Of Meat Tornadoes and Men

January 25, 2017:

There's a particular food truck that THOR hits up like clockwork. Knowing this, CAPTAIN AMERICA and HAWKEYE set up a devious trap to deliver the Odinson some news most dire!

Outside SHIELD HQ, West Side, NYC

The cold streets of NYC, small planters, metal tables and chairs, and a Food Truck fit for the Gods.

Characters

NPCs: Darryl

Mentions: Winter Soldier, Jane Foster

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Part of being a good SHIELD agent is understanding your quarry and how to find them. Terrorists, vile demons, and elusive informants? All of them can be drawn by the right word or the right place. But sadly, Captain America is perhaps far from the best agent with regards to the intel. Despite this, Rogers is at least able to read reports and make plans based off of them. Dressed in a brown leather jacket, dark red polo shirt and jeans, Steve Rogers sits at a metal table at a metal chair. He reads the paper, just giving the same usual frown as he takes in the often bleak presentation of current world affairs. He waits. It's Wednesday, 2pm.

Unless he's fighting a giant, dark elf, or some beast of legend, he knows Thor will be here.

Why does Captain America know this?

Because he's aware that a unique food truck makes its way to street corner near the SHIELD's HQ. Not just any food truck. The Food Truck. While it only comes at certain days and certain times, he is sure that Thor will come to get what is said to be the True Meal of Warriors.

Well, either that, or the guy that was telling Steve this long and exaggerated tale will let Thor know next time SHIELD interacts with him that Captain America wishes to talk to him at this food truck to discuss something of the utmost importance. ….One of the two.

Intelligence gathering is far different in the realms nestled along the World Tree. An elf of Alfheim may interrogate a subject with sweet food until they burst, or tickle them with feathers coated in a slow toxin. The Nine Realms are just weird in a lot of ways.

"Ah, but what is not weird," Thor's voice projects before he comes fully into view, rounding that very corner moments after the truck. Was he following it? Almost certainly. "That garlic sauce they have. I swear, on my Father's name, that that sauce could be added to any meal to truly make it a feast for the Gods!"

The man he's talking to looks like an office worker, out on lunch break. Not one of SHIELD's men, no. And the Thunderer himself is wearing dark leather pants, a black wool coat buttoned most of the way up, and what looks like a blue sweater beneath it.

Perhaps the intel gathering is not so different after all. You just need to know your target.

And so, as the workers of this fine food truck begin setting up, the God of Thunder rubs his hands in eager anticipation. "Soon we shall have the finest of meats, young Darryl! And then I shall speak with this Steven Rogers who has a topic of the utmost importance to speak to me of."

Yep, that was a bit loud. Several people look at the God, who only has eyes for the food truck.

As Thor announces himself, the paper is slowly put down. Blue eyes look up, Rogers takes in the legendary warrior. It seems the info was right, causing a soft sigh of relief to come from the Super Soldier. A hand moves to take an oddly shaped bag which, til now, has been resting at the side of Captain America's table. It seems like a bookbag, but it's a bit larger, perhaps because it's meant to be able to contain an unbreakable shield.

With his trademark weapon concealed(-ish) but on his person, Steve to meet the Man of Legend by getting in line behind him. After all, if they are going to meet, might as well not waste Thor's time if he came here for food. Still, it seems rather odd, a God of Thunder and one of America's first superheroes introducing themselves in a line with salary men and construction workers.

"Hey there, I take it you're Thor Odinson?" Rogers inquires extending his hand out toward the man, a warm smile countering the chill of the New York air. "Steve Rogers, honored to meet you."

Mjolnir does not hang under that coat. Really, it would create a rather bizarre bulge, and Thor has no need for his legendary weapon when he's just here for the goods. The conversation with Darryl continues, however one-sided it may appear, until the intrusion happens. Like a pin sliding into a balloon labelled 'Meat Time.'

The mass of blonde hair turns, and a depthless set of blues swivel down to regard the tinier blonde man. His gruff appearance broadens into an affable grin, and that hand is seized. Thor's grip is beyond firm, but thankfully he isn't one of those types to get into a squeezing contest. "The honor is all mine, Steven Rogers."

His other arm sweeps out, over Darryl's head, to take in the Food Truck and all of its associated glory. "I see you too have an appreciation for what this mortal calls 'the meat sweats.' Tell me, do you prefer the garlic sauce or that white one?"

"He means tzatziki or toum," Darryl inputs. Eyes forward, Darryl!

Despite the power behind Thor's grip and the fact that it easily is more than Cap's, the man's calm and peaceful gaze never wavers as he returns the handshake, only releasing when Thor does. It is clear that Rogers is impressed from the power and general way Odinson carries himself, but Steve figures that is little surprise. It IS the God of Thunder after all.

However, there is a brief look of confusion as Thor speaks about 'meat sweats'. A brow is carefully arched and Steve's head tilts to the side. As Darryl attempts to give his advice, Rogers gives an 'ah' in realization as more information is given. Of course, Cap has no idea what 'toum' or 'tazatziki' are either, so he continues to give the confused look. After a second or two, he admits awkwardly, "I'm not sure, so I guess I'll have to try both and see. But I figured if you thought this place was worth checking out, might as well try it myself."

The line moves forward and while Thor seems at ease, Steve seems slightly on edge. The larger man, in observing Cap, would see that the unease is not from the God himself. Instead, the attention is given toward the area around him, focusing on little details that might seem pointless to Thor: an old man that seems interested in the pair, a beggar that passes by the area twice, and a pair of lovers that seem to be doing a lot of people watching and taking pictures of just about anything that moves with their new phone.

"I hope you're doing well," Steve adds after half a beat, his attention shooting back up to Asgardian hero. "Been keeping rather busy myself."

In the sea of people that pass by, there's at least one friendly face hiding in there.

Unassuming, Clint Barton is dressed in little more than a leather jacket, blue-tinted flannel and a pair of well-loved jeans and boots. He isn't too terribly far from the Asgardian and the Captain, seated on a bench with a newspaper half-open on his lap. Through the sunglasses on his face he observes the pairnotably, Thorhis expression lacking.

He does, however, come equipped with standard SHIELD communication: a small earpiece permits him to eavesdrop a bit as he monitors America's Sweetheart.

"Hey Cap, if you don't mind, I'd like a chicken gyro while you're at it," he jests, though his dry, flat tone and casual execution of statement could very well infer otherwise.

"Or, you know, what the god's having. It's gotta be good if it's got Asgardian approval, right?"

There is an overwhelming amount of ease around Thor, as if the God had but one care in the world, and that of course being the filling of his stomach. It rumbles ominously, like thunder barely contained. Easing one hand against his stomach, he rolls his eyes at Darryl's interjection. But then his gaze falls back to Rogers, and the casual glaze that was covering his eyes — the anticipation for meat — begins to dissipate.

"Yes, you will be left so full that your very skin will attempt to rid itself of the animal by extruding it through your very pores, or so I am told,' he explains, ever helpful, his head shifting with Steve's, noting the peculiar way in which the smaller man continues to observe everything.

"It is good to keep oneself busy, Steven, though I feel that you are here for more than just the feast for one that awaits." Darryl gets to the front of the line as Thor says this, putting in an order for the Meat Tornado.

Thor lowers his voice, one brow quirked, engaging the conspiracy that lies before him. "Should we be concerned by that old man?" he asks, eyes flicking in that direction. And if his Asgardian ears let him hear that little transmission, he says nothing concerning it. But his file likely says something about bats.

A blink is given as one can almost see the 'Processing' message in Steve's eyes in the wake of Thor's claim. A moment later, an 'ah ha' moment goes as he now knows what Meat Sweats are. It's sad when a man who spends most of his time in an alien world filled with unicorns and dragons must explain modern terms to Cap, but such is his lot in life.

While Rogers understands the nature of being watched, it's hard to fight the impulse of not looking who he is talking too, more so when he was told repeatedly not to. Distracting himself with what he is here for, Clint's words are rebutted with a cough. "The old man is fine… But yes, I'm here for something rather important."

With that, he reaches into his pocket, and pulls out something. It's a letter. A handwritten one by Steve himself, clearly a man still a fan of the personal touch.

It reads:
'Hello Thor,
While I wanted to speak to you in a public place, the information I wanted to share is perhaps not something you want to let everyone know. Roughly, a week ago, Doctor Jane Foster was discovered to be missing. Recently, she helped a friend of mine named Bucky Barnes; I believe this tie resulted in her being placed in danger. Through a fowl plot of HYDRA, my friend is being forced to serve them against his will. While I am not sure exactly why, it appears that Dr. Foster was also taken by them as well.

I am sorry that this has happened. When I had heard that she was your friend, I knew I had to tell you. I can let you know that I am doing everything possible to get her back safely as I hold myself personally responsible for this situation. I can understand if you wish to help us and am more than willing to discuss the matter fully in a private location.

Regretfully,

Steve Rogers'

As Rogers hands the letter off, instinctually he takes a step back. He doesn't know exactly how Thor will react to this, but his stance is silent yet melancholy, much like a child ready to accept punishment for breaking a glass window with a baseball. When Thor appears done, Captain America speaks his heart on the matter. "Again, I am so sorry for all of this."

Something rather important! The letter is given, and Thor cautiously takes it, looking somewhat amused. "And I thought I was a bit out of date by sending a raven," he murmurs, mostly to himself. And then he takes the letter in both hands, attempting to unfurl it like some kind of scroll.

Except it's folded. He pauses, adjusting. Then he turns it to landscape, then back to portrait. An 'ah' leaves his lips, and he begins murmuring he words as he reads.

His expression darkens. The sky behind them likewise, an ominous rumble issuing from the clouds high above. As Thor finishes, he cuts a look down at Steve Rogers, not too akin to the parent who just received a letter from the principal's office.

A voice breaks in. "Hey buddy, whatcha ordering?" The line waits for no man, or God, it seems.

"I wish to order a hammer," Thor growls the words out through clenched teeth.

"Ok, one hammer of meat, coming right up!"

After one attempt to furl the letter back up, he folds it neatly, handing it back. With an effort, he exhales the anger. His jaw still works, the God decidedly looking as if he had tasted something most foul. "You are a man of honor, Steven Rogers," he finally speaks. "Most would have sent a page, or a 'text message,' to relay this information. You have my thanks for bringing me this news, even if it is unfit to be in the vicinity of this food truck."

Thor pauses for a beat, and then inclines his head down towards the Captain. "You also have my hammer at your disposal in this. Tell me where and when, and I will test the mettle of these mortals."

From over the top of his newspaper Clint Barton observes, watching as the Captain hands over a letter. It draws a light smirk from the man, a faint snicker escaping in one short exhale of breath. The tales of Steve Rogers' dated ways were by no means greatly exaggerated.

That expression and humor fades as the skies reflect the sudden anger of the Asgardian. Looking up, around, then back, Barton's gaze hoods slightly as his posture discreetly takes to the ready; muscles tense light tightly-wound coils, his hands reflexively twitching against the paper. Though it appears he is both unassuming and unarmed, such is far from the case. With a deeply-inhaled breath, the agent can feel the holstered pistol against the side of his chest.

Thor's words, however, give some slight comfort. "I'll never get used to this," he mutters, mostly to himself, though his words carry over comms quiet readily. "Gotta say, though, I think I like this guy, Captain." Turning his gaze, Clint resumes watching not the pair, but the crowds that pass them by, on the lookout for any unsavory elements which may be lurking on HYDRA's behalf.

It seems Clint isn't the only waiting with held breath for Thor's reaction as the heavens themselves seem to share his wrath. But, Thor proves himself worthy of the hammer he wields, speaking of honor and channeling his anger toward those ultimately responsible for the wrong doing. "I'll relay the information as soon as I have the final details," he promises firmly, the letter tucked safely back from where Rogers got it in his clothing. "As for telling you in person, I'm sure if the situation was reversed, you'd do the same for me." While some would say such a thing as a platitude or the like, it's clear from the sincerity in Cap's face that he does believe Thor to be a hero worthy of honor and praise.

As the question of ordering comes up, Steve gives a simple hand gesture to show 'I'm getting what he's getting' before pulling out a wallet to pay not only for himself, but Thor as well. Darryl can just pay for his own food. "One of our best is pulling up what we need, so we'll have an attack plan ready soon. If you have a person or two you trust, sure it wouldn't be a problem for them to come. It will work out either way," Steve reassures, nodding to the thoughts of Clint as he offers his approval as seems like it makes two who are now believers.

As the conversation continues between two men of blonde hair, Clint might see a couple of people who tick his radar off. One is rather 'plain' for him to notice and perhaps not something too concerning. Barton's rather experienced ways would likely mark him as CIA, a man who seems to have MiB vibe around him as he tries to be a man with shades in a suit that looks far too interested in a GQ magazine as he waits at a bus stop but never gets on. But America keeps tabs on Rogers whether he likes it (or knows it) or not.

The second is a woman who seems rather every woman, dressed in causal jeans and a red jacket as she feeds birds very, very slowly, as if trying to make the bag of crumbs last forever. Like the man, he seems interested in Rogers and his current company, but she doesn't seem to have any particular vibe of surveillance off her. Maybe independent snoop for TMZ or something equally as vapid? Or something far more dangerous.

Letting the two sort logistics out, Clint remains in the background for the most part. He observes silently, intent on keeping vigil as Steve attends to his business. It is the usual sort surveillance work, work he is both accustomed to and comfortable with in his position with SHIELD. He didn't just earn his codename from being a killer marksman.

His eyes do spy the two people on the perimeter, as it were. CIA is expected; he pays the man little heed, but transmits his findings on the other channel back to SHIELD. The woman, however, is fixed on. He watches her inanely slow feeding habits. "Rogers," he advises from afar, his words a bit less casual and sterner in tone. "You may want to consider another location. You two are getting quite the crowd out and around here." He pauses briefly, gaze slipping back to the presumed CIA man and his GQ before moving back to the lady in red.

"I'll keep tabs on them. Don't worry about it. I've got HQ eyes out here, too. Signal if you need anything."

Folding his paper, Barton casually tosses the periodical to the bench, leaving it for someone else to read (or use as a blanket). Moving through the crowds, he blends as easily as a chameleon changes its colors.

There is a slow, measured nod from the God of Thunder. Steve's assessment is on the nose, as one would expect from an excellent judge of character. With an assurance issued, Thor nods. "Yes, one way or another," he intones, the Asgardian long held to the whimsy of the Fates.

Waiting for his hammer of meat to arrive, the God crosses his arms, head cocked to the side. His unyielding gaze flicks this way and that, noting certain movements. What he had hoped to be a simple lunch outing with Darryl has turned into something far more pressing.

"I will see what further aid can be given. And your friend wished for a chicken gyro," he adds, pointedly looking towards Barton as the man disappears into the crowd. Those ears.

Fishing a coin from his pocket, he slaps it down on the food truck's counter, gesturing for Darryl's meal to be paid for. The office worker smiles sheepishly, lips outlined in tzatziki sauce.

Their wrapped meals, the Hammer of Meat, aren't too long in arriving. Think of an overloaded gyro, then double that, and that's about right. Collecting his, Thor holds it up, fully expecting to tap gyros with Steve Rogers like one would do while toasting. "I shall prepare. If you need to speak with me before then, pray and I shall come."

The Asgardian seems serious, though a moment later he shrugs one shoulder. "Or call. I am sure you have the number." A recent acquisition through one Darcy Lewis.

A blink is given as the talk of Clint's food choice is given. The hearing is noted, Rogers always one to remember the strengths and weaknesses of his allies in order ensure the greatest likelihood of a team's success. "I'll be sure to get him one," he acknowledges as he puts in another order with a grin. As his food comes, the victory gyros are tapped together. "Sorry, Thor, I only pray to one God, but I'll make sure you're on speed-dial." With that, he gives a grin. HE KNOWS WHAT SPEED-DIAL IS, SO HE IS TRENDY, RIGHT? It doesn't matter he learned that like, three days ago.

As Clint gives his trusted advice of moving on, Captain America nods with a hint of concern. Still, the brief look of worry fades as he looks toward Thor. "Either way, it was great talking to you," Steve concludes with a smile. "Hopefully, next time we meet, we'll have something worth celebrating."

And so does the God of Thunder incline his head to the Captain, respecting the choice to worship as only a being with temples across Europe, and a bunch of worlds in the galaxy, can. The smile is reciprocated. "I am always glad to meet mortals who hold fast to truth and honor. I hold no doubt that the bards will craft songs of our deeds in the days to come."

With that, Thor gestures for Darryl, and the two separate. "Fare thee well, Steven Rogers," he intones with great sincerity, stepping off to eat his overload of meat elsewhere.

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