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Why is Clint Barton in the rafters, when he's by all rights way too old and (by some accounts) dignified to climb up there?

Well. He was drinking his morning coffee when some thing touched the back of his foot with a long tendril, and all he saw was its weird misshapen form skittering away.

It was weird, okay? Anyway. He's sitting on a rafter, watching the room below, with a mug of coffee in his hands and a jar of peanuts next to him.

[tiny tag: creepy doll
ooc: No new threads, unless we've talked about it :)! I'll be around this weekend, but I am at this point Friday asleep.]

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"A tiger," he agrees. "She ... changes."

He tosses her a couple beanbags. "One more, then I'll need to wave her over."

Shapeshifter.

There are, she thinks, reasons this place probably caused her last migraine.

"Can the toys cause any harm, or just scare us?"

"The latter. Actually," he takes the beanbags back. "I hit, you chase?"

Her face lightens.

"Be happy to."

He smiles back, then turns to scan the room. "The flamingo, by the fireplace?"

It's perched right around the edge, hidden from normal view but occasionally extending its neck to stretch a large fire-lit shadow, snapping its shadow-beak at the heels of wait rats and other passers-by.

The fish in the flames have gathered to watch it back, but it doesn't seem to have realized.

Beak, claws, wings; no matter that he said these things were only after scaring people, no matter that it was a toy, the flamingo is going to be more challenging than a doll.

Professionalism aside, she approves of this.

"Got it," she says, and then strolls over to the fireplace, for all the world looking like she was going to warm her hands.

"...fish? How do you get fish in the fireplace-"

The question is honest, but it's a cover for her to grab one of the pokers and hit the flamingo with it. The trouble with hitting stuffed toys is that there isn't, actually, anything in them to break (except for some plastic wire to give the wings some structure), and the flamingo makes a run for it.

She's just going to hope that no one who knows her as Nadine saw her as she dive-rolled across the floor to catch the damn toy, okay.

A beanbag hits the body of the flamingo, as it tries to wriggle free from Natasha's grip on its feet. It flaps its wings, but drops low enough for her to secure her grip.

Clint's grinning when he walks over. "Nice work," he says, bending to snag the beanbag.

Edited 2013-07-02 06:37 (UTC)

She's smiling back, the kind of smile that might turn to laughter, if they weren't in public.

"Thank you," Natasha says smugly, gripping the flamingo firmly as he opens the bag and then shoving it in.

"Maybe we should quit jobs and take up toy-hunting. We'd look excellent in pith helmets."

Clint breathes a laugh as he secures the drawstring bag. "Style is very important to me."

He shrugs off his backpack and rests it on the nearest table. He watches her, considering, as he unlocks the zipper-pulls.

Once the wriggling flamingo-bag is secure, and the backpack locked, he reaches out and pushes some of her hair back behind her ear. He's smiling, slight and soft, his hand resting lightly against the side of her face. "Missed you, pretty lady."

The laughing smile softens to something more private, and she kisses him softly on the mouth.

(Well, if their cover in the bar is married...)

"I miiiight have missed you as well," she allows. Not that she moves out of his personal space, because, well.

It's good to see him.

Edited 2013-07-02 23:51 (UTC)

Clint's a little startled. Not bothered, but startled.

"Yeah? Well, th-- ow." Something in the backpack kicked him in the ribs. He pushes it a little further away. "I should probably look for Katya." Cue sheepish face.

"Can I tag along?"

She'd accept if he said no, but chasing down leads all over central Europe is lonely.

Besides, Katya can turn into a tiger.

"We're not going very far," he says, amused, which is a yes. He's looking around the room as he talks (first to the more shadow-y parts of the room -- there are many). He makes a bee-line for the first tiger he spots, hoisting the backpack up slightly so she can see it.

They've done this a couple times.

You do know there's other tigers? Katya huffs at him, vaguely exasperated. Well. One other that she's seen, and it's been a while, but still! But, once they're close enough, she doesn't waste time, delicately hooking a claw into his backpack to see what he's brought. Hello again! She adds for her fellow Russian, since at this point there is precious little use in denying the obvious.

"Morning!" she says cheerfully, in Russian. The Bar helpfully translates, leaving her voice accented.

Coming here was the best decision she's made in days.

(And Katya is a beautiful tiger; she has no idea how the physics of it works, but she can admire the results.)

-- That's weird. Clint tilts a glance at Natasha's sudden accent.

"Yeah, yeah," Clint grins, kicking out a nearby chair to sit in while she deals with the backpack. He pulls out the one next to it as well, and pushes it out for Natasha, before leaning his arms against his knees. "I won't blame you if one eats me."

Leave it to the lion tamers, circus brat. Katya grumbles, as she casually shreds bespelled creatures. The Cheburashka doll, however, refuses to come out of the bag.

Her paws won't fit into the bag. Not without exploding it a little. She huffs at it irritably, and in the next moment there's dark-haired girl fishing the doll out.
"They always have some sort of attitude. I blame poor training."

The difference between Clint and...well, let's just keep calling her 'Natasha' (Nadine wouldn't be nearly as calm) is interesting; while he leans forward, she sits with her back straight as any ballerina. His glance gets a slightly raised eyebrow in return (what?) before she glances back at Katya.

Entertained, "Shapeshifters, non-shifting tigers, or the dolls?" Her accent is back to blandly American, but to her own ears, she's just speaking English instead of Russian.

Edited 2013-07-05 05:14 (UTC)

He tilts his head at her slightly, a later. He's heard of the translation field, but it's never done that quite like that to him before.

"Or circus brats," he adds, amused. "-- Actually, Katya. Did you hear Dee say 'morning,' with a Russian accent, or is that just... because I don't speak Russian?'

"Both." Katya grins, a wry twist to her mouth. "Her magic is... odd, to me. And she's a busybody."

She'd elaborate but the toy bites her, and catches her attention again. Hey, evil toy, have some decapitation. Does that work for you?

Natasha raises her eyebrows, glancing from one to the other.

The decapitation she pays no mind - what's a little violence in the background?

"There is some kind of translation mechanism?"

IMPORTANT INFORMATION, PEOPLE. That AIs tend to be busybodies doesn't come as a surprise; she does, after all, know JARVIS.

(She does lean a little more towards Clint, as if confusion makes her go towards the known person. The gesture is not entirely part of a cover.)

Edited 2013-07-05 06:31 (UTC)

"Yeah," he says, looking a little surprised. "I know someone here from at least a thousand years on and she just sounds like she's English. And I met an alien," he adds, making a thoughtful face. "But I guess he could've learned it."

"Maybe, but you heard..."

Her voice trails off, and she looks back at Katya. "You said magic?"

"Da?" Her Russian stays unmangled, just the way she likes it. "I could say it again?"

Edited (Punctuation is awesome.) 2013-07-05 07:14 (UTC)

She pulls a little face at the other woman.

"Say it again, with explanation? How does it work?"