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xp_logs2015-02-18 04:52 pm
x-hawkeye.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2015-02-18 04:52 pm
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Billy & Clint | Wednesday Evening (backdated)
Clint arrives at Hooligan's for the arranged meeting with the mysterious Asgardian.
Clint stood propped up against the bar, a pint in hand, as he watched a particularly impressive UFC match up on the television to his left. He wasn't sure how this was going to go, but he was willing to give it a shot. Wasn't like things could get much worse for him at this point.
Well, no, that wasn't true. He could just outright lose his job at some point. But then, he wasn't entirely sure he'd mind at this point. With a small frown, he took a sip of his lager and made himself relax.
A shot glass of an identifiable liquid plunked down in front of the man. Light amber, possibly whisky, possibly not. "Let's drink to trust," Billy said, sliding into the seat across from him, a similar shot glass in hand. "Do you trust me?"
"I don't know you," Clint said, snorting softly as he put his pint glass down. "But if you poison me, my brother can track you down. So I'll drink to that."
"Then we're on the same page," Billy answered, lifting his shot in a cheers gesture. "But one thing you can be sure about me. I'd never poison a man's whisky. Waste of good liquor."
"At least some things are still sacred," Clint said, finally picking up the shot glass. He gave the other man a small salute with it, then tossed back the contents. "So you know my name, but I never caught yours."
The man studied the other carefully then threw back his own shot. "Billy. Or Asgardian. Though based on the rumors I'm hearing, that name may have to change soon."
Clint snorted. "I told you to pick a different name if you're gonna run around being a vigilante. It's good advice."
"You're hardly neutral," Billy snickered. "Well, if you're to be believed. But as crazy as it seems, you seem to be. Believable, I mean. Which is why I called. Your...partner was a bit...trigger happy. And I'm curious why you're not."
Clint took a coin from his pocket and, without even looking, tossed it toward the mirror behind the bar. Only it didn't hit the mirror, it hit the thin sliver of wood on the mirror's frame, ricocheted off a leaky tap, a light fixture hanging over their heads, and plopped into his empty shot glass on the bar in front of them. "I've got my reasons." The tap wasn't dripping beer anymore and no one around them had noticed a thing.
Billy leaned back, his chair propped up on the two back legs as he traced the coin's path. He looked from Clint to the glass and back again, then nodded. "Okay, now we're talking. So talk."
"My bother's got info on this place," Clint said, keeping his voice low but his body language at ease. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that you're either a mutant or a magic wielder. Either of which puts you in a pretty precarious position given your recent activities. From what my brother tells me, this place is basically a haven. A place for people in precarious positions."
"Probably something like that," Billy confirmed after a short pause. "I'm not actually sure myself. It's not exactly something you volunteer to be tested for, these days especially." He stopped a moment, drumming his fingers on the bar. "What makes you think my position's 'precarious?' I'm not exactly brand new at this. I know when to lay low for a while. Drives me crazy to sit by and not do anything when I do, but it keeps things from getting...precarious."
"SWORD caught up with you once, didn't they? And from what I understand, you could use some instruction in how to avoid attracting undue attention. Wearing masks when out and about doing your late night thing comes to mind," Clint offered, then shrugged. "But the thing is, you're not a bad sort. I checked up on the mutant those guys had cornered. He'll be alright, they didn't manage to hurt him. Mostly because you stopped them. He had nothing but good things to say regarding you. And I think this place would help you with that, give you more training, that sort of thing. So you can help people on an even bigger scale."
Billy looked thoughtful for a moment. "So...say I'm interested. On a scale of psych ward to Hall of Justice, what kind of 'haven' are we talking about?"
"We're talking like. According to my brother, there's living spaces but people move around freely. Come, go, whichever. Just don't compromise security for the rest of the residents," Clint offered.
"Ok, "Billy acknowledged, watching the other closely. "Say, I'm....Aquaman. Interested, but don't quite fit in. What would your 'brother/nephew/father/son/grandpa' say about that?"
"Why aren't you fitting in?" Clint asked, arching an eyebrow.
Billy leaned back, trying to hold back a smile as he studied the man. "I like you. Not sure how much I can trust you, but maybe enough that I'll buy the next round, and we can talk. Deal?"
Clint quirked a smile. "Deal."
They talked for an hour or so, moving away from the bar proper as it got more crowded, and while the agent thought he might've made some progress, he didn't feel like he'd actually convinced the younger man to check out the school in person. He passed along both his and Matt's mobile numbers, though he didn't think his new acquaintance would use them. It wasn't like Clint had much of a choice - he was leaving for the frozen north soon. Still, he hoped everything would be alright. Hoping was all he could do at this point.
Clint stood propped up against the bar, a pint in hand, as he watched a particularly impressive UFC match up on the television to his left. He wasn't sure how this was going to go, but he was willing to give it a shot. Wasn't like things could get much worse for him at this point.
Well, no, that wasn't true. He could just outright lose his job at some point. But then, he wasn't entirely sure he'd mind at this point. With a small frown, he took a sip of his lager and made himself relax.
A shot glass of an identifiable liquid plunked down in front of the man. Light amber, possibly whisky, possibly not. "Let's drink to trust," Billy said, sliding into the seat across from him, a similar shot glass in hand. "Do you trust me?"
"I don't know you," Clint said, snorting softly as he put his pint glass down. "But if you poison me, my brother can track you down. So I'll drink to that."
"Then we're on the same page," Billy answered, lifting his shot in a cheers gesture. "But one thing you can be sure about me. I'd never poison a man's whisky. Waste of good liquor."
"At least some things are still sacred," Clint said, finally picking up the shot glass. He gave the other man a small salute with it, then tossed back the contents. "So you know my name, but I never caught yours."
The man studied the other carefully then threw back his own shot. "Billy. Or Asgardian. Though based on the rumors I'm hearing, that name may have to change soon."
Clint snorted. "I told you to pick a different name if you're gonna run around being a vigilante. It's good advice."
"You're hardly neutral," Billy snickered. "Well, if you're to be believed. But as crazy as it seems, you seem to be. Believable, I mean. Which is why I called. Your...partner was a bit...trigger happy. And I'm curious why you're not."
Clint took a coin from his pocket and, without even looking, tossed it toward the mirror behind the bar. Only it didn't hit the mirror, it hit the thin sliver of wood on the mirror's frame, ricocheted off a leaky tap, a light fixture hanging over their heads, and plopped into his empty shot glass on the bar in front of them. "I've got my reasons." The tap wasn't dripping beer anymore and no one around them had noticed a thing.
Billy leaned back, his chair propped up on the two back legs as he traced the coin's path. He looked from Clint to the glass and back again, then nodded. "Okay, now we're talking. So talk."
"My bother's got info on this place," Clint said, keeping his voice low but his body language at ease. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that you're either a mutant or a magic wielder. Either of which puts you in a pretty precarious position given your recent activities. From what my brother tells me, this place is basically a haven. A place for people in precarious positions."
"Probably something like that," Billy confirmed after a short pause. "I'm not actually sure myself. It's not exactly something you volunteer to be tested for, these days especially." He stopped a moment, drumming his fingers on the bar. "What makes you think my position's 'precarious?' I'm not exactly brand new at this. I know when to lay low for a while. Drives me crazy to sit by and not do anything when I do, but it keeps things from getting...precarious."
"SWORD caught up with you once, didn't they? And from what I understand, you could use some instruction in how to avoid attracting undue attention. Wearing masks when out and about doing your late night thing comes to mind," Clint offered, then shrugged. "But the thing is, you're not a bad sort. I checked up on the mutant those guys had cornered. He'll be alright, they didn't manage to hurt him. Mostly because you stopped them. He had nothing but good things to say regarding you. And I think this place would help you with that, give you more training, that sort of thing. So you can help people on an even bigger scale."
Billy looked thoughtful for a moment. "So...say I'm interested. On a scale of psych ward to Hall of Justice, what kind of 'haven' are we talking about?"
"We're talking like. According to my brother, there's living spaces but people move around freely. Come, go, whichever. Just don't compromise security for the rest of the residents," Clint offered.
"Ok, "Billy acknowledged, watching the other closely. "Say, I'm....Aquaman. Interested, but don't quite fit in. What would your 'brother/nephew/father/son/grandpa' say about that?"
"Why aren't you fitting in?" Clint asked, arching an eyebrow.
Billy leaned back, trying to hold back a smile as he studied the man. "I like you. Not sure how much I can trust you, but maybe enough that I'll buy the next round, and we can talk. Deal?"
Clint quirked a smile. "Deal."
They talked for an hour or so, moving away from the bar proper as it got more crowded, and while the agent thought he might've made some progress, he didn't feel like he'd actually convinced the younger man to check out the school in person. He passed along both his and Matt's mobile numbers, though he didn't think his new acquaintance would use them. It wasn't like Clint had much of a choice - he was leaving for the frozen north soon. Still, he hoped everything would be alright. Hoping was all he could do at this point.