Doug & Clint | A Request (very backdated)
Jan. 9th, 2024 02:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsDoug and Clint discuss Doug's friendos, their origins, and possible SHIELD connections before agreeing to seek out further information.
Clint sat in his office, welding goggles propped up on his head as he soldered very, very small pieces of a new arrow into place. It was a little like putting together a watch or some other type of timepiece, given all the variable, moving parts that needed to function perfectly so that it did what he intended it to do when he shot it at someone. Or something. Maybe. Next up, after this arrow prototype, was miniaturized flashbangs set off by kinetic force as opposed to requiring a pin to pull. He just had to make sure this arrowhead was ready for the new netting he'd worked up.
Despite its untimely demise when Hope Summers TK'd it apart, Clint was keeping the other netting, since it'd work on anything that couldn't TK or shield their way out of it. This, though, was a new sort of... non-self-adherent sticky netting that would hopefully just stretch around the TK bubble or shield and then collapse back in with it. He just had to get the netting's elasticity to the proper strength.
"Hey, bro." Doug came wandering in through the door with a bottle of Old Bay vodka in hand, looking appreciatively at the new arrow Clint was making. "Redoing the net arrow after the Tiny Telekinetic Terror?" He teased, but Clint had at least managed to slow Hope Summers down more than him. Plus he was pretty sure Kyle was still on the 'oh my god PANTS' thing, that wasn't likely to go away soon.
"Ah, T-cubed," Clint said, looking up and giving Doug a smile. "Definitely one of those 'back to the drawing board' moments, but more from the standpoint of surprise TK and what'll like. Handle that. As opposed to giving up on the idea entirely." He put his tools down and took the welding goggles off of his head to put them on the table. "What's up? Haven't seen you down here in a while -- not since before the Horsemen stuff started up."
Doug did his best imitation of Nic Cage's laid-back drawl. "Gosh, kind of a lot's happened since then," he quoted with a wry smile. The lab and projectiles put him in mind of the scene at the beginning of The Rock. He shook himself slightly - using memes to deflect wasn't productive. He set the bottle on an open space of the bench, then hopped up onto a stool. "So. 'Friendo' stuff," he started, wiggling the fingers of his left hand. "I had some concerns, given that the first Horsemen imagery I came across resulted in me getting digested, and the weird astral bubble 'Age of Apocalypse' thing had a nanite-controlled version of me acting -as- a Horseman...yeah. I had concerns." He flicked his hand dismissively. "Didn't seem to amount to anything, but in the process of talking to Angie about staying back from the action, she mentioned wanting to know more about Fixer and how he might have created them...and I found out from them that 'administratorFixer' did not, in fact, make them."
"Ah," Clint said, nodding slowly. "So, obviously you've already thought of this, but my immediate worry would be that they can be hacked. And they're a hell of a lot more complicated than a pacemaker. That's no fun." Puffing his cheeks out, Clint rolled his stool away from the table so he could fidget while he thought. "Fixer, Barrow - no offense to your friendos, but I was not a fan of the whole mind controlled by itty bitty baby computers in my bloodstream/brainstem/gray matter. But Barrow... they weren't stored at the Barrow facility. Fixer brought them with and fucked up the whole town before me and the team got anywhere near it.
"Actually, wait," Clint paused himself. "Rewind a sec - in his debrief after the fact, Hendrickson said something... shit. It's been a while. I can check in with Phil. I could be wrong about them not being there. I'd been gone for a while before Phil called and asked for that favor. They could've come in as an 0-8-4 during that time. But it still feels like something -- of course, Hendrickson might've been slacking up there, but it's not the biggest warehouse SHIELD has..." Refocusing on Doug, Clint blinked for a moment. "Sorry, just trying to figure out how my ex-partner could've missed someone sneaking in and fucking with an 0-8-4. Assuming that's what it is."
"0-8-4." Doug cocked his head. "That's the SHIELD code that basically translates to 'idk wtf', right?" he asked. At Clint's nod, he made a thoughtful but slightly frustrated noise. "Which means if it was something Fixer boosted from a different SHIELD storage, then that trail might not lead anywhere." He drummed the fingers of his nanite hand on the workbench as he considered the implications. "I mean, how much data do those sorts of items tend to have on them?"
Clint thought about that for a long moment -- so hard, in fact, that he nearly leaned back in an attempt to tip the feet of his chair upward so he could balance on the back two only to remember at the last possible second that he was still sitting on a rolly stool. "Jesus," he muttered, shaking his head at himself. "Yeah, you've got the gist of 0-8-4s down. Typically, they've got info on when and where they were found, who found them, and the circumstances that led to them being found. Which -- I'm not saying your friendos are an 0-8-4, but it's possible. In which case, if I can get the intel from Phil, we might have a lead or we might not, since there's no guarantee that whoever they were potentially taken from actually created them, either.
"There's some gnarly stuff in those storage warehouses, man. That's where we found Namor," Clint gave Doug his most significant eyebrow waggle. "But I can see if Phil'll let me maybe cash in a favor to get that intel. He does owe me, for recalling me and sending me bouncing all over the country on various undercover assignments before X-Force pulled me out of that last one."
Doug nodded. "I guess the only way to find out is to pull the thread and see where it leads." He grinned. "Hey, you mentioned one time that he pays under the table in Starbucks gift cards, does he accept payment in kind for services rendered in the opposite direction?"
Snorting softly, Clint had to suppress a laugh. "Not after Tasha brought him back some kind of fancy French press thing a few years back. Now he's got coffee standards and opinions. But I could see him accepting something like a table for two at some ridiculous New York restaurant. He's got this cellist he thinks nobody knows about. Or well, thought, at least. I might've given away that everybody knows... anyway, taking her somewhere nice would probably be an appropriate 'thank you.'"
"Well, I'm not above trading on Emma's name to get him on the list somewhere if need be, just let me know." Not that he always needed to - he was known enough as Emma's associate in some places that his own reputation was sufficient to gain an entrance. "Now, if you've got someone who excels at making people annoyed with them, we'll use Sebastian Shaw's name to get them in instead." Sometimes petty jabs were the most fun, after all.
Clint shook his head but let himself actually laugh at that one. "I'll see what Phil can do and let you know if I have to dangle the restaurant thing to close the deal," he smiled. "Sound good?"
"Solid plan," Doug replied, holding out his fist for a bump. "You want me to leave you to it, or what?"
"You can hang out, if you want," Clint offered, still smiling. "Feel free to grab a laptop or whatever, do your thing. I'm just gonna step out real quick to make that phone call."
Clint sat in his office, welding goggles propped up on his head as he soldered very, very small pieces of a new arrow into place. It was a little like putting together a watch or some other type of timepiece, given all the variable, moving parts that needed to function perfectly so that it did what he intended it to do when he shot it at someone. Or something. Maybe. Next up, after this arrow prototype, was miniaturized flashbangs set off by kinetic force as opposed to requiring a pin to pull. He just had to make sure this arrowhead was ready for the new netting he'd worked up.
Despite its untimely demise when Hope Summers TK'd it apart, Clint was keeping the other netting, since it'd work on anything that couldn't TK or shield their way out of it. This, though, was a new sort of... non-self-adherent sticky netting that would hopefully just stretch around the TK bubble or shield and then collapse back in with it. He just had to get the netting's elasticity to the proper strength.
"Hey, bro." Doug came wandering in through the door with a bottle of Old Bay vodka in hand, looking appreciatively at the new arrow Clint was making. "Redoing the net arrow after the Tiny Telekinetic Terror?" He teased, but Clint had at least managed to slow Hope Summers down more than him. Plus he was pretty sure Kyle was still on the 'oh my god PANTS' thing, that wasn't likely to go away soon.
"Ah, T-cubed," Clint said, looking up and giving Doug a smile. "Definitely one of those 'back to the drawing board' moments, but more from the standpoint of surprise TK and what'll like. Handle that. As opposed to giving up on the idea entirely." He put his tools down and took the welding goggles off of his head to put them on the table. "What's up? Haven't seen you down here in a while -- not since before the Horsemen stuff started up."
Doug did his best imitation of Nic Cage's laid-back drawl. "Gosh, kind of a lot's happened since then," he quoted with a wry smile. The lab and projectiles put him in mind of the scene at the beginning of The Rock. He shook himself slightly - using memes to deflect wasn't productive. He set the bottle on an open space of the bench, then hopped up onto a stool. "So. 'Friendo' stuff," he started, wiggling the fingers of his left hand. "I had some concerns, given that the first Horsemen imagery I came across resulted in me getting digested, and the weird astral bubble 'Age of Apocalypse' thing had a nanite-controlled version of me acting -as- a Horseman...yeah. I had concerns." He flicked his hand dismissively. "Didn't seem to amount to anything, but in the process of talking to Angie about staying back from the action, she mentioned wanting to know more about Fixer and how he might have created them...and I found out from them that 'administratorFixer' did not, in fact, make them."
"Ah," Clint said, nodding slowly. "So, obviously you've already thought of this, but my immediate worry would be that they can be hacked. And they're a hell of a lot more complicated than a pacemaker. That's no fun." Puffing his cheeks out, Clint rolled his stool away from the table so he could fidget while he thought. "Fixer, Barrow - no offense to your friendos, but I was not a fan of the whole mind controlled by itty bitty baby computers in my bloodstream/brainstem/gray matter. But Barrow... they weren't stored at the Barrow facility. Fixer brought them with and fucked up the whole town before me and the team got anywhere near it.
"Actually, wait," Clint paused himself. "Rewind a sec - in his debrief after the fact, Hendrickson said something... shit. It's been a while. I can check in with Phil. I could be wrong about them not being there. I'd been gone for a while before Phil called and asked for that favor. They could've come in as an 0-8-4 during that time. But it still feels like something -- of course, Hendrickson might've been slacking up there, but it's not the biggest warehouse SHIELD has..." Refocusing on Doug, Clint blinked for a moment. "Sorry, just trying to figure out how my ex-partner could've missed someone sneaking in and fucking with an 0-8-4. Assuming that's what it is."
"0-8-4." Doug cocked his head. "That's the SHIELD code that basically translates to 'idk wtf', right?" he asked. At Clint's nod, he made a thoughtful but slightly frustrated noise. "Which means if it was something Fixer boosted from a different SHIELD storage, then that trail might not lead anywhere." He drummed the fingers of his nanite hand on the workbench as he considered the implications. "I mean, how much data do those sorts of items tend to have on them?"
Clint thought about that for a long moment -- so hard, in fact, that he nearly leaned back in an attempt to tip the feet of his chair upward so he could balance on the back two only to remember at the last possible second that he was still sitting on a rolly stool. "Jesus," he muttered, shaking his head at himself. "Yeah, you've got the gist of 0-8-4s down. Typically, they've got info on when and where they were found, who found them, and the circumstances that led to them being found. Which -- I'm not saying your friendos are an 0-8-4, but it's possible. In which case, if I can get the intel from Phil, we might have a lead or we might not, since there's no guarantee that whoever they were potentially taken from actually created them, either.
"There's some gnarly stuff in those storage warehouses, man. That's where we found Namor," Clint gave Doug his most significant eyebrow waggle. "But I can see if Phil'll let me maybe cash in a favor to get that intel. He does owe me, for recalling me and sending me bouncing all over the country on various undercover assignments before X-Force pulled me out of that last one."
Doug nodded. "I guess the only way to find out is to pull the thread and see where it leads." He grinned. "Hey, you mentioned one time that he pays under the table in Starbucks gift cards, does he accept payment in kind for services rendered in the opposite direction?"
Snorting softly, Clint had to suppress a laugh. "Not after Tasha brought him back some kind of fancy French press thing a few years back. Now he's got coffee standards and opinions. But I could see him accepting something like a table for two at some ridiculous New York restaurant. He's got this cellist he thinks nobody knows about. Or well, thought, at least. I might've given away that everybody knows... anyway, taking her somewhere nice would probably be an appropriate 'thank you.'"
"Well, I'm not above trading on Emma's name to get him on the list somewhere if need be, just let me know." Not that he always needed to - he was known enough as Emma's associate in some places that his own reputation was sufficient to gain an entrance. "Now, if you've got someone who excels at making people annoyed with them, we'll use Sebastian Shaw's name to get them in instead." Sometimes petty jabs were the most fun, after all.
Clint shook his head but let himself actually laugh at that one. "I'll see what Phil can do and let you know if I have to dangle the restaurant thing to close the deal," he smiled. "Sound good?"
"Solid plan," Doug replied, holding out his fist for a bump. "You want me to leave you to it, or what?"
"You can hang out, if you want," Clint offered, still smiling. "Feel free to grab a laptop or whatever, do your thing. I'm just gonna step out real quick to make that phone call."
