milliways_bar | (no subject)

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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 :)]

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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?"

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

"No, sir. Can I be of any help?"

Though this man looks like the sort who won't need much help, but its best to ask.

And now he's scaring the civilians.

Clint huffs a laugh, letting his shoulders round marginally. "Actually, yeah. I get that this is a bar, end of the universe," which sounds weird coming out of his mouth, "but no one's actually told me how I'd get a drink."

"Oh, there are two ways. You ask one of the rats or Miss Bar. Have you met her yet?"

William smiles at the laugh, he's glad that he doesn't have to explain everything.

"No," he says, curious.

"Then you should. I could do with a coffee," Then he starts through the crowd to the counter, "Miss Bar, could I get a coffee and what would you like, sir?"

"Coffee sounds fantastic, actually." Clint's watching Will and the counter with equal focus.

It's seven am; the cup of coffee he already had this morning just wasn't enough.

Two cups of coffee appear on the counter in front of them, "Thank you, Miss Bar."

Clint doesn't see the moment between when they're there and when they're not. And he was looking.

"... Thanks," he seconds.

"She's magic, sir, don't know how she does it,"

William pulls off his gloves to wrap his hands around his mug.

"You can call me Barton," Clint says, tone mild, as he takes his coffee. "Where are you in from?"

"Bisbee in Arizona Territory."

"... Maybe I should ask 'when,'" Clint says, looking at William curiously. He just kind of assumed he'd come in from some farm or something. Clint doesn't know that much about farms. "I'm from San Diego, handful of years into the 2000s."

A couple handfuls? He feels old enough without contemplating the exact metaphor appropriate.

William's pretty bundled up and his clothing is more obviously hard worn than of a certain era.

"I wasn't sure if I should mention that part yet," Then he adds a date in the late 1860s.

"Anything else you've been sparing me from?" Clint's faintly amused, but also ... well, annoyed. It mostly surfaces in his tone as a wry note.

"You get dead folks here and ones who are all kinds of magical from gods to wizards. There are three rules; no outside business, if someone you don't like comes in, don't fight them, no violence and no um nudity or stuff like it. Outside you can fight and ride without getting in trouble and there are rooms upstairs,"

He hadn't meant to hide it, but the time part usually worries people and he looks down into his coffee.

Clint listens, and nods.

"Thanks. Dead?"

"Yes, this acts as a resting place for them until they go on to wherever they go. You can't tell by looking at them unless you know. Its surprisin'. One of the first people I met here was my father who at that point at been dead a year at home. He looked like he'd never been shot,"

It wasn't right, it still easy and its the part William still gets stuck on here.

Clint watches him for a long moment.

"I'm sorry," he says, slow and sincere. That brings up existential questions he hasn't thought about for years.

Huh. At least most of his dead don't know his face.

"Security wear badges, or...?"

"Yes, they do, they're usually silver and make sure to keep 'em visible,"

He nods in response to the apology.

Clint nods. Then adds a "Thanks."

William's a good kid, Clint thinks. Pretty bad at information sharing, but he learns well.

"Do you have any other questions?"

Though he's done the introduction, he always feels like he's missing something.

"I don't think so," Clint says after a moment, looking back around. He focuses in on William, and lifts his coffee slightly in a simultaneous toast and off you go. "Give a shout if you need me."

Edited 2013-01-26 06:28 (UTC)

William nods and gets up with his coffee to go back to his book, Clint must be some sort of soldier or lawman, he's got that sense of command about him.

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