[Brave or stupid is admittedly a hard question. She's not unaware of the risk, she's just stubborn enough to push at it anyway. She'd needed to know what he knew. And unfortunately for her, knowing that he knows something makes it hard for her to walk away. He'd not threatening her, he's just pushing, testing her reflexes. It just happens that his are better than hers, but she knew that going in. Not that the thought of killing him hadn't crossed her mind, it just seemed risky, and like any miscalculation would only make things worse.
The problem is when he asks her opinion. She considers for a moment, because this is a dangerous subject. She's a bit too bitter, a bit too broken, and she knows it. But his questions are leading enough for her to offer at least pieces of an answer, a slight exhale as she considers the questions.] I think you'd know better than me, I never finished my lessons in statescraft. But, I'm not sure you can. Not like that, anyway. Most people in positions of power concern themselves largely with the acquisitions of more power, what form that takes is specific to their particular role and part of the world. Money, information, guns, drugs, mystical relics, people willing to die for a cause, control, and so on. [There's a vague shrug of her shoulders.]
You have to change the shape of it, I'd think. [She leaves it there, because she knows that he's cutting close, but there's something a little murky in the morality of it. She wants to be a hero, to save the world, she wants to be something that Natasha wasn't, and yet there are shadows behind her blue eyes of things that even she doesn't quite understand.
Those words cut, even if she tries to shrug them off, because of course she does. Alexei had died in all but the same breath as she'd received her powers. Sometimes it felt like she'd stolen his life, like they were her curse for not saving him. She'd been embracing them more lately, thanks to Loki, Steve, people that didn't look at her like she was a monster. But there was always something very double-edged about her abilities. Including the fear that somehow this was what Ivan and her mother had wanted from her.]
It's not what I was taught, it's what I make of them. Something like that?
[He hadn't been asking after her level of education and what it would mean for the state of the world; he had been asking her opinion on what she thought would work best for ordering a disorderly world. They both clearly knew that though, which made her little circumvent of his question amusing. She was and wasn't playing the game, trying to squirm and wiggle out from his questions. She hadn't even bothered from the earlier ones when they had been verbally sparring back and forth with information.
He shrugged his shoulders though, casual as if what he thought on the matter of world peace didn't mean much in a kitchen conversation over a glass of milk. She certainly was striking out though, which he found interesting. She disregarded his ability to sympathize with the common man, and that was very dangerous as most of his charm was the ability to sympathize, especially when he was recruiting. There was simply a time and a place for emotions.
So he turned it back on her.] And what kind of power was Ivan trying to get his hands on, hmm? He was in a position of power.
[Changing the shape of peace. That was an interesting idea, honestly. He actually paused in replying further to glance towards the ceiling and literally ponder the very idea. His jaw shifted as he thought, processing the information that he came up with and slowly nodding his head. He liked that entire phrase he decided; it had a nice ring to it.
As for her indications of self, he suspected those were words of advice and not something that she had come up with on her own. He raised his eyebrows and pushed off of leaning on the counter, actually walking towards her slowly, non-threatening.]
Hardly, what you were taught will always be part of you and will always play with how you deal with people and situations. I feel it more appropriate to think more about how those lessons reflect in what you believe, Miss Orlova, if it is, you believe in much of anything or are simply going through the motions hoping something comes up once you figure out your life.
[She knew that, of course. It had been a deflection, trying to buy herself time, a way to try and figure out how to voice the words in a way that wasn't what he wanted to hear. She didn't know exactly what he was pushing for, not just yet, but the angles were getting sharper, and she knew she wasn't walking that line as well as she had when the terrain wasn't quite so treacherous.
It wasn't so much that she disregarded his sympathy so much as the veracity of it; she was pretty sure that much like Natasha it was something to be used or discarded as the situation required. And there was a sort of safety in it- as long as she allowed herself to deny the possibility of it, it insulated her to some degree from him trying to use it on her. In theory. He asks about Ivan and she quiets for a moment, falls silent for a breath. Because that's a charged question, one with very delicate answers.]
He was. But don't you already know what Ivan was after?
[It's another deflection, but also a curiosity. This one she doesn't chase with an actual answer, just lets her question hang there with a slight tilt of her head toward him. He seems to consider what she'd suggested, accepts it and then he's pushing off the counter, and into her space. She doesn't pull back, but she watches him, attention focused on him. She knows that he's a threat, but she doesn't retreat.
His body language seems non-threatening and she's more interested in what he's angling for, here. So she lets him shrink the distance between them. At his words she nods slightly, because that's far more true, and far more apt for what the OPUS project made of her than the trite sayings her various SHIELD instructors and Coulson tossed her way.]
I was taught different things by different people. Which matters more? Ivan? Natasha? The Academy? The things in between? [There's a thin almost-smile, but it's all edges, almost wolfish.] I believe in peace and order and fighting for the people I care about.
[It seemed to him that Ivan was definitely a sore spot with the way that she continually flipped inquiries back on him. She wanted to know what he knew of the Kremlin while seemingly giving away how much of an impact the man had made on her in the process. And what could he actually say? He hadn't personally met Ivan more than a passing glance, and they had never exchanged words with one another; he was familiar with the man's work.]
Given Ivan worked within the Red Room, I can surmise what he was after, but I have no solid proof. You, having worked with him directly, have more a clear picture of what it was that Ivan was motivated by.
[That much was true. Her direct contact gave her far more insight than what he could have picked up in a glance. The informational back and forth between factions of HYDRA were not always clear cut after all; there had to be some heavy compartmentalization within the ranks to keep anyone from spilling too much information. The Heads were a bit more open, but they had to hide themselves more diligently, but they were often more skilled in keeping information from leaking.
It wasn't as if Ivan's motivations mattered to him, if he were being honest. The man wasn't quite so important to his aspirations, but the fact that he was a bother for Ava meant that it might become a point of interest soon enough.
He wasn't certain if she would hold her ground if he approached, his file in hand even as he closed. If he was about to leave, he wanted to have all of his personal items with him to simply walk away and leave her standing there. She, of course, had the physical advantage, and he never discounted that. He just plain wasn't afraid of any violence that might ensue.]
That's up to you, now isn't it? What you were taught will either fall in those beliefs or they won't. [He smiled at her, nodding.] In that, we are the same, Miss Orlova. That warms my heart.
[He wasn't wrong. She tried to downplay it, but the truth was that Ivan had beaten her, tortured her, experimented on her. A lot of it she still didn't entirely remember, but there were pieces- the handcuffs, the screaming, electricity that arced through metal pressed to her skin. Pain and some strange emotion halfway between anger and resignation.]
To say I worked with him overstates the facts. Ivan thought he could build a new world by tearing down just about every intelligence apparatus and government agency from the inside out. Better for who, I don't know. He believed in pain, though.
[She doesn't think it's something he could do something with, not directly, at least. But it does have overtures to the OPUS project. That had been the method of it, after all. And sure that's a sideways reference to the fact that he'd tortured her, but if Pierce knew anything about the Red Room at all, which he clearly did, then that wasn't anything that he didn't already have on her.
He closes the distance and she stands still. Bravery, or maybe foolishness, but neither of them are afraid of a physical confrontation, which makes the subject of distance more of an allegory, the philosophical subject of what it says about them. He speaks and she's quiet for a moment, because that sentiment all but catches her breath, and not in a good sort of way.
We are the same, you and I. Natasha had said those words to her when she was nine years old. And again, when she'd been seventeen and angry, with Russian snipers taking position on rooftops. She'd punched her in the face, then. For daring to pretend at some connection when the woman had left her. Had given her a charm and told people to laugh at her to make her harder, colder. And now Pierce stands there in the kitchen, and there's those same words: we are the same. That echo in her memory of something that had always been a cruelty, a comparison, a legacy she could never achieve or escape. Мы такие же.
It makes her heart pound in her chest, makes her forget to breathe and for a moment her blue eyes glow. She makes herself blink, try to rein in her emotions but that's never been easy for her, and for a breath there's something on the air. That way that thunderstorms feel on a summer's night. She sighs, shakes her head and her eyes fade.]
It's getting late, isn't it? I didn't mean to keep you so long.
[Alexander drank in the information that she plainly provided, and he knew there was quite the story there about Ivan. It made him recall a project that had been associated with the man, one that a few agents had been looking more deeply into. Of course, Ivan wanted to gut the intelligence agents and governments; that was the quickest path to leaving people in the dark and being able to instate sleeper agents all around. No one would know who to trust and what information was correct.
He actually held his peace on that subject, aware that many in that area of the intelligence community enjoyed inflicting pain. The agents they produced were malleable and pliant, willing to follow orders, to endure, and to report back. It came as no surprise to him, and there was no sympathy that he could or would offer on the matter. It was her life, and she either dealt with it or let it take over what she was.
It seemed to him that his words had a profound effect on Ava, and that was perhaps the most interesting aspect of the night. Those blue glowing eyes, a link to something deeper he had no doubt. He would definitely be looking a bit more deeply into her, into what she was and why the Red Room had not kept her, instead parceling her off to SHIELD. What part of SHIELD? He was going to look into that as well.
She looked as if she struggled for control. At least she could. For now. There was no need to push her any further; he had good information and maybe she had a little herself. That she could shake whatever took root in her off was curious, and he nodded his head to her words, as if she hadn't come to him or he hadn't intended to stay up reading.
He moved to step passed her instead. That was that, then. She had no more questions to interrogate him with.]
No doubt we shall have more midnight meetings in future, Miss Orlova. Should you think of more questions, do feel free to bring them to my attention.
[He looked at her as he walked casually away, the file under his arm still.]
Don't stay up too late. Everyone needs a good nights rest. Another time then, Miss. You know where to find me.
[And with that, he left the kitchen to return to his bed.]
[There's something off-putting about the way that he invites her back, as if this had been some arranged meeting and not Ava sneaking in through the kitchen in the middle of the night. But he's right, this is the point where things get too brittle and she can't push further than this, and pushing her will just make her run.
But she stays long enough to nod in agreement, quiet, but that flare of emotion under control.] I'll keep that in mind.
[Pierce walks away and she slips away, silent as a shadow as she leaves the way she came. And tries to decide on where she can go to hit something. Repeatedly. He got under her skin and she doesn't quite know how to burn it out.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
The problem is when he asks her opinion. She considers for a moment, because this is a dangerous subject. She's a bit too bitter, a bit too broken, and she knows it. But his questions are leading enough for her to offer at least pieces of an answer, a slight exhale as she considers the questions.] I think you'd know better than me, I never finished my lessons in statescraft. But, I'm not sure you can. Not like that, anyway. Most people in positions of power concern themselves largely with the acquisitions of more power, what form that takes is specific to their particular role and part of the world. Money, information, guns, drugs, mystical relics, people willing to die for a cause, control, and so on. [There's a vague shrug of her shoulders.]
You have to change the shape of it, I'd think. [She leaves it there, because she knows that he's cutting close, but there's something a little murky in the morality of it. She wants to be a hero, to save the world, she wants to be something that Natasha wasn't, and yet there are shadows behind her blue eyes of things that even she doesn't quite understand.
Those words cut, even if she tries to shrug them off, because of course she does. Alexei had died in all but the same breath as she'd received her powers. Sometimes it felt like she'd stolen his life, like they were her curse for not saving him. She'd been embracing them more lately, thanks to Loki, Steve, people that didn't look at her like she was a monster. But there was always something very double-edged about her abilities. Including the fear that somehow this was what Ivan and her mother had wanted from her.]
It's not what I was taught, it's what I make of them. Something like that?
no subject
He shrugged his shoulders though, casual as if what he thought on the matter of world peace didn't mean much in a kitchen conversation over a glass of milk. She certainly was striking out though, which he found interesting. She disregarded his ability to sympathize with the common man, and that was very dangerous as most of his charm was the ability to sympathize, especially when he was recruiting. There was simply a time and a place for emotions.
So he turned it back on her.] And what kind of power was Ivan trying to get his hands on, hmm? He was in a position of power.
[Changing the shape of peace. That was an interesting idea, honestly. He actually paused in replying further to glance towards the ceiling and literally ponder the very idea. His jaw shifted as he thought, processing the information that he came up with and slowly nodding his head. He liked that entire phrase he decided; it had a nice ring to it.
As for her indications of self, he suspected those were words of advice and not something that she had come up with on her own. He raised his eyebrows and pushed off of leaning on the counter, actually walking towards her slowly, non-threatening.]
Hardly, what you were taught will always be part of you and will always play with how you deal with people and situations. I feel it more appropriate to think more about how those lessons reflect in what you believe, Miss Orlova, if it is, you believe in much of anything or are simply going through the motions hoping something comes up once you figure out your life.
no subject
It wasn't so much that she disregarded his sympathy so much as the veracity of it; she was pretty sure that much like Natasha it was something to be used or discarded as the situation required. And there was a sort of safety in it- as long as she allowed herself to deny the possibility of it, it insulated her to some degree from him trying to use it on her. In theory. He asks about Ivan and she quiets for a moment, falls silent for a breath. Because that's a charged question, one with very delicate answers.]
He was. But don't you already know what Ivan was after?
[It's another deflection, but also a curiosity. This one she doesn't chase with an actual answer, just lets her question hang there with a slight tilt of her head toward him. He seems to consider what she'd suggested, accepts it and then he's pushing off the counter, and into her space. She doesn't pull back, but she watches him, attention focused on him. She knows that he's a threat, but she doesn't retreat.
His body language seems non-threatening and she's more interested in what he's angling for, here. So she lets him shrink the distance between them. At his words she nods slightly, because that's far more true, and far more apt for what the OPUS project made of her than the trite sayings her various SHIELD instructors and Coulson tossed her way.]
I was taught different things by different people. Which matters more? Ivan? Natasha? The Academy? The things in between? [There's a thin almost-smile, but it's all edges, almost wolfish.] I believe in peace and order and fighting for the people I care about.
no subject
Given Ivan worked within the Red Room, I can surmise what he was after, but I have no solid proof. You, having worked with him directly, have more a clear picture of what it was that Ivan was motivated by.
[That much was true. Her direct contact gave her far more insight than what he could have picked up in a glance. The informational back and forth between factions of HYDRA were not always clear cut after all; there had to be some heavy compartmentalization within the ranks to keep anyone from spilling too much information. The Heads were a bit more open, but they had to hide themselves more diligently, but they were often more skilled in keeping information from leaking.
It wasn't as if Ivan's motivations mattered to him, if he were being honest. The man wasn't quite so important to his aspirations, but the fact that he was a bother for Ava meant that it might become a point of interest soon enough.
He wasn't certain if she would hold her ground if he approached, his file in hand even as he closed. If he was about to leave, he wanted to have all of his personal items with him to simply walk away and leave her standing there. She, of course, had the physical advantage, and he never discounted that. He just plain wasn't afraid of any violence that might ensue.]
That's up to you, now isn't it? What you were taught will either fall in those beliefs or they won't. [He smiled at her, nodding.] In that, we are the same, Miss Orlova. That warms my heart.
no subject
To say I worked with him overstates the facts. Ivan thought he could build a new world by tearing down just about every intelligence apparatus and government agency from the inside out. Better for who, I don't know. He believed in pain, though.
[She doesn't think it's something he could do something with, not directly, at least. But it does have overtures to the OPUS project. That had been the method of it, after all. And sure that's a sideways reference to the fact that he'd tortured her, but if Pierce knew anything about the Red Room at all, which he clearly did, then that wasn't anything that he didn't already have on her.
He closes the distance and she stands still. Bravery, or maybe foolishness, but neither of them are afraid of a physical confrontation, which makes the subject of distance more of an allegory, the philosophical subject of what it says about them. He speaks and she's quiet for a moment, because that sentiment all but catches her breath, and not in a good sort of way.
We are the same, you and I. Natasha had said those words to her when she was nine years old. And again, when she'd been seventeen and angry, with Russian snipers taking position on rooftops. She'd punched her in the face, then. For daring to pretend at some connection when the woman had left her. Had given her a charm and told people to laugh at her to make her harder, colder. And now Pierce stands there in the kitchen, and there's those same words: we are the same. That echo in her memory of something that had always been a cruelty, a comparison, a legacy she could never achieve or escape. Мы такие же.
It makes her heart pound in her chest, makes her forget to breathe and for a moment her blue eyes glow. She makes herself blink, try to rein in her emotions but that's never been easy for her, and for a breath there's something on the air. That way that thunderstorms feel on a summer's night. She sighs, shakes her head and her eyes fade.]
It's getting late, isn't it? I didn't mean to keep you so long.
no subject
He actually held his peace on that subject, aware that many in that area of the intelligence community enjoyed inflicting pain. The agents they produced were malleable and pliant, willing to follow orders, to endure, and to report back. It came as no surprise to him, and there was no sympathy that he could or would offer on the matter. It was her life, and she either dealt with it or let it take over what she was.
It seemed to him that his words had a profound effect on Ava, and that was perhaps the most interesting aspect of the night. Those blue glowing eyes, a link to something deeper he had no doubt. He would definitely be looking a bit more deeply into her, into what she was and why the Red Room had not kept her, instead parceling her off to SHIELD. What part of SHIELD? He was going to look into that as well.
She looked as if she struggled for control. At least she could. For now. There was no need to push her any further; he had good information and maybe she had a little herself. That she could shake whatever took root in her off was curious, and he nodded his head to her words, as if she hadn't come to him or he hadn't intended to stay up reading.
He moved to step passed her instead. That was that, then. She had no more questions to interrogate him with.]
No doubt we shall have more midnight meetings in future, Miss Orlova. Should you think of more questions, do feel free to bring them to my attention.
[He looked at her as he walked casually away, the file under his arm still.]
Don't stay up too late. Everyone needs a good nights rest. Another time then, Miss. You know where to find me.
[And with that, he left the kitchen to return to his bed.]
no subject
But she stays long enough to nod in agreement, quiet, but that flare of emotion under control.] I'll keep that in mind.
[Pierce walks away and she slips away, silent as a shadow as she leaves the way she came. And tries to decide on where she can go to hit something. Repeatedly. He got under her skin and she doesn't quite know how to burn it out.]