"Oooh, coffee," she muses, hauling herself up to shove the rest of the dress off. It's more complicated than she'd like, but eventually the acres of fabric and the light frame underneath are on the ground, and she's back on the couch. White slip, white stockings, white garter belt; she wears such things of her own according, but rarely white.

(Colour, she loves colour)

"-it'd probably do me good to just have some water," Natasha admits at last.