milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

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 :)]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Nah. It's pretty ad hoc around here, once you get away from the waitrats and the three rules security enforces."

"Pretty sure I can guess what a waitrat is," Clint's amusement colors his voice, "though I'm going to be thrown thinking about how they get paid. What're the rules?"

He's watching her, now, with some curiousity. He's not sure, but she holds herself like an archer; he can always ask after he's picked up the important stuff.

In turn, Artemis is pretty sure that Clint falls into the category of people who will throw themselves off of a building and worry about the next step on the way down. Which may effect her answer.

"No fighting, no nudity or sex and no outside authority. The whole place is neutral territory."

Touché.

Clint nods. "How's that go?"

"Better some says than others, but not many want to rock the boat. Most people don't want to spend a night in the cells and security is generally able to put you there if things get bad one way or another."

Clint nods.

"Thanks. You shoot?"

"Bow and arrow? Yeah, my Dad taught me."

Her mouth quirks.

"So far we've dodged any archery theme villains so the school club is still running too."

When she says she is, he grins slightly at her -- and then she continues.

"... I've managed to avoid those so far," Clint says, somewhere between surprised and amused. "I'm the only non-sports archer I know."

"So no Green Arrow or Speedy?" she asks, "You're probably from one of those weird Justice League-less universe then."

Because she's met both and Clint doesn't look like either. Except in the 'crazy fit archer' sort of way.

"Yeah," Clint agrees. Green Arrow and Justice League sound kind of familiar, but not - he thinks - from real life. "At least, I don't have any intel on them. Less super villains, more -- normal villains."

For now.

"I work in international security," he clarifies. "Kind of like INTERPOL, but not."

And if Clint would keep that to himself, Artemis' life would have far fewer existential issues. She can find plenty on her own.

"Pretty not if they let you use a bow and arrow set up in the field at all," she says, "Most groups like that are all about standardizing and looking official."

Never mind the flexibility that a good selection of arrow heads has.

"Well," Clint says, after a moment. "It's not exactly my main weapon, even if it's my favorite. Pretty handy when you have too many guys on the ground, and no backstop handy."

... Barton, do not talk about killing people around teenage girls.

"You compete?"

It beats Dad talking about killing people. Clint, at least, can probably honestly say that most of the targets were bad people!

"Once in a long while locally," she says, "The school isn't exactly swimming in cash to take us out of state and there isn't a lot of formal competitions in Connecticut."

Clint nods.

"I didn't learn in a school system," he says. "So I'm a little vague on that."

He's about to ask her about college programs, before his brain catches up to him on the absurdity of discussing something like this in another universe.

"So, uh." He makes a slight hand gesture to indicate the space as a whole. "How does this thing... work?"

"Uh... pretty well?" she ventures, "I'm not solid of the hows, but they take anything I've ever seen used as currency, let you run a tab and it's easier to get back in when you want if you take something with you. Napkin, matchbook, that sort of thing."

She grins a little.

"Doesn't hurt to have something physical to point out that you didn't just have a really vivid dream either."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only