"The American doughnuts are part of my training, Olechka. If I cannot devour an entire box by myself, then how can I pass for American?" Yelena quipped back, although her face was still pressed to the scope of her sniper rifle, using it to squint at the details Olga noted from the building while the other woman held the binoculars.
Her own humour was irrepressible: mouthy, tongue-in-cheek, seeming to almost never take anything seriously. (A defense mechanism, like so many other things were.) But it was like they were making up for lost time: both of them had been rigid automatons for so long, weapons on a shelf, made to be seen and not heard, and so now they could finally rediscover their old personalities buried beneath that conditioning. They could be more loose and informal and teasing, even if they were still brutally efficient.
The Contessa would tolerate nothing less, after all. And while it felt like a regression in some ways — going back to espionage and assassination, picking up old habits — this time, it was because Yelena chose to do it. And she had decent pay and time off, so like, it was an improvement. She'd been out of the game for five years and came back to a changed world, her contacts run dry. She'd needed resources, and Val had offered them. Because Widows still needed saving and Widows still needed jobs, and they could use their talents effectively here.
Maybe even do some good with those talents. Maybe.
After a moment, she set down the rifle. "Well. If it's not here, then that's our friends in intel to blame, and I will have some stern words with them. But all we can do is try, yes?"
no subject
Her own humour was irrepressible: mouthy, tongue-in-cheek, seeming to almost never take anything seriously. (A defense mechanism, like so many other things were.) But it was like they were making up for lost time: both of them had been rigid automatons for so long, weapons on a shelf, made to be seen and not heard, and so now they could finally rediscover their old personalities buried beneath that conditioning. They could be more loose and informal and teasing, even if they were still brutally efficient.
The Contessa would tolerate nothing less, after all. And while it felt like a regression in some ways — going back to espionage and assassination, picking up old habits — this time, it was because Yelena chose to do it. And she had decent pay and time off, so like, it was an improvement. She'd been out of the game for five years and came back to a changed world, her contacts run dry. She'd needed resources, and Val had offered them. Because Widows still needed saving and Widows still needed jobs, and they could use their talents effectively here.
Maybe even do some good with those talents. Maybe.
After a moment, she set down the rifle. "Well. If it's not here, then that's our friends in intel to blame, and I will have some stern words with them. But all we can do is try, yes?"