"AI can make art without human interaction because at the end of the day, it does exactly what humans do with art - break each new piece of art down to the quantifiable basis vectors that you've implicitly constructed about 'art in general' and then faithfully reproduce a new observation of that 'art in general' by smoothly interpolating between observed instantiations of those basis vectors.

You know, like how humans do"

Into Infinity

In the months after the events of “Civil War”, Natasha and Steve face the future together.

[Oneshot (so far) <1,500 words  |  Rated G  |  Angst, established Romance (Steve x Nat)]  |  Optional companion piece to "Refuge" (Part One) (Part Two).

---

Her blond hair fell in waves in front of her face from what had been a tight bun at the back of her head.  Natasha shuffled up the steps to the massive archways, then dodged behind a chattering family of tourists as she stepped into the heavily surveilled lobby of the museum.  Passing a cluster of ceiling cameras she pretended to fiddle with the controls on her earphones to shield her face, before strolling into a side room and stopping to feign interest in a painting. She found him sitting in one of the sculpture galleries, his frame filling out a long bulky coat and his overgrown dark hair peeking out from under a baseball cap.  Smiling, she remembered how he had originally chafed against his instinct to remove his hat inside a building.   His head was ducked low over what she realized, soundlessly stepping closer, was one of his sketchpads.  He was sketching a sculpture a few paces in front of him, a centuries-old composition in marble and classical Greek. “Class end early?”  Steve didn’t even look up from where he was carefully filling in a shadow. One of these days, she promised herself, she’d be able to sneak up on him again.  “Faye had to go pick up her kid at school.” “She should’ve made you take over.” “Oh, I’m pretty bad even for a beginner.  Take your time, though, I can look around for a while,” she added as he flipped the sketchbook shut.   Skylight sunshine brought out the blue in his eyes as he shrugged, already shoving his sketchbook and pencils into his bag.  “I could use a snack anyway.” “You already are a snack,” she couldn’t resist pointing out, as he offered her his arm. “Oh is that what the kids are saying these days?”  He grinned back. She threw her hands up in mock frustration.  “I really don’t know what my classmates are saying half the time.” He steered her out into the corridor.  “Now you know how I feel.” He pretended to get confused halfway through the museum in entirely the wrong direction, and she pretended not to know better.  She was enjoying herself too much, her arm slipped companionably through his as they ambled among the displays.  He kept stopping and she obliged him patiently, watching without a word as his eyes lit up from one exhibit to another. “You’re really maxing out your stealth lessons today, you know that?” she murmured as they sipped coffee at a sun-dappled outdoor table at a kiosk outside the museum.  “There’s only so much a baseball cap can do.” He smiled ruefully.  “Sorry, Nat.  You know I can’t resist this kind of place.” She knew.  She grinned forgiveness at him over the rim of her cup. “I’ve been thinking about going back to school.”  His tone was wistful even as his eyes tracked restlessly across passersby, the soldier watchful out of habit.  “You know I never went to college?  It wasn’t much of a thing in my time.” “What, in this economy?” she joked.  She knew he wasn’t serious, couldn’t be serious, and the reasons saddened her: He was too big, too odd, would draw too much attention.  He’d need documents.  He met her smile for bittersweet smile.  “Not even Fury would agree to pay for student loans,” she quipped, resisting the urge to chase away the resignation in his face with a touch of her hand. “We could sell the quinjet.”  He let her sugar packet hit him in the face and chuckled.  “Craigslist.  No one would have to know.” “I’ll cash in some dividends from Wakanda,” she deadpanned.  “Give you a real low interest rate.  Just ‘cause we’re friends.” His impulsive, gentle kiss kindled sparks in her belly, reassured her they were far more than just friends.  She savored the secondhand taste of unsweetened coffee on his lips and the subtle scratch of his beard against her cheek. She bought herself a slice of cake.  It was stone-cold from the display and the marshmallow frosting had dried up a little on the edges, but she wanted an excuse not to go home yet.  Sure enough, as she sat back down at the table, she saw Steve had taken out his sketchpad again, darting appraising glances up at the museum building across the way.  He liked drawing architecture, she’d noticed. Taking small bites of her cake she watched him work in silence, quickly filling a new blank page with bold strokes for the sharp angles of walls and roof, outlining finials and cornices in smaller, more precise movements.  Most of the Avengers didn't even know about Captain America’s art school background.  She’d only found out because she’d made an effort to, back when Fury first assigned them together; she couldn’t very well put her life into the hands of a stranger, she’d reasoned—not even a stranger who was also a legend.  And even after he found out that she knew, it had taken him a long time to stop trying to hide his sketching from her.  Not out of shame or embarrassment, as she had first guessed, but because it was so intensely personal to him.   Even now she pretended to be looking somewhere else, only watching out the corner of her eye as he carefully shaded in brick and ivy on the page.  He probably already knew she was looking anyway, she told herself.  She remembered his old photograph from the Smithsonian and tried to picture him scrawny and small, sketching the Chrysler Building maybe, or St. Patrick’s Cathedral. “You could just take classes,” she offered later, as they detoured along the river on their unhurried walk home.  “What would you major in, anyway, if you could?”   He smiled at the thought.  “I dunno.  Maybe history.  Or art history.” “Who knew Captain America was such a huge nerd.”  She smirked up at the mix of annoyance and amusement in his face.  Then, sombering, she squinted into the sunset.  “I could teach dance.” “You could.  Then you could be a soloist.  And I’d come watch all your shows.”  He squeezed her shoulders.  “I’d bring you bouquets backstage and all that.” His tone had lost its edge, grown fond and pensive.  She looked away, something clenching in her chest.  She forced a laugh.  “The other girls would probably kill me out of jealousy.” “I thought that only happened in movies.”  Chuckling, he folded his hand over hers, their fingers entwining. She drank in the golden wash of light over his face, the unfocused look in his eyes as he took in the skyline across the water, where windows and signs were already blinking to life ahead of nightfall.  In this city they were Mike and Nadine, dating for months now having met online, a gym buff and a beginner ballet hobbyist.  Now considering enrolment in art history and certification for the Cecchetti method, respectively.  Dreaming for a future Steve and Natasha could never have. Nat had taught at the Avengers facility, too, and at SHIELD before that.  Subjects a little more dangerous than ballet, a syllabus a little less structured.  She smiled at the memory of cavernous training rooms, of form drills escalating into sparring matches.  She had enjoyed the feel of a place for herself then, sheltered willingly in her new and strangely public identity as Agent Romanoff, member of something or other, part of a larger, well-oiled machine.  But these days, the dust only just beginning to settle from the Sokovia Accords, the unfamiliar sense of freedom—and anonymity—was not unwelcome.   “You should look up schools online,” she suggested doggedly, letting Steve wrap his arm around her shoulders against the evening wind.  She burrowed into the warmth under his chin, wound her arm around his waist.  “Even Harvard livestreams courses now.” She felt more than heard his grunt of acknowledgment.  He’d already left the topic behind.  Behind them the streetlamps along the boardwalk winked on, one after another in the settling gloom.  A couple strolled past, with five dogs straining at their leashes. “You heard back yet?” He was sharp and focused again.  She stifled a sigh. “I told Sam oh-two-hundred.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her hair, as if to apologize for his abrupt change in mood.  “Then we got all the time in the world.”

fin

birthday blues | 2019l

      “Sometimes memories sneak out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks.”

May 9th, 2019

Greensville, North Carolina

                                                                                                        Infinity is twenty-four.

____________________________________________________________________________________

                                                   chronologically after this

__________________________________________________________________________________

Keep walking, Infinity.

It was almost as though the devil himself was after him. He supposed it was close. What in the hell was he thinking?

As he realised he’d wandered further than he’d meant to—almost to the town’s border now..he found himself come to a gradual stop. How on earth had he gotten this far? How had he walked all this way and not been aware of it? How had his heart locked itself behind so many layers of steel that having this card in his pocket felt like an anchor dragging him down to sea?

The card..

He pulled it from his pocket, the envelope crumpled now. Still, his name rang true on the front “Fin.” His brother had, in his life called him by a variety of names, but Fin has been the one he’d chosen for himself. Infinity was a pretty awful name—Infinity Fox even worse..but Fin.. that was okay. When he told people he was called ‘Fin’ they never assumed it was with one ‘N’. That would make it obvious it was short for something. No. Fin worked the best..but even that had been a transition for his family and his mother had never gotten onboard with that particularly. She to that day still stubbornly called him by his full name, and paired that with his middle name when she was pissed. Guess he had to have gotten that particular genetic gift from somewhere.

That’s not where you got it from..

He really hated that stupid voice in his head.

It was true though. It would probably be difficult for Greensvillians who had only known them since the end of January to see, but to his mother, to (he begrudgingly supposed) their asshole of a sperm donor, to everyone they’d known all their lives back in Florida, many of the middle Waters child’s characteristics could be traced back to his brother. To the man who had raised him when he’d been a child himself. To the child who had changed his diapers, the boy who would sit by his crib, stubborn as an ox until his brother fell asleep and held his hands as he mastered walking. To the preteen who got him ready for school every morning when he had whined and cried that he wanted to stay in bed. The boy who, when he should have been just on the cusp of becoming a high schooler was failing classes so he could catch up on what he needed to to make sure Fin’s education was uninterrupted. To the teenager who had lost himself in the toxic mix of trying to do his best to keep his brother safe, while having nothing really in his reach to help. Who moved from stealing lucky charms and cold medicine to cars just so he could add some money to his family’s pot.

Every part of Fin that he allowed people to see: his stubbornness, his sarcasm, his wit, his quick thinking, his ease in adapting, his capacity to be a rude asshole..they were all Indie. He had seen the ugly side of his brother and emulated it..but then there was the other side too.

His care for people, his unwavering generosity, his carnal need to protect the ones he loved furiously, and his sweet heart..they’d all come from his brother too—albeit probably with a little of his mother too. Many of the things Fin caught himself doing were just variations of things his brother had done years before. All those nights where he’d stayed up to talk to Abbie when she’d been having a hard time coping with her own demons when it was his only day off ‘work’ when he could actually sleep through the night… Indie, staying diligently at his side when he got chickenpox and catching them himself. Staying at the foot of her bed all night with a baseball bat on nights she couldn’t sleep for fear of things that went bump in the night…Indie, pulling back his covers when Fin was a child and grumbling that they weren’t called ‘bad dreams’ that they were ‘nightmares’ but letting his wriggly, cold feet ridden sibling cuddle up next to him anyway. His surprise at himself when Ocean had gotten sick that time and his instinct (once Indiana had arrived) was to take care of him, to protect him..him limp in Indie’s arms as the eldest Waters ran as fast as his legs would carry him the fifteen blocks to the hospital after he was attacked by a dog..the remorse he felt for things he had done…

No. Don’t go there, Fin.

Everything in him wanted to turn around and go back..he’d be..he’d have left the park by then..surely.. he wouldn’t be waiting in case his brother came back…he..

Stop. Go back.

He was trying. Every part of him wanted to be able to let it go but something in him flashed red like a stop sign made out of neon lights. No. Not a stop sign. A sign that flashed one word.

…remember.

……remember.

……..REMEMBER.

If he could’ve, he’d have screamed in frustration. Let out a load of expletives and cursed the world that had done this to him. But he had to take responsibility for his own shit. And he knew some of it was his fault. Most of it, actually. This rage monster he’d been raising all these years was the culprit. His own anger, his own pain, his own disgust at himself for letting it go on for so long. It felt like his swan song.

Would they ever get back? At this point he wasn’t sure. It had been so long since the two brothers had shared a genuine moment of kindness, and the one they’d just encountered had knocked him back onto his ass.

You hate him.

No, I don’t..

He could no more hate Indie than he could sprout wings and fly (a super power he had long wished for coincidentally). Hating his brother would be hating a part of himself.  He had been born to be his mother’s son, and he had been born to be Indie’s brother. Of that, he was certain. But then how could he let things go this far?

The day that Indiana tried to convince Fin that he had slept with his girlfriend, Fin at first had laughed him off. Confident at first, but that laughter began to falter. He really was persistent. The more times he had to tell Fin, the less patient his tone was. Something more angry had grown. Frustration perhaps. He had, after all been trying to convince him since the relationship had first began that she was unfaithful-

You’re justifying what he did?

No!

He couldn’t. He could never. He knew there would always be a part of him, no matter what the future held that would always never really understand what possessed his brother to do it. He must’ve known. He had to have known. Fin’s body shook. The unwelcome image—the one he’d been faced with when his brother told him in egregious detail of the birth mark on the inside of Ashley’s inner thigh. The birth mark nobody but him should’ve seen. The image of his girlfriend and his brother-

   No.

When had it gotten cold? His body shivered as though there was a chill in the night, but as he looked up the sky was clear. It was the spring, heading into the summer. The days were getting longer and although the sun was beginning to set, it was still light-ish outside. Another year of birthdays done, and he still hadn’t opened his card.

 Fin.

His brother had underlined his name. If he thought hard enough he’d remember past birthdays. Cards every year filled with the sentiment of the season. This year he’d gotten less of course, but that was what he wanted. He hadn’t bothered telling Abbie about his growing another year older. It wasn’t of importance. He’d gotten cards from his mother and from Ocean along with a small few presents; with Bonita promising that at the weekend they’d have a special dinner complete with a cake. She’d had a long shift today while Ocean went to before and after school club. It was a set up he and his older brother had dealt with plenty in their own youth, and he knew it well.

Stop stalling.

His finger slipped underneath the envelope’s lip and he ripped along the seam. He didn’t pay the front of the card much mind, instead pulling out the card. The envelope still felt heavy, but he supposed he’s get to that later. Maybe it was picture of Indie flipping him the bird.  

                                                   Dear Finny,

                                               Happy birthday.

                                                 Love, Indie.

His hands were shaking..when did his hands start shaking? He hadn’t been aware of it but it had to have begun sometime he supposed. Those words..that nickname.

                 Finny. 

How long had it been since he’d been called that? Bonita never had, Ocean he figured probably didn’t know, and Jaxon..well, the less said about him the better.

Finny had been Indie exclusive. A name he’d been given while he was still an infant, when Indie had been unable to pronounce ‘Infinity’ which, he supposed was fair enough.

FinnyFinnyFinny..

How many times had he been called that in his life? He wouldn’t be able to count if he tried. Thousands, perhaps. Even once he grew old enough to have full command of the English language, Indiana had still regularly reverted to calling his baby brother Finny. It was a term of endearment. It was his name. A secret thing that was just for them. He had always loved that name. He still did, even though he was far too big for it. Memories of it being called out to him, of it being half laughed as he held onto the merry-go-round and ran as fast as he could as Indie finally conceded and allowed him to do the pushing for once. Memories of it being used to scold him when he poured the last portion of lucky charms they had into the bathroom sink along with Jaxon’s shaving cream, water and a whole host of other things he shouldn’t have had access to…

“It’s okay, Finny. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

No. No, no, no.

“Indie, I’m so cold..”

No.

He was not going there.

He envelope felt as heavy as the lump in his throat. Clearing it as though it would make it go away, he put the card down on top of the trash can that was a few steps away, his phone atop of it to stop it flying away and turned the envelope over. Two green watch shaped objects fell into his hand, to his confusion. He dug in the envelope and pulled out the next sheet of paper, and immediately felt tears pool in his eyes.

That asshole.

Oh Indie..

Three passes to the happiest place on earth. The memories of Kissimmee, unwelcome as they had been in every other situation (that day was a memory he repressed with every fibre of his being)..suddenly engulfed him like a warm hug. He remembered. He’d kept his promise.

He was vaguely aware of tears coursing down his cheeks, the dam of emotion broken now as his eyes scanned the page over and over again. Words jumped out, words that he could read but held no meaning. Only one word has meaning and it was a name. The name of one of the two people he desperately wanted to go with him..but couldn’t. Not because of prior engagements…because of Fin’s own pigheadedness.

He wouldn’t want to go anyway.

His frustration got the better of him. Now conscious of the tears that were propelling themselves from him like lemmings, he turned and in his frustration, kicked the trash can as hard as he could with a frustrated yell of ‘Fuck!’ His phone and the card now safely back where they belonged, he placed his belongings on the bench where he collapsed into sitting, before leaning forward and burying his face in his hands. Body wracked with sobs, and in the sure and certain knowledge nobody would see him, be broke down in agonising tears, heart finally catching up to the torment it had been through in the last seven years.

Go talk to him..

I can’t.

Didn’t he get it? Why did he keep thinking that? Didn’t he already know the obvious? Indiana didn’t want to be around him for any longer than he needed to. Clearly he’d meant this as a gift really for Ocean. He must’ve figured Fin would take him, and perhaps he would. Indiana..for all that he denied it..he hated Fin.

He actually came close to how much Fin hated himself. He wasn’t quite there but damn if he wasn’t close.

No. He couldn’t go see him. He needed to go somewhere that he could just be. Lifting his head, he was blissfully unaware that his eyes were now bright red. He knew where he had to go. He rose to his feet and walked with purpose as fast as he could back the way he came. Back toward town. Back toward one specific house whose street he had been teasingly quizzed on more than once. What time was it? He hoped she was already done with dinner. The last thing he wanted was for her parents to hate him. To think he was rude. For her to think those things. He froze midway up the path. She..she wouldn’t think those things..right?

He shook himself. That was dumb. He knew himself. He knew his capacity for trust was low…but he trusted Abbie.

With that thought, he scrubbed at his eyes and nose with his sleeve and knocked on the door, card in his hand still. Then he waited.

                                                                            Remember.

                                                                                       Remember.

                                                                                                     Remember.

Cinderella | Part 15

Prompt: Fairy tale AU

Summary: When your father marries another woman, she brings not only two evil stepsisters into the house, but turns you into a maid. Working hard day for day your only hope is the princes ball, where he will pick his future wife. But will you be able to flee from the claws of your family?

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: nothing I can think of so far

Pairing: Steve x reader

A/N: This is for @ruckystarnes writing challenge.

I just realized that I had a typo in my summary the whole time *-* Also, have you guys seen Infinity War yet? I love this movie so much! :D

Tags are open! Only through asks! Please consider leaving feedback or suggestions for the further plot :)

Series Masterlist

You were still held captive in the basement, provided with lots of difficult and senseless tasks to keep your hands moving and your back aching. 

Today was the day the last ball would take place. You couldn’t decide if you should feel relieved that everything was over and your life would go back to “normal” or if you should feel even more frustrated.

You chose to ignore the uneasy feeling in your stomach and focused on your work instead. Although things had ended horribly, you were still grateful for the time you had spend dancing and chatting with the prince. 

Not every girl got a chance to do this. Your mother would be proud of you.

Altogether your plan to rebel against your stepmother and her cruel behaviour hadn’t worked out, but you had managed to sneak out off the house more than once and had made a great friend.

Wanda.

You hoped that she wouldn’t think that you ditched her. You would never do that, but disappearing without any explanation had to appear odd.

Suddenly the door opened and your stepmother rushed into the room. She had visited you frequently after she had given you work to do, to check if you were doing everything how she wanted it to be. 

But this time something was different about her behaviour. She seemed to be stressed, because a deep frown was covering her face and her breath was hitching in her throat.

Curious you moved towards her to get a clearer view on her face.

“I nearly finished”, you mumbled carefully, but your stepmother only shook her head. “That doesn’t matter now”, she stated and dragged you outside of the room by your arm.

You could hear a group of muffled voices outside of the house and for a second you thought about screaming, but then you decided against it.

You didn’t even know, who was in front of this door and you couldn’t dare to cause any more trouble.

“What is going on?”, you whispered in confusion, but your stepmother didn’t answer you. 

She shoved you through the back door and towards the dovecote you had already forgot existed.

Your stepmother opened the little door and pushed you inside, but you held onto the doorframe.

You needed to know what was going on.

While your stepmother was trying to push you inside with more force, you caught a glimpse of the royal flag.

For the split of a second you wondered what they were doing here, but then you suddenly felt a wave of hope rushing through you.

They were here for you. Steve was here for you.

“Hey”, you screamed at the top of your lungs, but it was already too late.

Your stepmother had used the moment of distraction to push you inside, gagging you with a wet cloth. 

You tried to fight her, but she had yanked your arm in a painful grip, which made it impossible for you to resist her.

Then she tied your hands as well as your feet with a rope. 

The material was so firm that you could already feel bruises forming on your skin.

Your stepmother took a step back to admire her work, then held her finger in front of her mouth.

“Ssschh”, she whispered and the sound send shivers down your neck.

The door closed and the last rays of light vanished, leaving you alone in the darkness.

You spend the first minutes trying to figure out a plan to free yourself, but after every attempt failed, you started to hit the walls of the cote with your feet.

Maybe you could break down the walls, if you put enough strength into your kicks.

The dovecote was old and sordid, but the only sound, which was heared was your heavy painting and your feet hitting the wood in irregular moves.

No splintering nor cracking.

After a while you stopped and focused on figuring out a better plan, but the chains were too tight to free yourself and the door was locked from the other side.

You tried to scream a few times, which only resulted in coughing and choking.

You could hear a pair of voices in the distance, but they were too far to take notice of you.

After a while it went silent and you heared the sound of clopping disappear in the distance.

They had left. They hadn’t found you.

You expected your stepmother to appear to bring you back to the house, but nothing happened.

Maybe she wanted to punish you even longer or something had happened, which required her attention somewhere else.

-

“Here it is”, Wanda announced when her, Pietro, Natasha and the friend of Natasha named Clint Barton reached the mansion.

For a moment they all stood in silence concentrating on their thoughts, but then Natasha spoke up. “Alright, so everyone stick to the plan. Any questions left?”

Everyone shook their head and Natasha smiled satisfied. 

“Good. Then let’s go.”

-

You had lost every track of how much time had passed, when you suddenly heared noises near the house again, causing you too look up.

Maybe it was your family, who was making their way to the ball, but somehow it felt different.

Something was going on, but you couldn’t lay your finger on it.

The voices were coming closer, so you started to hit the wood with your feet again, putting all your last strength into the kicks.

-

Natasha straightened her back and took a deep breath. “It will work”, Clint reassured her and in this moment she was more than glad that he was here with her.

Although they had discussed different scenarios of how the plan could fail and what they would do if it happened, she was still worried that something could go wrong.

She hadn’t met (y/n)’s family before, but having seen the black eye the girl had earned from them, had been enough to set off her alarms.

“I know”, she responded confidently, but it sounded a lot calmer than she was feeling.

She might appeared fiery and tough on the outside, but it was a whole other level to trick someone in leaving the house when it was so important that nothing would go wrong.

Natasha knocked on the door and after a few nervewrecking seconds, the door swung open, revealing a woman in her fourties in a low-cut blue dress.

“Hello”, Natasha greeted politely, but the woman didn’t seem pleased of their company.

“We’re here to bring you to the ball”, Natasha explained and pointed towards the luxuriant carriage near the house.

“It is still early”, the woman frowned confused. 

“We know. That’s why we are here. The prince send us, because he has laid an eye on one of your daughters and he wants to have time with her before the ball starts.”

A surprised smile formed on the womans features, but she tried to not let it show. 

“Of course he has! They are gorgous young women.”

But her smile was soon replaced and her brows knitted together in doubt. 

“The prince was here today, claiming that he only wanted the woman as his bride, who could fit her foot into the shoe he had with him.”

Natasha gulped and exchanged a quick glimpse with Clint.

They hadn’t know about that.

“We know”, Clint then spoke up calmly. “It turned out that it belongs to someone, who isn’t worth the title. A horrible mistake. One of your daughters is now the rightful candidate for the title.”

Clint stayed composed while presenting the lie, but on the inside it made him grit his teeth to say that the prince wouldn’t take a woman as his bride, who had a low social rank or not much money.

Although he didn’t know the prince good, he had only talked to him once at one of the balls, he had learned that he was a kind soul and didn’t care about formalities like social ranks.

But Clint was also sure that the woman in front of him, who was wearing so much jewelery that she reminded him of a christmas tree, would like his lie and it would make him appear more trustable.

She gave them a satisfied smile and turned around to call her daughters, not bothering to explain to them what was going on.

Patiently Natasha and him were waiting for the girls to get ready, when the stepmother leaned in close, surprising both of them.

“Can you tell me which one it is?”, she whispered while watching her daughters fight over the right pair of shoes to wear.

“I am sorry, but the prince didn’t reveal this yet”, Natasha declared and the woman nodded.

“Come on, come on”, she urged her daughters and soon the family, joined by (y/n)’s father hurried to the carriage.

“Can I see some kind of proof that you’re from the palace?”, the woman asked, but it didn’t sound like a question rather than a demand.

“Sure.”

Clint fished in his pockets to reveal a golden emblem, which he had lend from one of his friends, who was working in a high position at the court.

The woman eyed it for a second, then decided that the glamorous carriage and the golden symbol were enough to convince her and climbed into the carriage.

Clint and Natasha went for the coachman’s seat, exchanging small smiles.

“Have you ever done this before?”, Natasha asked the older man, who was carefully taking the reins. 

He shook his head.

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