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aa_natasha 9/6/2012
=NYC= Library - Ground Floor - Avengers Mansion
The library is perhaps the only room in the mansion that still feels period-appropriate. A low fireplace of black marble sits in the center of one wood-paneled wall, and art that is no doubt excessively expensive graces its walls. The shelves that hug the walls are low, only three high, and they hold a wide variety of books that range from political histories and botanical information to the latest bestselling fiction. The winged chairs and sofa may look fancy, but they are remarkably comfortable once tried, and the tall windows that overlook the lawn provide plenty of natural light.
Natasha has settled into the corner of one of the fancy-looking couches, and the laptop settled atop her crossed legs feels a bit anochronistic with the furniture. Then again, Sif probably doesn't know much about period furniture.
Sif does not, but she can tell that they don't seem to match, at least. Or could if she were paying attention. As it is, she glances around the room, at Natasha and her laptop, at the furniture, at the books and the view out the windows. "Hello," she greets Natasha, stepping in and circling without, it seems, any particular intent beyond running fingertips along a shelf and looking at the lawn outside.
Natasha doesn't glance up at Sif's entrance, or for several seconds after her greeting. Whatever it is that she's typing with the fast flash of fingers on keys apparently requires completing. Eventually she pauses, lifts her head, and finds the circling Sif with her gaze. "Hello," she returns.
"Am I disturbing you?" Sif inquires, turning from the window to flick a gaze from Natasha to her computer. She turns back, but leaves the window anyway, attention shifting to the books on the shelves, now.
"Disturbing?" Natasha's eyes glint a quiet amusement before she shakes her head. "No. I've worked through much larger disturbances."
"Interrupting," Sif offers an alternative, and then nods, "I imagine so." She walks fingers along the spines of books as she goes, tilting one out but then putting it back. Nothing in particular seems to catch her interest. "What is your role here?" she asks somewhat suddenly, turning back to look at Natasha again.
"Well," Natasha says to the more accurate description before her lips curve just slightly. "I get things done. What is /your/ role here?"
Sif shrugs, with shoulders and expression both. "I am here as Thor's friend and companion," she says, "And, it seems, I may serve as a potential way out of unpleasant meetings for Tony Stark." Lips curve wryly, and she pulls out another book, scanning the cover this time before replacing it.
"You stay because Thor does." Natasha studies Sif for a moment, her fingers light and still on the keyboard. "Stark spoke to you, then."
"Yes," Sif confirms, and then again, "And yes. He did. I will help if I can."
"That's good of you," Natasha says with a slight incline of her head. "It's not your fight. We appreciate it."
Sif's reply comes with another shrug. "Thor has decided it is his fight. That makes it mine. And Stark asked so very nicely." Her lips curve into a quick flare of a grin.
Natasha's brows rise a touch. "Did he." The question is so dry as to not deserve a ? .
"Not at all," Sif laughs, "Though I suppose perhaps he tried a little. A very little."
"That's more than many get from Tony Stark," Natasha supplies, and it sounds a very little like a compliment. "Did he seem concerned?"
Sif considers that for a moment. "I do not know about concerned... but I do not know him very well. I do not think he likes the idea of having to run away."
Natasha's small smile is quietly rueful. "No," she says. "He wouldn't. I hope it doesn't come to that."
"I do not know many who would," Sif replies, and then nods, "I hope not as well. Do you think it is likely? He was less than clear."
Natasha hesitates for a moment before she says, "Not as long as he controls himself. I think if Schmidt wanted him, he has other, easier ways to get him. But it's Tony Stark." She presses one hand to the top of the laptop, sliding it closed. "So we'll see."
Sif snorts softly. "I am not sure that makes for a very good chance," she says dryly. After a moment she amends, "But he seems perhaps capable of self control at times, when he likes. One would think he would like it in this."
"Mmm," Natasha agrees as she rises and scoops her laptop up under her arm. "Either way, thank you for being willing to assist."
Sif inclines her head in a nod of acknowledgement. "You are welcome," she says. After a beat, she asks, "Before you depart, perhaps you might-- suggest something?" She spreads her hands at the general expanse of books.
Natasha lifts her brows in slight inquiry, and then gives Sif a small smile as she tips her head to some shelf or another and recommends something I'm too tired to make up before ducking out of the room.
=NYC= Library - Ground Floor - Avengers Mansion
The library is perhaps the only room in the mansion that still feels period-appropriate. A low fireplace of black marble sits in the center of one wood-paneled wall, and art that is no doubt excessively expensive graces its walls. The shelves that hug the walls are low, only three high, and they hold a wide variety of books that range from political histories and botanical information to the latest bestselling fiction. The winged chairs and sofa may look fancy, but they are remarkably comfortable once tried, and the tall windows that overlook the lawn provide plenty of natural light.
Natasha has settled into the corner of one of the fancy-looking couches, and the laptop settled atop her crossed legs feels a bit anochronistic with the furniture. Then again, Sif probably doesn't know much about period furniture.
Sif does not, but she can tell that they don't seem to match, at least. Or could if she were paying attention. As it is, she glances around the room, at Natasha and her laptop, at the furniture, at the books and the view out the windows. "Hello," she greets Natasha, stepping in and circling without, it seems, any particular intent beyond running fingertips along a shelf and looking at the lawn outside.
Natasha doesn't glance up at Sif's entrance, or for several seconds after her greeting. Whatever it is that she's typing with the fast flash of fingers on keys apparently requires completing. Eventually she pauses, lifts her head, and finds the circling Sif with her gaze. "Hello," she returns.
"Am I disturbing you?" Sif inquires, turning from the window to flick a gaze from Natasha to her computer. She turns back, but leaves the window anyway, attention shifting to the books on the shelves, now.
"Disturbing?" Natasha's eyes glint a quiet amusement before she shakes her head. "No. I've worked through much larger disturbances."
"Interrupting," Sif offers an alternative, and then nods, "I imagine so." She walks fingers along the spines of books as she goes, tilting one out but then putting it back. Nothing in particular seems to catch her interest. "What is your role here?" she asks somewhat suddenly, turning back to look at Natasha again.
"Well," Natasha says to the more accurate description before her lips curve just slightly. "I get things done. What is /your/ role here?"
Sif shrugs, with shoulders and expression both. "I am here as Thor's friend and companion," she says, "And, it seems, I may serve as a potential way out of unpleasant meetings for Tony Stark." Lips curve wryly, and she pulls out another book, scanning the cover this time before replacing it.
"You stay because Thor does." Natasha studies Sif for a moment, her fingers light and still on the keyboard. "Stark spoke to you, then."
"Yes," Sif confirms, and then again, "And yes. He did. I will help if I can."
"That's good of you," Natasha says with a slight incline of her head. "It's not your fight. We appreciate it."
Sif's reply comes with another shrug. "Thor has decided it is his fight. That makes it mine. And Stark asked so very nicely." Her lips curve into a quick flare of a grin.
Natasha's brows rise a touch. "Did he." The question is so dry as to not deserve a ? .
"Not at all," Sif laughs, "Though I suppose perhaps he tried a little. A very little."
"That's more than many get from Tony Stark," Natasha supplies, and it sounds a very little like a compliment. "Did he seem concerned?"
Sif considers that for a moment. "I do not know about concerned... but I do not know him very well. I do not think he likes the idea of having to run away."
Natasha's small smile is quietly rueful. "No," she says. "He wouldn't. I hope it doesn't come to that."
"I do not know many who would," Sif replies, and then nods, "I hope not as well. Do you think it is likely? He was less than clear."
Natasha hesitates for a moment before she says, "Not as long as he controls himself. I think if Schmidt wanted him, he has other, easier ways to get him. But it's Tony Stark." She presses one hand to the top of the laptop, sliding it closed. "So we'll see."
Sif snorts softly. "I am not sure that makes for a very good chance," she says dryly. After a moment she amends, "But he seems perhaps capable of self control at times, when he likes. One would think he would like it in this."
"Mmm," Natasha agrees as she rises and scoops her laptop up under her arm. "Either way, thank you for being willing to assist."
Sif inclines her head in a nod of acknowledgement. "You are welcome," she says. After a beat, she asks, "Before you depart, perhaps you might-- suggest something?" She spreads her hands at the general expanse of books.
Natasha lifts her brows in slight inquiry, and then gives Sif a small smile as she tips her head to some shelf or another and recommends something I'm too tired to make up before ducking out of the room.