milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Clint's putting an unlit cigarette in his mouth when he enters the bar; he stops for a brief moment before shrugging and putting the cigarette back in its box, tucking it away in his blazer. Unlike last time, he's dressed like an office worker just off work, loosened tie included. If you don't notice the concealed holster and his shined black combat boots, and people usually don't.

He grabs a beer from the bar, and leans back to watch the crowd.

[OOC: Aaaand I am asleep! Slowtimes all around? ♥. No new threads, please.]

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"Barton," Clint says, helpful as ever. "We didn't exactly meet, but our paths... crossed, once, in New Mexico."

And Clint almost killed him. Thankfully, Thor doesn't know that, because Clint would rather not find out if alien lightning gods hold grudges.

Some alien gods sure do, but Thor's a pretty forgiving sort! And lots of people have tried to kill him, over the years.

Go figure.

Thor's attention has focused more sharply on Clint; his face is doing the grave sober alien prince equivalent of ohhhh. "You live in Puente Antiguo, Barton? Or are you a bondsman to SHIELD?"

Secret employers and cover stories are not on Thor's honorable straightforward radar.

"I'm not really sure what a bondsman is."

"One who has sworn fealty to an overlord," Thor answers promptly.

He's a little bemused to have to explain this, but humans have explained plenty of things to him that they seemed to consider basic.

"There are other terms, but that is the broadest."

"Okay," Clint says, and then he shrugs. "Uh, yeah, they pay my bills."

He's not exactly sure what fealty is, either, but a guy's got to cut his losses sometime. Loyalty, probably.

"Is that going to be a problem? Because I'm going to be honest; I'm not really sorry."

Thor laughs -- only a little, but it's genuine.

"No."

"Your people did me no harm, and the son of Coul treated honorably with me. There's nothing I blame SHIELD for."

And they've got some valiant warriors! Thor would totally buy a round of mead for that guy who clotheslined him.

Clint grins back. "He's a good guy."

"I feel like I should buy you a drink; I got to see your progress from above, and it was kind of amazing. You need a refill?"

Bar has, in this interim, reabsorbed Thor's tankard; presumably she decided he was done with it in favor of talking.

Thor hadn't noticed that until Clint said something. Huh, says his face, amiably.

So: "Thank you," he says, the solemnity of his manners lightened somewhat by good humor.

The tankard reappears.

"You have valiant warriors." He's fought better, obviously -- and he can't even blame their human strength, when his was the same at the time -- but they've only got, what, forty-odd years of experience? Thor was way worse than that after forty Earth years of training. (Thor was also a kid, but whatever. Developmental rates complicate things.) "The one who stood against me last -- I would call him comrade in the mead hall, did he come here."

Thor is kind of deliberately focusing on the joy of the fights rather than any of their aftermath. For now he's managing pretty well at it, though.

"I'm sure he'd appreciate that."

Clint only knows him in passing, but it'd be awkward to turn that sort of thing down so it's a safe bet he'd accept.

"Yeah. I don't really do hand-to-hand, unless everything's gone haywire. I'm a ranged weapon kind of guy."

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