[Thanos took half the world from them. The Avengers tried to get them back, but couldn't. And now it's a matter of seeing what's left, of trying to move on or build something or start over.
But Ava lost Sana and she doesn't know how to do any of that.
So she almost doesn't come. Walks in five minutes late, almost like she's hoping that Natasha will have left, will have given up on finding out what's left of her. There's always been a darkness about her, but now it's deeper, colder, tinged with rage. Not too dissimilar from the look in Clint's eyes before he left, no doubt, although Ava hasn't quite hit that tipping point. But there's a polish to her edges that wasn't there before, her red hair cut short again and her blue eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
She can't help feeling like she should have been there. Not that she thinks Nat would have wanted her there, or that she was strong enough to make a difference in a threat of this magnitude, but it was there all the same, that sense of guilt. That she'd failed, just like with Alexi.
She slides in across from Natasha in a black leather jacket and dark jeans, fighting to keep her shoulders straight and her face neutral. To not give away the loss, the hurt. How bright the urge to lash out burns, because with Sana gone she has no direction left. Nothing left. But her voice is soft when she speaks, and she's here, and that's something, at least.]
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But Ava lost Sana and she doesn't know how to do any of that.
So she almost doesn't come. Walks in five minutes late, almost like she's hoping that Natasha will have left, will have given up on finding out what's left of her. There's always been a darkness about her, but now it's deeper, colder, tinged with rage. Not too dissimilar from the look in Clint's eyes before he left, no doubt, although Ava hasn't quite hit that tipping point. But there's a polish to her edges that wasn't there before, her red hair cut short again and her blue eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
She can't help feeling like she should have been there. Not that she thinks Nat would have wanted her there, or that she was strong enough to make a difference in a threat of this magnitude, but it was there all the same, that sense of guilt. That she'd failed, just like with Alexi.
She slides in across from Natasha in a black leather jacket and dark jeans, fighting to keep her shoulders straight and her face neutral. To not give away the loss, the hurt. How bright the urge to lash out burns, because with Sana gone she has no direction left. Nothing left. But her voice is soft when she speaks, and she's here, and that's something, at least.]
Hello, sestra.