatshirts, shapeless t-shirts, and mom jeans.]
Hey! Come on in.
[She steps aside and gestures for him to come in. At this point, her room looks like a lived in room. It's run down but spotless, with a few pots of fake flowers here and there and second hand lace curtains on the windows. There's a cheap bookcase with random books and cassette tapes, a few wooden carvings of animals, and a framed photo of a ten year old boy.
There are already pans and cooking implements out on the counter. The nicest piece of furniture is a wooden coffee table that Nadine clearly purchased herself. There's a tape player on it.]
I'm just getting started. You can set those down wherever.
[She does make him feel a little underdressed for the occasion, but in a good way. He smiles, genuine, soft.] Hey. You look nice. Seasonal. [And maybe in some ways he's overdressed, but spring is spring and likes to be temperamental. Still, after he sets the bottles down on--the table is probably better so they don't take up precious counter space, he shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it on the back of a chair.]
Brought something light, as promised, and something a little less light if we're feeling bold. And uh... [He looks around, trying not to be nosy, but, well, he's here, he's going to see what he can see. But he refocuses momentarily on the kitchen(ette) setup, rubs his hands together.] Let me know if you need a hand with anything? I'm not too shabby in the kitchen.
Thanks. I've been trying to dress less like I'm still living in an active apocalypse. It's only taken almost a year, but I think I've finally internalized I can just live a normal life here.
[Or at least a lot more normal than back home.
Nadine pulls out her battered cutting board and gives Clint a smile. It's a little strange, having someone in her room. It's been months, and even then, it had hardly been a regular occurrence. Old habits.
But it's a good kind of strange. This is what regular people do. They have dinner and hang out with friends. They visit each other. They share their lives and all of that. It's about damned time she got to.]
That would be really nice, actually. I've never cooked with another grown-up. It looks fun on TV.
[She eyes the bottles. Wine, certainly. The other...well, they'll see how it goes.]
There's some basically green beans in the fridge, if you want to get those started. And there's glasses in the top cabinet, if you want to start us off with some wine.
Oh boy, basically green beans, my favorite kind next to almost green beans.
[But he can do that. Trim off the ends, give 'em a little steam, a little saute...simple, easy, effective. He pulls the bag from the fridge and sets them aside so he can reach the glasses too.
It's not that he doesn't have a comment on the dress, or the idea of a normal life, or the idea of a normal life here. Just...all of that together suddenly feels a lot more complicated than he's sure she means. The wine smells, in fact, pretty wine-y as he pours it. More on the sweeter side than dry. He hands her a glass, not topped full, but a generous enough amount, and clinks their glasses together.]
To a normal life? Whatever that means in a place like this. [It's not the actual apocalypse. It's better than that. She's making a life where she doesn't have to constantly worry. If the choice ever came...if that choice ever does come up, wouldn't she choose to stay here?
He takes a quick drink, flashes a quick smile, busies himself with the beans.] Maybe I should try to get more fashionable when the mood strikes.
Grocery shopping has become such a strange and exciting errand here in Panorama. I don't know what half of what I come home with even is.
[Just one of the things a person got used to, living here. Nadine is consistently amazed at how relatively easily it was to adapt to entirely new circumstances. She'd seen it back home, after the plague, and she sees it here all the time.
She takes the wine with a nod of thanks and a little smile at the toast. And takes a sip of her own.
It's actually a pretty good lead in. While it's not the intention of the dinner, there are things she needs to start opening up about. Things Clint needs to know about her. Much as she'd like to just bury her past and ignore it, that's just a fantasy. At least he already knows, if even to a small degree, that there was weirdness in her past.
That makes it a little easier.]
Whatever a normal life is here, it'll still be more 'normal' than what I had. Even before the end of the world...I missed out on a lot of things.
[As she talks, she starts prepping the filet. It really does look like a nice piece of fish, she'd never have known it was made in a lab. It even smells real.]
I still try to get stuff I recognize, but needs must. Sometimes you just have to grab the purple condiment and hope it tastes kind of like ketchup.
[For example. These do seem green bean-like enough, don't have an odd smell. If they taste as good as any other bean, they'll be fine.]
Kinda goes for clothes. But I thin, the wildest you'll catch me in is an ugly Christmas sweater. We got most of the year until I bust that out again. [And that in itself is surprisingly normal. He'd been shocked to find a couple in Wanda's thrift store piles, and being what they are, they have no obligation to fit perfectly.] I promise I'm not allergic to colors.
Clint, you've seen how I dress, you'd guess my favorite color was literally any shade of brown.
[Nadine laughs, mostly at herself, shaking her head a little as she preps the fish. Arguably, neither of them could ever be termed flashy dressers.]
But different people use clothes for different reasons. Some people use them to express themselves and show the world who they are. Some people use them just for practicality. Some people use them to hide. I did. I didn't want people to notice me or pay attention to me. So I cultivated as boring a look as I could.
[Her style became a defense, protection. Ever since she was little, even before Randall came along. Her grandmother had been a fire and brimstone Catholic of the strictest order.]
Besides, let's be honest. You're a well built guy, well built guys don't really need to put in much more effort than a t-shirt and jeans to be considered well dressed.
...Was that before or after the apocalypse? [The boring look, he means. He could understand wanting less attention in the after, but for her to want to be as small and bland and frumpy as she could make herself before speaks of certain fears.] Cuz you should definitely feel like you can wear what you want now. You deserve it.
[Nadine focuses on the fish on the cutting board. The window is partially open and the sounds from the street filter in. Looking down like this, it's easy to imagine they're in any average city in the US. It's easy to feel like Before and immediately close up, shut down the conversation, move on to something meaningless.
But she ignores that instinct. It's not Before anymore. Everything is different now. Even she's different now. This isn't going to be like Larry, where she destroyed even a chance of friendship with secrecy and keeping him at an arm's length.]
It's...honestly it's a pretty weird and messed up story. And I know, you've told me that you're used to weird and messed up, but it's just usually so much easier to not talk about my past. It's the past, you know? It doesn't matter here. I can just pretend to be normal.
[It's worked well, more or less. No one knows what she is, what she's done, who she'd loved. Because sick as it makes her, she had loved Randall. A part of her still does and always will. He'd woven himself into the fabric of her being since childhood, made himself a part of her.
Even if he never showed up in this world, a part of him was with her anyhow. And if he ever did find his way here....]
Nobody really needed to know. But, uh, I think...probably you need to know. At this point. If for no reason other than there could come a time when being close to me is dangerous. Um. The kind of dangerous that involves prophecies and demons and powerful magic.
[She takes a other, larger, swallow of wine.
At least she knows he won't think she's crazy. What he will think...she doesn't want to try and speculate.]
[He does have to occasionally look down at what he's doing, but cleaning beans and ripping or cutting off stems is just busy work for his hands at this point. Mostly, he watches her with concern. The way she hesitates, the way she seems to waver between putting whatever big things are haunting her aside like they don't matter and pushing through and acknowledging it anyway.]
Well, you already told me about the messed up psychic connection you had. How, uh...empty it feels inside sometimes, without that constant companion.
[Which. That's a pretty big thing already.]
I need you to know that I'm always around the kind of people where being close to them is dangers. Hell, I'm the kind of person being close to can be dangerous. I know people who can do magic. Some of them are great teammates. Some of the magic's fucked up spooky space rocks from the dawn of reality. Demons and prophecies sounds more like the realm of the sorcerers.
Which...I guess what I'm saying is, there's nothing you can say that's gonna have me running for the hills. Okay?
Yeah, that's a big part of it. That whole...thing.
[Nadine's movements are slow as she turns the filet to season the other side, her mind working to choose her words carefully. Not out of intent to mask the truth, but simply because she's not sure how to begin. So much of this was just part of her life that she's rarely put it plainly in words before.]
But that's good to hear. That you're familiar with this level of weird and bizarre. It's not normal where I come from.
[Except for her. Clint's reassurances do make it easier. It sounds like his world is a lot more rife with the strange and supernatural than her own. At least she doesn't have to draw it out and try and lay down a bunch of context.
Best to just get it out there rather than dance around it. Like pulling off a band aid.]
I still wouldn't blame you for heading for the hills, though. So. That connection I told you about. His name was Randall, and he was...well, is...I'm not honestly entirely sure. He never said, one way or another. Most people considered him a demon and I'm pretty sure they're right. He was very powerful and came to prominence at the end of the world and is not human, even if he looks it. But whatever the forces are in my world that control things decided, before I was even born, that I was for him. I would be his queen. And he made sure I knew that when I was eleven.
[She needs to pause. As much for her own sanity as to give Clint a chance to digest this tip of the iceberg.]
...I'm assuming Randall was just like...a human name he picked for himself to fit in better. Can't have Asmodeus the Blasphemer or whatever walk around on Earth pretending like he's a normal dude who's going to...uh. I guess eventually marry someone who was a kid at the time.
[Which is many, many shades of not okay. How does someone like her have a psychic demon future-husband since she was a kid and walk the apocalypse and still end up like...her? 'Normal' isn't exactly the word to use for anyone here in this place, but if anyone fit a broader definition of it, she feels like she'd be it.]
Did you know about the end of the world, too? Or was that still a surprise to come?
[Nadine lets out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Her hands had stilled, one resting on the counter and one holding a jar of some kind of herbs. So far so good, Clint seems pretty unshaken with all of that.
It's surprising how relieved she feels.]
Randall Flagg was what he used. He had a lot of names. The Dark Man. The Walking Dude. The Devil's Imp. But he was always just Randall to me. That's what he did, though, he lived among people and pretended to be a man. At least until the end, I guess, and he started gathering followers and crowned himself king of New Vegas.
[Because of course it was Vegas. Of all the empty, big cities in the country, where else would a chaotic demon king want to make the seat of his new kingdom? Looking back now, free of his influence and with almost a year of clarity, there's something almost funny about it all. In a dark way.
She shakes her head and finishes the seasoning, collecting her thoughts as she transfers the fish to a pan.]
And...yes and no. I knew something was going to happen someday, he'd talk about 'when the world is ours' and that kind of thing. But it was always really vague and I...I think I didn't really want to know, so I never asked for details. But when it started, I knew what it was. But....
[She rakes stray hair out of her eyes, again searching for words. How to try and explain how surreal it had all been, how the idea of something and the reality of it were so different....]
He first reached out to me when I was eleven and I'd just been put into the children's home. My first night there. I was a kid. And he told me all of this. A lot of people told me a lot of things when I was a kid, and they never happened. And by the time I was thirty and still getting the same 'someday' and 'when the time is right' and it just...never felt really real until people started getting sick and he started giving me instructions.
So he picked a vulnerable little girl with nobody else to turn to and filled her head with promises of a handsome prince to rule with over a new world. Yeah, okay, that's pretty messed up of this Walking Dude. [Said with the utmost derision.] That is the least intimidating demon name. Walking Dude. There goes that dude on a walk again, I tell you what.
[Clint shakes his head. He's not dismissive of what she went through. But he wants to inject a little lightheartedness now and then. Both of them have been through some really weird shit that probably sounds deeply stupid to outsiders. He's learned to get some perspective, now and then. The things that happened weren't okay, but being able to find some humor in it helps. Sometimes.
He sets up a pot to do some steaming in, then offers to top up her glass of wine. God knows she's gonna need it more than him at this point.]
He didn't pick me. I was picked for him. I don't know why me, I don't know what's so special about me that it had to be me.
[She nods and holds out her glass, thankful for it. She hadn't planned to drink too much, but she finds she can use the bolstering it offers. Especially now, giving voice to things she's only allowed herself to contemplate carefully and vaguely.]
There were plenty of people who'd gladly take my place. People probably a lot more suited to him. But...yeah, he made me feel special. Especially when I was young and I didn't fully understand what he was. He was my secret special friend, and...the only one I had for most of my life. He pretty much was my whole life for decades.
[But she snorts at Clint's comment, clapping a hand over her mouth to stop herself out of habit. It doesn't matter. Randall can't hear her. He can't touch her. What must he think of her disappearance?]
Sorry. It's because of his boots. He wears these old, beat up cowboy boots and he walks everywhere. And as silly as it sounds, say that name in my world and people will start crossing themselves and spitting or just stop talking. He's their boogeyman. The thing that goes bump in the night, a bad dream made real. And I know all that. I'm terrified of him. He used me. But...he's also the guy who did silly impressions for me when I was sad, who promised me I'd never be alone, who once serenaded me with Neil Diamond and dances like a drunk uncle.
[She sighs as she moves the fish to the stove, joining him to make use of another burner.]
It's safe to say my current feelings are pretty complicated.
No sense in being terrible to your future bride if that's going to make things more difficult, I guess. And if you look at it from a more human perspective, it definitely feels like any other abuser. Girlfriends and wives who don't leave because they're too scared, who don't leave because oh actually he's really sweet most of the time.
Not that you had anywhere you could go. I'm just saying. It's not the most unfamiliar tactic.
[Still. It's not about other people who would want to be in her place. Someone--something, even?--that wasn't Mr. Boots Are Made For Walking decided she was some chosen special one for some reason. As a kid. Before that, even, some predetermined, predestined thing.]
If Boot Scootin' Boogie ends up here, you let me know, okay? Everything can die, and if an arrow in each eye socket doesn't do the trick, I'll figure something else out.
No, you're right. I can't count how many times I told myself I didn't have to be scared of him. I'm important to him, he needs me. And...I can see it now, because it's gone, but he was in my head. Not like he was controlling me, it wasn't like that. Just...influencing me, I think. Clouding my reasoning a little bit.
[It's difficult to put into words the way it had felt like a cloud lifting from her mind, those first few months here. Nadine's not any different, not really, without him. And even with him in there she'd made her own choices when it really mattered. But there's still a difference.]
I did try, once. To get out of it. But it didn't pan out. I figure as long as I'm here and he's not...
[A small shrug as she tends to the now-sizzling fish filet. It does, indeed, smell like natural fish.
Then the fish is forgotten, and she turns to Clint at his next words. There's a funny sort of lightheadedness that comes over her. He doesn't understand, he can't understand, just what a force he'd be dealing with. Even so. His unflinching, unhesitating promise to simply dispose of Randall sends a sudden little thrill through her.
She knows this feeling and she tries to push it away. Now isn't the time to marvel over Clint's kindness, how he makes her feel safe, how she feels so comfortable and accepted in his presence. This conversation is complicated enough without those feelings in the mix.
There's still a damp brightness in her eyes that she can't push away.]
You know something...I believe you would. But I mean it, Clint, he's incredible dangerous. Especially to you.
[Something...changes. He's not sure what it is, exactly. Maybe nobody's stood up for her like that before. Maybe it's his vehemence and certainty in taking on a whole demon. Something about the way he promises to take care of the problem, one way or another, has her looking at him in a way that quietly breaks his heart.
He quickly turns the heat off of his part of the stove so he doesn't forget about the burner entirely, but his focus is entirely on Nadine. His hands come up as easy as breathing, concern written clear on his features, along either side of her face. Fingers against her neck as they brush hair back, light, as his thumbs trace against her jaw, ghost along her cheeks.]
If that son of a bitch sets one foot in this place, he's in for a world of hurt. And I will do everything in my power to make sure he doesn't hurt you. He doesn't get to do that, not ever again. I'll even let you take the first shot at him if you want; you deserve that much.
[And he gets that it's complicated. He gets that there would be some sick comfort in the return of a presence that she spent most of her life with. But it's not happening, not on his watch.
He tries to impress that on her for a few long moments before, shyly, he pulls his hands back. He, uh. Has beans to saute. Obviously. And she's got a fish to tend to. Ahem. His attention goes first to a sip of wine and then to the food and very much no longer directly focused on her.]
'Sides, I've fought gods, ma'am. A little devil doesn't do much to scare me.
[Some part in the back of Nadine's mind notes that is this were a movie, here is the moment the music would shift and swell. They would slowly come together as the curtains blew in the breeze and the light would brighten...
It isn't a movie, though, and when he pulls back she turns away, awkwardly, clearing her throat and hoping her cheeks aren't as bright as they feel. The fish. She has to pay attention to the fish. Not an easy task with all of the emotions stirred up and working themselves into a maelstrom inside of her.
Talking about Randall had brought up more than enough. Talking about him to Clint specifically stirred up even more. Now this. She's been trying to ignore and put aside her feelings for him, but good God does he make it difficult.]
It sounds like you've got the right resume for the job.
[Oh that was corny and dumb. She flinches as she flips the fish, kicking herself mentally. This was just supposed to be a casual, friendly dinner. Here she is spilling the dark secrets of her soul and thinking about how it would probably be so nice to kiss him. That is the last thing either of them needs. She's a mess that's technically still engaged to a demon. She doesn't even know if he feels anything more than friendship.]
But...thank you. Uh. I'm sorry this all got so heavy. Maybe it's a good thing you brought some stronger stuff after all.
[It's fine. Everything's fine. Nothing has to be awkward. And it's just a friendly dinner with a friend. That's all that it is, and that's all it has to be.]
It's fine. [Everything's fine!] You needed to get it off your chest. Needed to let me know. Maybe I might not be able to do much in the end, but I have some friends who are a lot stronger and weirder than me who won't be offput by fighting demon lords from the depths of hell, so. [So Walker Vegas Ranger will have a lot to fear from the oddball pseudo-Avengers.]
'Course, I say I fought gods, it's more that the gods we know are really just aliens from other worlds with magic and powers we don't. Thor's one of my friends. Like, actual Thor, god of thunder, has a hammer only he can lift, all of that. Turns out, that whole pantheon? Royal alien family who visited Norway ages ago and left an impression.
[There we go, less heavy. No less weird, but at least less directly hefty.]
I guess I did. I've never talked about it, really. But that's why I missed out on a whole lot of things, and why I keep people at arm's length usually, and why I never really drank.
[She lifts her wineglass to emphasize the point.]
Too big a risk of saying something without thinking, or making a stupid choice.
[Nadine listens as she finishes up the filet and gets it off the stove to rest. She'd been right about one assumption - Clint's world was a whole lot weirder than hers. No wonder none of this is getting a shocked reaction, this sounds like the kind of thing he's used to.
Unexpectedly, she finds herself the one surprised with entirely unexpected revelations. Clint is friends with the Norse god of Thunder.
Who is an alien.]
Wow. And here I thought I'd be shocking you. But it sounds like 'arranged marriage to a demon with a funny name' is not even close to the weirdest thing you've ever encountered.
I'm glad you could share that. I mean that, I'm glad you feel you're in a safe enough place here that you can get all that out of you without feeling like you're either go insane or alienate all your friends.
[It means, yeah, for some people, this really is a safer place to exist. It really is safer and better and preferable to whatever they had going on before. She's got a life she's building away from the apocalypse and all of that demonic predestined bullshit.
He gives the beans a quick saute, shrugs his shoulders, considers switching his drink for something harder--no, no, not yet. They should at least finish the wine over dinner.]
Still ranks up there. I've had my mind controlled with magic, but the guy doing it wasn't exactly a demon. Bunch of evil robots accidentally made by a teammate [sorry not sorry Tony, there's no lie in that] lifted a chunk of a small eastern European country into the sky, and we had to fight in that kind of atmosphere. Been to space. Traveled in time. It's been...eventful.
[At this moment, here in her familiar motel apartment. With Clint. Nadine doesn't always feel safe, she still sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night in cold terror, but for now....]
Okay, I had no idea I was friends with a literal action hero like from the old Saturday morning shows.
[She shakes her head in wonderment as she steps away to get plates out of a cabinet on the wall. Randall was one thing. Aliens and traveling through time and entire countries being abducted by robots is on a whole other level.]
I'm sorry, going to space and time travel sound so much more intense than my deal. No wonder you've got you the skills you do.
I dunno, promised to a demon lord in cowboy boots before you were ever even born is pretty intense. Only time I ever had someone in my head was magically forking me to be his general to help try taking over New York with an alien army.
[Which is perhaps not polite conversation for a nice dinner date! Colloquial date. Date in the casual, not actually a date sense. Clint brings over the drinks and their glasses to set up, dishes out the beans.]
I promise I'm not weird or magical in any way. I'm just a guy who shoots good enough to be part of a hero team. You're just a gal who caught the attention of beings way above either of our paygrades. We don't necessarily get to choose these things sometimes.
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So he's in nothing special. Bog standard. Couple layers of shirts, a sturdy jacket, dark pants, boots. He does his hair the same as always, so it's no fluffier or flatter than any given day.
But he's got two bottles when he gets there. One seems to be, in fact, some form of white wine. One is much more adventurous, a dark bottle of something with a text not of any Earth he knows, but which he's assured is not unlike tequila. So, something they can get experimental with if they want, or water it down with something if need be, or... There's options. Is kind of what the point is. One of these at least is definitely not strong by any definition! He's going to stop worrying about it and knock on the door.]
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When she opens the door she's dressed in a long blue sundress with a white flower pattern. Not anywhere near fancy, but certainly a far cry from her usual oversized sweatshirts, shapeless t-shirts, and mom jeans.]
Hey! Come on in.
[She steps aside and gestures for him to come in. At this point, her room looks like a lived in room. It's run down but spotless, with a few pots of fake flowers here and there and second hand lace curtains on the windows. There's a cheap bookcase with random books and cassette tapes, a few wooden carvings of animals, and a framed photo of a ten year old boy.
There are already pans and cooking implements out on the counter. The nicest piece of furniture is a wooden coffee table that Nadine clearly purchased herself. There's a tape player on it.]
I'm just getting started. You can set those down wherever.
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Brought something light, as promised, and something a little less light if we're feeling bold. And uh... [He looks around, trying not to be nosy, but, well, he's here, he's going to see what he can see. But he refocuses momentarily on the kitchen(ette) setup, rubs his hands together.] Let me know if you need a hand with anything? I'm not too shabby in the kitchen.
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[Or at least a lot more normal than back home.
Nadine pulls out her battered cutting board and gives Clint a smile. It's a little strange, having someone in her room. It's been months, and even then, it had hardly been a regular occurrence. Old habits.
But it's a good kind of strange. This is what regular people do. They have dinner and hang out with friends. They visit each other. They share their lives and all of that. It's about damned time she got to.]
That would be really nice, actually. I've never cooked with another grown-up. It looks fun on TV.
[She eyes the bottles. Wine, certainly. The other...well, they'll see how it goes.]
There's some basically green beans in the fridge, if you want to get those started. And there's glasses in the top cabinet, if you want to start us off with some wine.
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[But he can do that. Trim off the ends, give 'em a little steam, a little saute...simple, easy, effective. He pulls the bag from the fridge and sets them aside so he can reach the glasses too.
It's not that he doesn't have a comment on the dress, or the idea of a normal life, or the idea of a normal life here. Just...all of that together suddenly feels a lot more complicated than he's sure she means. The wine smells, in fact, pretty wine-y as he pours it. More on the sweeter side than dry. He hands her a glass, not topped full, but a generous enough amount, and clinks their glasses together.]
To a normal life? Whatever that means in a place like this. [It's not the actual apocalypse. It's better than that. She's making a life where she doesn't have to constantly worry. If the choice ever came...if that choice ever does come up, wouldn't she choose to stay here?
He takes a quick drink, flashes a quick smile, busies himself with the beans.] Maybe I should try to get more fashionable when the mood strikes.
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[Just one of the things a person got used to, living here. Nadine is consistently amazed at how relatively easily it was to adapt to entirely new circumstances. She'd seen it back home, after the plague, and she sees it here all the time.
She takes the wine with a nod of thanks and a little smile at the toast. And takes a sip of her own.
It's actually a pretty good lead in. While it's not the intention of the dinner, there are things she needs to start opening up about. Things Clint needs to know about her. Much as she'd like to just bury her past and ignore it, that's just a fantasy. At least he already knows, if even to a small degree, that there was weirdness in her past.
That makes it a little easier.]
Whatever a normal life is here, it'll still be more 'normal' than what I had. Even before the end of the world...I missed out on a lot of things.
[As she talks, she starts prepping the filet. It really does look like a nice piece of fish, she'd never have known it was made in a lab. It even smells real.]
And for what it's worth...I think you dress nice.
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[For example. These do seem green bean-like enough, don't have an odd smell. If they taste as good as any other bean, they'll be fine.]
Kinda goes for clothes. But I thin, the wildest you'll catch me in is an ugly Christmas sweater. We got most of the year until I bust that out again. [And that in itself is surprisingly normal. He'd been shocked to find a couple in Wanda's thrift store piles, and being what they are, they have no obligation to fit perfectly.] I promise I'm not allergic to colors.
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[Nadine laughs, mostly at herself, shaking her head a little as she preps the fish. Arguably, neither of them could ever be termed flashy dressers.]
But different people use clothes for different reasons. Some people use them to express themselves and show the world who they are. Some people use them just for practicality. Some people use them to hide. I did. I didn't want people to notice me or pay attention to me. So I cultivated as boring a look as I could.
[Her style became a defense, protection. Ever since she was little, even before Randall came along. Her grandmother had been a fire and brimstone Catholic of the strictest order.]
Besides, let's be honest. You're a well built guy, well built guys don't really need to put in much more effort than a t-shirt and jeans to be considered well dressed.
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[Nadine focuses on the fish on the cutting board. The window is partially open and the sounds from the street filter in. Looking down like this, it's easy to imagine they're in any average city in the US. It's easy to feel like Before and immediately close up, shut down the conversation, move on to something meaningless.
But she ignores that instinct. It's not Before anymore. Everything is different now. Even she's different now. This isn't going to be like Larry, where she destroyed even a chance of friendship with secrecy and keeping him at an arm's length.]
It's...honestly it's a pretty weird and messed up story. And I know, you've told me that you're used to weird and messed up, but it's just usually so much easier to not talk about my past. It's the past, you know? It doesn't matter here. I can just pretend to be normal.
[It's worked well, more or less. No one knows what she is, what she's done, who she'd loved. Because sick as it makes her, she had loved Randall. A part of her still does and always will. He'd woven himself into the fabric of her being since childhood, made himself a part of her.
Even if he never showed up in this world, a part of him was with her anyhow. And if he ever did find his way here....]
Nobody really needed to know. But, uh, I think...probably you need to know. At this point. If for no reason other than there could come a time when being close to me is dangerous. Um. The kind of dangerous that involves prophecies and demons and powerful magic.
[She takes a other, larger, swallow of wine.
At least she knows he won't think she's crazy. What he will think...she doesn't want to try and speculate.]
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Well, you already told me about the messed up psychic connection you had. How, uh...empty it feels inside sometimes, without that constant companion.
[Which. That's a pretty big thing already.]
I need you to know that I'm always around the kind of people where being close to them is dangers. Hell, I'm the kind of person being close to can be dangerous. I know people who can do magic. Some of them are great teammates. Some of the magic's fucked up spooky space rocks from the dawn of reality. Demons and prophecies sounds more like the realm of the sorcerers.
Which...I guess what I'm saying is, there's nothing you can say that's gonna have me running for the hills. Okay?
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[Nadine's movements are slow as she turns the filet to season the other side, her mind working to choose her words carefully. Not out of intent to mask the truth, but simply because she's not sure how to begin. So much of this was just part of her life that she's rarely put it plainly in words before.]
But that's good to hear. That you're familiar with this level of weird and bizarre. It's not normal where I come from.
[Except for her. Clint's reassurances do make it easier. It sounds like his world is a lot more rife with the strange and supernatural than her own. At least she doesn't have to draw it out and try and lay down a bunch of context.
Best to just get it out there rather than dance around it. Like pulling off a band aid.]
I still wouldn't blame you for heading for the hills, though. So. That connection I told you about. His name was Randall, and he was...well, is...I'm not honestly entirely sure. He never said, one way or another. Most people considered him a demon and I'm pretty sure they're right. He was very powerful and came to prominence at the end of the world and is not human, even if he looks it. But whatever the forces are in my world that control things decided, before I was even born, that I was for him. I would be his queen. And he made sure I knew that when I was eleven.
[She needs to pause. As much for her own sanity as to give Clint a chance to digest this tip of the iceberg.]
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[Which is many, many shades of not okay. How does someone like her have a psychic demon future-husband since she was a kid and walk the apocalypse and still end up like...her? 'Normal' isn't exactly the word to use for anyone here in this place, but if anyone fit a broader definition of it, she feels like she'd be it.]
Did you know about the end of the world, too? Or was that still a surprise to come?
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It's surprising how relieved she feels.]
Randall Flagg was what he used. He had a lot of names. The Dark Man. The Walking Dude. The Devil's Imp. But he was always just Randall to me. That's what he did, though, he lived among people and pretended to be a man. At least until the end, I guess, and he started gathering followers and crowned himself king of New Vegas.
[Because of course it was Vegas. Of all the empty, big cities in the country, where else would a chaotic demon king want to make the seat of his new kingdom? Looking back now, free of his influence and with almost a year of clarity, there's something almost funny about it all. In a dark way.
She shakes her head and finishes the seasoning, collecting her thoughts as she transfers the fish to a pan.]
And...yes and no. I knew something was going to happen someday, he'd talk about 'when the world is ours' and that kind of thing. But it was always really vague and I...I think I didn't really want to know, so I never asked for details. But when it started, I knew what it was. But....
[She rakes stray hair out of her eyes, again searching for words. How to try and explain how surreal it had all been, how the idea of something and the reality of it were so different....]
He first reached out to me when I was eleven and I'd just been put into the children's home. My first night there. I was a kid. And he told me all of this. A lot of people told me a lot of things when I was a kid, and they never happened. And by the time I was thirty and still getting the same 'someday' and 'when the time is right' and it just...never felt really real until people started getting sick and he started giving me instructions.
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[Clint shakes his head. He's not dismissive of what she went through. But he wants to inject a little lightheartedness now and then. Both of them have been through some really weird shit that probably sounds deeply stupid to outsiders. He's learned to get some perspective, now and then. The things that happened weren't okay, but being able to find some humor in it helps. Sometimes.
He sets up a pot to do some steaming in, then offers to top up her glass of wine. God knows she's gonna need it more than him at this point.]
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He didn't pick me. I was picked for him. I don't know why me, I don't know what's so special about me that it had to be me.
[She nods and holds out her glass, thankful for it. She hadn't planned to drink too much, but she finds she can use the bolstering it offers. Especially now, giving voice to things she's only allowed herself to contemplate carefully and vaguely.]
There were plenty of people who'd gladly take my place. People probably a lot more suited to him. But...yeah, he made me feel special. Especially when I was young and I didn't fully understand what he was. He was my secret special friend, and...the only one I had for most of my life. He pretty much was my whole life for decades.
[But she snorts at Clint's comment, clapping a hand over her mouth to stop herself out of habit. It doesn't matter. Randall can't hear her. He can't touch her. What must he think of her disappearance?]
Sorry. It's because of his boots. He wears these old, beat up cowboy boots and he walks everywhere. And as silly as it sounds, say that name in my world and people will start crossing themselves and spitting or just stop talking. He's their boogeyman. The thing that goes bump in the night, a bad dream made real. And I know all that. I'm terrified of him. He used me. But...he's also the guy who did silly impressions for me when I was sad, who promised me I'd never be alone, who once serenaded me with Neil Diamond and dances like a drunk uncle.
[She sighs as she moves the fish to the stove, joining him to make use of another burner.]
It's safe to say my current feelings are pretty complicated.
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Not that you had anywhere you could go. I'm just saying. It's not the most unfamiliar tactic.
[Still. It's not about other people who would want to be in her place. Someone--something, even?--that wasn't Mr. Boots Are Made For Walking decided she was some chosen special one for some reason. As a kid. Before that, even, some predetermined, predestined thing.]
If Boot Scootin' Boogie ends up here, you let me know, okay? Everything can die, and if an arrow in each eye socket doesn't do the trick, I'll figure something else out.
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[It's difficult to put into words the way it had felt like a cloud lifting from her mind, those first few months here. Nadine's not any different, not really, without him. And even with him in there she'd made her own choices when it really mattered. But there's still a difference.]
I did try, once. To get out of it. But it didn't pan out. I figure as long as I'm here and he's not...
[A small shrug as she tends to the now-sizzling fish filet. It does, indeed, smell like natural fish.
Then the fish is forgotten, and she turns to Clint at his next words. There's a funny sort of lightheadedness that comes over her. He doesn't understand, he can't understand, just what a force he'd be dealing with. Even so. His unflinching, unhesitating promise to simply dispose of Randall sends a sudden little thrill through her.
She knows this feeling and she tries to push it away. Now isn't the time to marvel over Clint's kindness, how he makes her feel safe, how she feels so comfortable and accepted in his presence. This conversation is complicated enough without those feelings in the mix.
There's still a damp brightness in her eyes that she can't push away.]
You know something...I believe you would. But I mean it, Clint, he's incredible dangerous. Especially to you.
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He quickly turns the heat off of his part of the stove so he doesn't forget about the burner entirely, but his focus is entirely on Nadine. His hands come up as easy as breathing, concern written clear on his features, along either side of her face. Fingers against her neck as they brush hair back, light, as his thumbs trace against her jaw, ghost along her cheeks.]
If that son of a bitch sets one foot in this place, he's in for a world of hurt. And I will do everything in my power to make sure he doesn't hurt you. He doesn't get to do that, not ever again. I'll even let you take the first shot at him if you want; you deserve that much.
[And he gets that it's complicated. He gets that there would be some sick comfort in the return of a presence that she spent most of her life with. But it's not happening, not on his watch.
He tries to impress that on her for a few long moments before, shyly, he pulls his hands back. He, uh. Has beans to saute. Obviously. And she's got a fish to tend to. Ahem. His attention goes first to a sip of wine and then to the food and very much no longer directly focused on her.]
'Sides, I've fought gods, ma'am. A little devil doesn't do much to scare me.
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It isn't a movie, though, and when he pulls back she turns away, awkwardly, clearing her throat and hoping her cheeks aren't as bright as they feel. The fish. She has to pay attention to the fish. Not an easy task with all of the emotions stirred up and working themselves into a maelstrom inside of her.
Talking about Randall had brought up more than enough. Talking about him to Clint specifically stirred up even more. Now this. She's been trying to ignore and put aside her feelings for him, but good God does he make it difficult.]
It sounds like you've got the right resume for the job.
[Oh that was corny and dumb. She flinches as she flips the fish, kicking herself mentally. This was just supposed to be a casual, friendly dinner. Here she is spilling the dark secrets of her soul and thinking about how it would probably be so nice to kiss him. That is the last thing either of them needs. She's a mess that's technically still engaged to a demon. She doesn't even know if he feels anything more than friendship.]
But...thank you. Uh. I'm sorry this all got so heavy. Maybe it's a good thing you brought some stronger stuff after all.
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It's fine. [Everything's fine!] You needed to get it off your chest. Needed to let me know. Maybe I might not be able to do much in the end, but I have some friends who are a lot stronger and weirder than me who won't be offput by fighting demon lords from the depths of hell, so. [So Walker Vegas Ranger will have a lot to fear from the oddball pseudo-Avengers.]
'Course, I say I fought gods, it's more that the gods we know are really just aliens from other worlds with magic and powers we don't. Thor's one of my friends. Like, actual Thor, god of thunder, has a hammer only he can lift, all of that. Turns out, that whole pantheon? Royal alien family who visited Norway ages ago and left an impression.
[There we go, less heavy. No less weird, but at least less directly hefty.]
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[She lifts her wineglass to emphasize the point.]
Too big a risk of saying something without thinking, or making a stupid choice.
[Nadine listens as she finishes up the filet and gets it off the stove to rest. She'd been right about one assumption - Clint's world was a whole lot weirder than hers. No wonder none of this is getting a shocked reaction, this sounds like the kind of thing he's used to.
Unexpectedly, she finds herself the one surprised with entirely unexpected revelations. Clint is friends with the Norse god of Thunder.
Who is an alien.]
Wow. And here I thought I'd be shocking you. But it sounds like 'arranged marriage to a demon with a funny name' is not even close to the weirdest thing you've ever encountered.
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[It means, yeah, for some people, this really is a safer place to exist. It really is safer and better and preferable to whatever they had going on before. She's got a life she's building away from the apocalypse and all of that demonic predestined bullshit.
He gives the beans a quick saute, shrugs his shoulders, considers switching his drink for something harder--no, no, not yet. They should at least finish the wine over dinner.]
Still ranks up there. I've had my mind controlled with magic, but the guy doing it wasn't exactly a demon. Bunch of evil robots accidentally made by a teammate [sorry not sorry Tony, there's no lie in that] lifted a chunk of a small eastern European country into the sky, and we had to fight in that kind of atmosphere. Been to space. Traveled in time. It's been...eventful.
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[At this moment, here in her familiar motel apartment. With Clint. Nadine doesn't always feel safe, she still sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night in cold terror, but for now....]
Okay, I had no idea I was friends with a literal action hero like from the old Saturday morning shows.
[She shakes her head in wonderment as she steps away to get plates out of a cabinet on the wall. Randall was one thing. Aliens and traveling through time and entire countries being abducted by robots is on a whole other level.]
I'm sorry, going to space and time travel sound so much more intense than my deal. No wonder you've got you the skills you do.
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[Which is perhaps not polite conversation for a nice dinner date! Colloquial date. Date in the casual, not actually a date sense. Clint brings over the drinks and their glasses to set up, dishes out the beans.]
I promise I'm not weird or magical in any way. I'm just a guy who shoots good enough to be part of a hero team. You're just a gal who caught the attention of beings way above either of our paygrades. We don't necessarily get to choose these things sometimes.