Mozzie

"<<So you're blind and stiff. Good to know.>>" Her roundhouse was perfect -- back and leg as straight as could be. At least if you asked her.

The thought nearly brought a smile to her lips, but it doesn’t break through her mask of neutrality. She strikes first, weight shifting to her left leg as she sweeps her right up in a kick; different than her normal lead of a sharp jab followed by a killer right hook. 

"I can do that," she defensively replied.  "Can you?"

"<<Excuse me?>>" Well there went all pretense of being nice. While Ana was more than happy being the 'helpful' one in these situations; her pride did not often allow for a role reversal. 

The girl was good. Youth was her folly, but that folly would get her killed. Natalia wasn’t in the buisness of letting her protege die: it would reflect poorly on her, after all. She squeezed gently, digging her nails into the flesh just next to the metal, before moving forward.

"Derzhite."

Natalia steps into the ring with all the grace and fluidity of a leopard, and the young man who had been lingering quickly scrambles to get out, the smile wiped off his face and a mute look of fear in his eyes. The Black Widow shed her jacket, leaving just a wife beater on, and focused her eyes on Ana.

"Vy yeshche ne sdelali."

Natalia’s stance is loose, squared off and shoulders back. She maintains a cool gaze on her daughter; any affection, maternal or otherwise, is gone from her expression. The Black Widow doesn’t harbor such weakness, after all.

She doesn't respond. She wants to. She can feel the retort sitting on the tip of her tongue. But she knows better. Knows that no good will come of talking back to her mother. Especially not in front of the others.

She is meant to be obedient. Respectful. Of her parents. Her teachers. Her handlers. Her country. Moxy has no place within the Department's walls.

Be better? Be more flexible? Though she wouldn't say that. That was rude, after all. And on the surface, a Widow was never rude. They were the epitome of a Russian woman...with the heart of a killer.

their poor life choices

their questionable life choices

that thing they always try not to talk about

the weather