Elizabeth is my OC from an RP, Avengers Next Generation. The Russian is from Google Translate, so I'm sorry if it's wrong. Also, the translations are at the bottom of the page. I hope you like it.
The Beginning and The End
Elizabeth sauntered into the lobby of the brand new, five-star hotel. She was bathed in a black as deep and dark as Death itself. Her first mission. Her final test. Here she would either succeed and be accepted into SHIELD as a field agent or fail miserably and throw nearly ten years of training down the drain. She had been taught to go undercover, briefly and not extensively. Most of what she knew, she learned from observing Natasha, whom she suspected was in love with her father, whom she suspected returned the feelings. Her father, Clint, was oblivious.
Her mission was simple: get information. Get it from a very wealthy and powerful Russian mobster. Her Russian was mostly excellent, a little choppy in places but not enough for someone to suspect a foreigner. Her aura oozed wealth, pride, and Russia. She stood out, yet still blended it. She contradicted the world.
She was portraying the daughter or niece of a wealthy Russian man, which one was not important. She didn't give her last name. Only a first name. That's all they could ever get in this business. Her name, for this mission, she was allowed to choose. She decided it would be best if the name she chose meant something. Guinevere. That was her name; middle name, now first. Chosen specifically to keep her deceased mother near. For tonight, she was Guinevere. Beautiful, illustrious, seductive, and, above all, secretive. That's how she perceived Guinevere, at least. Yes, she was a wife, but that wasn't what Elizabeth was tonight. She was the women in an affair. An Affair to Remember, if you will. She was Guinevere, for tonight only. Inquire for her tomorrow, you will be disappointed. She was Guinevere for one night only.
A cough roused her from her thoughts. She lazily slid around, her now dyed-blonde hair brushing against her cheeks. She smiled with rose red lips, revealing pearly white teeth. Some could argue she looked like Natasha; Clint would argue the other way. "да?" She questioned in Russian, resting her bare hand on the shoulder of the boy no more than twenty. Not much older than her.
"Do you speak English?" The boy's eyes twinkled with hope. She couldn't disappoint him.
"Yes." She smiled, waiting for him to say something in return.
"Hi," the boy laughed, obviously nervous, "I was just, uh, wond-" his voice cracked. The poor boy was helplessly anxious. He had something to ask her; she thought she knew what it was.
She decided to help, "Well, what's your name?" She draped her arms over his shoulders. She might as well tease a little.
"Arthur." She laughed, throwing her head back. The irony was quite hilarious. The boy looked confused. She regained her composure and smiled in delight.
"Guinevere." She smiled from the side of her mouth, a trick she'd learned from the Black Widow herself.
"Oh," he smirked, "I see." He timidly let his hands rest on her hips. She had to urge him on. His fingers lightly grazed the skin revealed by the low back of her dress. He didn't have a lot of experience with girls. She would obviously have to encourage him.
"What brings you to Russia, Arthur? Business or pleasure?" She stepped closer to him, making Arthur gulp nervously.
"Business." He smiled weakly.
"Are you sure?" she seductively questioned.
"Not so much anymore." He laughed but cut it short, "You're really pretty."
"Really?" She released him, "I'll see you around sometime." She grinned as she waltzed out of the lobby, leaving Arthur speechless and babbling.
Elizabeth, or Guinevere, stepped out of the room. The man inside rested on the bed, knocked out. She had gotten her information. He was very drunk. When she started asking questions, he answered them without thought. She thought this had run too smoothly. She bumped into a person when she turned the corner to the elevators. "Pardon me," she smiled before she realized with whom she was speaking. "Oh," she smiled, "Arthur, where are you going?"
He smiled, "I'm going to my father's room. Apparently, he walked in there with a young blond. I'm going to stop him before he gets himself into trouble." Guinevere froze. He was Arthur's father. He was a Russian mobster. Arthur was American. No Russian, remember. She realized that she'd been conned. "Говорите ли вы русский язык?"
Arthur, if his name was even really Arthur, turned around and smiled sadistically, "Little agent thinks she's so smart." He threw a punch, which she quickly dodged. They went into an all-out war, in the hallway. Punching, kicking, pushing, and tearing. Guinevere pinned him to the ground on his stomach. She sat on his back and locked his arms together, holding them in place.
"What do you know?"
"No more than what you've already extracted from my insolent and stupid father." She prepared to snap his neck, but hesitated. She is curious.
"Is your name really Arthur?" She smiled with amusement.
"Is your name Guinevere?" he smirked, she could tell through his voice.
"Did you really think I was pretty?" She questioned him.
"Don't be coy," he scolded before pausing. "I thought you were beautiful." She stopped smiling. Her grip loosened just enough for him to kick her off him and onto the floor. She quickly recovered but not soon enough. He had taken off down the hall, laughing all the way. There was no use in trying to catch him in this dress. She'd let her father shoot him when he stepped out the hotel. He shouted one last thing before he disappeared forever, or at least until she saw him in a body bag. "Maybe I'll see you sometime!"
да? – Yes?
Говорите ли вы русский язык? – Do you speak Russian?