Summary:Loki meets Clint Log Info:Storyteller: {$storyteller} |
Related LogsTheme Song{$themesong} |
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The bar is one that technically has a name, for legal purposes, but there isn't a sign outside. Its a bit of a speak easy, harbors people who might have lost their liscence, might be wanted by the cops. Its a good place to find trouble and so it has lured Loki with its chaotic energy, like a moth to flame. He is sitting and drinking alone, but his green eyes are on everyone and he's wearing tight, black pants, a tucked-in green button-up shirt, and a sly smile on his pale, angular face. He'd look like he belongs except he doesn't have any obvious facial scars like pretty well everyone else in here.
Hey man, welcome to New York! There are so many weird little hidey holes in this city, you could search your whole life and still be missing things. Clear signage is NOT their strong suit around here. But hey, that's where you find some of the best stuff!
Clint would claim that his nose for good brews is what draws him here, but honestly…
…Truly
…Seriously
Nobody is buying it.
He's probably more alike to Loki's reasoning than he wants to admit. Even when gathering intelligence or looking for leads, it's a second sense that helps him find these dives. Sans facial scars, but don't check out the rest of him. Just one more rough-and-tumble white dude in loose jeans and a tee shirt dropping down the last of the stairs, two at a time, strolling in like he owns the place. These folks can smell uncertainty, so better to just act like you're a regular.
Straight to the bar, limbs loose and swinging relaxed from his shoulders as he saddles up into one of the stools and orders what passes for beer. Short-hair holding a pair of mirrored sunglasses in place, the fellah leans forward on the bar, head swivelling around in a quick assessment—but definitely an assessment. His vague quirk of a smile can't completely erase that look. For an instant, his gaze touches on Loki's. Brief, but it's there.
Loki catches that gaze and quirks his crooked grin a little broader. His turn to assess the other man while he's looking at the bar, sizing him up in his own way, debating uses…possible affiliations. Then he frowns and looks at the table, tapping one finger there thoughtfully. Finally, he gets up and comes to stand at the bar, ordering, "Whatever is your strongest drink…a glass of that." There's the natural retort that the strongest thing comes in shots, and Loki just waves his hand, "Then…four of those."
Jeans and a tee shirt only disguise so much. Cloth is loose and well-worn, but quite honestly, it's a little tight across his shoulders. His bicepts test the arm cuffs just a little bit. Keen-eyed trickster can assess those details easily and the bandages wrapped around a couple of his fingers as well to confirm that Clint might belong. A bit. He's not wearing a badge or a uniform, but some badges stick to more than just cloth.
A strong, somewhat impatient, /accented/ voice comes along the bar, and Clint's eyes swing casually in Loki's direction again. Holding onto his cheep amber pisswater in one hand, he leans an elbow on the bartop, not trying to stare. Staring gets a chair thrown you in places like this. But Clint swivels in his stool and opens his chest up in Loki's direction. Inviting conversation.
"You planning on starting a party?"
Loki glances over to Clint and picks up one of the shots. "Perhaps. Do you like parties?" He throws the shot back to no obvious effect. "I just have trouble getting feeling it with this watered-down…swill." He lids his eyes. "You look like you are drinking for the sake of it. There cannot be pleasure in that." His voice has a teasing lilt to it, cadenced to communicate his playful teasing rather than being a dick.
Dark-blue eyes flicker down toward the shot as Loki throws it back and drops the glass back to the bartop. A corner of Clint's mouth creeps upward and rolls onto his forearm, bracing his opposite hand on his knee while he watches Loki make his attempts at getting drunk. Better than watching re-runs of the Kardashians. "Pleasure? Eh, drinking for pleasure sort of sounds like an oxymoron, doesn't it?" He skips over the question if he likes parties with a coy smile. "If you're going to do something for pleasure, it should probably bring you pleasure," Clint looks towrd his glass and takes a drink, as if by example. His nose wrinkles and lips pucker a bit afterward as he drops it to the table with a dull clunk. "Mm. Nope. Definitely none of that there."
Loki lets out a soft, popping chuckle. "Oh well, that /was/ a look, earlier, then. I thought it might have been. Its true…about pleasure. Drinking is to…make other things go away. I have been chasing the impossible. Do you know the feeling? I enjoy the pursuit, but it would be nice to pursue the possible…for a change." He grabs drink number two and slams that back as well. "This is terrible stuff, but at least I'm not drinking alone."
"Look? Now what would give you that idea?" Clint replies calmly, swinging slowly on the stool he's perched in, toward the bar and subsequently, his beer for a casual drink. More like a prop that he can speak over. His voice coming out hollow inside the glass with a slight eyeroll. "Not like you're the only guy here with all matching buttons on his shirt. A shirt that you probably haven't had to treat for blood spatter. And you've definitely didn't have a manicure this week. You fit right in." Cloudy-blue eyes flicking back in the green-eyed-devil's direction, smiling coyly. "You're definitely not trying to catch anyone's eye."
Rather than watching those shot glasses rise and fall, Clint's attention stays queued to Loki's face, smirking all along. "I wouldn't know. I make a point to catch what I chase. It's a bad habit." Braggart. He considers the new information with a perked eyebrow back at Loki. "Is that what not drinking alone looks like? Huh. Not bad. The company's not bad."