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"I am not my father. "
"Eyes up, Rowan-" Natasha elbows the young girl who was busy smoothening out her dress to make direct eye contact with the people above her, "you're in front of royalty."
It had been a little over a day since the crew, minus Tony, had attended Peggy's funeral. As Steve decided to hang back in London, Natasha took it upon herself to attend the conference to ratify the Sokovia Accords. Although this didn't necessarily involve Rowan, she was still an asset to the team and therefor a perfect travel partner for Natasha who, surprisingly, was scared of planes. And having someone so placid as Rowan when it came to these situations made it more bearable on the Widow's behalf.
"Sorry." The young girl whispers, quickly adjusting her hair, running her nimble fingers softly through the long waterfall of chestnut brown.
Everyone was dressed in fancy attire. Men, especially Prince T'Challa, wore snappy suits and women, like Rowan and Natasha, secured themselves in their Sunday's best (for Rowan, a mere party dress that clung to her athletic body like a second skin) and did their makeup and hair, something so out of the norm for the two women. Rowan looked so much older than she was normally; now with the added contour and three inches in height due to the uncomfortable heels Natasha made her wear, she looked a good twenty-one, twenty-five if you're near-sighted.
"Excuse me, Miss Romanoff?" A UN worked approaches the red head, holding a thick stack of papers.
"Yes?"
"These need your signature. You too, Miss Stark. Thank you."
"Thanks." Natasha answers, gingerly retrieving the documents, handing a paper and pen to Rowan as well.
"I suppose neither of us are used to the spotlight." T'Challa spoke to Natasha.
"Oh, well, it's not always so flattering." Replies the Widow.
"You seem to be doing alright so far." T'Challa quickly glances over at Rowan, "Considering your last trip to Capitol Hill... I wouldn't think you would be particularly comfortable in this company."
"Well, I'm not."
"That alone makes me glad you're here, Miss Romanoff. You too, Miss Stark. I remember watching your performance against Ultron on the news. Your powers are magnificent." T'Challa gave the girl a small smile to which she returned with a sheepish grin of her own.
"Why? You don't approve of all this?" Natasha accuses, her brow raised.
"The Accords, yes." Starts T'Challa, "The politics, not really. Two people in a room can get more done than a hundred."
"Unless you need to move a piano." A sudden deep, more thick, accented voice spoke from beside them, receiving the attention from the trio.
