1964-11-12 - Project Virgo: EntSHIELDigung
Summary: SHIELD doesn't have a lot of time or the luxury of time. Extracting a defector from East Berlin opened up a brand new can of worms. Leo provided essential knowledge of a critical asset who needs to come into the fold. With Leo down, SHIELD rushes to connect with an information brokerout there with intel about a horrific black ops program the KGB would rather they didn't know about. The kind of black ops program that goes right to the heart of everything SHIELD stands for. In part one, making the mark. Black Widow features as a troublemaker.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
black-widow coulson bucky nick-fury peggy wanda 


There is perhaps no other city in the world as famous for its nightlife and clubs as Berlin. In particular, the Schoneberg district hums with outposts of debauchery and libertine behaviour, filling the scratched up basements and pre-war tenements. The city is a place where people can do what they want, pursue what interests them, and do it all without earning a second bat of the eyelashes from other residences. Life happens at night. Concerts and rough, edgy music heading into psychedelic territory fill clubs with names like Wild, Park, and Sundown. no such thing as closing time applies in the low-burning light.

One of those ugly little hideaways holds a secret. Tinsel curtains shimmer over the aged, chipped beauty gone to seed. Rows of arched columns line one side of the room, leading to an ornamental walkway that attempts at privacy. Guests fill out the couches held up there, potentates holding court over general degenerancy. The ground-floor room is brightly lit by two massive glittering crystal chandeliers possibly carried off from East Berlin. The room is jammed full, guests wrapped up in business suits, tuxedos, evening gowns, bare throats, toned arms, whispered asides, knowing looks. A dozen languages go on at the same time, glasses wrapped with wet paper napkins. Anyone with the coin can procure some of those rarities at the bar, including Jack Daniels and Polish apricot schnapps, the sorts of elusive drink carried over the wall. Not much by way of food can be found here, but the din of voices in a steady roar and the music throbbing occasionally give Jean-Jacques its particular flavour.

It's not French. Neither is the proprietor, a man mentioned in the papers of Leo as a mercenary information broker, someone who might just know every double agent operating in a twenty mile radius.

The Soldier got there first. Come to first literally and then metaphorically scope the place out - take in possible threats, and install himself in a place he's likely to be able to deal with it. And again, play diversion, assuming there are those sufficiently in the know to recognize the dead-eyed young man in a decent suit, with that strangely long hair. Why doesn't he get it cut? But Buck's stashed himself at a little table and got an untouched glass of some clear spirit in front of him, boredly checking his watch as if waiting on a date he's not all that eager to make.

Leaning over the bar Fury nurses a Bourbon and water. Not adhering to the 'when in Rome policy". He chews on his cigar and squints the eye of the same side. It's darting back and forth as he scans the room for anything out of the ordinairy, though most of it is, and keeps the look out for his fellow agents. A few nods of the head are given here and there to the lower ranking officers but then he spots Bucky. Approaching he says, "Quite the show you put on the other night." It's hard to tell if he is approving or not but that is neither here nor there. He hangs around just long enough, as if someone was in his way as he made for the jhon or something, to let the winter soldier respond if he wishes. He won't dally though, making sure neither of them get made. "We better stay on top of our game tonight. There's more players at work than tha' director had anticipated I'd think."

Among the pary people tonight is one woman in a flowing bell sleeved gown that often covers her gloved hands. Her hair is dark waves down to shoulder length, her eyes are blue, and her gown is remarkable. Deep blue, with an intricate embrodiery of vines, that ends in a series of borach like flowers at the tip of each vine, each bedazzled with a glittery little pearls of shiny matter. Worry not, this is no Baroness and the jewelry is not real, but the affect is glimmery all the same. Around her eyes is an exotic looking Venetian masquerade style mask, blue with black lace trimming. She's no doubt in here to have fun and forget. Forget what? Life is depressing enough, the entire point is to drink, party, dance, and enjoy life outside the dreary daily affair. She's currently on the dance floor, swaying to the lively music, her skirts twirling with her motions. A faint floral scent carried about her, some sort of perfume, and not at all a chemical meant to have men find themselves quite affectionate towards her. That would be cheating, right?

In full swing, Jean-Jacques better resembles a madhouse. Two girls in sparkly frockcoats not out of place in Vegas direct guests to the coat check, where tickets and tags are doled out. The cover charge is dispensed with easily; they take francs, pounds, greenbacks, D-Marks. Drinks operate on a strictly cash basis and very few people are entitled to any kind of running tab without a money clip put down first.
Two bartenders work the round central doughnut where all the trouble goes down. Another wave of glass and mirrors forms a platform for the occasional dancer to try imitating go-go, that most American of styles. It's a popular spot for dropping off empty drinks and snuggling up to the ashtrays, while dancers get more intimate in the crush of souls on the main floor. Don't bother whispering here; it's a spy's paradise and otherwise impossible. They'll serve up whatever is asked.
"Come on, Danika, it's exactly the kind of trouble you need to get into. A few gold flakes in vodka. Take a shot." Enter Jorg, arm wrapped around his companion in an absolutely decadent fur carpet of a coat.

There's always a backup plan. Coulson was a part of such plan, which is why he crossed from East to West before the operation even went down. He's still wearing the same costume he's been rocking for the previous few days, including that incredibly convincing wig of blonde hair. For this encounter, he's wearing a nice suit, likely purchased from some Italian merchant touring the better half of Berlin, and can be found resting at a table of men. Two of them are currently engaged in a slopping make-out session, while another sits perched upon his chair, eyeballing the dance floor. The fourth reaches into his jacket to produce a small box, into which he pinches out a small bit of white powder and promptly snorts the cocaine into each nostril before offering some to Coulson.

Coulson eyes the item in question, then casually reaches over to place a hand upon the man's forearm. He leans over to whisper something into the man's ear, then politely kisses him upon the cheek before excusing himself, without accepting the fellow's most gracious offer. It would seem that it's Coulson's turn to purchase drinks, and as such, he makes a quiet journey toward the bar. He may seem a casual partaker in tonight's debauchery, but that would be anything from the truth; he's had eyes on half the establishment's patrons, and given enough time, he'll make eyes for every single one of them, including all of his organization's assets.

The most minuscule of shrugs from Buck, followed by an upnod, equally tiny. He may not recognize Natasha, but surely she'll know him, that harbinger of precision destruction in a suit that's surely above his paygrade. Their target for the evening comes in, and those pale eyes fix on him, but he doesn't rise or make any signal. Not for him to be the one who addresses Jorg. That may be up to Coulson - god knows neither Buck nor Nick are exactly the smoothest on the verbal front.

Natasha does use her time on the dance floor precisely for scoping, the Winter Soldier is an easy tell, she'd likely recognize him in disguise, but as far as she's concerned, he hadn't even bothered tonight. Meanwhile she's world apart from the other day's Agnes Dietrich, not only in choice of wig, makeup and clothes, but the way she carries herself. She looks like a party girl out to drink and dance the night away, with the mindset of consequence be damned. Fury, there's another guy she's seen during the other day's excitment, idiot even kept to the cigar, easy spot. Phil is recognizable in passing, simple for wearing the same costume, but unlike the others, he hadn't stood out as much in the field, so Natasha only has her intuition to suggest he's with the Americans. The one concern she has is Peggy Carter, she saw her by the defector the other night, however, she has no visual on her at all. The way she knows Peggy Carter, there's no way she's not involved, meaning there's a wildcard in the equation. Oh well, at least Jorg appears like the common misogynist, only with more expansive tastes, with any luck, she might cause him to catch a glimpse of her, or even better, a scent of her specialized 'perfume' to get him invested in her company. Nothing quite like having the target invite you in close. So while she's still on the dance floor, if she'll catch Jorg heading for the bar along with Danika, she might just hae to accidentally bump into him, Danika be damned.

Nick will hit the head, wasting just enough time for it to believable and wash his hands. When he exits he goes back to taking it all in as as possible. He'll catch Phil, hip to his disguise, and notice the stunning Natasha though he may not be familiar enough with her to actually know it is the Black widow herself. If he does he's not letting on. When Jorg enters he squints again in the abrasive light of the club to make sure and will make his way around - the long way. Not making contact just yet. A few head nods and puffs on the cigar though do let the other low level agents in the room know the asset has arrived and to fan out. He's intent on keeping the room covered after the debacle at the checkpoint nights before. Eventually he'll make his way to the bar and order another neat Bourbon. A huge cloud of smoke billows around him as he seemingly drifts off into his glass, though in reality he is completely aware of the ones he has noticed and their posistions.

Danika is a frosted blonde of notably buxom proportions, even if she's swallowed up by a bear masquerading as a coat. The tawny hair probably keeps her warm in Antarctic nights. Tottering to the bar, she sighs and permits her companion, Jorg, to pour her something from a tall bottle that's clear and smells barely of alcohol. "There had better be gold in here," she complains in Hamburg-accented German. "I didn't come to have vodka or gin. They're so boring."
Jorg humours her, helping her to a generous pour and following up in another little glass for himself. "Bottoms up, darling. Another!" She barely has the first knocked back before he's offering her another, grabbing the bottle by the neck and pouring out a much too grand helping. See, some ends up on the bar. Cue polite titters and laughter all 'round, for the place has a reputation and that doesn't preclude misbehaviour. Knocking into Danika is easy. Her coat has its own weak gravitational field. Jorg, much less so, as he rotates with the ease of a louche born and bred, in his own home country.

"Goldschlager," Coulson allows for in his perfect, conversational German, traceable to Koln. He's got eyes on Jorg and Danika from the perch he's found at the bar, and for the life of him, he can't help but notice Widow. To not do so would certainly spill certain beans he's not quite willing to spill. Eyebrows lift, but, considering he was party to a table of gay men, it's not at all unsurprising to find him not drooling. "Be careful," he tells the duo, maintaining his conversational German. "It makes for one hell of a hangover." His eyes then slide over toward Widow, and he flashes her a warm smile. "Beautiful dress, baby."

The Soldier has the stolidly grumpy expression of a guy who is *sure* he's being stood up. Another check of that watch, a lot cheaper and sturdier than one might expect of a man in a suit that nice. Still watching the others come and go - if he makes someone as an agent for the opposition, it's damn near impossible to tell. Coulson doesn't even get a glance, though Buck's gaze wanders to Nick more than once….then to Jorg. Who's making contact here? God knows it won't be Mr. Silent there.

When Jorg and Danika have their drink, Natasha takes measure of the man, while making her way off the dance floor towards the bar. Seems all that dancing made her thirsty, it just so happens to be about the time Jorg went for the bar. One thing she already discovered, Jorg's word has to be good, the way the man carries himself make him seem an untrustworthy buffon. Perfect way to be let go by serious agents, perfect way to have one's info doubted, which supports his longevity and notoriety for having the goods. She hasn't worked with him before, but she shares a level of professional appreciation for what she sees at a glance.

Unfortunately, on her way to Jorg, Coulson chooses to engage, forcing her to waste a few moments as she turns to look at him with a giggle, "I'm glad you noticed," her accent seems French, a tourist perhaps, because she doesn't look like she's here for business. "You know what they say, sparkles and frills get you kisses and thrills," she winks at Coulson and blows him a kiss. Clearly, she's unaware the table Coulson is sharing is shared by gay men. Or she's been drinking some already, and isn't the sharpest at the moment, she twirls her fingers at Coulson, and continues towards the bar, unless otherwise delayed, she'll attempt to accidentally bump into Danika and cause her to fall under the weight of her coat, as she calls out, "any handsome guy want to get me a drink? I'd love some company!" The way she makes her announcement with a feat of giggles would serve to suggest she probably shouldn't be having another drink. Her face all flushed, and beaming with delight.

"It's my bottle," Danika complains when Coulson intrudes in his fine suit and poor manners. One sweep up and down dismisses him and those cornflower-blue eyes are all for Jorg. Not hard to understand why; he has a certain volatile charm and easygoing manner that belongs totally to Schoneberg. The district defies the conventions of Communist Germany surrounding it by living life to the fullest. She leans heavily into the lean, kinetic brunet, wrapping her fur-swept arm around his waist. "I don't take more than I can handle. You look a bit out of your depths."
Jorg chuckles, though he whispers something into the blonde's ear to make her blush and her eyes glitter. "Now, you must forgive my little vixen. She doesn't mean to be rude. There's more than a bottle to go around." He isn't pouring himself another shot. Widow's efforts to offbalance the chit do work. Jorg's rubbing his cheek into Danika's hair when she stumbles, and he spins her around on a tottering axis. She lands on a stool, and he backs up against the bar. The tenders don't even blink.
"Maybe it'll be an early night, fraulein," he grins, but it could be at everyone. "In bed before dawn? Who would think! I have a reputation to maintain. Find me a lush willing to outpace me and I'll give you that diamond bracelet you keep hinting at."

To Natasha, Phil replies with a laugh. "Sweetheart," he tells her in passing, "you are due all thrills. Marvelous." He then spins back to the bar, ordering an Old Fashioned when the bartender prompts him.

To Jorg, he shakes his head nonchalantly. "Nonsense. I've a table full of queers trying to put magic dust up my nose and crawl down my pants. Don't get me wrong! I'm flattered, but those men? Too forward for my liking." He turns to pay for his drink, then turns back to the others with a warm smile. His cocktail is lifted. "To diamond bracelets. Prost!" He lifts the drink and takes a long sip, before nodding toward the bottle. "Now pour me a shot, will you? The bottle is on me."

There's a fractional relaxation from Bucky. Someone's making a move. Fora guy who has the patience to wait three days perched up a tree like a homicidal, well-armed squirrel in order to shoot out the tire of a prime minister's limo as he passes…..on this front, Buck's not got any patience at all. Another glance at Nick.

Well, maybe he did notice her. Shield has files on /everyone/ afterall. Being in close enough proximity to Jorg, Fury runs interception. He would nod to Phil and make his way to the Widow. "A drink?!" He would engage her as politely (on the outside) as he could and add, "Allow me." If he is winking you wouldn't know, the lone eye is is squinting with 'Fury' now. He turns to Phil ever so slightly and gives a shake of the head towards Jorg. As if to say I will try and handle this, you take care of that. But after a moment in her company he starts to shake his head. "That damn scent." He seems aware of what is happening to him but unable to do much about it. "Damnit." He mutters. He viloently shakes his head now and disengages, as little as possible, and motions to the bartender. "Get the lady something heavy. Wild Turkey." Turning back to Natasha he adds so that only she can hear. "This should level the playing field." He would try to maintain as much distance but still stay betwenn her and their contact. Then to Bucky he will tun and give a nod, but also a shake of the head. The toxins getting him in trouble and he is sending out the warning flares to his opertives.

Natasha giggles as Phil rolls with her flirtatious manner, "that I do!" She concurs with him, moments before she had seen to Danika's little stumble, and Jorg's perfect handling of the situation. If he thinks Danika have had more than she could handle, all the better to try and push her out of the picture. "Somebody said diamond braclet?" Natasha appears to barely hold herself from drooling at the concept of something so luxurious being attainable merely for a drinking competition, and there's Phil already taking the first shot, she just manages not to frown at him, but instead claps her hands with exhilration, "how exciting! Can I have a go…?" She asks hesitantly, as she glances over at Jorg, before quipping, "or are you one of his friends with more of an affinity for men…?" She almost sounds heartbroken at the possibility Jorg might be gay.

Then Fury takes her on her offer for any man to buy her a drink, and she smirks, foolish agent thinks he can derail her. The closer he comes, the more exposed he becomes to her pheremones masked as perfume, making her all the more enticing the longer he remains in her presence, "oh my!" She cheers in excitment, "finally a man into women! I didn't imagine it would be such a difficult thing to find, and after I dressed so glamourously too!" With Phil and Fury both playing interception, her only hope to draw Jorg is to hint of his interest in men over women. If she's lucky, his ego won't allow such injury.

As Fury orders a Wild Turkey for her, she blows a kiss at him, "I appreciate the genoristy, maybe we can share a dance later…in the bed room?" She offers teasingly, laughing as she looks at the bartender pouring her drink. She heard his whisper, but she's not one to break character for petty wordplay. There'll be plenty time to gloat after, so she doesn't quite ask him "how's Leo?" yet.

The bartender takes it all in stride. Good grace means the Old Fashioned is followed up on a fresh bottle of the gold flake-adorned vodka, lid unscrewed, contents given to a cut tumbler for Coulson.
Jorg throws his hands up and laughs, the full, throaty appreciation booming out of him with a force that his rather giraffe-like frame doesn't support. It melts into a crowd of a hundred dancers in full swing, turning heads. He throws his head back and practically bends in half, somehow not toppling over the bar. Thank a stool he grabs with one hand, fishing around on the shelves. "Got just the thing. Wild Turkey? That may be in our select vault. Man's going to make me work on my own day off." Thanks a lot, Nick, making someone do their job. It's hard to believe he amounts to anything but a professional drunkard and schmoozer, but take as one will. He hasn't fallen on his ass or his face. Points for coming up with a cocktail spritzer and an industrial brown bottle capped off in dust, wax, and a rather large stamp suggesting all three Allied powers approved his acquisition of that booze. He plunks the bottle down. "Don't reckon that's Wild Turkey but a better bird by far."
Danika simpers from her perch forgotten, and he throws a careless grin. "What are you into, fraulein?" That to Widow. "I'm sure you might find plenty here willing to eat you right up. But what do I know?"

The senior Shield agent nods his thanks to the man for producing the bottle. "Single malt?" He asks as he keeps up the charade of being someone out to enjoy themselves, Nick might smoke and drink but he rarely enjoys himself. He's shaking his head and he tosses his drink back quite quick. The first one he has actually had of the four he's ordered and conveinantly left lying around. He takes two huge drags off his cigar and turns back to the Widow holding the double. "Your turn." He chews on the stogey now with a scowl, either that overpowered rarest of the rare counter effects or he's betting on it knocking her six sheets to the wind. He will improvise if he has too. Another look is shot to Bucky. The three puffs on the cigar indicate, "Get in here!" We can't have the asset leaving with the redhead, right?

Coulson offers the bartender a whimsical grin, then drops a pair of marks large enough to cover the acquisition. He's halfway through uncorking that monstrosity when the perfume worn by Natasha comes his way. He doesn't even blink. There is no pause; but to say that he isn't affected would be an understatement. He looks toward Natasha briefly, then toward Nick, thankful for that level of interference. "Well," he allows in his convincing German, and prepares the shot glasses. "Shall we?"

Shots of Goldschlager are poured. Jorg, Danika, Fury, Natasha; the latter of both are handed theirs by way of Fury himself. Danika's is handed directly, but when he makes to offer one to Jorg, he leans over toward the man, murmuring into his ear.

"You're here on business. I am your business," he murmurs in German. "Now, I will touch your leg, to maintain certain misdirection. Don't flinch, for I have my pistol trained on your knockwurst. Invite me to a table. Alone."

Following this, he briefly rests a hand upon Jorg's thigh, then flashes him a winning smile before pulling away, shotglass in hand. The other, well… it's concealed within the pocket of his suit jacket, where indeed, he has a gun pointed toward the general direction of Jorg's genitals. That wasn't a bluff.

"Bottoms up."

Something about that blonde girl….and then, with the air of someone who has come to a quick decision, Buck abandons his drink and rises, heading for Widow. He doesn't have the look of a man so struck by the beauty of a woman that he can wait no longer. If anything, he looks like an instructor about to reprove a student. How many times has she seen that look on his face, albeit in far less decadent surroundings? He takes her by the arm and says, sternly, "You're late! Where've you been?" HE brandishes the watch on the gloved wrist. "And now you're fooling around with," a scathing look takes in Jorg and company, "Who knows what. C'mon," And he's yanking at her. No, Winter is not the smoothest….though he mutters as he gets close, in Russian, «Widow, you're screwing up this whole op. Step back. God, the right hand doesn't know what the left hand is doing, does it? Moscow didn't tell you what i'm up to?»

"Oh I do have a taste for Pina Coladas, or White Russian," Natasha answers Jorg's question of what she's into. "But most of all I'm into men who enjoy a good time, there's far too many who only care about business, ugh," she complaints, perhaps something to do with the reason she's out here partying on her own, rather than with a companion.

As she's served her drink, Widow raises her glass at Fury, "for the man who knows how to treat a lady, thank you for the drink," and little by little she sips it like a cocktail. The way she's already flushed and laughing didn't give the impression she's much of a drinker, and the way she responds by coughing and putting the glass down after a sip only adds to it, "this drink isn't even sweet!" She remarks, looking at Fury with a frown, "why did you get me that?" Red head, what red head, this French tourist is a total raven haired beauty. Fury and his intuition be damned.

The Goldschlager she does down with greater ease, perhaps her senses dulled by the first taste of whatever it is Fury got for her, or the gold being quite alluring. Chicks dig gold, don't they? The fact Coulson is unaffected by her 'perfume' hadn't escaped Widow's notice, that Jorg guy seems to have a pretty revered self control as well. Notable. Her suspicions about Phil are sadly proved correct.

Danika is the sort of girl to giggle. A lot. She has the cares of an important girl about town. "Oh, I like this one better. He knows what he wants." She twirls her finger around in a lazy circle, and leans on her elbow, slanted to peer up at Coulson through her heavy lashes. "See, he likes his alcohol and does something with it, ja?" She takes her drink and swallows the contents down in a deep, long swallow. Has to be good if they're drinking things so heavily. "Isn't he nice?" That to Jorg is full of laughter, while she's watching Natasha get dressed down by Bucky from the corner of her eye.
Chicks dig gold. Jorg digs not being shot in the genitals. Makes providing sticks and gold that bitches love that much harder. He arches an eyebrow while taking the drink. "You think that's fine? Let's try something a bit better than the magic dust of your friends over there. Come on. Dani, dear, you keep them having a good time."

Just as Natasha is working in her head on the fly how to work out of this situation, figuring Coulson would steal away Jorg before she had a chance to endear herself on the broker, she gets truly interrupted by the Winter Soldier. Sadly, the number one rule of being undercover, is to maintain cover, so once Bucky ever so ungracefully establishes a fact, she is forced to roll with it. Luckily, she already gave some hints that help her play along the hand he serves her.

"Where have I been!?" Her words become a bit slurred, "I have been with men who would care to entertain me!" *SMACK* a slap goes right against Bucky's cheek, unless he's fast enough to grab her hand, turns out the ring on her finger has a sleeping agent coated needle, it may or may not affect his sharpness based on his own handling of the situation. "All you ever do is work, work, work, never time for me, not dancing, not drinking…what do you expect me to do? I'm a flower! I need air to breathe, I need wining and dining and dancing to bloom!" She seems quite furious with Bucky, when he murmurs to her in Russian, she is quick to reply in a similar hushed murmur, «you're a traitor, I'm on to you…I was given orders, you're the one who refused extraction.»

Coulson downs the shot with ease, and after setting the shotglass down, he laughs in a manner that borders on boisterous. "Wunderbar!" he exclaims. "Now we will all be shitting gold by morning." He takes the bottle in hand, arches a brow briefly toward the antics of Natasha and Bucky, before diverting his attention to Jorg. "Jawohl," he answers, then turns to walk, with one hand in his pocket, in pursuit of Jorg.

After the sips Nick says, "Come on. Finish it." He winks at her, possibly the 'scent' kicking in or possibly a "We're on ta ya'," He shrugs and with an amiable grin hands the Goldshlager over. "Try this then." Turning to Phil he adds, "Thanks stranger." He gives an appreciative nod to Coulson and turns back. As Bucky takes her away he grunts relief. He downs his flaked liquour now and the cheeks on his face tighten. Now he /really/ needs a Bourbon. But there is no time. The widow is already making a scene and he stabs his cigar out at the bar. Turning he would approach and slide next to her. "Fraulein!" He would try to grab her by that hand and keep it far away from himself. "You know he's much too much to drink." He nods to the other agents around the room. He will not let her compromise yet another contact if he can help it. "Why don't we just have another drink?" His tone changes and volume lowers, "Why ruin the night." She could hear his teeth grinding. Could he politely lead her away as if he were some family member or friend? Either way he is giving the signal for someone to come to Bucky's aid before he passes out. Fury himself trying to pull the webs from the scene that are the Widow's doing.

God bless that superserum. The toxin on the ring staggers Bucky, makes him reel as if he were drunk, but it doesn't put him down. "You shameless slut," he hisses at her, bracing himself agains knees that are suddenly gone towater. And in Russian again, «Natasha, you idiot. I've finally gotten in deep - haven't we been trying for years? And now you're trying to monkeywrench me by telling tales to Central? Didn't I teach you better than that?»

|ROLL| Wanda +rolls 1d20 for: 12

Coulson is happy to see Jorg! Name a guy or gal other than the squabbling non-couple who isn't. The brown-haired man makes a show of peeling himself off the bar, glass in tow, and sauntering away for a seat at one of the only tables in the place. Mostly he does this by sitting on the table and telling the current occupants, "Move."
One who protests a bit too loudly earns a few snide looks, contempt shining in angled stares. "Why? You don't own…"
"Actually, I do, and my boytoy wants to drink in peace, so move." He slaps his palm down. "See, now, shoo." Easy said, easy done.
Danika almost laughs, but she leans forward and curls her finger at the tender. Words are exchanged, slurred and slow and quiet. The tender laughs, and she taps her glass meaningfully.

There's no way Fury can reach Natasha in time, not when Bucky pulled her farther away, and the help she got from being Super Soldier Serum enhanced. The speed of her action alone might actually alert Fury to the fact she's no mere agent, but potentially the notorious Black Widow. Then again, it wouldn't be a surprise, Bucky as SHIELD knows has actually trained her and served with her as the Winter Soldier, the moment he engaged, others probably should have realized she may be beyond their league. For what its worth, Natasha's and Bucky's interplay shows just how well they work off each other, managing to have a hidden conversation in the middle of a very public spat. "So now I'm a slut, huh? Well I don't feel like sharing a room with you anymore!" Then Bucky says the one thing that can actually save him from being taken down by the Widow right here and now for being a traitor, a plausible reason he's been so against extraction. While the immediate concern should be why in the heck he hadn't told her before when she had him in a one on one situation, there's been drinking, and commotion, and the fact that if Bucky is still with the Red Room, he must be allowed to approach Jorg….all of it winds up falling in Bucky's way tonight. And he should know he's lucky, he knows how sharp Black Widow is. «Idiot» she snarls at him before stomping her heel into his foot, «you could have told me,» with a swirling motion she reaches for the nearest glass, spills it over Bucky, and starts storming out of the room. Plausible exit, alleviating any suspicion from Bucky while allowing him to stay in the field. She'll be visiting him later for a full report. She really hates his guts right now for playing her like that, she deserved better.

Coulson follows in tow. However, as he goes, he spares a glance back toward the bar and, just so happens to notice Danika speaking with the bartender. My, but that is suspicious. In passing, he hands the bottle of Goldschlager to Fury, and flashes the grizzled man a smile. "See to it that she remains occupied?" He nods toward Danika, before resuming his pursuit of Jorg.

"Go on, then," he says in German, shooing the folks away from the targeted table. "Geradeaus!"

Danika earns herself a fresh glass and a lot of soda water poured in. Thrilling excitement of a girl who has to pace herself for the long evening ahead, or might be feeling those shots pretty heavily. Nothing so troubling going on as trading powder.

Fury get's caught up in the dance floor area of the club, apparently not able to do any good. Heading back to the bar he is still shaking his head, rubbing at his temples. When he sees Coulson and the bottle he just mumbles, "No…not helping." He does grasp it and the fact though that the women may be a hinderance and does his best to straighten up. Sliding the bottle over he asks, "This what yer' looking fer'?" He pulls another cigar now and strikes a match, perhaps his last shot at re-obtaining sanity.

"So. You're making all this kinda noise. Didn't take you for my kinda gal. For one, you got the wrong measurements going on," Jorg says to Coulson cheerfully in German. He pops his glass on the table as the lies hit closer to home, raining down all around a few prancing steps from their little spot. Private, this is not. "What's your poison, then? I do so like living the wild life. Can't keep this up all night in one spot, I warn you so you'll have to expect to share unless you are very, very special."

He's dripping with booze, and reeking of it - a sodden, undignified mess. Bucky's expression of utter and complete shock is not feigned - cover and reality aligned for one of those rare perfect moments. She bought it. He's actually lied to the Widow and suceeded for real. He flicks some of it off his hands, and then turns to skulk into the gents.

Coulson finds himself a perch on the table, taking a moment to study Jorg for what he is. Talk of illicit substances is perfect cover; this place is rife with it, and it makes for the ideal subterfuge. "Nose powder." He scoffs. "These schweine are stuck in the forties. Now, I have access to something that'll really light your panties on fire, but." He casts a glance about. "Not here. Not now." He gestured meaningfully. "Worth discussing, but, not with so many eyes about. Fortunately, I know a place. Quiet." He nods his head then toward the door.

"Tell you what, stud. Meet me outside in five minutes, and…" He leans forward, smiling in a demure manner. "I will show you a night you'll never forget."

Its worth noting, his left hand is still buried into his jacket pocket, no doubt gripped upon a very real pistol that is still firmly aimed at Jorg's German cock and balls.

Let the games begin.

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