A/N: Lets be honest, guys. This was a long time coming. The fact that it has taken me this long to write an Avengers fic is kind of ridiculous in itself. Now, I had a pretty solid plan for this when I started writing it. Then, somewhere around page/chapter 16 I kind of fucked things up for myself. I'm sure things will be fine for you, but I ended up overriding my own plan and I'd already started story boarding. It was a whole thing. ANYWAY, I would really like to know what people think of the direction I'm taking this is. Since it's already gone off the rails I'm open to suggestions!
Please enjoy.
-D
Flower Girl
Once in the air, Nina pushed open the window, peering out at the patchwork of cityscape thousands of feet below. She had never flown before. It felt magical.
Her father sat next to her, already flipping through a SkyMall magazine. If it weren't for him she wouldn't be seeing Manhattan at such an angle. He worked for some big corporation functioning as a partner of Stark Industries. After decades of working his way up the ladder he had finally been invited to a gala-and a much less exciting business meeting-in Malibu.
It couldn't have come at a better time. Nina was in her junior year of college, studying as a journalism major. Being that it was summer, she had found herself with quite a bit of free time on her hands. To be honest, if she hadn't been able to attend such a prestigious event she would have been utterly heartbroken.
The flights were long and with layovers. Despite finding herself in situations where most people would be groaning and complaining Nina was nothing but giddy. She bounced around the airports with a childlike gleam in her eyes, her father struggling to keep up. He was glad to see her so happy. He was also glad to have a navigation expert with him. In comparison to the streets of New York, airports were nothing to Nina.
By the time they landed in Malibu, Frank was dragging his feet, barely able to make it to the cab without falling over. Nina on the other hand was fueled by Cinnabon, Sabbaro, and the excitement of being somewhere new. She spent the ride to the hotel with her head halfway out the window, hair barely even blowing in the slow traffic, which was nothing new to her.
Reaching the hotel didn't stop her from craning her neck to take everything in. She took over finding the room corporate had booked, her father following sleepily behind her. Once inside the small, two bed room, it was lights out for Frank. Nina, on the other hand, planted herself in front of the window, staring out at the lights of the city. It was true that she was accustom to city life. It was all she'd ever know. But this felt different. New. Exciting.
Despite barely getting any sleep that night she was a ball of energy the next morning. She and Frank got breakfast at the hotel the next morning before setting out on the town. Nina would have dragged him all over hell and creation if only he would have let her. He shouldn't have expected anything less, as she tended to run around Brooklyn with the same enthusiasm. He was hoping by the time they went to the gala she would have tired herself out. He had no such luck.
Nina and Frank stood at the door of the gala, waiting to get in. She had no idea how much she looked like she belonged there. She wore a long, dark blue dress that glittered as it caught the light of flashing cameras. Her hair was worn up in a neat bun, revealing the elegant slope of her neck. Her pale gray eyes shone with undeniable mirth and the smile never left her lips.
Once inside everything began to settle down. It was time to mingle and while Frank had found one of his business associates, Nina was determined not to stand awkwardly at his side the entire night. She snuck away and begun wandering around with no destination in mind. She was stopped by a well dressed man balancing a tray of champagne and, while she still had a week until her twenty-first birthday, she graciously took one as if it were second nature.
Nina was sipping from her glass, looking up at what she presumed to be a nineteenth century French oil painting when she was approached for a second time.
"La Liberté guidant la peuple, Eugene Delacroix, 1830," Nina looked to her side. A young woman was standing there, auburn waves cascading down her slender shoulders. Her eyes, a stunning emerald green, swung from the painting to Nina, a gentle smile on her painted lips.
"Huh," Nina smiled, looking back up at the painting. "I was right. I think I've been spending too much time in art galleries," Not that there was any such thing. The Metropolitan Art Museum of Art in Manhattan was perhaps her favorite place in the world.