Forge and Clint - Yep. Still 9.8m/s^2
Aug. 10th, 2022 07:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_forge posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsForge arrives at the Mansion for a scheduled meeting. Clint's training and falls out of a tree. They are mean to one another, which probably now means that they're friends.
Forge was tired. He was tired of the secrecy, tired of keeping on the move, tired of wondering what was going to happen when the US Government rolled onto him like a ton of bricks. He was also physically tired - it was a long way to bike from Lame Deer MT to Westchester County, NY. His head hurt, his hip hurt, but maybe stopping for a Red Bull, a painkiller for his head, and to fill the bike with reaction mass (Poland Spring this time around) probably wouldn't be a bad idea.
He pulled into a Circle K, bought what he wanted, and was sitting in the parking lot, pouring Red Bull into his gob and ignoring what his mind told him. Turbulent flow rates. How much energy it took to lift his hand to his mouth, tilt the beverage back. What it cost metabolically to swallow. Caloric intake. Force of the slight breeze in the air. Consumption rate of the reactor in his bike's chassis. With long experience he ignored all of it until the can was empty, the painkillers taken, and the empties properly disposed of.
Maybe another half-hour until Westchester. Then the next chapter could begin in the horror show that was his life over the last, oh, decade or so.
Clint wasn't entirely sure how Kyle convinced him to train for a triathlon, but given Kyle had a healing factor and Clint's thighs were full of lactic acid, he decided to give his hungover self a bit of a break. He'd left his cell at the mansion since his swim trunks didn't have pockets, but Matt knew what he was doing and Kyle knew the route he'd intended to take, so he figured he was safe enough. The trails throughout Xavier's property were great, he loved running them when he just needed to clear his head, but since the triathlon would be part running on pavement, he wanted to make sure he was ready for the difference in terrain.
Which is how he found himself approaching the mansion from Salem Center, shirt off and tied around his forehead, covered in sweat and definitely under-caffeinated. He waved at the cameras but, instead of heading toward the gate and up the drive, he veered to the left and found a good climbing tree. His legs needed a minute to chill and he figured he could catch a few minutes of shuteye before he had to attempt to deal with the rest of his day.
Forge pulled up - after checking GPS to make sure he was on-track - to the alarmingly well-secured gateway that led to the Xavier Institute. Cameras, motion sensors, very well-hidden security for ostensibly a private school. He smiled thinly, turned the bike to "Don't freak the mundanes" mode which added in appropriate engine rumble, and then goosed it just for fun before he removed his bike helmet, shook out his now-much-longer hair, and fished out a pair of sunglasses to wear. But not before giving the cameras a good look at his face. Now, to find the callbox...
An engine revved nearby and, even though he had superior reflexes, Clint jolted enough to unbalance and fall out of the tree. He landed on his feet, at least, instead of in a jumble of extra sore limbs, so he'd give himself a pat on the back for that later. "Uh..." He looked at the stranger, who seemed to be going for that too-cool-for-school look, what with the bike and the long hair and the glasses, and raised his brows. "Can I help you?"
Well, good to see that Earth gravity was still humming along at 9.8 m/s^2. "I doubt it" he said truthfully. "Unless falling out of trees is normal for the Institute over yonder?" he said, jerking a glove-clad thumb towards the Mansion's front gate.
"I mean, it's not in the handbook, but it's been known to happen once or twice. Thrice, I guess, now," Clint said, arching an eyebrow. "Does anybody know you're coming, or is this a surprise visit?"
Forge quirked a single eyebrow - a useless skill picked up from too many years of Star Trek reruns at a delicate age. "They should be expecting me. Name's Forge" he said, offering his right hand towards Clint. Yes, that was the artificial one - time to see how these people were gonna react to advanced prosthetics.
Clint automatically reached out to shake the other man's hand. He wasn't on security detail or anything, so he didn't know whether or not a man named Forge was actually expected, but halfway through the handshake he got distracted. "Whoa, holy shit dude, hang on, that's." He stopped and made himself release Forge's hand despite wanting to keep hold of it so he could examine it more closely.
"That has to be a silver alloy, right? I mean, there's silver in there somewhere, and probably copper and gold, there'd have to be given the range of motion you've got on it and it's obvious it's picking up your body's actual neurological and electric impulses so. That is. I haven't seen anything like this since leaving SWORD and even what they had was... not like that, your hand is amazing. Also I'm sorry, I forgot, I'm Clint Barton. That was insanely rude of me. I apologize. But also also. If you're comfortable with it, please tell me about your hand. It's a marvel of engineering."
The second eyebrow rose to join the first. "Something like that," he said guardedly. "We can talk about the hand later. I've got a meeting that I really should be attending soon," he pointed out. "So if you could let the folks in the big house there know I'm here, they can open the door and I can attend my meeting. Afterwards, if you can, you know, take a shower and get dressed we can talk prosthetic engineering," he said, withdrawing his hand. As he did so his leathers shifted, revealing the butt of what almost looked like a child's raygun toy.
Clint clocked the butt of a weapon and his brain went through some very quick calculations. Given the advanced nature of Forge's prosthetic, which was way beyond what most people could get their hands on and definitely at least a on par with Stark's tech, if not a little better, the likelihood of him carrying around a harmless child's toy was slim to none. "Bro," Clint said, already evaluating angles and trajectories and all the various pieces of information he might need to disarm the man without (hopefully) getting shot or vaporized or whatever. "Please disarm before we actually open the gate for you." He really wished he'd brought his phone with him now.
Forge blinked. "Right. Sorry. Habit." he said, slowly - SLOWLY - pulling the raygun from its holster and making sure it was pointed nowhere near either of them. "I'm disassembling it now." he said and then proceeded to expertly do just that, breaking the gun down into several resembled-no-gun-parts-Clint-had-ever-seen and dropped the parts into a saddlebag - no point in wasting parts that could be repurposed if needed. Also, surprisingly, whatever the gun used, bullets weren't a part of the equation. "Sorry." he said again and got off his bike. "Feel free to pat me down if you're not satisfied."
"Personally, I think that should be fine, but I'm also not in charge of mansion security, so hang on," Clint said, jogging backward toward the gate. He stopped close to one of the brick pillar things and hit the call button for the front. When he got an affirmative that the guy was actually expected and the gates themselves opened, he turned around and waved him through. "Somebody'll meet you at the front door, give you the nickel tour. Hope your meeting goes well. And even if it doesn't, I still wanna talk prosthetics with you." The other man had nearly passed him when Clint said, "Bee tee dubs, these are swim trunks. The bows and arrows are my thing. So I am dressed."
Forge sighed softly. "Bow and arrow is your thing; You cosplay in the paleolithic and do children's parties too?" He asked. "Or are you so unspeakably badass that you can run around defending the Mansion and killing people with a stone age weapon?" He commented. Then mentally sighed. Forge, get a grip on your tongue. By way of a mental apology, he clicked his bike's remote control and watched as it folded itself into a much more compact form then lifted an inch or two off the ground on some sort of a float system. "Sorry. Long ride. We'll talk after the meet." He resolved to actually let the man play with his hand if he wanted to, so long as he got it back at the end of the day.
"No problem, man," Clint said from behind Forge. He reached down to pick up a small, flat-ish stone. It wouldn't be quite as good at a quarter, but it'd do for now. "But to answer your question," he flicked the stone toward the gate, watching in satisfaction as it ricocheted off one bar on the right, making a high arch over the other man's head, then bounced from the left back to the first side. From there it hit the bricks perfectly, losing momentum enough to land squarely, though more gently, on the very top of Forge's head. "Yeah, I use a bow and arrows to protect people here and there. No kids parties, but I mean. I'm pretty good."
Forge literally saw the math behind Clint's little stunt and couldn't help but be impressed. He took the stone off the top of his head and dropped it into his pocket. Be a good memento about making assumptions - might even keep him alive someday. "Well, Clint Barton, I'll see you after this meeting." he said and then walked through the gate, his collapsed floating bike-package following him obediently.
Forge was tired. He was tired of the secrecy, tired of keeping on the move, tired of wondering what was going to happen when the US Government rolled onto him like a ton of bricks. He was also physically tired - it was a long way to bike from Lame Deer MT to Westchester County, NY. His head hurt, his hip hurt, but maybe stopping for a Red Bull, a painkiller for his head, and to fill the bike with reaction mass (Poland Spring this time around) probably wouldn't be a bad idea.
He pulled into a Circle K, bought what he wanted, and was sitting in the parking lot, pouring Red Bull into his gob and ignoring what his mind told him. Turbulent flow rates. How much energy it took to lift his hand to his mouth, tilt the beverage back. What it cost metabolically to swallow. Caloric intake. Force of the slight breeze in the air. Consumption rate of the reactor in his bike's chassis. With long experience he ignored all of it until the can was empty, the painkillers taken, and the empties properly disposed of.
Maybe another half-hour until Westchester. Then the next chapter could begin in the horror show that was his life over the last, oh, decade or so.
Clint wasn't entirely sure how Kyle convinced him to train for a triathlon, but given Kyle had a healing factor and Clint's thighs were full of lactic acid, he decided to give his hungover self a bit of a break. He'd left his cell at the mansion since his swim trunks didn't have pockets, but Matt knew what he was doing and Kyle knew the route he'd intended to take, so he figured he was safe enough. The trails throughout Xavier's property were great, he loved running them when he just needed to clear his head, but since the triathlon would be part running on pavement, he wanted to make sure he was ready for the difference in terrain.
Which is how he found himself approaching the mansion from Salem Center, shirt off and tied around his forehead, covered in sweat and definitely under-caffeinated. He waved at the cameras but, instead of heading toward the gate and up the drive, he veered to the left and found a good climbing tree. His legs needed a minute to chill and he figured he could catch a few minutes of shuteye before he had to attempt to deal with the rest of his day.
Forge pulled up - after checking GPS to make sure he was on-track - to the alarmingly well-secured gateway that led to the Xavier Institute. Cameras, motion sensors, very well-hidden security for ostensibly a private school. He smiled thinly, turned the bike to "Don't freak the mundanes" mode which added in appropriate engine rumble, and then goosed it just for fun before he removed his bike helmet, shook out his now-much-longer hair, and fished out a pair of sunglasses to wear. But not before giving the cameras a good look at his face. Now, to find the callbox...
An engine revved nearby and, even though he had superior reflexes, Clint jolted enough to unbalance and fall out of the tree. He landed on his feet, at least, instead of in a jumble of extra sore limbs, so he'd give himself a pat on the back for that later. "Uh..." He looked at the stranger, who seemed to be going for that too-cool-for-school look, what with the bike and the long hair and the glasses, and raised his brows. "Can I help you?"
Well, good to see that Earth gravity was still humming along at 9.8 m/s^2. "I doubt it" he said truthfully. "Unless falling out of trees is normal for the Institute over yonder?" he said, jerking a glove-clad thumb towards the Mansion's front gate.
"I mean, it's not in the handbook, but it's been known to happen once or twice. Thrice, I guess, now," Clint said, arching an eyebrow. "Does anybody know you're coming, or is this a surprise visit?"
Forge quirked a single eyebrow - a useless skill picked up from too many years of Star Trek reruns at a delicate age. "They should be expecting me. Name's Forge" he said, offering his right hand towards Clint. Yes, that was the artificial one - time to see how these people were gonna react to advanced prosthetics.
Clint automatically reached out to shake the other man's hand. He wasn't on security detail or anything, so he didn't know whether or not a man named Forge was actually expected, but halfway through the handshake he got distracted. "Whoa, holy shit dude, hang on, that's." He stopped and made himself release Forge's hand despite wanting to keep hold of it so he could examine it more closely.
"That has to be a silver alloy, right? I mean, there's silver in there somewhere, and probably copper and gold, there'd have to be given the range of motion you've got on it and it's obvious it's picking up your body's actual neurological and electric impulses so. That is. I haven't seen anything like this since leaving SWORD and even what they had was... not like that, your hand is amazing. Also I'm sorry, I forgot, I'm Clint Barton. That was insanely rude of me. I apologize. But also also. If you're comfortable with it, please tell me about your hand. It's a marvel of engineering."
The second eyebrow rose to join the first. "Something like that," he said guardedly. "We can talk about the hand later. I've got a meeting that I really should be attending soon," he pointed out. "So if you could let the folks in the big house there know I'm here, they can open the door and I can attend my meeting. Afterwards, if you can, you know, take a shower and get dressed we can talk prosthetic engineering," he said, withdrawing his hand. As he did so his leathers shifted, revealing the butt of what almost looked like a child's raygun toy.
Clint clocked the butt of a weapon and his brain went through some very quick calculations. Given the advanced nature of Forge's prosthetic, which was way beyond what most people could get their hands on and definitely at least a on par with Stark's tech, if not a little better, the likelihood of him carrying around a harmless child's toy was slim to none. "Bro," Clint said, already evaluating angles and trajectories and all the various pieces of information he might need to disarm the man without (hopefully) getting shot or vaporized or whatever. "Please disarm before we actually open the gate for you." He really wished he'd brought his phone with him now.
Forge blinked. "Right. Sorry. Habit." he said, slowly - SLOWLY - pulling the raygun from its holster and making sure it was pointed nowhere near either of them. "I'm disassembling it now." he said and then proceeded to expertly do just that, breaking the gun down into several resembled-no-gun-parts-Clint-had-ever-seen and dropped the parts into a saddlebag - no point in wasting parts that could be repurposed if needed. Also, surprisingly, whatever the gun used, bullets weren't a part of the equation. "Sorry." he said again and got off his bike. "Feel free to pat me down if you're not satisfied."
"Personally, I think that should be fine, but I'm also not in charge of mansion security, so hang on," Clint said, jogging backward toward the gate. He stopped close to one of the brick pillar things and hit the call button for the front. When he got an affirmative that the guy was actually expected and the gates themselves opened, he turned around and waved him through. "Somebody'll meet you at the front door, give you the nickel tour. Hope your meeting goes well. And even if it doesn't, I still wanna talk prosthetics with you." The other man had nearly passed him when Clint said, "Bee tee dubs, these are swim trunks. The bows and arrows are my thing. So I am dressed."
Forge sighed softly. "Bow and arrow is your thing; You cosplay in the paleolithic and do children's parties too?" He asked. "Or are you so unspeakably badass that you can run around defending the Mansion and killing people with a stone age weapon?" He commented. Then mentally sighed. Forge, get a grip on your tongue. By way of a mental apology, he clicked his bike's remote control and watched as it folded itself into a much more compact form then lifted an inch or two off the ground on some sort of a float system. "Sorry. Long ride. We'll talk after the meet." He resolved to actually let the man play with his hand if he wanted to, so long as he got it back at the end of the day.
"No problem, man," Clint said from behind Forge. He reached down to pick up a small, flat-ish stone. It wouldn't be quite as good at a quarter, but it'd do for now. "But to answer your question," he flicked the stone toward the gate, watching in satisfaction as it ricocheted off one bar on the right, making a high arch over the other man's head, then bounced from the left back to the first side. From there it hit the bricks perfectly, losing momentum enough to land squarely, though more gently, on the very top of Forge's head. "Yeah, I use a bow and arrows to protect people here and there. No kids parties, but I mean. I'm pretty good."
Forge literally saw the math behind Clint's little stunt and couldn't help but be impressed. He took the stone off the top of his head and dropped it into his pocket. Be a good memento about making assumptions - might even keep him alive someday. "Well, Clint Barton, I'll see you after this meeting." he said and then walked through the gate, his collapsed floating bike-package following him obediently.
