open ❄️ and a song someone sings

[peasant]

CHARACTERS: alina & you!
LOCATION: various places on the station
DATE: throughout december
CONTENT: december catch-all. christmas antics, mistletoe madness, possible stupidity.
WARNINGS: will update if anything comes up!

I. COMMON AREA

[ bedrest hadn't suited her. freshly released from the infirmary, alina finds herself restless for a change of scenery — for a splash of color that isn't sterile white walls and beeping machinery. it doesn't take long for her to grow tired of seeing that same starkness reflected in the station's walls, spaces that hardly look lived in despite the time they've spent aboard.

maybe it's the inherent desire to create a home, to leave her little mark somewhere. maybe it's her drive to add color, unwilling to live in a dull and gray world. maybe it doesn't matter, in the end, when the result is the same — alina taking the skill she had spent time practicing and polishing in braccia, grateful for the peace that painting brings her.

she begins her work in the common area, first — ignoring the unnerved fluttering in her stomach at the thought of sharing a piece of herself so openly, so vividly, when she's gone unseen throughout most of her life. still, she won't allow self-consciousness to hold her back; with a paintbrush in hand, alina dapples it along the wall, rich colors in shades of hazy reds and neon blues that map out a mural.

— it's a messy affair, too. covering the floor in tarp has spared it from the same streaks of paint that have found themselves across alina: flecks across her knuckles, dried in strands of hair messy spilling out of the bun at the back of her head, smears on her shoulder from where an oversized (stained, now, with a dapple of green paint) dress shirt hangs loosely.

she doesn't seem at all bothered by it. in fact, she's so engrossed that she startles, the moment anyone makes noise in the room, nearly jumping out of her skin. once she recovers, she turns an apologetic grin toward them, biting it back with a nip to her bottom lip as she holds the paintbrush a little protectively to her chest. ]

Am I in your way?

II. CHRISTMAS CHEER.

[ keramzin's orphanage had never looked so festive. alina can only remember the gloom that had followed the feast of sankt nikolai — another holiday to remind them all of what they had lost, the lives they might have had if fate had been kinder to them. another day alina and mal had spent searching for peace in their meadow, finding the only family they needed in one another.

it had almost been enough to ease the ache in her chest. almost. it isn't quite enough to soothe it, now; it feels traitorous, somehow, to share in the celebrations without mal at her side. decorating the halls is a pleasant distraction, at least — another outlet for an artist, making the most of what she had never had the opportunity to indulge in.

alina lingers in the hallways, stringing along tinsel into spaces that have been left bare, sprinkling mistletoe and wreaths from doorways. what she hadn't accounted for, however: her own height, hopping and failing to reach closer to the ceiling, with a puffing huff of frustration. when she catches sight of another orber in her peripherals, she turns to them, decoration in hand — opening her mouth, hesitating with the words, before they come. ]

You're tall. [ it doesn't matter if they're tall or not. most of the ship seems to tower over her, regardless. her hands jut out, offering up whatever happens to be in her hands. ] Hang this for me?

[ if it happens to be mistletoe dangling from her fingertips, she breathes out an embarrassed laugh, reassuring them with, ] I'm not trying to trap you. Promise.

III. SUNLIGHT ROOM.

[ the flurry of snow that greets her in the sunlight room would put ravka to shame. much as alina knows it's an illusion, she's grateful to viveca for bringing her that slice of home, feeling the wintry air nip her cheeks into a frostbitten pink as she soaks in the sight, tipping her face toward the sky to invite a dusting of snowflakes to collect in her eyelashes.

it's with a carefree spirit, feeling lighter than she has since returning, that alina loses herself in packing together an arsenal of snowballs. waiting for the opportunity of an ambush, she lurks until she catches a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye — and sends a snowball soaring through the air, striking them on the cheek, before ducking behind the nearest trunk of a fuzzy pine tree.

or, for those she knows well — they'll find the surprise of icy fingers at the back of their neck — and snow that follows suit, shoved down the back of their shirt. sneaky is hardly a weapon she can wield well, however — alina's girlish laughter rings out as she makes an attempt at an escape, chiming in the air as she moves to dart away, rabbit-hearted and breathless.

maybe you've found yourself on the lake with her, frozen over and slippery. it's new — the ice skates on her feet, leaving her as graceless as a newborn fawn on jittery, shaking legs as she stands. it's inevitable, really, that she would come tumbling down — knees buckling from momentum as she reaches out to steady herself, tangling her fingers in the fabric of another's sleeve.

— only to inadvertently tug them down with her in a tangle of limbs and a surprised yelp, the breath crashing out of her with a small, ] Oof. [ as she's sprawled out, blinking up at the sky with a dizzied grimace on her face. ] Sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass both of us.

IV. WILDCARD OPTION.

[ all of the above prompts are open to anyone and everyone, including mistletoe shenanigans, bc i have no shame. but feel free to shoot a PM my way or find me at nereids if you want to hash out a closed starter! or just throw a prompt my way and i'll gladly go along with it. c: any variations you want to do on these prompts are open game, too!

planned closed starters will be found below in the comments. ♥ ]

Comments

[construing]

If it's not, I have a lot of questions right now.

[ it's like she'll die if she doesn't crack a joke.

mistletoe up, gwen straightens. despite being upside down, she is perfectly at ease. even her face remains its normal color; rather than rush to her head, her blood flows as it always does. except for her shaggy blonde hair falling, it might seem the artificial gravity now works on the ceiling too.

gwen tips her head. ]

While I'm up here, you need to hang anything else?

[peasant]

— Yes.

[ it comes too quickly to be anything but revealing, if the childish curious shining in alina's gaze doesn't give her away. her eyes stick to gwen like honey, glued there in wordless fascination, before — her expression pinches in sheepishness. she knows the discomfort of having gawking eyes cast on her, as though she's an object to worry and wonder over, rather than a person of flesh and blood — with her own thoughts, her own dreams, her own desires beyond ravka's expectations of her.

chagrined, she tears her stare away to reach for a string of lights with little thought, thrusting them up toward gwen with an innocent eagerness. another moment ticks by, openly seeming to wrestle with something, before she hesitantly hedges, ]

You don't happen to be part bat, are you? Or fae? [ a wry beat. ] That would be normal here. I've seen wings and all kinds of magic lately, but I've never seen anyone dangle from the ceiling before. Not without crashing and cracking their head open, at least.

[construing]

[ gwen imitates a buzzer. ] That's strike one and two. You get one, [ she helpfully holds up (down) one finger, ] more guess.

[ she doesn't leave alina entirely without hints. gwen crouches low to the ceiling as she rigs the lights up on one side. rope of lights in hand, she crawls to the other side like a…well.

she can feel the eyes on her. but for gwen, being stared at elicits resignation when she isn't wholly indifferent to it. she has been a hero, a fugitive, now an ex-con. she may takes issue with fall out boy's thesis, but infamy sure is harder to shake than fame. ]

[peasant]

[ alina's eyes hone on gwen's skittering limbs, uncannily reminiscent of — oh. ravka might be home to animals born from knucklebones, a haven of mythical saints and fables as old as the land itself, but she's certain she's never heard tales of women scaling walls with the natural, easy grace of spiders.

self-aware of her awed gaping, alina seals her mouth shut before she can resemble a flopping fish, and kindly averts her eyes to the string of lights. she knows too intimately what it's like — to be different, to be followed by prying eyes because of it, boring a hole into your back as though they might reach through to the very heart of you. an oddity, a curiosity, in the eyes of so many — but never just a person, just a woman, struggling beneath the expectations of her gift.

she can't be so certain it's the same for this stranger, but she can be certain that incessant staring is uncomfortable to endure. ]

You're a spider ... spider-person? [ she hedges, miraculously sounding both sure of herself and questioning her own logic. warmly trying to shrug off her own awkwardness, she lightly jokes, ] I hope there's a prize for guessing correctly involved. Or is hanging my lights already a prize?

[construing]

Best I can do for you…is corn dogs. [ which, as far as gwen's culinary tastes are concerned, is the best prize anyone could receive ever. hence the dramatic pause.

(somewhere on the station, zhao is crying.)

gwen lets herself fall. she executes a graceful twist mid-air and lands lightly on her feet. she holds out her hand. ]

Spider-Woman to any bad guys. Everyone else calls me Gwen. [ all of new york technically calls her spider-gwen, and the stupid moniker has grown on her. ]

[peasant]

[ her mind has to pause to run through calculations, charting the best course of words that won't embarrass her completely, in how easily it reveals she's out of her element. corn dogs. that has to be another oddity from an equally strange world, and not — ]

I'm guessing that has nothing to do with feasting on actual dogs.

[ a laugh scuttles out of her, sincere — if not a little awkward, in having to admit gwen might as well be speaking another language to alina. it rings a little brighter as the other woman fluidly nails her landing, though there's some sliver of alina that envies that graceful confidence, so far from the embodiment of what she is. ]

No need to show off. You're already impressive to those of us who can barely reach ceilings on their own. [ teasing aside, she slides her warm hand into gwen's outstretched hand, grip light. spider-woman. too many titles stalk alina for her to invite them to follow her here like an unwanted shadow, shifting perspectives of her, so she settles for what feels more comfortable than the mantle of sun summoner or sankta. ] Alina Starkov.

[construing]

[ enough time spent hopping universes has taught gwen about the error of assuming that others will know whatever the fuck she’s talking about now. it doesn’t stop her cracking references, only brings a special joy when others understand.

and in cases when they don’t, the delight of utterly blowing their minds. ]

Well, Alina, I am a [ spider- ] woman of my word. And not just because my dad would be very disappointed in me otherwise.

[ captain george stacy, formerly of the nypd, whose disappointment is the actual worst thing in the world to behold. gwen wishes it on no one, least of all herself. ]

If you don’t have dinner plans, you do now. [ the first thing she did the moment she found the kitchens was attempt to make corn dogs. after the past few weeks, she almost has the process down to an art. ] Though I have to warn you: there is nothing in all the multiverse that can compare to the taste of a corn dog. Your life will be forever changed. And there’s no actual dogs involved, promise.

[ wait. ]

Quick question: do you eat pork? Or…meat in general, actually?

[peasant]

[ surprise spurs her into a blink, if only for a moment. of all the strange experiences she's been collecting, the idea that a stranger would so willingly leap to spend time with her — that might be the most abnormal of them all. a kindness she hasn't quite adapted to, when ravka had been so vocal in reminding her that she was unwanted. some part of her is still firmly rooted in expecting a begrudging tolerance of her presence, at best, or for a friendly face to darken after they've tired of her.

after she's no longer of use. but that can't be the motive with gwen, entirely unaware of the power resting in alina's chest. she recovers with a slight smile at the edges of her mouth, fighting with the shape of her lips, like it's afraid to show the blinding warmth of her grin. afraid to be too excitable. ]

Dinner with you sounds perfect. You won't hear me complain over being fed.

[ her hand settles over her stomach, smoothing down the creases of her messy overalls, smeared with old remnants of paint. the crisp white sweater beneath, at least, has been spared the same fate. ]

I'll eat anything. [ on second thought. her nose crunches. ] If it isn't pickled herring. That's my country's specialty.

[ then, ruefully cheeky: ] So now you know you have competition, if you're hoping to impress me.

[construing]

[ pickled the fuck…? oh, god. the face gwen pulls is a poem of movement. she takes a moment as she recovers from her beloved corn dogs sharing a conversation with literally anything pickled before tipping her head at alina.

solemnly, she vows, ] It might be difficult, [ it absolutely won't be, ] but I think I can top that.

[ gwen gives alina a friendly tap on the shoulder with her fist. she strolls away, walking backward. despite not seeing where she's going, she doesn't hit anything or stumble with her footing. ]

Dinnertime. Kitchen. Corn dogs. Be there and make sure to be hungry. [ and if for some reason alina doesn't show up, gwen gets even more corn dogs. literally no way to lose. ]