(no subject)

[hasthehighground]

A guy dressed in black jeans and a worn purple t-shirt opens the door, and takes a half-step in. One foot over the doorway, and one foot in his world, he glances sideways to use his peripheral vision. Yep, apartment still there.

Huh.

"... Sure, why not," he says. He steps in, hesitating for the briefest of moments before letting go of the edge of the door so it closes behind him. Clint rubs his hand over the short hair on the back of his neck, and steps to the side of the door so he's not blocking it. He realizes he stands out, but a door showed up in his apartment. He's pretty sure it'd be weirder to not be confused.

[OOC: Clint has been re-set with a new mun! Hellooo. He is post-Thor, pre-Tesseract babysitting duty. Please don't spoil him re: the future.

Catch me in crackchat at the moment as TLvop, or check out the contact post in his journal -- I'm prone to slow, but slowtimes are A+ awesome :)]

Comments

[souffle_girlek]

Standing out isn't a problem - standing out means being interesting, being different, being present which is something, Oswin's found, quite a lot of people fail at.

Frequently.

Here, Clint - have someone else who's standing out. Or in this case, running. Chasing a rat.

A rat who's wearing a teeny, twee little apron.

And carrying a whisk that's nearly bigger than it is.

"Give. That. Back!" Oswin attempts a flying tackle, and misses the rat by a good foot.

[hasthehighground]

Clint pushes off the side of the Bar, and offers a hand to help her up. He could stop the rat, but anything currently on hand is heavy enough to maybe cause some damage, and it's wearing an apron so that...

... he's not really sure what that means, but when uncertain: don't throw things at.

"You okay?"

[souffle_girlek]

"Third degree burns to my pride, and I'm pretty sure that's my dignity that's fractured to bits." She sighs, dusting imaginary hands off her skirt (there's no dust, the Loompas would be horrified to hear about dust, she's sure).

[hasthehighground]

"Sounds harsh," he says, dropping his hand when she doesn't take it. "Do rats often steal kitchenware from you?"

[thenewblack]

Artemis has a green shirt. They're complementary!

"Not expecting the bar today?" she asks looking up from a phone that wasn't manufactured by anyone on most versions of Earth. (You can tell by the squishy organic bits.)

[hasthehighground]

"No," Clint says, easily, not making a secret of watching her -- thing. What is that?

"I don't think we have those where I'm from. That," he says, waving at it, "not bars."

[thenewblack]

"T-minus, it's the local texting setup," she says. Then, tucking it in a pocket, "And that answer means that you're new. Welcome to Milliways."

[hasthehighground]

"Thanks," he says after a moment. "Are you the welcoming committee?"

Does she have a pamphlet? He could probably use a pamphlet. The sky is exploding.

(And if it's a projection, well, it's the most realistic looking one he's ever seen.)

[electro_kinetic]

Black and purple on a guy is nothing compared to the black-yellow-and-did-we-mention-electric-blue on the girl who's glanced up at Clint from the table she's half occupying with metal bits and bobs and a whole lot of coban wrap.

"Talking to someone in particular?" says she, one arm half covered in the aforementioned metal and being wrapped around the elbow, the other fully covered and not wrapped yet.

[hasthehighground]

"Thinking out loud," he says, tapping his temple. Amused: "It's useful, when you get to be my age.

"Mind telling me where I am?"

[electro_kinetic]

"Milliways bar," she answers fairly promptly. "Located, in theory, at the end of the universe, though how anyone really knows that is beyond me. If you turn around and can still see the door you came in--and yes I know that sounds stupid--then you're not locked in here. When you leave again, you'll be right back where you came from and no time will have passed."

Yeah, yeah, knowledge is half the battle and all that. She'd just rather get the easy answers out of the way. "Your age? Are you that old?"

[hasthehighground]

... yeah, snark is lost on him right now. He resists the urge to look behind him; the edge of the door is in his peripheral.

"I... wasn't expecting that," he admits, after a long moment. "Locked in?"

[not_his_pa]

William's yawning as he comes in the door, it a cold night and he was expecting the barn.

As he looks around he spots Clint who looks sort of like a newbie, "Sir?"

[hasthehighground]

Clint turns slightly, eyebrows going up in a silent but not harsh yeah?

[not_his_pa]

He tips his hat which sends some a dusting of snow onto the floor,

"Um, sorry, sir, just wondering why you were standing that close to the door?"

[hasthehighground]

"Trying to get the lay of the land," he says after a moment. "Am I in your way?"

[hecu_marine]

There's a fellow of about... mmm, twenty-three? Twenty-four? Something like that... in Marine Corps urban camo fatigues and a pretty standard high-and-tight haircut at a nearby table; he sets the book he was reading aside at the sound of newbie confusion. "Door git you by surprise?" he inquires.

(He looks pretty normal, except for two things. One is the part where his right hand is silver in color- skin, nails, hairs, everything about it is silver, and not the weird clingy bluish silver you get from body paint. The other is the part where the rank insignia on his sleeve is not something nice and reasonable like a corporal's or a sergeant's markings, but the insignia worn only by the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps- essentially, the God of Non-Commissioned Officers.)

(They both seemed the sort of thing worth mentioning.)

[hasthehighground]

"It pounced," he says, with an easy grin and -- on catching sight of his rank, a clear if brief huh crossing over his face. Guy either ages really well, or -- well, he could be fake, but Clint's pretty sure he can recognize a Marine when he sees one.

He pushes off from the Bar, and crosses to offer his hand. "Clint Barton. Guess this place has a habit of catching people offguard?"

[hecu_marine]

Shephard notes the huh, and he's really not all that surprised. He's well aware that he's much too young for his particular markings. Not much to be done about that, though, so he comes to his feet and smiles and shakes the offered hand. "Adrian Shephard," he says, and that's not body paint at all, that is very definitely a solid piece of moving metal he's shaking Clint's hand with. "First time's damn near always a surprise, yeah. This here's Milliways. First drink's free."

Important stuff first, you know?

[hallelujahpilot]

"Ah, a newbie."

The woman sitting at a nearby table looks amused. She's stocky and Hispanic, around thirty and wearing a flightsuit.

She's nursing a mug of what is probably coffee and, no, she's not removing her boots from the table. This is her being off-duty, dammit.

[hasthehighground]

Clint grins. "That a problem?"

[hallelujahpilot]

She grins back, long white teeth flashing.

"Hell no. I like showing people the sights. Or telling 'em."

She's clocked off; she ain't going anywhere unless she has to.

"Welcome to Milliways. You're not exactly in Kansas anymore. Buuuut lucky you, you can just walk out the door to get back home."

A beat, and her expression flickers serious. "Assuming you can still see your door. It vanishes sometimes."

[3nanashi]

It's a warm day outside, as winter in (replica) Scotland goes -- which still isn't all that warm, but Trowa believes in being prepared for suboptimal conditions. Just because he spends most of his time in climate-controlled colonies and warm regions of Earth doesn't mean trouble will only happen there.

Trowa also believes in making use of his resources. In this case, a magical bar at the end of the universe that has quite an acceptable firing range, and one where gunfire won't disturb any of the civilians of the circus.

(Nearly all the members of the circus are civilians, by Trowa's lights.)

All of which is to say, Trowa is in jacket and gloves out at the firing range, directing a quick succession of very accurate shots at paper targets.

Sometimes he's used cans instead, but there's some breeze today. So paper's more of a challenge.

[hasthehighground]

Clint doesn't really believe in leaving a new place unexplored, at least in the broad details. So he got a zip-up from the Bar (because why buy something he's not going to wear elsewhere), and some cheap-ass fingerless gloves because he has too many pairs of real gloves at home to invest in anything here.

The sound of gunfire -- and regular gunfire at that; it says practice instead of danger -- draws his interest to the outdoor shooting range. After a moment of distant observation, he trades out his hearing aids for the ear plugs he keeps in his hearing aid case, and goes to stand at the far side and back of the shooting area. He's inspecting the range as a whole while the young guy shoots, but -- well, he shoots a lot better than Clint usually sees, for a handgun user in these conditions. Clint'll be curious to see the targets when he brings them back up.

[3nanashi]

Trowa doesn't glance Clint's way until he's finished with his round, but it's a safe bet he's aware of his approach.

(Only partly because it's good range manners to make sure you're visible to the person currently shooting things.)

But when the last target's hit, he lowers his gun and glances over. It's companionable enough, in Trowa's impassive way, and mildly curious.

The guy approached the range like a soldier; that wins him points for common sense.