days of future past the ring of my asshole

[chopshopsuplex]

So she's learning Russian. So one of her...partners has been schooling her in the 'proper ways of the Russian'-- so what? It's still cold as hell, in the heart of the matter let alone the weather, and the only great thing they've got going for them in this area is the vodka.

And even that's starting to run out. Grease, grit, car parts scalped out in her bare hands? Fine. Running, fighting for her life, coding messages? That's what she signed up for.

"I did not sign up for camping," Gaby mutters to herself, goggle covered browns taking in the scene, the expanse of white that surrounds her, nearly blinds her.

It isn't camping so much as....rugged wild backpacking this time. Now, yes, maybe she'd gotten a little caught up in the riches and class and luxury of a spy's life but this is a rude wake up call.

If she could just get to the village she's supposed to find, then all would be well and her nose and toes and everything inbetween can warm up.

Up ahead, she spots the bumbling form of a man easily cutting through the snow.

"Ah, excuse me!" Gaby calls in her cobbled together Russian. "Can you help me get to the next village? I believe I might be lost." Funny enough, she won't have to play too hard at being the lost tourist this time around.

(No harder than with their target in the coming mission)

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[chopshopsuplex]

A sound that isn't quite a whimper but isn't quite a growl spills from her mouth as she attempts, in vain, to wriggle her wrist out of his grip, and squirms beneath the superior weight of his body, honed by the balance between life and death. As precarious as it is.

(she knows that much)

She doesn't know what he thinks, doesn't care as long as he never thinks to dispose of her for whatever he thinks--

"If you keep manhandling me you'll never find out. The importance of my task doesn't involve you, so there's no reason to inform you and blow both our covers with your sloppy tactician."

Gaby proclaims this with bared teeth and more confidence than she feels. It's a good thing her other foot is free, which she uses to stamp on his knee where she is.

[sillaged]

He lets go immediately - has to with the pain that radiates from his knee. Tears almost freeze to his thick eyelashes as he stumbles back and reaches again for the previously-abandoned knife.

He tries to lunge forward and ends up barely tearing through her jacket with a loud rip.

"Not manhandling you didn't work so well earlier when you got cheeky."

His stomach is still sore - along with everything else. Nothing like a good fight to get warmed up for what he should've done in the first place: ditch the girl, finish his mission, then get the fuck back to his superiors.

What the fuck is happening?

[chopshopsuplex]

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.

too lazy to italics ;)

[sillaged]

Agile fingers twirl his knife again as he stares her down. He's so irritated and angry, not as much at her as himself.

He's a constant test subject, and knowing he's flawed... all of it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Which he's pretty sure wasn't the plan.

"[Yes, I forgot how far my manners got me last time. I thought it'd treated you so right, too.]"

Cocky smirks are his specialty, even though his eyes are hard as diamonds.

He steps closer, eyes narrowed as he tries to figure out the type of accent underlies her Russian. Not American - that's familiar to him somehow - but something else.

If he only could place it, he'd be able to identify the possible agencies she's with.

[chopshopsuplex]

"I'm not fond of this dance. I like wrestling much better. These sumo moves are too clumsy, there's no movement to it."

She can concede that much. Brown eyes never leave the slick motions of his knife, as if the metal slithers between his fingers and through the air itself, like it can hardly touch it.

Gaby doesn't want to be in the middle of that.

So she opens her mouth:

"Ah? No, ma'am, this man isn't robbing me! He's a street performer. Come and see for yourself."

The oldest, lamest trick in the book, accompanied by a pointed finger behind his shoulder. That's the moment she takes to pivot on her foot back the other way.