"I think we can manage that. Italy is also known for the best ice cream in the world."
Their meals came soon and as expected were more than enough. Especially Natasha's plate was really loaded, and Clint couldn't help but grin... You didn't get it out of a gigolo, no matter the age.
Thankfully they were provided with two shots of aniseed brandy afterwards - again on the house - to calm the stomach.
That was when Turi pulled himself a chair to their table to sit with them for a moment. First Clint didn't really understand when he saw the grainy, slightly blurry photo in the old man's hand that he had taken off the wall. Then he read the name of the displayed fishing boat as Flying Seahorse and a shudder of memory like a stiff sea breeze ran down his arms. On that picture, a younger, tired looking guy whom he somehow couldn't quite identify as himself, balanced on the rail and threw an equally younger looking Turi a small net of sea urchins. The old man's memory might be slowly going to sleep, but a photo-optical mind obviously wasn't tricked so easily.
"You know, the old lady is still in the harbor."
It took Clint a second to put the heavy Sicilian dialect into coherent words in his head, and he probably looked pretty silly when with the bill for the lunch came a weathered looking key.
"Take her for a ride if you like."
While Clint still fought his surprise, the old man turned to Natasha and his smile deepened.
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Their meals came soon and as expected were more than enough. Especially Natasha's plate was really loaded, and Clint couldn't help but grin... You didn't get it out of a gigolo, no matter the age.
Thankfully they were provided with two shots of aniseed brandy afterwards - again on the house - to calm the stomach.
That was when Turi pulled himself a chair to their table to sit with them for a moment. First Clint didn't really understand when he saw the grainy, slightly blurry photo in the old man's hand that he had taken off the wall. Then he read the name of the displayed fishing boat as Flying Seahorse and a shudder of memory like a stiff sea breeze ran down his arms. On that picture, a younger, tired looking guy whom he somehow couldn't quite identify as himself, balanced on the rail and threw an equally younger looking Turi a small net of sea urchins. The old man's memory might be slowly going to sleep, but a photo-optical mind obviously wasn't tricked so easily.
"You know, the old lady is still in the harbor."
It took Clint a second to put the heavy Sicilian dialect into coherent words in his head, and he probably looked pretty silly when with the bill for the lunch came a weathered looking key.
"Take her for a ride if you like."
While Clint still fought his surprise, the old man turned to Natasha and his smile deepened.
"You're Russian, aren't you?"