“Whoa,” Steve breathes, “who’s that?”
Natasha turns, and looks to where Steve is gawping, and rolls her eyes,
“Of course all the plastics are in the same gym class,”
“Who’re the plastics?” Steve can’t catch his breath,
“They’re teen royalty; if North Shield was GQ they would always be on the cover,” Clint interjects, lazily throwing stones with alarming accuracy at a tree nearby.
“That one there, that’s Thor Odinson,” Natasha sniffs, derision dripping red from her words, “He’s one of the dumbest guys you will ever meet. Clint sat next to him in English last year.”
Clint chimes in, “He asked me how to spell Thursday.”
Natasha snickers beside him,
“That little one, that’s Tony Stark.”
“He’s totally rich because his dad invented the super soldier or something.”
“Tony Stark knows everybody’s business, he knows everything about everyone.”
Clint leans in to Steve and whispers conspiratorially, “That’s why his goatee is so sharp; it’s full of secrets.”
Natasha pulls out a butterfly knife and starts playing with it expertly, eyes narrowed towards the figure in the middle, the one Steve hasn’t been able to stop staring at, mouth dry.
“And evil takes a human form in James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes. Don’t be fooled, because he may seem like your typical selfish, back-stabbing slut faced ho-bag, but in reality, he’s so much more than that.”
Clint levels Steve with a serious look, “He’s the queen bee – the star; those other two are just his little workers.”
Steve swallows around the lump in his throat.
[pose ref [x]]