Dominika Kilmova

Despite never attending an American school or any regular school at that, she could pinpoint exactly the clique he would slot into. Quiet, nervous, he seemed careful not to take up space and apologetic for the little space he did hold.

Offering a kind smile, making an effort to strip back any intimidation she had been told she holds naturally. Nicole already figured a softer approach would get further. Atleast to start.

"We haven't met." With a tilt of her head as though to think she would hand him the bag carefully, asthough being in thought the whole time. "I'm Nicole, I work downstairs when I'm in the building, but i desperate for an excuse to get away from the reports."

Honestly, even if she hadn't been delivering something, it would not have been all that strange for her to wander into the lab - it was quiet most of the time, but there still were a number of agents visiting occassionally for all kinds of reasons. Needing one thing or another. Dropping something off. Simply getting lost. He had met most of the friends he had made at SHIELD this way.

But that had been before there had been good reason for paranoia.

"Nicole", he repeated after a beat and finally returned the smile. "You're not the first trying to escape their desk. You can hide for a bit while I process this, if you like. Add it to your report." Usually he prefered to do the work on his own, fall into a quiet rhythm. But maybe a distraction would be good for his nerves.

She couldn't help but walk around his small corner of the lab, knowing it would likely add to any suspicion and yet her own love for science couldn't resist. A passion she had to dampen for the role she currently played.

"How long have I been here?" Too long. Thinking back at the years she spent and the research she had dug out. "Approaching a decade." A tug of her lip as she cringed. "I graduated in computer science, and if im honest, I still don't know how I ended up here, but if you ever need a hand with your laptop, let me know. Unlike IT, I don't need you to spend 30 minutes logging a ticket."

" Your in luck cause I happen to have some ice." Margo went over to her small refrigerator that she keeps in her office to pull out a few cubs of ice and a clean cloth to put in. She couldn't believe she didn't notice the huge bruise on her face and not stopping at a hospital to get looked at. Something told her that she didn't seem the type to go for that.

"I know this was risky but I did have our table away from others who maybe listening." Margo insisted as she kept her own voice low. It was why she had made sure to have their table on the far side where it was less people.. "You don't need to give me details then, not until we go to my place. I thought we should eat and drink first."

It was part true but also margo wanted to be sure that she vould trust the other woman completely before inviting her to her apartment. As nicole ask for the list of names she had already wrote them down on a note pad. Taking it out of her purse she slides across the table towards her.

"I do." One had begun to be a common theme in her research, she had no doubt the others would follow. "Have you noticed they are all Russian?"

The question was more guidance to a lead. An unlocked door that Margo could poke her head through if curious enough.

A fellow viper slipping it's way through the crowd of sheep.

Dominika had been following this woman the past 10 minutes, an easy task in such a populated area. A suspicious last minute request to gather intelligence on the situation with SHIELD and who better than the whistle blower herself?

Asking for the time was a common tactic taught to them when you knew someone was following you, a way to humanise yourself to the eyes of a predator. Catch them off guard and gauge the response to determine a guilty verdict. "Hu? Sorry, one sec!" Faking confusion, as though she was hibernating in a world of her own making. Hitting pause on the silent walkman, lifting her headphones from her ears to hang around her neck as she smiled sheepishly. "What's that, the time?" Tugging at her sleeve, she would check her own watch, smiling as it confirmed what she already knew. "It's uh... 11:11."

Charlie hadn't been in much of a rush, but the nagging feeling of emptiness at her left wrist was driving her crazy.

She had been walking briskly, lost in thought, only to catch herself checking her bare arm for the thousandth time that day, each time followed by an exasperated huff.

As the light turned red at the intersection and the small crowd gathered at the curb, she glanced around for anyone wearing a watch.

Not the elderly man with the green coat. He looked like he was going to make a time for you to get a watch joke, and if she heard that one again, she might snap.

Not the kid with the skateboard, whose short sleeves revealed no watch in sight.

The woman just back a bit to her right had seemed like a good target for her question, though she felt bad about interrupting her jam session.

Too early for lunch, and not late enough to cause her to be late getting back. Maybe she could sneak in a few errands before she sat down to eat.

"Perfect, thanks!" She gave the woman a grateful smile. "You should make a wish!" Glancing back at the pedestrian crossing light, still red, she knew better than to keep going, but couldn't help it.

Was that some type of threat? Glancing to the woman from under her sunglasses, a brow arching at the comment before she looked towards the traffic light.

It was true Americans loved to talk, but in New York city centre, this spy had clearly not perfected their observational research. It made her wonder what exactly they did outside of their work? There was no way the red room would send out a widow this inexperienced? Within just a small interaction, she could rule that out unless that was exactly what the other hoped for.

"Black Sabbath." It wasn't a lie. The tape was in the cassette, ready to roll with the press of a button. It was an impressive device for the everyday civilian, but she knew how technology worked. Sooner or later, everyone would be walking around with one. "I gotta confess, I currently prefer the British charts right now. Their punk and rock scene is something else."

Any child of Russia who had the privilege to hear art from the growing cultures of anarchy would relate to the rage that is boiling all over. You could always count on American media being the last to wake up.

Oh well.

Her eyes had already wandered back toward the traffic, not really expecting much of a reply. Engaging in a conversation on the street corner was usually a bad choice - you would either end up entirely missing the light or causing a sidewalk traffic jam of pedestrians behind you, most of whom would offer loud remarks about the inconvenience. Thankfully, the light hadn't changed yet.

"Good choice, good choice," she replied, turning back to eye the woman as she toyed with the idea of stepping off to the side to continue talking. The mention of the British charts piqued her interest, and her eyebrows raised.

The more the other lingered, the more confused Dominika found herself. Unsure of what to expect or the game that was being played but willing to go along with it. Discover where it takes them.

"I hope you don't mind a bit of piracy? It's probably why I like the charts of other countries, something different, not so copy and paste."

Please include if you want answers for a particular verse or ship.

Many years back, a lab was once a place she felt completely at ease in. All the equipment she could name and explain their uses for even if she didn't use them herself had been upgraded or replaced, the sanitation protocols only got tougher to follow and the faces of the brilliant scientists and doctors who continued to march science forward had all retired or moved to greener pastures.

Working out on the field, she found fewer and fewer reasons to make appearances. She practically jumped at the chance to drop off the evidence swabs from for mutatant crime scene, not only to catch a glimpse of a history past her, but in the hope of catching a name that just kept popping up.

Stood amongst the brains of SHIELD, a folder and evidence bags in her hand as she looked around before casually made her way to the younger man.

"Alexander, right?" Careful not to startle him too much whilst he attended his work, "I was told you would know what to do with these?"

But it was difficult. He wasn't a spy. No one that could fire a weapon when things went rough or withstand interrogation. In a way, that had always been his shield: people saw him and his awkwardness and his clumsy nature and assumed they understood him.

He had barely even begun to understand himself.

At the mention of his name -his full first name, which happened rarely enough-, Alex looked up from his work (his pretend work, really, he could barely concentrate on what he was doing), but the woman that spoke it was unfamiliar to him. Huh. He looked her over, then realized she was waiting for an answer still.

Despite never attending an American school or any regular school at that, she could pinpoint exactly the clique he would slot into. Quiet, nervous, he seemed careful not to take up space and apologetic for the little space he did hold.

Offering a kind smile, making an effort to strip back any intimidation she had been told she holds naturally. Nicole already figured a softer approach would get further. Atleast to start.

"We haven't met." With a tilt of her head as though to think she would hand him the bag carefully, asthough being in thought the whole time. "I'm Nicole, I work downstairs when I'm in the building, but i desperate for an excuse to get away from the reports."

A fellow viper slipping it's way through the crowd of sheep.

Dominika had been following this woman the past 10 minutes, an easy task in such a populated area. A suspicious last minute request to gather intelligence on the situation with SHIELD and who better than the whistle blower herself?

Asking for the time was a common tactic taught to them when you knew someone was following you, a way to humanise yourself to the eyes of a predator. Catch them off guard and gauge the response to determine a guilty verdict. "Hu? Sorry, one sec!" Faking confusion, as though she was hibernating in a world of her own making. Hitting pause on the silent walkman, lifting her headphones from her ears to hang around her neck as she smiled sheepishly. "What's that, the time?" Tugging at her sleeve, she would check her own watch, smiling as it confirmed what she already knew. "It's uh... 11:11."

Charlie hadn't been in much of a rush, but the nagging feeling of emptiness at her left wrist was driving her crazy.

She had been walking briskly, lost in thought, only to catch herself checking her bare arm for the thousandth time that day, each time followed by an exasperated huff.

As the light turned red at the intersection and the small crowd gathered at the curb, she glanced around for anyone wearing a watch.

Not the elderly man with the green coat. He looked like he was going to make a time for you to get a watch joke, and if she heard that one again, she might snap.

Not the kid with the skateboard, whose short sleeves revealed no watch in sight.

The woman just back a bit to her right had seemed like a good target for her question, though she felt bad about interrupting her jam session.

Too early for lunch, and not late enough to cause her to be late getting back. Maybe she could sneak in a few errands before she sat down to eat.

"Perfect, thanks!" She gave the woman a grateful smile. "You should make a wish!" Glancing back at the pedestrian crossing light, still red, she knew better than to keep going, but couldn't help it.

Was that some type of threat? Glancing to the woman from under her sunglasses, a brow arching at the comment before she looked towards the traffic light.

It was true Americans loved to talk, but in New York city centre, this spy had clearly not perfected their observational research. It made her wonder what exactly they did outside of their work? There was no way the red room would send out a widow this inexperienced? Within just a small interaction, she could rule that out unless that was exactly what the other hoped for.

"Black Sabbath." It wasn't a lie. The tape was in the cassette, ready to roll with the press of a button. It was an impressive device for the everyday civilian, but she knew how technology worked. Sooner or later, everyone would be walking around with one. "I gotta confess, I currently prefer the British charts right now. Their punk and rock scene is something else."

Any child of Russia who had the privilege to hear art from the growing cultures of anarchy would relate to the rage that is boiling all over. You could always count on American media being the last to wake up.