Owner	Pose
Melina Vostokoff	While Dottie has been following and quietly seducing HYDRA all over DC, there has been someone else following her. Just a few hints, a slightly familiar face out of the corner of her eye once or twice. But never daring to let herself be fully seen. Tonight, however, she sits at the bar of the Roosevelt hotel where she expects Dottie will be, unless the woman has already left the place. She's in the far corner of the bar, so her back is to the wall and she can elegantly watch the entire place. Her hair is drawn up in a crown brain, a too-familiar style for their old lives. She wears modern clothes, though -- designer jeans, a silk camisole, elegant matching gray lace bolero, a few pieces of tasteful jewelry. To most around? She looks like she could be some senators wife drinking the night away alone again. To Dottie? She's wearing at least 5 weapons concealed in that outfit.
Dottie Underwood	The bar is very public, so those weapons *probably* won't make an appearance. But Dottie isn't taking chances. She has her own concealed little toys placed discretely about her person -- a few more than she usually carries. She'd noticed that familiar face. Not a clear look. She couldn't be sure. Still, she's cautious. It had been a good run. But Dottie had been missed. Too much dallying undercover where she should have been recognized. So she strolls into the bar. Spotting the crown braid, and the woman wearing it, she takes a seat. Not next to Melina. But there's only one empty seat between them. Dottie orders a vodka spritzer.
Melina Vostokoff	"...Sophia, is it? Making quite the splash in DC. So far from your home..." Melina mutters gently, taking a long sip of her own beverage, something clear and in a highball glass. She shifts her frame casually, crossing long legs, letting her hip rest a bit heavier against the bar at her side. It's the look of being casual, comfortable, but Dottie probably knows better. Still, there is a cool, quiet smile on her full lips. Something that has all the time in the world.
Dottie Underwood	Dottie raises her glass in salute. "So good to see an old...friend." The bright lilt of the last word carries multiple meanings. Not all of them as pleasant as the word suggests.
Melina Vostokoff	For just a heartbeat, Melina's hazel eyes narrow at the word friend. That tightness in her smile lingers, but then she takes a breath and something of it simply lets go. Instead of that tension, there's just a simple, odd, rather distant sadness behind her eyes muddled with quiet exhaustion. She takes a silent, deeper gulp of her drink, finishing it all but the ice. "Good is not the word I would use, poteryannyy yagnenok..." The last two words are said ever so quiet, just a whisper of breath, only meant for their ears. 'Lost lamb', for any who speak Russian.
Dottie Underwood	As Melina speaks in their mother tongue, Dottie's smile becomes a brittle, fragile thing. "What do you want?" she asks.
Melina Vostokoff	That reaction from Dottie pulls whatever was left in her smile away almost immediately. Melina doesn't respond for several moments, but she motions to the bartender for another drink. Then she pauses. "Just...vodka. Bring the bottle. Two shot glasses." She slides an Amex Black across the bar towards him, the sort that is meant to say just put it on the tab and don't ask questions "Grey Goose." That's to keep the cover. It wasn't bad vodka, it just wasn't really *their* vodka. But it would do. "I am more concerned with what *you* want. You are very far..."
Dottie Underwood	"As are you," Dottie says."And no one cares what *I* want. Which one of them sent you?" The bartender brings the vodka and the glasses and disappears just as silently. Ah, the wonders of capitalism.
Melina Vostokoff	"Does it matter? I am supposed to bring you home. It is still not what I asked. What. Do. You. Want?" Melinda lays out in front of Dottie, like another of those strange and awful tests. Pick the right card. Fight the right girl. Give the right answer, or hurt. Maybe it is a test, or maybe that's the only way the woman knows how to speak to people. She pours them both out a shot from the fresh bottle, sliding the little glass over to her counterpart. She doesn't wait, she takes the whole drink of it and quietly places her empty shot glass back on the bar.
Dottie Underwood	She takes the shot. And drinks it without hesitation. "I don't have a home. I haven't for a long time. You understand? "
Melina Vostokoff	That comment gets a slightly skeptical look from Melina. Her lips press tightly and she pours them both out another shot but doesn't take it. Instead, she stares down into the glass. "I understand, in a way. But you also understand what I mean. You *do* have a home. You just dislike it. You do not wish the chains."
Dottie Underwood	Dottie shakes her head. She looks down at her shot of vodka. "Which one of our masters would you have me shackled to? The snake or the bear?"
Melina Vostokoff	"You are dodging. As ever. If I said yes, it mattered, would you answer my question? *What* do you *want*?" Melina asks again, greenish eyes tilting up, practically boring through Dottie's gaze with a severity and passion that she has never seen from the woman before. That drugged, slightly distant haze that always seems to come to her gaze when those very drugs she developed run through her system, it's not there right now.
Dottie Underwood	The pacing and inflection of the question bore into Dottie's subconscious with an easy familiarity. But for some reason, the answer doesn't come bubbling up to her lips. Interesting. She drinks the vodka. And slides back into that silky Midwestern accent from so long ago. "You haven't been much of a sharer either, now, have you Mel?"
Melina Vostokoff	A slight shrug comes to her slender shoulders and she knocks back the second shot she's poured. As is tradition, a third is poured. No glass remains empty on the counter, not when they are having this talk. The room has gotten gently crowded around them, offering a quiet background din to everything they are saying, with no one else close enough to properly hear them. It's almost secure. Almost. Alone in a crowd. "I asked you first. And, I have the power here. Oh, you might be able to physically put me in the ground. You have done this longer. I think you very well may win a fair fight. But you know me, I do not fight fair." A cold smile decorates her lips. "But, I did not come to fight. I came to ask a question."
Dottie Underwood	"When have any of us ever fought fair?" Dottie asks. She pours back the third shot, forcing Melina to keep up. They have a whole bottle to get through. But also, she's been playing for time. She doesn't know how to come out on top of this exchange. And Melina knows her mind. Better perhaps than she does herself. But Dottie doesn't know the answer to the woman's question. Not in a way she can put into words. She can't remember anyone ever asking before. She wants to run. She wants to kill. She wants a long tether, with a firm hand on the other end. She wants a clear purpose. She wants to finish this damned job without more interference.
Melina Vostokoff	A little laugh escapes Melina's nose as she sees Dottie take another shot. She arches a brow, a silent, amused question in her eyes. The answer is her grasping her glass and knocking back that third shot as well, then the bottom hits the bartop and her delicate fingertips reach over to the bottle, pouring out more shots for either of them. She has been gone from Russia a while -- her fingernails tell the story, no dirt or mud beneath them from her precious pigs. She never has clean hands when she's been home any time soon. "We do not. Which is why I ask you that question. If you are not strong enough to answer it, then I have what I need to know... If you are, then we talk more. It is the choice before you." She shrugs simply, as if it were nothing but an easy business deal.
Dottie Underwood	The implication that this question is a challenge of strength almost brings a snarl to Dottie's lips. She will not be broken by a simple question. "What do you want, Melina?" Dottie asks. She does not expect an answer.
Melina Vostokoff	As Dottie's anger rises, Melina just seems to grow more calm. She doesn't chase another shot, not quite yet, but she shifts her body to be fully open and facing to the other woman, recrossing her legs. She's practically lounging against the bar now. "I told you what I want. I want the answer to that question. I want to know if you're worth it or not. Will you fight for yourself, or not?"
Dottie Underwood	They are in public. And Dottie does hope to continue her liaison with Malick Jr. So she does not move break the other woman's neck, much as she would like to. But there's an easy answer. "Right this minute, I want you dead." She downs the shot. "Lucky lucky."
Melina Vostokoff	There's a hint of amusement that flickers through her eyes but her smile? It's bittersweet. Tired. That wasn't the answer she needed. Melina shakes her head slowly and stands, knocking back her shot and not pouring another. She motions towards the bartender to bring her check. "I had higher hopes for you, Dasha. You play a long game for everyone but yourself." She then leans down just enough to sign her check and take her black card back. The very picture of a modern business woman. It's almost disorieting, in compare with her farm and her pigs. She seems out of sorts in a place like this.
Dottie Underwood	She hasn't heard that name in decades. She almost doesn't recognize it as her own. "Are you going to make yourself a problem?" Dottie asks. She didn't want any of this. But as she said to Melina, when has what she wanted ever mattered?
Melina Vostokoff	Once the check is signed, she shifts her body a bit closer to Dottie. Near enough that the heat from her frame can almost be felt. She palms something quietly out of the edge of her bolero, a small vial of dark fluid. Not quite red. Not quite purple. It matches something they've filled Dottie with at least once that she can remember. Probably more. There is no smile left on her lips. "I am not your problem... but the strings left in your mind? That will be your problem, one of these days." She slips the vial back into it's place.
Dottie Underwood	Would they still work? Dottie wonders, after everything that's been done to her brain. After everything that Melina had done to her brain. Even if those pathways were gone, she could do it again. Of that Dottie has no doubt. She takes the bottle from the bar. It isn't empty yet. She swirls the remaining vodka as she makes eye contact with Melina.
Melina Vostokoff	There is plenty of vodka left, only about 8 shots gone from the new bottle she bought them. Melina is about to leave when she sees Dottie swirling that vodka and staring at her like that. She pauses then, both dark brows lofting. "...Do you have a better answer, then?"
Dottie Underwood	"I may be bezdomny, but I have not forgotten where I come from," Dottie's voice is slow, lazy, scornful. "We finish the bottle, Melaniya."
Melina Vostokoff	That gets a genuine groan from Melina then a little laugh. She shakes her head to the woman, but slowly brings herself to sit back down on the barstool she occupied before. "Yes... yes. I suppose that much is right. Then we try to kill each other out there? Is that your wish?" She pours out two more shots and doesn't hesitate to take one.
Dottie Underwood	The scoff that comes from Dottie's throat dismisses their eventual confrontation. "I only wanted to kill you to stop your stupid question. You know that," she says, pouring out two more shots.
Melina Vostokoff	"But, the question is still there. Even if you kill me, it will not help that you do not know the answer." Melina points out casually. She's only just now getting to the edge of tipsy. All of them have been trained against intoxicants for so long, not to mention whatever serum they are given, it will take finishing that bottle to even feel anything fully. But there is a nice edge there. She knocks back the shot and motions for another.
Dottie Underwood	"It is not an answer anyone has ever wanted from me," Darya says, filling their glasses again. "They want to know what I can do for them. The last thing I did that I truly wanted was kill Daniel Sousa. And then they gave me to you."
Melina Vostokoff	"Yes, this is true. That was the first time... And now, they wish to give you to me again." But they haven't. Melina is out here, tracking her down. Either to put that drug in her once more, or, because, maybe she's defying orders herself. It's not entirely clear. She takes another shot. "So. I want to know what you. Can do. For you."
Dottie Underwood	"I'll do what I've always done for me, Mila," she says. "Survive."
Melina Vostokoff	That get the moment of sadness from her again. Enough that she even drops green eyes from Dottie's gaze, staring down into her next shot of vodka thoughtfully. It's not enough that Melina is letting her guard down, but she's not quite so on call as she was a moment ago. "You should do more than just survive, Dasha. But you will not if you do not want."
Dottie Underwood	Darya looks down into her own glass. "So many of us did not," she says, so very softly. And then, "Zemlya pukhom." Yes, let the ground that holds their bones be soft..
Melina Vostokoff	Softly, Melina echoes, "Zemlya pukhom." And she follows that toast, having entirely lost track of how many shots they've had, but the bottle is far closer to finished than the last time she looked at it. She gives Dottie a slow blink, "We...missed the third. Too busy dancing around each other... Well, to the *girls* who didn't make it." She will not utter the words Red Room here, but they both know. It's for those girls. Too many and too young. She pours and drinks again.
Dottie Underwood	The toast is drunk solemnly. The possibility of tears sparkles in the corners of her eyes. And then another drink is poured out. And Darya drinks hers quickly. And pours another. "To those girls."
Melina Vostokoff	Melina Vostokoff has cried too many tears for too many girls that were never truly her own. She is out of them now. But she stares into the shot of vodka in front of her and there is the faintest tremble of her fingertips, sending ripples across the top of the clear liquid in her glass. "To not being those girls." She mutters, back on the proper track of toasts, even if the words rest heavier in her mouth than simple tradition. She is here for a reason.
Dottie Underwood	"You're not the only one who's been inside my head, Mila," she says softly. "I'm tired of it. Tired of the lack of vision that says I *need* a cocktail of chemicals to tell me who to be. I'm tired of those strings. I want to do what I was *cultivated* to do. Because it needs doing. And I'm good at it." The bottle's almost empty. Might as well. It seemed the time.
Melina Vostokoff	"They think you *need* that cocktail because, if you do not have it, you do not bow to their strings. You are too valuable -- too dangerous, not to be pulled on their strings. You don't just *want* to do it, if you did, you'd do it for them. And now, what? You do it for SHIELD? You need to *want* to do it for *you*. Or you will not survive without strings, even if you've cut near all but one... You always have that one." After all, Melina is sitting there, isn't she? She pours them both their last shot.
Dottie Underwood	"No. Not for SHIELD," Darya scoffs. Then she asks once more,"Why are you *here* Mila?"
Melina Vostokoff	"To figure out if you can survive without the strings. And if you really want to." Melina admits quietly, just drunk enough for it all to come out. She hasn't yet knocked back that last shot.
Dottie Underwood	Swallowing her last shot, Darya grins. "Dying's never been part of the plan."
Melina Vostokoff	There's a roll of her eyes to the ceiling, the final shot taken, and Melina stands up with just a bit of a sway to her step. "Still not the question I asked." But she's not chasing the woman down, or shoving that awful muck into her veins. In fact, she looks like she's ready to simply turn and go.
Dottie Underwood	"We could never want anything for ourselves, Milena," Dottie Underwood says softly in Russian. "I've told you what I *don't* want. Let that be enough. For now."
Melina Vostokoff	There is a brush of sadness that waves across Melina's face as she hears that. She doesn't disagree, but she sees her failures -- her sins -- in those words alone. "I know. Good night, Dasha." And with that, she turns on the ball of her foot, smoothly as a dancer, and walks to the door. She dares give Dottie her back, a show of foolishness, or perhaps one of trust.