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xp_logs(slightly backdated) Alani, Clint, and Namor navigate JFK so they can get to their destination of research in Hawai’i.
Alani was not hungover, not really, she was maybe still a little tipsy. But she was at the airport, Namor and Clint in tow, and as put together as was expected at five in the morning as they made their way through security — well, she and Namor walked past, pre-check paid for by Warren Worthington III, because he’d thought her buying two premium economy tickets was ‘boring’. Waving past the agent, words flowed out of her mouth easily. “He has a pacemaker, and I'm pregnant, so, better for travel.”
Any response from the agent was cut off by Namor's murder stare. Cold, beautiful, and predatory, like the ancient emperor deciding whether to allow her to live. "Uh," she began, but Namor didn't even blink. She stopped and just smiled nervously.
Pivoting from the station, Namor strode purposefully through the security gate.
"It is not their station to receive our excuses," he spoke to (what he assumed was) the trailing form of Alani. "Leave the woman alone. Money may grease palms easily, but an air of superior mystery is always more effective than words."
Clint just walked through regular security, the lines fairly sparse that early in the morning. He'd checked his bow and arrows, only bringing two rolls of quarters in his carry-on that he explained away as wanting to be able to play slots at their layover in LAS. He wasn't sure why they were layingover in LAS instead of LAX, but it made things convenient for him.
The business people with their carry-ons and briefcases all seemed relieved that they no longer had to remove their shoes or jackets and that their laptops could stay in their bags. Clint didn't really care. His carry-on was a duffle bag and his personal item was a messenger bag. He hadn't brought a jacket because they were going to Hawai'i and also he'd been born and raised in New York, the cold didn't phase him at all. He'd been tempted to wear bedroom slippers, since his plan was simply to sleep on the plane, but he'd decided to be a bit more adult at the last second and put on some loafers.
He had no idea how he'd acquired loafers, but he blamed Tasha and had simply gone about making sure he had enough clothes and toiletries to last however long he might need them to. And his little pea pod from Tasha, of course. Full of seemingly innocuous things that, much like the quarters, Clint could use if trouble somehow tracked him down.
After walking through the x-ray thing, Clint gathered his things and met Namor and Alani near their gate. "I haven't slept," he offered them, shrugging. How're we feeling about breakfast and then hopefully they'll let us board so I can pass out."
"Breakfast," Namor echoed with a note of alarm, "Breakfast, in this air breathing waystation. We assume that they must have some sort of low class rations available, but is that worth the cost."
Clint's stomach rumbled alarmingly loudly and he looked from that to Namor and then back again. "Yes," he decided unilaterally. "I'll spring for it, Majesty, no problem."
"Oh, yeah, food. I haven't eaten since the bar last night with Sam and Paige, and then I rocked up to Namor's and made sure he was backed — packed". Alani looked around blankly. "Let's find the most overpriced breakfast sandwich. Maybe the server will call you boss." She grinned at the royal.
Namor sighed. "We will take no responsibility for this consumerist nightmare of a place. Very well. Alani, this is your mission. Lead on."
"What're you feeling, Alani?" Clint asked, pulling his wallet from his pocket.
"Oh, now I'm in charge, okay, come on boys, let's get breakfast," with a laugh, Alani began walking towards the terminal.
Alani was not hungover, not really, she was maybe still a little tipsy. But she was at the airport, Namor and Clint in tow, and as put together as was expected at five in the morning as they made their way through security — well, she and Namor walked past, pre-check paid for by Warren Worthington III, because he’d thought her buying two premium economy tickets was ‘boring’. Waving past the agent, words flowed out of her mouth easily. “He has a pacemaker, and I'm pregnant, so, better for travel.”
Any response from the agent was cut off by Namor's murder stare. Cold, beautiful, and predatory, like the ancient emperor deciding whether to allow her to live. "Uh," she began, but Namor didn't even blink. She stopped and just smiled nervously.
Pivoting from the station, Namor strode purposefully through the security gate.
"It is not their station to receive our excuses," he spoke to (what he assumed was) the trailing form of Alani. "Leave the woman alone. Money may grease palms easily, but an air of superior mystery is always more effective than words."
Clint just walked through regular security, the lines fairly sparse that early in the morning. He'd checked his bow and arrows, only bringing two rolls of quarters in his carry-on that he explained away as wanting to be able to play slots at their layover in LAS. He wasn't sure why they were layingover in LAS instead of LAX, but it made things convenient for him.
The business people with their carry-ons and briefcases all seemed relieved that they no longer had to remove their shoes or jackets and that their laptops could stay in their bags. Clint didn't really care. His carry-on was a duffle bag and his personal item was a messenger bag. He hadn't brought a jacket because they were going to Hawai'i and also he'd been born and raised in New York, the cold didn't phase him at all. He'd been tempted to wear bedroom slippers, since his plan was simply to sleep on the plane, but he'd decided to be a bit more adult at the last second and put on some loafers.
He had no idea how he'd acquired loafers, but he blamed Tasha and had simply gone about making sure he had enough clothes and toiletries to last however long he might need them to. And his little pea pod from Tasha, of course. Full of seemingly innocuous things that, much like the quarters, Clint could use if trouble somehow tracked him down.
After walking through the x-ray thing, Clint gathered his things and met Namor and Alani near their gate. "I haven't slept," he offered them, shrugging. How're we feeling about breakfast and then hopefully they'll let us board so I can pass out."
"Breakfast," Namor echoed with a note of alarm, "Breakfast, in this air breathing waystation. We assume that they must have some sort of low class rations available, but is that worth the cost."
Clint's stomach rumbled alarmingly loudly and he looked from that to Namor and then back again. "Yes," he decided unilaterally. "I'll spring for it, Majesty, no problem."
"Oh, yeah, food. I haven't eaten since the bar last night with Sam and Paige, and then I rocked up to Namor's and made sure he was backed — packed". Alani looked around blankly. "Let's find the most overpriced breakfast sandwich. Maybe the server will call you boss." She grinned at the royal.
Namor sighed. "We will take no responsibility for this consumerist nightmare of a place. Very well. Alani, this is your mission. Lead on."
"What're you feeling, Alani?" Clint asked, pulling his wallet from his pocket.
"Oh, now I'm in charge, okay, come on boys, let's get breakfast," with a laugh, Alani began walking towards the terminal.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-09 02:42 am (UTC)lol
Thanks, guys, this was short but a lot of fun to write with y'all. <3