Summary:JP gives Clint a call for aid while laying low from SHIELD. Hawkward-er. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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JP called Clint and left him only the message, "Bonjour Renard. Pouvez-vous me rencontrer o vous avez apport le homard?" Can you meet me in the place you brought that lobster, babe? "Merci." It's the distinct sound of him trying to be casual. Right now, though, his back is to the wall and he's watching the room and the room is leaving him alone with his thoughts, and his beer, and that bouncing nervous foot. A bouncing bunny is a bunny ready to run. There is, though, relief when Clint shows up.
That place. You brought. The lobster.
Well, that's vague enough for anyone he expects to be on his tail.
Clint sighed, smiled as he shook his head, grabbed a bug-out bag, threw some of jP's clothes in it, and swaggered his happy ass down to 8Ball.
"Hey Mike," Clint juts his chin up at the mountainous bouncer, having been in the bar enough times in the past couple years to earned his frequent flier card and walk right in. He looks casual as can be with the bag thrown over one bulky shoulder. A casual sweep of the place, he strides smoothly toward the bouncing bunny in black, vibrating with energy. a crooked smile on his lips, but his eyes do a quick circuit to make sure JP's all in one piece.
"Where's mine?" He jokes, jutting his chin to JP's beer and flashing the guy a wink as he swings the bag down and tucks it at the bunny's feet, taking the seat next to him.
JP doesn't look too scuffed up from anything that isn't work. Scuffs and regular wear and tear… well his regular wear and tear. No marks of any abnormal fights or bruises from cuffs or zip ties.
When Clint sits and the bag hits his feet the smile is warm, grateful, saddened. The beer is slid across the table for his fox though. Dark brown eyes check the door again, the other exit, and Clint again. The leg stops bouncing though. "I drank it but you can have this one." There's that dimpled half grin. easy as pie.
He's quiet for a moment longer, tongue running over lower lip asking with a sympathy for him, "How'd it go? Yous two talk yet?" He's always going to be more concerned about Clint first. It's just how he is to the theoretic luck in his left bunny foot. Fox first.
Unspoken shit is sort of Clint's thing. He gets it. Grasping the beer when its slid his way, he flits a smile back at JP to match his deceptively smooth one as well. Just a couple of fucking liars.
And then there's Bobbi. Clint blows out a breath and looks down at his beer, dropping it back for a long pull. He clinks it back to the bartop and swings around slightly, his knee tapping JP's. "Talking isn't really in our list of communal skills between her an' me." But they're both experts at avoiding shit.
"We'll get around to it. Eventually. Maybe?"
JP slides his foot forward at the tap against his knee from the archer. Boot sliding next to sneaker and resting that way. Still he can understand that part too well and the faint wince with a nod of agreement is met with total understanding, "You should. You owe you that. You don'? Chere, it haunt you forever. We got enough things hauntin us." Shaking his head he takes another drink of the beer leaving it as communal property on the table. He can almost imagine the dorky shit they do and considers finding a tall sundae glass and putting Guinness on it with ice cream and two straws. BAH! Not while he's laying low. Merde.
With a deep sigh in his chest fingers push back through his hair and murmurs, "Sorry I didn' come home. wanted to give you some time. Has a bit a business anyways which… went weird fast."
"Yeah, maybe," Clint agrees, begrudgingly as the subtle weight of the boot pressed up against his sneaker loans him a little ease. He leans his forearms on the bartop, bracing around the beer while he slides sidelong, lingering looks JP's way. trying to discern what's going on. "She's not the worst thing hauntin' me right now. Just the most recent. I'm sorry about your face. She's always been…spirited." that's one way of putting it.
"Weird-weird or just normal weird?" Heeeere his attention perked up, subtle but there. what's going on, Bun? "Well, the hammock's pretty roomy without ya in it, but I make due."
JP shakes his head waving a hand for the apology, "Eh, I was more worried about the coffeepot. My head' as hard as a rock." The comment about the hammock pulls a laugh out of him and a grin, "Don' get too comfy there. I'm comin back when this shit with too many interested parties does down. I came across somethin and now I got the goddamn government on my ass." His eyes flinch, worried, but keep it casual falling to where Clint's forearms rest on the table. "You wan me to tell you what's up then the problem is? Well ya know and then all that possum-able deniability stuff? Ya lose it." Shakin his head he's just torn on the fence on this one and that Bobbi's withthe feds? Well hell. The scrappy Cajun comes clean enough to say quietly, "Vous tes l'une des meilleures choses qui me soit arriv e. J'ai aussi tendance tout g cher. Je ne veux pas que tu sois bless cause de ma merde stupide." Looking to Clint he lets him make the call.
"Me, too," clint teases, sliding a dry smile sidelong to JP. Aw coffee. Wait. Hold on. Clint keeps a cool face, reaching out for that communal beer again. "What kind of fuzz are we talking?" one never knows with Jean-Pierre. But. Also. Something of his spider sense tingles.
Barton Sense. Can tell when things are about to get fucked.
"Don't need to know the details if it's too heavy. But you know," Clint squares a look with JP, plain and unfettered amidst a bunch of bullshit. "I don't scare easy, Bonaventure. Never have been."
JP looks up from the table to Clint's face. That cool easy ot-worried worried face he knows too well jsut makes the world sit right for a moment. Licking his lip he murmurs, "I broke into the disaster zone." The one that's all quarantined and shit. "Security's a lil pissed. Fed types you don't want up in you shit's a lil pissed…" Which might be the most accurate way to describe Clint's relationship WITH SHIELD. "and I mighta had what might be some alien thing follow me back to a place that I got… seized up right now that is pretty fuckin awesome that e'eryone and their mother might be comin down on me to look for. I wanna know what it is." how much someone's willing to pay for it, ahem, "and why SHIELD wants their mitts on it. Though ya know those types'll just figure out how to weaponize it and make it fly." Shaking his head he drinks the beer. "Make me feel fuckin pedestrian sometimes, I tell ya."
'Disaster Zone' comes up and so do Barton's eyebrows. Oh. No. THOSE feds. HIS kind of feds.
But that's not all!
"You tagged Alien tech…wait…you can tag alien tech?" okay, that suddenly got really, really cool, and it takes Clint a moment to remember that he's getting distracted. Right.
Barton rubs his fingers along the side of his jaw and cheek, shaking his head slowly in a befuddled state. "Well. That's. Yep. That's something else. That's hot." Not sexy. well. Not JUST sexy. "That's too hot to hold on to, Bun."
JP nods slowly, pauses, and then just grins ear to ear with a quiet chuckle that squints his eyes trying to be modest abou- okay imitating some sort of what he thinks o TV was modesty about it. Yeah he's pretty fuckin jazzed about it. "Hey, is a device. Is got hinges and screws. It's… fightin though. Heh made the one fight the other one. It was m' very own Rokkem Sokkem robots. Bobbi beat the hit outta one too. I don' even mind she stalked me out there. I think she jes worried about you. Given that I can' no even mind. Jes glad no one got hurt. But yeah I wanna see What it means. I think they was sayin something about surveillance." Clint tells him what he already knows. He can't keep it. He's gonna have to make it someone else's problem eventually… unless he can find a way to override its programming. Hmmmm. "Learns. Self-repairs so kidna glad I got one that really didn't get hurt and I didn't hit." Holding up his hand s he shakes his head, "Gonna gimme a headache runnin analog keepin it parked tho. I think you right."
There is a flash in the pan moment where the pair of idiots get to conspiratorially geek out about what JP was able to do. Hey. That is cool. Reality eventually has to kick them down, though.
"Wait. /Bobbi/ was there? She's the one who found you?". yeah, He missed that detail. Shit. He wraps a hand around his eyes, bandaged fingers and all as he lurches forward and groans out. "You got tagged by /Bobbi/ with a hot piece of learning alien tech. JP. This is how apocalypse movies start."
JP is still grinning really… quietly fucking proud of himself and enjoying the moment someone else appreciates its utter coolness! "Yeah I didn't know I could do that either. Well, ya know, if it alien. Might not be but it got a lot of legs, man." The look sobers but the smile relaxes into unspoken apology, "That's what I didn' head home. I didn' want you in the middle of zis anymore than… well any other time a shit storm seems to gravitate to you. I wasn't gonna drop that in you lap so… I'm gonna figure out how to figure out what this is, an how to clear it up. You don't need problems with the authorities," Like Clint's director harping on him, " and I know you do no need me too so…" He nods ans slides one hand under the table to grab the bug out bag, and the other across the top of the table to give his arm a squeeze. Leaning forward he smooches Clint's forehead briefly. "I'm a get started on this so I can get home fast. you know how to get a hold of me."