[ She picks up on her tail slower than she'd like to admit. Natasha's always operated within the boundaries of her fear; she respects it, and so far it's kept her alive this long. The courtyard is as open as it is empty. There's that low pull at her chest that feels like fear, and she tolerates it as long as she can before vanishing into the shadows, trying to lose him in the brambles.
The Soldier sits down. It takes a moment, maybe two, for Natasha to walk back into the open, one footstep in front of the other sounding somehow too-loud. In her hand is the sharpest knife she could find at the banquet. It's not that sharp. Her grip is lax.
She walks right up to him, where he's sitting, maybe one step away, and says mildly: ]
no subject
The Soldier sits down. It takes a moment, maybe two, for Natasha to walk back into the open, one footstep in front of the other sounding somehow too-loud. In her hand is the sharpest knife she could find at the banquet. It's not that sharp. Her grip is lax.
She walks right up to him, where he's sitting, maybe one step away, and says mildly: ]
You could have just said hello.