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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"Not so much anymore," she shrugs, watching him sit down. "If I don't have these on, things can go sideways pretty quick, but since I wear them all the time to prevent just that, I'm usually okay."

He nods. "I use hearing aids," he says, after a moment. "So it'd be pretty inconvenient."

That is, if he randomly started absorbing and discharging large quantities of electricity. It doesn't seem implausible after running into that Thor guy (who, admittedly, is an alien) in New Mexico.

He smiles at her. "Clint Barton. Do a lot of people around here --" have super powers sounds really comic-book-y. Coulson would be thrilled. "Do things like that?"

"A fair few," she says, managing a laugh. "But I couldn't put a number on them. Why do you use hearing aids?"

Clint blinks, and is quiet for a long couple seconds.

"Uh." He's trying to figure out if this is a trick question. "I can't hear most things? It's acoustic trauma, like when people listen to loud music for too long, but... more."

She raises an eyebrow. "Just curious, man. Makes me wonder what happened to you, but that's up to you to answer."

"Oh," Clint says, and half-grins. "I thought you were asking -- something else. I served in the Gulf, and had some bad luck with acoustics and explosions. Could've gone a lot worse."

She wonders for a moment what else she would have asked, but opts not to contemplate it too long.

"Explosions do have some shitty side-effects that way," Noriko shrugs; she doesn't, contrary to her age group's usual standard, particularly care for them. When your first up-close-and-real explosion also carries body parts of your dead classmates, it tends to turn you off to them. "Usually, it's pretty quiet here, though. Good place to be if you ever figure out the secret to making the door open when and where you want it to."

Clearly, by her tone, she hasn't yet.

"Does it usually turn up often?"

"For me? Yeah," she says. "Downstairs bathroom in the girls' dorm next to the elevator. But sometimes it moves."

"Huh," Clint says. "I'll keep an eye out; it's kind of inconvenient to have it in my front door."

"Oh, from there it'll probably move," she says. "For a while it showed up in the door to my dorm, which was awkward." And then it showed up blocking her getting to the medlab, which was even more so.

"Your first drink's free, by the way, since all of this is probably more than you wanted to think about."

"Thanks." Clint smiles. "Sadly, I can't justify alcohol before work, even with all ... this," he waves his hand to indicate the patrons of the bar. "They make good coffee?"

"They make fabulous coffee," she answers. "Made more fabulous by the fact that I can't have any."

How she manages this with a smile is kind of a mystery. (Trust us, coffee and Noriko--or worse, energy drinks and Noriko--make for a very bad day.) "You drink it black?" He seems like a plain, kind of unruffled guy, in a good way. Then again, he is wearing purple--she was one of that age group who heard all about the purple teletubby.

He nods at her. "Do you need a credit line to order from the bar?"

First drink's free, but he's not sure how else the restaurant would know he's new. He's seen people ordering from it already, and there's clearly some kind of credit system in place from the tab board.

"You don't," she shrugs, shaking her head. "A lot of people don't use a tab, but it helps. You can get pretty much anything from the bar, from anywhere, as long as it isn't alive."

Or, she's heard in passing, blood. She doesn't think about that, and she knows for a fact that the dishes are all autoclaved before re-use. "If you're short some I'll give you the money to get coffee, though."

He smiles. "I've got it, but thanks."

With a one moment type hand-gesture, he goes and orders a big mug of coffee, carefully paying before tucking his wallet back in his pocket. He just really doesn't like the idea of buying things on credit. Tricky, and visible.

He comes back with it, bemused, but he keeps it in his hands as he sits; her table, her stuff. "I feel like I'm in Star Trek."

It just appeared.

She grins at him when he comes back. "I know, it...it does sorta feel like that when you order things from the bar. I mean, she's great and all, but it's just surreal to be asking for things from a piece of wood and having it give them."

"Welcome to the future," Clint intones. "Or... Narnia."

Narnia is the land of magic, right? Right.

"I'll go with future. I haven't seen any talking lions yet," she says with a comic shrug.

"Is the coffee good?"

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