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Training. It's not that it's boring, really. To be fair, it is a little bit. Ava's picked up a lot of information on spy craft over the years by various means, so…there's a lot she already knows. But there's also a lot to learn. And while she's eager to learn it and soaks it in like a sponge, lunch break is something that's greatly appreciated. Especially since lunch here is reasonably priced enough that she doesn't need to worry.
She's claimed a seat at a table that faces the window, giving her a view of the passing crowds as she slurps up her noodles. It's ramen and some sort of meat, but honestly, she didn't ask. And while she could read the Mandarin on the wall, it's a building that houses spies. Who believes the writing on the wall?
*
Another slender brunette in the city really wouldn't stand out except she enters the Chinese restaurant alone. Rain, or water from some source, dapples the long merlot trenchcoat she wears and her boots are similarly shiny from an encounter with a particularly deep puddle, possibly something else. She has the look of someone searching for something. Whether for the best source of thick buckwheat noodles served up spicy hot or information is up for a guess. Wanda has her hands deep in her pockets and shoulders hunched forward, head slightly down. Her unruly curls are even worse than usual, thanks to whatever lent the faint scent of moss around her.
She waits politely for a seat, no matter how long it takes the server. The lack of free tables and booths is daunting enough, but she tries to take it in stride. A smile when someone beckons her to squeeze into a two-seater in the middle of madness doesn't reach her eyes. Trudging past, she drops wearily into the open spot with a rather loud clatter. One that emanates from a sheathed knife, among other things.
*
Ava's ears practically perk at the clatter behind her. That…doesn't quite sound right. She slurps up another spoonful of noodles, though, more cautious than curious. After all, this could be some sort of test! (It probably isn't.)
After a moment, though, she does scoot her chair a little closer to her table, flashing an awkwardly polite smile over her shoulder at the other woman. "Sorry," she murmurs, an apology for not making space earlier. It also gives her a chance to take a quick look at the newcomer.
*
The menu gets a lookover, a skim of the various letters and terrible translations from Pinyin. Wanda's face is scrunched up, her chin resting on both palms as she puzzles over a selection, flipping over the menu to examine the offerings on the back. Does anything satisfy her curiosity, it might be right—
And the look or the nudge makes her look up, some hint by the forces that be she ought to pay attention. One damp lock sticks to her cheek, brushed aside. Her fingerless gloves reveal nails, much chewed, and in one case dabbed by what looks like pale eggshell blue paint. "Excuse me." It's reflex that it comes, and when it is, her accent is decidedly Slavic. Eastern European through and through, even if the overall impression is diluted a bit. Her eyes flick to Ava, and she gives a slight smile. "No trouble." Warning? Request? Honest statement?
*
Ava has a complicated relationship with Eastern European accents. On the one hand, home. On the other hand, most of her memories of home aren't entirely pleasant. But if something goes down here, there's an office full of SHIELD agents upstairs, so. It's a safe place to take a chance. So she leans over a bit, tapping on one of the pictures. "This one is good," she offers helpfully, smile flickering.
*
"I was told drunken noodles were good." Wanda looks down at the menu, skimming her finger along the range of words and lines, hunting past a selection of Americanized selections like egg foo yung. "Is the food spicy enough?" A bit of a pause goes to her words as she carefully translates, or tries to focus. Her hands fold back under her chin and she nods to Ava. "I think I will try that." Now it's just a case of waiting for the server to come back and take care of matters, really. If the upstairs agents are watching, they'll be more than informed that one of their most recent acquisitions has appeared without her hell-raising brother, which might be a comforting sign. He was the one more disposed to join. It may be concerning. Her file has a great many sticky tabs on it for various concerns.
*
"Some are spicy," Ava shrugs, leaning back to her own chair. "But I don't know what spicy enough is," she smiles faintly. "That's a personal preference. But they can make most of them spicy if you tell them when you order." She's seen it already, so she knows it's an option. She half-turns back to her own table, pulling her bowl a little closer to herself to take another sip of the broth. "Place gets busy enough around lunch that it must be good, though."
*
Wanda looms over the tabletop with its little Chinese zodiac placemat, patiently waiting for a server. One will be by eventually. Until then she can dry out and not be rude. Her position gives a nice opportunity for discreet people watching, all the while allowing for a conversation at hand. "It is good there are so many people here already. A restaurant with no people costs too much or makes the food badly."
Then the woman comes bustling out with a glass of water. "Tea," she asks. A pause, then Wanda points to the same recommendation Ava made. "This one. Make it spicy, please. Lots of spice is good." The rhythms of English don't come to her with the finesse of a native speaker, but she isn't half bad. "Thank you. You gave a good idea, I think."
*
"Well, you're in a noodle shop," Ava points out, smile wry. "So the noodles are usually a safe bet." Her feet swing a bit from the stool, toes stretching inside her battered boots. She's quiet for a moment, not quite used to making casual conversation, before she gives it a try. "Are you new in town?"
*
Some women smile easily. It can be a hope to defuse matters, a way to hide nerves. Others don't smile at all. The brunette falls into that camp, her expression rarely given to vacantly grinning at things. It might be explained by her origins from east of Hamburg, in that part of the world where fatalism comes with the winter cold and the hard lessons of life. She sits back and leather groans, her corseted shirt creaking slightly. It might explain why she can't fold forward in a lazy flump. "Is it very clear?" The question gets a question, then Wanda nods. "Such a large city. Do you know your way around? The directions here were—" She pauses, thinking. "Tricky. So many turns and twists. All the places outside the park feel like that."
*
"Not that clear," Ava shakes her head, wrinkling her nose. "There are parts of the city that might as well be other countries. Little Odessa is so full of Russians, you might not even realize you were in the States. Mothers and grandmothers don't speak much English, even." At the mention of the park, though, she tilts her head, brows furrowing. "The city is mostly a grid," she says slowly. "And the park is sort of- Uh. When was the last time you were at the park?" she asks instead.
*
"Little Odessa?" A blink follows. "There is such a place here?" Wanda stops long enough to thank the server. The tea is brought to her along with a battered old metal pot that probably came into existence around the time of the last emperor of China. She pulls the little handleless cup close to her and takes a sip, almost recoiling from the burn. Well, thirst over discomfort, right?
"I was at the park the day before… Thursday." A small victory of memory. "It seems so long ago. But they needed some help. So I helped them."
*
"Right. So. The park's not…a great place right now." Ava gives the other woman a slightly more cautious look now. "I mean, I guess it's a particular closed place, but. It's a little bit crazy in there right now, with all the…stuff. But mostly, the rest of the city's a grid. If you stick to the numbers, you just pay attention to the last number you were on, and if you go up when you want to go down, then you turn around and go the other way. Manhattan's an island, so. Worst case scenario, you'll know you went too far when you hit water."
*
"No. It is not a park to walk in or bring the dog or the children." Wanda still pokes at the teacup, turning it around and around. The action is slowly done, but she still causes orbits to form as the tea leaves swirl around in suspension. "Do the numbers go up or left to right? I should get a map. That would help me at least know the way. I have not yet got to the other parts." This being said, she sits up a little bit and finally gives Ava a fairly good look. "Have you been to the park? They are trying hard to keep every trouble out, but they still keep escaping."
*
"I haven't been since things…" Ava trails off, shaking her head. "I am no holy warrior, to take on demons and the like," she says, smile faint. "So no, I have been avoiding the park. Though there is not much avoiding the things that have come out of it. Vampires. Things with leathery wings. They are spreading to the rest of the city, and it is troublesome."
*
"Things with wings. Where do they come from? Is it the park or another place?" The news really ought to be concerning, but the quiet brunette listens anyways. Her noodles are coming out on a tray, put down in front of her with a pair of chopsticks, a deep ladle-like spoon, and a metal fork just in case. These gain a smile, and she pokes at the noodles with a chopstick to stir up the broth in case sediment has accumulated. "It sounds like something out of a terrible story. Vampires. At least someone has tried to fight these things by putting a wall around them. It may not be enough right now. But it is better than the option."
*
Ava laughs, though the sound is without humor. "I couldn't tell you where they come from, but I feel like the gaping hole in the fabric of the universe in Central Park is a very good guess," she replies, dry. "At least, there were no things with wings flying around before it was there, so I think it is a solid theory, myself." As Wanda's soup arrives, she goes back to her own, sipping down a few more spoonfuls.
*
Chopsticks wielded against the noodle kingdom separate a legion of them, and Wanda quietly but rapidly makes a mouthful of them. She barely takes the time to savour the meal; her manner is like someone used to dining on the run. The way she bends over the bowl might conceal her expression, and she rolls over that information given to her carefully. "What do you think of the people who do things in the park? Fighting, stopping them. Does it make any difference?"
*
"I don't know if it makes a difference," Ava admits. "I don't know enough about how it all works to say. But I can't believe that fighting those things is bad. Any one that someone stops is one that doesn't make it into the streets and the neighborhoods where people who don't know how to protect themselves become prey." She eats a few more noodles, wrinkling her nose. "I could wish maybe they were better at figuring out how to make it go away, though."
*
"It makes me wonder why it was there in the first place. Who made the decision that brought it. Who caused it to come here. Who acted to bring it about. It is proper to ask these questions." The positive attribution of these questions is at odds with the darkness slipping over her gaze, a shadow darkening the clear honey-brown eyes turned towards the noodle bowl again. There isn't much to speak of the methodical way Wanda is chipping at the meal, though she does stop to remove a piece of floating pork and sets it onto her napkin. A hunt for a few more produce a neat pyramid to be discarded under a fold of the paper.
*
"Great questions," Ava agrees. "Answers would be better, though." She picks up her bowl, tipping it back to swallow down the last of the broth. "Also, how do we make it go away. I would very much like to know the answer to that. But that is well beyond my ability to answer."
*
"I do not have those answers. I have an answer how to make some of them go away." Wanda spreads her hands, looking at the chopsticks and her own reflection in the broth that floats with the writhing koi shapes of a hundred delicate little noodles, the slices of green onion going serenely by on a current from her last disturbance. "It is a wound. Heal the wound, close the tear. Find what feeds it, remove it, it cannot stay open."
*
"Also questions," Ava agrees, sliding down from her stool. "But not answers I have. I hope the soup is good," she says with an awkward smile. "And remember, it's an island. You can't get too lost as long as you don't walk in circles." With that, she glances toward the side door, slipping out there rather than onto the sidewalk at the front.
*
It is all that Wanda can do to smile as Ava gets up. "I… Oh. Yes. Have a good night." That is the best she can offer, holding the bowl and the implements, the rest of the place a blur of the unfamiliar and the known. Her head drops, leaving shadows painted over her face, and she feels around in her pocket for enough coins to cover the cost.
*