"Wow, I'd say 'flattery will get you everywhere,' but it might be unsporting if I try to make you blush this many times in one night," Natasha answers, smiling back at him. It's a lighthearted joke, solely because she's confident he wouldn't exactly know what to do with a genuine compliment in return.
"Besides, it's purely selfish," she adds, the smile edging back into a smirk as she quirks a brow at him. "No one else gets my Russian jokes."
Don't let it be said Bucky doesn't appreciate when she shows him a little mercy. Natasha is a formidable opponent in many respects, but when it comes to social niceties and verbal sparing he knows he's out she's got him outclassed.
"Definitely a bonus. Plus, always fun to talk behind people's backs in front of their faces."
"And here I thought you old fashioned folks had more manners than that." Something in her tone makes it clear that not only is she teasing him, but she has been thoroughly disabused of that notion. Thanks largely to her long friendship with Steve - who is both the most polite and most ornery person she has ever met in her life.
"See anyone around worth talking about in Russian?" she asks with a half smile. She doesn't doubt for a moment that he's scoped out everyone seated around them the same way that she has.
"It's still good manners if they never know." That is absolutely not true, but it's a logic that's served more than one busybody, polite elderly neighbor and lady from church when they justified gossiping for at least a hundred years.
"I'm not sure there's anyone here worth talking about in French, let alone Russian."
"Are these Schrödinger's manners?" Natasha asks, clearly entertained by the idea as a smirk tugs up the corner of her mouth. As if the manners are both good and bad so long as no one is observing them directly. Not that she has any leg to stand on as regards to gossip. Some of her best intel has come from neighbors and community members that can't help but chat amongst themselves.
His comment about talking in French prompts a genuine laugh. "Well, depends on what you think is worth talking about."
Bucky's smile turns a little more mischievous, and he glances over his shoulder before shrugging. When he speaks, he switches to French. It should be no surprise he speaks it well. Even before he was the Winter Soldier, deployed on the European front.
"Well, there's that guy's hair plugs," he suggests as he turns back. "French has to be the best language to talk about people's style. Especially if it's bad."
It's certainly not the kind of gossip she was expecting. One of her brows arches and she lets out a chuckle as a quick smile curls her lips.
His French is as good as she would have expected, and she lapses easily into the same language when she answers. "Well, not everyone can be blessed with hair like yours. You would think someone wearing a jacket that expensive would spring for a better hair system, though."
"No accounting for taste." Bucky says it, still in French, with a sort of flat, philosophical delivery. Then he cracks a smile again ands switches to English.
Among other things, he's not necessarily all that interested in talking about the other diners hair or shoes.
"Exactly the kind of thing you gossip about in French."
"Isn't that the truth?" she answers easily, lightly amused and smiling at his delivery. It's not exactly a sustainable topic of conversation, and she's not surprised when he switches back out of the language.
"Add in gossip about wine and food and we'll have the full trifecta," she muses, joining him back in English. It's maybe not a fair assessment of the French, but well. The topic is gossip after all. "What kind of thing would you like to talk about in English?"
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"Besides, it's purely selfish," she adds, the smile edging back into a smirk as she quirks a brow at him. "No one else gets my Russian jokes."
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"Definitely a bonus. Plus, always fun to talk behind people's backs in front of their faces."
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"See anyone around worth talking about in Russian?" she asks with a half smile. She doesn't doubt for a moment that he's scoped out everyone seated around them the same way that she has.
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"I'm not sure there's anyone here worth talking about in French, let alone Russian."
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His comment about talking in French prompts a genuine laugh. "Well, depends on what you think is worth talking about."
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"Well, there's that guy's hair plugs," he suggests as he turns back. "French has to be the best language to talk about people's style. Especially if it's bad."
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His French is as good as she would have expected, and she lapses easily into the same language when she answers. "Well, not everyone can be blessed with hair like yours. You would think someone wearing a jacket that expensive would spring for a better hair system, though."
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Among other things, he's not necessarily all that interested in talking about the other diners hair or shoes.
"Exactly the kind of thing you gossip about in French."
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"Add in gossip about wine and food and we'll have the full trifecta," she muses, joining him back in English. It's maybe not a fair assessment of the French, but well. The topic is gossip after all. "What kind of thing would you like to talk about in English?"
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After a beat of facing what seems like a brick wall of possible choices, he asks, "How's Yelena doing?"