[She'd intended to just watch, to trace around the edges of what he could follow and see if she could figure out what he was looking at, maybe steal it if he was too sloppy. But there's that name-- common a Russian name as you could get, but Ivan would always mean one man to her, and it was enough to tug her in small steps so she wasn't as clearly hidden, standing on that border between light and shadow, the chaiscuro pattern of bars of muted shadow from the streetlights that shined through the blinds falling against her sillhouette as she watched him. She's not dressed in her SHIELD uniform or overt spy gear, but she does wear dark, muted tones,
Silence was easier, better, but that name was a soft spot, when she was only too aware of just what it could mean. The answer to the question she'd been trying to pull from conversations that were too polite. How much did he know? Was he like the people who didn't remember her? Or did words like OPUS project actually mean something to him? She wasn't sure that the feeling of not being quite so alone was worth it. What it would mean.]
Who's Ivan?
[As if she doesn't know, as if the meaning of it doesn't hum in her fingertips. A low murmur, like it's a continuation of a conversation and not a whisper in the dark. Her eyes are bright blue, but flat and quiet, intent.]
no subject
Silence was easier, better, but that name was a soft spot, when she was only too aware of just what it could mean. The answer to the question she'd been trying to pull from conversations that were too polite. How much did he know? Was he like the people who didn't remember her? Or did words like OPUS project actually mean something to him? She wasn't sure that the feeling of not being quite so alone was worth it. What it would mean.]
Who's Ivan?
[As if she doesn't know, as if the meaning of it doesn't hum in her fingertips. A low murmur, like it's a continuation of a conversation and not a whisper in the dark. Her eyes are bright blue, but flat and quiet, intent.]