At least he was in a good mood, or Fury would have landed a hit by now and Bobbi was sure the smell of blood really got him going. She only made one attempt at scrambling away, heels digging into the floor, but knew well enough when to wave the white flag (or maybe that was all the French influencing her decision making.) On her back, she flung her hands up so her palms fell open on the floor, innocent as a songbird he had just shot out of the sky who really had places to be and people to sing with.
"That could use some work," she noted of Fury's oral presentation, brow arched but putting him out of his linguistic misery before he tried any further foreign interrogation. "I could give you a few pointers, but I'm already running behind..." Twirling a finger to illustrate her escaping ne'er-do-well and the ticking clock, and perhaps give Fury the hint that they were on the same side here if he hadn't caught up yet. If nothing else, they obviously had similar goals and accents and maybe splattering her brains all over a warehouse in Brussels was going to work against him.