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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Her lips twitch with amusement at the last, but her nod is serious enough.

"Off-duty is good to know," she comments.

She is, though, still going to write down times and dates of when she enters. Just to keep track.

No harm came from keeping track, and it makes her feel better.

"Yeah." He looks at her for a long moment, clearly trying to formulate what he's going to say. "Hey, do you remember The One?"

"Bits of it."

Mostly, that she was glad that SHIELD didn't have to deal with universe-hopping.

"Yeah," he says. "Uh, the boss said you can... run into people from other universes, here. Close ones, I mean, and people who know that you."

She's not smiling now, not even a little.

"Okay," she says.

And then,

"Alternate versions of yourself?"

Clint tilts his head slightly, as if to watch her better. "He didn't say."

Clint can't see why not, though.

Great.

"Well," she says, deliberately light, "I suppose this place had to have some downsides."

Now she gets to play 'alternate universe or something she doesn't remember'. She loves that game.

"And hopefully if there are mirrorverse versions, they'll be obeying the evil goatee rule."

Sadly, the feminine version (being the catsuit) doesn't quite work.

... Clint is pretty clearly trying to imagine people with evil goatees.

(Particularly Coulson. It doesn't really fit his face. It fits the boss's disturbingly well.)

Thankfully, he's interrupted by waitrat squeaking.

To Natasha's surprise, the tray the waitrat is carrying actually holds everything they ordered.

"Thank you," she tells the waiter, all polite warmth, the unease pulled back under her skin.

"And as a bonus, we don't have to deal with queues of other people in suits," she adds brightly, pouring herself some tea from the teapot to let it cool before taking a sip of the lemonade.

"...maybe mirrorverse-me wouldn't wear a catsuit," she adds. "What's the opposite, you think?"

"A cinderella dress?" he offers, after a moment. "But if you're asking for something practical..."

He shrugs.

Pastels are best eaten hot; thus, he picks one up and starts, but not before first nudging the sweet potato fries into the middle.

"Possibly a miniskirt. Pink. Over leggings, or something."

She pauses, and then years off some bread to start her tangine.

"Although you could hide a lot of weapons underneath a cinderella dress..."

He considers this.

"That might make a good Hallowe'en get up."

Natasha brightens.

"It would. I was tempted to pull a you and just turn up as a zombie."

Yes, Natasha tends to plan costumes months in advance - it's a side-effect of being a natural performer who makes a lot of her own clothes.

"Excuse me," Clint says, raising his eyebrows. "You have to practice and prepare to zombie right."

Mostly by being Clint Barton. He's a pro.

She's doing the gaze-y thing she does, all big green eyes and inviting stillness.

Tell your secrets, Clint Barton.

(She's just going to eat some delicious food while she sits there like an adorable black hole.)

Clint leans back in his seat, returning the look. After nearly a minute, he smirks.

"If you think I'm going to share my trade secrets in public, baby doll," he says, "I'm going to disappoint you."

This lemonade is actually really good.

Oh, he's being stubborn today.

"Name your opening price."

Clint considers this. "A day at Sea World."

"That's cheating."

"Cheating's a bad thing, now?"

He pushes the shrimp and lemon off the skewer and onto his plate, squeezing one of the lemon slices over the shrimp. He snags a handful of the sweet potato fries as well.

He's not the only one to snag some of the fries.

Sharing is caring, Barton.

(Alternatively: if property is communal, you can steal what you want. Whichever works)

"It was a masterful stroke, taking full advantage of prior intel."

"Aw," he says, once he's swallowed. "I love you too, Dee."

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