inbox. ( eudio )

[profession]

Illya Nikolaevich Kuryakin Date of Birth: July 25 1931 Place of Birth: Moscow Country of Origin: Russia text / audio / video / action

Comments

[myownwoman]

[ there's a long, protracted silence as gaby's eyes fall to her coffee, sipping it slowly so she won't have to answer.

finally, quietly: ] You never have to worry.

[ she sets the cup down with a soft thud, still quite full, gaze flickering back up to his as if to ask "satisfied?" ]

[profession]

[ "No."

The silence stretches a bit, between Gaby's setting her cup down to Illya's turning his own clockwise on the saucer. He's burning a hole on the tabletop, trying to discern the identity of this vague, amorphous idea of a Someone without having to ask. ]

All right.

Have you been doing anything to keep busy?

[myownwoman]

I've made a few friends. German lessons. Exploring mostly. I haven't done much in the way of working toward my incentive...

That is why I wanted to speak to you. [ aside from the fact that she does only have two real friends here and one of them is sitting across from her and she'd rather die than ask solo for help since he would never let her live it down.

literally ever. ]

[profession]

[ It's like an eighties horror flick - or at least, that cinematic thrill of something secret creeping forward and sinking its claws around the neck the way the hack-and-slash villains would. Illya's facial expression doesn't change one bit from its stoic pose, but there's suddenly a very loud roaring in his ears.

He probably misheard. ]

What about it?

[myownwoman]

[ her head ducks again, hands falling to her lap where her fingers nervously twist together. she charmed a nazi, that was easy. this? not so much. especially sober. she is far too sober for this. ]

I'd like your help.

[ she needs a drink. she needs an entire bottle. ]

[profession]

[ He thinks to raise his cup again to occupy his hands before he remembers he's drank all of the coffee already, and now he's at a loss.

Help.

Suddenly he's not sure what to do. ]

I. Hm. You would like to hold hands, yes?

[myownwoman]

[ part of her had expected a firm no, just out of habit, maybe. yet she's not entirely surprised she isn't being outright denied -- she'd convinced him to dance with her, after all, however short lived dancing was. ]

Yes.

[ no, she would not like to hold hands, but admitting that just feels like weakness. ]

[profession]

[ Making informed decisions is why spies are in business in the first place - and while this isn't some deep-cover op, Illya is treating it as one anyway, for his own sanity.

How does one deal with any sort of intimacy when one has been raised and taught to shield away from it? It's a decades-long trained reflex. It's hard to break away from. ]

And you would like it to be a regular arrangement?

[myownwoman]

Very. And I would like my Russian lessons to resume, there are particular phrases that we haven't gotten to yet that I would like to know.

[ she leans back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other at the knee, leaving her hands in her lap. ]

You know I don't sleep very well and I did get used to the company, maybe that might help again. If you're not opposed to that sort of thing.

[profession]

[ The action draws his attention to her legs— Illya turns his gaze in the exact opposite direction as quickly as his eyes move to where she's folded her hands.

This teacup is in a very dangerous situation. ]

We can continue with the language lessons whenever you like. I'm not opposed to the company.

Would you— Do you intend on moving out? Of your little box apartment.

[myownwoman]

I don't know where else I would go, [ she offers unhelpfully. it's not that she isn't open to the idea -- personally, she thinks it's stupid to waste money on three leases when the three of them could share but it's taking some time to craft an argument for that. ]