Paris When It Sizzles

August 17, 2016:

Natasha takes a brief time for herself in Paris and runs into Piotr Rasputin who catches her eye, but then she catches an unexpected glimpse of the Winter Soldier for the first time since he escaped from her. But was it unexpected?

Cafe in Paris

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: Et Si Tu N'Existais Pas by Joe Dassin


Fade In…

Natasha is dressed rather casually, black leggings, blood red tank top, unzipped black jacket, and red flats. She's currently sitting outdoor in a cafe in Paris, her black purse is hanging from the back of her chair. She's sitting cross legged, fancy sunglasses cover her eyes. A cup of double espresso and a small plate with an almond crossaint are set on the table. She seems as relaxed as can be.

*

Colossus is a large man. In the past, and likely in the future, it makes it difficult for him to hide. These days he is less on the run from government agencies that may wish to ask him questions but old friends made into enemies might yet want to settle down for a nice little chat. So far, though, he has avoided that fate. He takes a seat at a table close to Natasha, placing his money on the burnished wood before him and waits for his service.
You paged Winter Soldier with 'Again, if you want in, I don't mind you trying to snipe me, we're at a cafe in Paris, just make sure Colossus is fine with it'

*

"Hey big guy," Natasha quips at Colossus almost without looking his way, though it is tough to tell with her sunglasses on. "You workout, don't you? Why don't you slide over to my table and tell me all about it?" She offers, and as she gets a better look of his features, offers in Russian, <you speak Russian, don't you?>

*

Colossus is taken aback by the offer, which in its directness is SO modern empowered American woman to be almost comical. The initial impression is to give a flattered, but firm denial of the request… even if, or perhaps exactly because, she's quite the looker. When the Russian comes spilling forth with perfect enuciation and without even a hint of an accent? He's ataken back, visibly so.

The chair at Natasha's table squeaks as he pulls it back, taking a seat. <I do.>

*

Indeed, Natasha had her own, unique, direct approach about all matter of things. She sees the hesitation, but when he responds to the Russian, she smirks to herself and keeps with the language, <thought as much, we have very unique features, don't we?> She reaches for a sip of her espresso, before offering, <almond crossiant is their speciality, you really should try one, it's quite a treat.>

*

Piotr tongues at his molar in thought, <I usually get their macarons, so how different could it be?> The large man is seated at a table across from Romanov, hands resting on the furniture before him. They seem to be speaking in their native tongue. <Must be. I will have to keep an eye out for those unique features.>

*

<Macarons you can get anywhere in Paris, but these almond crossiant are to die for,> Natasha laughs, pushing her small plate with the crossiant towards Piotr, <you can have a bite of mine if you like>. Somehow it feels like she's rather intentionally speaking in innuendo. Pulling her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, Natasha lets Piotr have a look at her blue eyes, <here, have a look,> she offers with a playful wink. <So what does a big guy like you do in Paris?>

*

While some might run as far from civilization as possible, others know that it's sometimes easiest to hide in plain sight. Larger cities, metropolises, have more people and they tend to mind their own business. There were other cities to go to, but Paris seemed a good choice. For now. He may need to go deeper into Europe eventually, but for now he'll stick with a familiar place where he can speak the language, if not like a native, than well enough.

*

Despite the pleasant weather, the twenty-something-seeming man is still wearing a long-sleeved, light jacket, his left hand in the pocket of said jacket. A baseball cap is worn low over his eyes and his hair has been pulled back in a somewhat messy ponytail. He's made his way to the a la carte section of the cafe and has purchased a couple of pastries and a coffee when the sounds of a familiar language catches his attention. There's a pause at the counter as dark eyes scan over the cafe crowd to see who might be speaking.
Colossus very slowly, almost cautiously, reaches across the table and takes a single croissant. He waves it, as if that was a proper thank you, then leans back into his chair which groans under his weight. <Work and eat pastries.> His work, obviously, is not stand up. <You?>

He misses the arrival of the twenty-something-seeming man, which is probably exactly what the incognito agent probably wants.

*

<You're doing the pastry eating part gloriously,> Natasha muses, though she doesn't quite pester him about what he does for work, mostly because from the corner of her eye she caught a familiar cap wearing guy looking their way. <I am here on vacation of course! Why else would I be spending a lovely time at a French cafe with a remarkable looking fellow like yourself?> She takes a sip of her espresso following a bit of the crossaint, as of yet not alerting Colossus to the fact they're being watched.

*

As the conversation in Russian continues, it gives the jacket-wearing man a chance to hone in on the speakers. The big guy is noted but it's the redhead who gets more of his attention. His gaze lingers before he finally turns away and back to the a la carte counter.

A couple of moments later, two cafe cremes are brought over to the table and set before Colossus and Natasha, even if they never ordered anything.
Colossus was just about to try the almond croissant when the cafe cremes are placed before him, and he finally leans back as the servant places it before them. Okay, like any man could, he fell briefly into the Widow's web of charm and good looks. Now, in such a short window, yet ANOTHER person is offering him something to ingest. <Who are you?>

That came out more direct, didn't it?

*

Just as perfectly as she spoke Russian, Natasha shifts to French, <I'm sorry, Sir, but I did not make this order, nor do I think the gentleman at my table ordered it either, care to explain?> She demands of the waiter, before muttering to Piotr in Russian, <I wouldn't drink this, might be tampered with,> then her gaze turns fully to the Winter Soldier, "care to stop by and say hello properly?" She asks, her voice quite antagonizing.

*

The waiter pauses and offers in French, <It was paid for…> he looks up to point to the man in the baseball cap, but he's no longer there. <Where did he go? He said it was a comfort to hear a familiar language so far from home so he wanted to buy these for you in appreciation.> The waiter just shrugs; he doesn't care if they drink them or not as they've already been paid for.
Piotr is, understandably, on edge now. Of both suspicion and bewilderment as it happens. Very slowly, the almond croissant is placed next to the cafe cremes with a glance in the direction that Natasha directed the question.

*

<Well, are you a famous athlete?> Natasha asks Piotr, <ice hockey perhaps? From what the waiter says, the man might have been a fan, we got these simply for the language,> Natasha translates in case Piotr doesn't have control of the French language. <I'm nobody famous, so I figure we must have gotten this because of you? Just what do you do? I'm Natasha byt he way,> she introduces herself finally.

*

Piotr is silent for a good while. In reality, not that long. In a conversation when admittedly barraged with distracting questions? Eternity.

<No. Must have thought I was someone else.> He leans back, the chair once more groaning in dismay. <Is that why you called me to this table as well?>

*

<I was curious…I see men, not enough Russians, rarely such that look like you do, I was curious,> Natasha speaks rather frankly with Piotr, grinning at him somewhat mischeviously, <you never found yourself curious at a good looking woman before?> Natasha raises the question to make a point, as she rises her espresso cup, <to fun. So, do you work out? Work at construction? How do you develop such a delicious physique?> Natasha asks somewhat flirtatiously.

*

Piotr takes in the cafe curiously, forcing himself to make it a casual gesture. <If I did not, would I be sitting at your table.> That much is true, but what better way to hide suspicion of someone but in a coating of truth. At her continued stroking of his ego, he just shakes his head. <Construction. Yes. Also meat packing.> He leans forward, the very first time he has done so. <Compliments from a woman whose legs belong in America's Hollywood? Are you actor? You clearly travel alot.> She speaks three languages, fluently, as she has already shown. That was in the first five minutes!

*

<So you already know the answer of why I invited you to my table, don't you?> Natasha laughs, amused at Piotr's manner, despite having a fantastic sculpted body, he was not at all like guys who look this strong and fit. <Meat packing? Mmm…that I could imagine.> She levels her gaze with Piotr through her sunglasses as he asks about her profession, and muses, <I think I could work in Hollywood…but no, I am actually ballerina,> she uses her original occupation in this case. Natasha often tells different things to different people, but with the Russian connection, she had to tell some truth, <I performed at the bolshoi.>

*

It's hard to argue that Natalie does not have a physique for it. It is also hard to argue that Piotr's interest is piqued at her question, the renowned Boishoi Theatre is a name that even he had heard when he was but a young Russian boy on a rural farm. <Really? I will admit, I never thought I would share a table with a recognized ballet dancer. Much less have her give me any time of day.> He runs his thumb along his rough palms, thoughtfully. <Have you ever done private showings?>

*

Natasha laughs as Piotr expresses his awe at sharing a table with a Bolshoi dancer, though truth be told, it is one of the most if not the most glamorous ballets in the world. Held in high regard. A definite glamour to it. <Well it happened today,> Natasha says as she clings her cup against Piotr's <and with a body like yours, coupled with manners like yours, I think just about any girl would love to spend some time with you…> she pauses to leave Piotr room to introduce himself, seeing how she introduced herself earlier. <I have actually…only to one man,> Natasha answers, tilting her head a bit and asking, <woudl you like me to make it two?>

*

<Piotr.> The big man says as their cups chime together. <I would love to make it two.> He reaches into his pocket, drawing out a small business card and a pen. It's not unusual, after all, for two consenting adults to express interest in each other and exchange means of contact. It's Paris, baby, and everyone knows it's like the city of romance.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License