Summary:Avengers Cookout! Featuring Clint's infamous grilled chicken! Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
   |
Of course when there's paperwork to be done, Clint Barton isn't one to do it on the entirely too easy web portal. It was designed specifically for people like him who still occasionally hunt and peck to type when they're distracted by something or other. But nope, too long, too much, too annoying he'd said. And so the printer in his office, so rarely used, fired up and churned out the three dozen or so pages of the Avengers Operations Insurance Questionnaire. Which apparently is required and was due several weeks back. He said he'd get to it on Friday.
It is now Sunday. At the mansion. In the back yard. And Clint is drinking a beer in one hand, the questionnaire in the other. Upon the open grill there's the sizzle and hiss of an array of chicken drumsticks, all marinated since last night, all sauced with a good vinegar-based buffalo, and they actually smell pretty good. Caramelizing up nice and tangy.
But for now, Clint's more scowling at the mess of papers in his hand as he murmurs, "We needed to get vaccinated for alien diseases? I don't come into contact with…"
Then he eyes Carol, "Well guess you deal with aliens and I deal with you." He scowls and turns the page, then swallows some beer.
Carol snickers at that, "Hey, I'm not the one that procrastinated on the paperwork, Clint. You can't pin that one on me." Currently she's got an Arnold Palmer in her hand, sipping from the glass as she sits back, wearing a T-shirt and shorts instead of her superhero outfit to grin over towards Clint. "Besides, with how often aliens seem to mistake Times Square for a landing zone? They'd be asking for it anyway." Then she looks at her phone, grins a bit, and sends off a quick text.
It's good that the privacy shields are set to haze the angle from the higher buildings nearby. The topiary work and wrought iron fencing does the rest of what's needed to stop the lookie-loos who might like a glimpse of the heroes. So they at least have some measure of privacy, though it's not quite like a true backyard experience.
"Shouldn't they have someone do it for me? I'm delicate. I am a dainty flower. I must be managed and handled properly." But as he says this his lip twists with amusement even as he sets the stapled papers to the tabletop. "Says here, I need to declare any endorsements I accept and what charity we contribute the proceeds to? Didn't know that was a thing."
Seems the list of what Clint doesn't know is rather tolerably long. He then grabs the tongs off the side of the grill and starts turning the chicken, letting them caramelize on the other side now.
The endorsements thing gets a rueful snort from Carol, "Hey, don't get me started on that. Apparently I had a decade of back-pay to account for with my being off-planet that entire time. Not to mention a lot of questions about my charitable contributions and endorsements."
Then Clint gets a pretty good eyeroll at the mention of him being delicate, "Yeah, well, that explains why you're still single." She grins wryly at him, then glances around, "Though back in the old days, we'd have gotten all the team out of their rooms at the smell of the grill… and I suspect this isn't because Tony upgraded the filtration systems again."
"Mmm," Clint looks up at the mansion over the lip of his beer, held light in one hand. There's a moment his brow furrows as he looks to that building, probably imagining the people within. Or the ones that are at times within. A look over at Carol is given, "Mmm, might be the years and all. But I'll admit, does feel a bit different. Not quite knowing everyone. New faces."
Then he smirks and reaches for the buffalo sauce, giving each wing a fresh basting. "Then again mebbe we're just gettin' old?" That said he nudges around one of the wings and accidentally touches the side of the grill, wincing for a moment with a 'hoo-ha-ha', then sucks his finger.
Back towards the serving side table though he eyes the paperwork. "Maybe I can con Pepper into doing this for me? Or Nat." He seems to consider it, then adds. "Though she'd prolly deliberately answer all the questions wrong."
Carol chuckles, "Yeah, pretty sure she'd do that to you. Me, I'd answer correctly… but put all the answers in Kree." She hrms, "Yeah, well, the nice thing about a lot of faster-than-light travel… time didn't pass the same way for me it did for everyone on Earth. I mean, in the 'real' universe, a decade passed… for me, well, barely a tenth of it." She gives Clint a wry look, "Though I suspect the cosmic power coursing in me might have something to do with it too."
"Well hello, Mrs. Fancy Pants." Clint says without really looking up from the paperwork, but then he peeks just enough to shoot a half-smirk. He looks back to the pages and digs out a pen, clicking the top of it to extend the ball point and hrmming to himself. "Well, might as well get started with the questions I can answer."
He starts to scribble and says to himself, "Clinton. Francis. Barton. There."
Then without looking over he says, "Those alright for you or you prefer them crispier?" He gestures with a thumb to the grill.
Carol gets a sly grin, "Crispy is fine and… Francis? I think Deadpool would have a field day with that one." She chuckles a bit, glancing over towards Clint, "And that's Ms. Fancy Pants, thank you very much. Not married yet, not planning on it anytime soon."
Clint does actually seem to be filling it out somewhat, scribbling in the blanks and scritching his ear with the end of the pen before committing a bit more to the page. Though at Carol's protest he smiles a little and looks to her, "Mrs. had a better rhythm," He uncurls a hand in front of his mouth as if he were speaking on the details of musical composition.
"I took some poetic license. You'd understand that if you had a creative bone in your body." Sure there might be plenty of new faces in the Avengers, but this old back and forth with Carol, it's nice.
That having been said he sets the paperwork down and grabs one of the paper plates. Using the tongs to pull off one of the buffalo-seasoned legs he sets it on the plate and extends it to her, "Here try it, lemme know what you think."
Carol snorts, "This from a man who thinks that cultural development peaked at a boxing-glove arrow." She takes the plate from Clint, then takes a cautious bite from it. She gives Clint a wry look, "But what you lack in artistry, you make up for with your grill work, Clint." A rueful admission, but she's a straight shooter about these things. Even if it is Clint.
As the door opens for Shuri, it's probably the first time someone but her staff sees her in something different than the black panther habit, haing opted for a green combination of a skirt and top combined with lots of jewelry and some sort of headdress hanging onto her shoulders. A little Pharaoh-y maybe. "I heard someone's giving a grill party?"
His own counter-snort is righteously implemented, though his smile robs it of much of its impact. He starts to pull off some of the chicken legs, setting them on a serving platter and setting them up in such a way that they almost form a small log cabin of drumsticks. Some of the hot sauce on the serving table is spritzed liberally on the food, but then he sets it down on the picnic table.
"Alright, knock yerself out. But save some for other folks." But of course that's the moment Shuri emerges and he eyes her sidelong. It's only a brief wary look, but then his smile blossoms. "Hey Princess, yeah, help yourself." He motions with the tongs as he starts back towards the grill to work on the next batch, cooking them longer.
"You guys met? Princess Shuri, this is Carol Danvers. Carol Danvers, Princess Shuri."
Carol shakes her head, "Not yet." She stands up, offering Shuri a hand, "Welcome to the Avengers, Princess Shuri. You won't get Clint's grilled chicken in Wakanda… though I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not." She gives Clint a smirk, then glances back to Shuri, as Captain Marvel is wearing a NIN T-shirt and denim shorts today, keeping it casual for the cookout.
"Thanks, Miss Danvers. It's an honor to stand at the side of you. Danvers… CaptainMarvel, right? As long as his chickens are not getting up and trying to murder us, I think they are fine, don't you think?" she answers, taking the hand with a firm grip. One befitting the muscles playing under the dark skin. "So, what you use to season them, Clint?"
"Ah," She asks the cook his approach to grilling? That means she's likely to be trapped here for the next thirty minutes as Clint regales her with each minute detail. "Well, first off, start with a rub mixed with some oil. Garlic, paprika, some sea salt, turmeric, habanero peppers, some chili powder."
He casually nudges the drumsticks around with the tongs, "You paint that on them the night before with the oil and a brush, let em marinate over night. Then you get some hot sauce and a few sticks of butter…"
It seems like Clint is likely to go on at length, and even if they aren't actually listening. For now his paperwork is forgotten as he just works the grill.
Carol grins, "Yeah, Captain Marvel, but you can just call me Carol." She hrms over at Clint, "I swear we're going to enter you into the next episode of Chopped that deals with grilling. Proceeds go to the charity of your choice." She grins wryly, taking a sip from her Arnold Palmer.
Shuri chuckles at Carol as Clint rambles what he puts on his wings how. "Heh, we should make him choose a popular one though, to polish his fame a little." A couple moments she looks into the bucket with the bottles, then digs up one that lost ist label in the cold water. "Mystery bottle. Cheers!" It's a little pun as she cracks it open with her hand, just ripping the bottlecap off to take a swig
"Nah," Clint says over his shoulder towards Carol, "Start doin' stuff like that people start expectin' you to be good. Keep on the level and people are nice and surprised when it's decent." He glances over at them both and continues fiddling with this drumstick or that one, these are crisping up moreso than the first, getting some carbon on them and becoming nice and crunchy.
"First time I met Shuri," He says as he starts to set the next batch of wings on a plate, "I was taking shots at a target and she picked a fight with me." He nods sagely as he confides in Carol, clearly the aggrieved party in this matter. "Told her how Nat and I would spar downstairs and all of a sudden she's putting her mask on and wanting to go a few rounds. It was terrifying."
The plate clatters as he sets it on the table, then swings a leg over the bench seat to take up a spot as well on Carol's side of the bench but at the opposite end, just out of arm's reach just in case. "Some people's kids, I tell you."
Carol chuckles, "Well, Nat is fun to spar with, though normally I go a few rounds with Thor instead, since he's more my speed." She grins over at Clint, then looks curiously at Shuri as Clint mentions 'some people's kids'… "Wait, T'Chaka, right?"
"That's not the first time we met though, Clint. Your memory must have gone rusty in about half my life. You forget he times you were over in Africa and close to Wakanda, but never getting in," Shuri notes, grinning a little. "I will have to take your word for that about Miss Romanova's skill, but Clint didn't even get me into sweat. And indeed, that is the name of my father." She closes her statement with a smile before taking a swig from the bottle, her eyes darting together a little as she eyes the bottle sceptically. "Apple cidre?"
"Oh right, as a munchkin, I'd forgotten." Clint says as he helps himself to a chicken leg, peeling off a bit of skin and munching it before he adds more hot sauce with a pat pat upon the bottle. "But yes, Shuri is harsh. Saved me not a shred of ego nor dignity."
Shaking his head he clucks his tongue as he tsks her, though likely something lies unsaid. He does, however, set to eating chicken. Since that's what he's here for.
Carol gives Clint a wry look at that, "You mean you still had ego and dignity after Natasha finished sparring with you?" She grins, and shrugs a bit at Shuri, "Hey, that's not my doing, I'm having this perfectly fine non-alcoholic drink here." She holds up the Arnold Palmer, now halfway gone from the glass, then chuckles, "Well, Nat is very sharp, and pretty much the gold standard as far as not-powered goes around here."
Shuri chuckles as she nods. "Might be a good training session, even if it might not put me into troubled water, but the only one I know who can do so consistently is T'Challa." She smiles again, shrugging at the bottle as she takes another swig. "Well, not saying it's bad, just didn't expect it."
"I see how it is, pot shots at Clint Day. You guys are ungrateful for all I bring to this team." He points at them with a bare drumstick and nods sagely even as he starts to pile a few more onto his plate and grabs the edge of it, lifting it as he rises from the seat. "Like delicious chicken. But now I'm leaving. My feelings are all super hurt."
That said he grins and grabs his bottle and plate and starts towards the door, "Or maybe it's time for the pre-season game ta kick off, either/or. Talk to you ladies later."
That said he wanders on through those sliding double doors and then out.
Carol snickers, "So it's a day ending in 'Y' then, Clint?" She waves as Clint meanders off, "See ya later." With that, she glances over at Shuri, "Well, always good to keep on your toes, and T'Challa would be pretty stiff competition as far as a sparring partner goes." She takes another bite of her chicken, retaking her seat, gesturing to the chair next to her.
"Oh, it ha been years and he was like way stronger than me back then. I think nowadays it might be easier, but he still has more experience, which I won't be able to outmatch forever I guess…" Shuri answers, picking up a wing to take a bite, chuckling a little as she takes a seat. "Clint's wings are good, but don't tell him that."
Carol grins, "Oh, if we actually started praising him he'd probably think we were Skrulls or something. And I don't want to deal with that hassle." She hmms, "But yes, the Avengers aren't really about the flashy powers, it's about the heart. Clint has that to spare." She pauses, then chuckles, "And if you tell anyone else I said that, I'll deny it."