Re: Bar: Cat/Matt
She chuckled when he reached for his glass, as if she understood that his impulse must've been to reach for her instead. And she did understand. She'd been raised by the Russians, and she was as much their daughter as she was the daughter of the man that sired her. But if someone came up to her and started purring Russian in her ear? She would've wanted to attack too. Tensing muscles, twitch of jaw, and tells hidden, but she assumed they were there, beneath the skin. Sure, she was assuming a lot, but assuming was what she did. Gut and instinct, it was what kept her alive. Fearlessness, her willingness to do what felt right, and if she died? Well, she died. That? Kept her alive, and her gut told her that he was important. Oh, she didn't remember why, but she knew he was.
"Bait?" She didn't even pretend not to understand his words. "No, comrade. I'm just a woman who owns a bar. Maybe you're the plant." Her smile was warm, remained lush. Invitation, and tell me your secrets, and any concern she felt was buried deep beneath fur.
And maybe, maybe he would lead her to what she was looking for. Whether or not he intended to, was meant to? That was irrelevant.
She leaned close, elbows on wood and her back a long and graceful stretch of spine. "I don't know about that. When I was young? I wanted to find a dacha of my own, retire there, somewhere beautiful and unsullied." It was casual, and whether it was true or not, well, that was impossible to determine. The fact that she recalled a dacha, her training facility, and a house there in the harmless quiet? That was completely true, but it didn't show on her face. She merely sought recognition in his visage, her attention seemingly lazy. But, then, she was seldom what she seemed.