Covered in snow from her backside to the inside collar of her coat, Gaby stands her ground (for now), hands at her sides; balancing on the balls of her feet, she's springloaded and ready to move at a second's notice. She breathes hard through her nose, tremors of rage or possibly fear-- or both-- course through her body.

"Maybe if you used your manners instead of being bullheaded you'd get better results. I thought you Russians had learned by now."

Apparently not. Unsurprisingly. Just keep him talking, Gaby.