Yelena had avoided her as long as possible. After the manhunt she'd sent her on with lies about Clint Barton, Yelena didn't particularly want to work with Contessa again, but it was much harder for her to say no when her father got involved too. "Someone has to make sure you do not break a hip," she'd told him, annoyed, because she's almost certain de Fontaine had done it all on purpose. One more thing to the pile to drag her into this hot-mess of a so-called 'team'.
She mutters a swear under her breath as she shoves Alexei's arm off her shoulders and settles at the table. If nothing else, she can eat on the woman's dime and then kindly tell her to fuck off. She sips almost carelessly at the wine in front of her, squinting over the rim of her glass as Contessa continues.
In an odd turn of almost-politeness, Yelena's hand shoots up into the air, not unlike a student waiting to be called on by a teacher in class... except Yelena doesn't wait to be called on as she drops her arm and says, "You want us because we are killers, yes?" Blunt. Immediately to the point. She barely glances at the pamphlet in front of her.
"Oh, Yelena, don't be this way- we get to work together again, as a family, it will be great, we--" Alexei practically croons in her direction, but whatever else he might have said is lost in a muffled mess as she splays her hand across his face and shoves him slightly away from her. "Shut up, old man, no one asked you."
It is really a family reunion for these two.
Despite her display, she has been locked on him since the second she'd walked through the door. Had Contessa done this on purpose? Did she even know? Alexei certainly never knew about that particular mission, and Yelena had never had reason to inform him of it. She isn't sure she would, even now.
His eyes drop and he seems to suddenly find his steak very interesting. Try as she might, she hasn't been able to stop looking at him, and something under her ribs squirms uncomfortably as their host's voice fades somewhere into the background. She sips at her wine again, and wishes it were vodka.
His own wine sits untouched beside his plate; it wouldn’t make a dent in his superhuman constitution. (Truly, if only it were vodka.)
“Well, yes, if you’re gonna be uncouth about it,” the Contessa says, with a roll of her eyes. “Yes, Belova, we want you because you’re killers. You can work in the shadows. You can make the sort of tough calls that our shiny heroes in their shiny costumes can’t be seen making.”
Sam. Sam, with Captain America’s gleaming reputation to uphold. Meanwhile, here, the entire world had watched John Walker beat a man to death live on-stream, blood splattering on the shield. These are the people Bucky would have to work with? He’d hung up the Winter Soldier mantle, and hadn’t ever wanted to return to that part of himself.
But he does admittedly have a skillset.
Bucky’s started sawing away at the steak (gleaming vibranium arm, custom Wakandan design, far outshining the everyday prosthetic Mary once knew), and he chews and swallows, silent, while the conversation mills and flows around them. He and Sam had agreed that he’d come to listen to the pitch and gather some information but he probably wouldn’t sign up, but —
She’s here.
After swallowing another bite, he finally looks up. “What kind of dirty work?” he asks, bluntly.
“It should be familiar to you,” Val continues. “Contrary to what the idealists say, some of the world’s worst villains can’t be taken care of with regular law and order. How many of them slip trial? They’ve got judges in their pockets, they bribe their way out of sentencing, or they get luxury cells and then let out early on good behaviour. For god’s sake, Wilson Fisk is mayor of New York now. So the traditional route just doesn’t always cut it anymore.”
Even despite himself, even after everything, he has to admit: there is a slight appeal to it.
She listens as Contessa speaks, but her attention is more taken by him. Jon. James. Bucky. Ziminy Soldat. Whichever name and mask he's wearing now. She bites her tongue to stop commentary to him coming out of her mouth. Not here, now. Maybe later after this sham of a dinner is done she can corner him.
The mention of Wilson Fisk causes a frown to flicker across Yelena's features. It tugs her memories back to Kate and the bad news she'd had to break to her about her mother. Everything about it had been such a mess, in the end. "Fisk is mayor?" She wrinkles her nose. "Disgusting."
“Mm-hm,” Val confirms, an assenting noise with no judgment either way. Unlike the others with their wine, she’s already drinking expensive champagne; preemptive celebration, counting her eggs before they’ve hatched. It’s cocky and confident and probably not even off-base. The others don’t look like they have much choice; Alexei is raring to have something, anything to do again, and ready to sign on the dotted line.
“Politics, sweetie,” the Contessa continues, “is an ugly business. Honestly, talking to senators is the worst part of my job; I’d prefer the criminals. It is interesting when they’re one and the same, though. Don’t even ask me how Fisk got elected.”
“Does that mean,” Bucky asks, “that you want us to assassinate the mayor of New York?”
“Oh, god no! We’ll figure out the first mission later; probably some warlord somewhere. The first question, really, is: are you interested? The money, kids, is very very good.” A beat, “And, y’know, blah blah civic duty for God and country and whatever. Protecting the common citizen from unsavoury elements at the very tip-top. There’s no Avengers anymore. Someone’s got to step up.”
Bucky swallows another bite of steak. He looks like he’s looking at the director, but out of the corner of his gaze he keeps sneaking glances at Yelena. Yelena Belova, and the man beside her is apparently her— father? He has so many questions, and he doesn’t know where to start with them. Catching her afterwards isn’t exactly going to be the easiest thing if he turns down this offer. Hey, Contessa, thanks but no thanks, but could you get me the phone number for the cute Russian blonde?
They just need to get through this pitch meeting and gather as a team and he needs to pull Belova aside and then—
His thoughts glaze out after that point, running into a blank. He doesn’t have a specific plan after that. It’s okay, he’ll improvise.
"Politics is bullshit," Yelena says and she feels her father kicking her under the table. Ow! She mouths sharply and shoots him a dirty look. She can't help turning her attention back to Contessa at her vaguely brushed over 'God and country' schtick, "You do know this is not our country, right?" Her tone is deadpan as her eyebrows shoot up and she gestures with her thumb between herself and her father.
"Come now, Yelena, we do live here-" "It's little more than a work visa-" "You think she can't make sure we do not get deported? Darling, please, she has connections-" "Could you pass it? Can you even pass the test to become a citizen here, old man?"
Valentina tinks her fork against her glass to get everyone's attention back to the important conversation at hand. "As adorable as your family squabbles at my table are," she smiles sweetly, the way a shark might smile sweetly, "you let me worry about the paperwork, all you have to do is sign on the dotted line."
Yelena reluctantly drops her argument with her father and sips again at her drink. She needs something stronger, at this rate.
There’s an awkward beat of hesitation, then, so many of the prospective recruits (soldiers and mercenaries and assassins and former SHIELD agents) shooting each other trepidatious looks, waiting for someone else to be the first one to pull the trigger.
“I’ve already signed,” Walker offers, and Bucky just outright chokes on a laugh.
“As if that helps,” he mutters, and he knows if Sam were here, he’d be kicking him under the table, reminding him to behave. Play nice. Get the intel.
But the scruffy-haired blond man’s words seem to have sparked something and dislodged the first rolling boulder, because Starr chips in, “Sure. Fine. I’m in hiding; it’s not like I’m doing anything else, anyway.”
Alexei says “Yes, I am in,” quick off the draw.
Which just leaves— Barnes and Belova and Dreykov still undecided. Antonia, unnervingly quiet beside the other two Russians she came with, only has eyes for Yelena, and is watching her carefully. She’ll obediently follow her lead, too, and do as the other woman does.
And for the first time all evening, Bucky finally lets himself more openly look at Yelena and outright catch her gaze; for a moment as if there isn’t anyone else in this crowded dining room, the entire world narrowing down to just her, her expression, her decision. There’s a crinkle at the corners of his eyes, a knowing look, a sardonic tilt of his head. He can’t let her vanish, now that their paths have happenstantially crossed again.
“What d’you think?” he asks her. (Challenging. Inviting.) “Could be fun.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
She mutters a swear under her breath as she shoves Alexei's arm off her shoulders and settles at the table. If nothing else, she can eat on the woman's dime and then kindly tell her to fuck off. She sips almost carelessly at the wine in front of her, squinting over the rim of her glass as Contessa continues.
In an odd turn of almost-politeness, Yelena's hand shoots up into the air, not unlike a student waiting to be called on by a teacher in class... except Yelena doesn't wait to be called on as she drops her arm and says, "You want us because we are killers, yes?" Blunt. Immediately to the point. She barely glances at the pamphlet in front of her.
"Oh, Yelena, don't be this way- we get to work together again, as a family, it will be great, we--" Alexei practically croons in her direction, but whatever else he might have said is lost in a muffled mess as she splays her hand across his face and shoves him slightly away from her. "Shut up, old man, no one asked you."
It is really a family reunion for these two.
Despite her display, she has been locked on him since the second she'd walked through the door. Had Contessa done this on purpose? Did she even know? Alexei certainly never knew about that particular mission, and Yelena had never had reason to inform him of it. She isn't sure she would, even now.
His eyes drop and he seems to suddenly find his steak very interesting. Try as she might, she hasn't been able to stop looking at him, and something under her ribs squirms uncomfortably as their host's voice fades somewhere into the background. She sips at her wine again, and wishes it were vodka.
no subject
“Well, yes, if you’re gonna be uncouth about it,” the Contessa says, with a roll of her eyes. “Yes, Belova, we want you because you’re killers. You can work in the shadows. You can make the sort of tough calls that our shiny heroes in their shiny costumes can’t be seen making.”
Sam. Sam, with Captain America’s gleaming reputation to uphold. Meanwhile, here, the entire world had watched John Walker beat a man to death live on-stream, blood splattering on the shield. These are the people Bucky would have to work with? He’d hung up the Winter Soldier mantle, and hadn’t ever wanted to return to that part of himself.
But he does admittedly have a skillset.
Bucky’s started sawing away at the steak (gleaming vibranium arm, custom Wakandan design, far outshining the everyday prosthetic Mary once knew), and he chews and swallows, silent, while the conversation mills and flows around them. He and Sam had agreed that he’d come to listen to the pitch and gather some information but he probably wouldn’t sign up, but —
She’s here.
After swallowing another bite, he finally looks up. “What kind of dirty work?” he asks, bluntly.
“It should be familiar to you,” Val continues. “Contrary to what the idealists say, some of the world’s worst villains can’t be taken care of with regular law and order. How many of them slip trial? They’ve got judges in their pockets, they bribe their way out of sentencing, or they get luxury cells and then let out early on good behaviour. For god’s sake, Wilson Fisk is mayor of New York now. So the traditional route just doesn’t always cut it anymore.”
Even despite himself, even after everything, he has to admit: there is a slight appeal to it.
no subject
The mention of Wilson Fisk causes a frown to flicker across Yelena's features. It tugs her memories back to Kate and the bad news she'd had to break to her about her mother. Everything about it had been such a mess, in the end. "Fisk is mayor?" She wrinkles her nose. "Disgusting."
no subject
“Politics, sweetie,” the Contessa continues, “is an ugly business. Honestly, talking to senators is the worst part of my job; I’d prefer the criminals. It is interesting when they’re one and the same, though. Don’t even ask me how Fisk got elected.”
“Does that mean,” Bucky asks, “that you want us to assassinate the mayor of New York?”
“Oh, god no! We’ll figure out the first mission later; probably some warlord somewhere. The first question, really, is: are you interested? The money, kids, is very very good.” A beat, “And, y’know, blah blah civic duty for God and country and whatever. Protecting the common citizen from unsavoury elements at the very tip-top. There’s no Avengers anymore. Someone’s got to step up.”
Bucky swallows another bite of steak. He looks like he’s looking at the director, but out of the corner of his gaze he keeps sneaking glances at Yelena. Yelena Belova, and the man beside her is apparently her— father? He has so many questions, and he doesn’t know where to start with them. Catching her afterwards isn’t exactly going to be the easiest thing if he turns down this offer. Hey, Contessa, thanks but no thanks, but could you get me the phone number for the cute Russian blonde?
They just need to get through this pitch meeting and gather as a team and he needs to pull Belova aside and then—
His thoughts glaze out after that point, running into a blank. He doesn’t have a specific plan after that. It’s okay, he’ll improvise.
no subject
"Come now, Yelena, we do live here-"
"It's little more than a work visa-"
"You think she can't make sure we do not get deported? Darling, please, she has connections-"
"Could you pass it? Can you even pass the test to become a citizen here, old man?"
Valentina tinks her fork against her glass to get everyone's attention back to the important conversation at hand. "As adorable as your family squabbles at my table are," she smiles sweetly, the way a shark might smile sweetly, "you let me worry about the paperwork, all you have to do is sign on the dotted line."
Yelena reluctantly drops her argument with her father and sips again at her drink. She needs something stronger, at this rate.
no subject
“I’ve already signed,” Walker offers, and Bucky just outright chokes on a laugh.
“As if that helps,” he mutters, and he knows if Sam were here, he’d be kicking him under the table, reminding him to behave. Play nice. Get the intel.
But the scruffy-haired blond man’s words seem to have sparked something and dislodged the first rolling boulder, because Starr chips in, “Sure. Fine. I’m in hiding; it’s not like I’m doing anything else, anyway.”
Alexei says “Yes, I am in,” quick off the draw.
Which just leaves— Barnes and Belova and Dreykov still undecided. Antonia, unnervingly quiet beside the other two Russians she came with, only has eyes for Yelena, and is watching her carefully. She’ll obediently follow her lead, too, and do as the other woman does.
And for the first time all evening, Bucky finally lets himself more openly look at Yelena and outright catch her gaze; for a moment as if there isn’t anyone else in this crowded dining room, the entire world narrowing down to just her, her expression, her decision. There’s a crinkle at the corners of his eyes, a knowing look, a sardonic tilt of his head. He can’t let her vanish, now that their paths have happenstantially crossed again.
“What d’you think?” he asks her. (Challenging. Inviting.) “Could be fun.”