At least he knew her brand. Really, what good were partners if they didn't keep up with all of your idiosyncrasies? Besides, God help him, if he brought the Russian the wrong brand of Vodka. He knew better than not insult her by showing up with Grey Goose, or gasp, Absolut. Truthfully, Clint didn't have a preference, maybe Stoli when it came down to it, but he'd drink anything from Belvedere to Kettle One if it got him drunk.
Clint followed Natalia into the kitchen, but not all the way. Instead he stopped and watched her gather the glasses, hands crossed over his chest. "Funny," he remarked. "I might just say your heart," he quipped with a wink and grin. The apartment looked alright, neat as a pin, but nothing out of the ordinary Clint surmised. He didn't really have an eye for decorating and so didn't noticed the lamp, although he did note everything looked neat and was rather stylish at that.
"Sure, yeah, no problem," he said off the cuff, with a shrug finally closing the distance and moving towards her refrigerator. "Ice you say? Comes out of this magic contraption?" He mocked. "You know, I spent my formative years in a circus, not the eighteenth century. I've lived in a house before."