Archers vs Gangsters

October 01, 2017:

Kate leads trouble right to Clint's door at an ungodly early hour. Muscles are pulled. Coffee is consumed.

Everest Heights - Harlem

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\ None.]


Fade In…

Not everything happens under the cover of night. Sometimes, it's all about that quiet hour just before New York City wakes up when trouble comes knocking. And that is exactly when Clint Barton gets a frantic knocking at his door, sounding like an entire army is rapping its knuckles at his door. What he actually finds is a panting, flushed Kate Bishop dressed in her cape-crusading attire (sans a cape, because she knows better than wearing a cape)— but without her mask, though the black smudges around her eyes suggest it had been there at some point in the night. She's lost her quiver, and her arrow is haphazardously strung across her shoulder. "Shit, shit," she's saying, glancing over her shoulder where there's a series of shouting emerging from around the corner of the hallway.

*

Clint takes his hearing aids out to sleep. That means he's pretty hard to wake up. Fortunately for Kate, he sleeps with a special watch connected both to an alarm clock and to a security system in the building. It's sophisticated, probably uh…'borrowed' from SHIELD, so it's the excess movement at a strange time of day that sets off the alarm.
He stumbles out of bed, re-inserts his hearing aids and stumbles groggily over to the door. He's categorically not a morning person. He opens the door, blinks. He's standing there in a black t-shirt and boxer shorts. "Kate? What the…? What's…?"

*

"By Asgard, I'm getting you a supersonic doorbell," Kate announces when Clint finally opens the door, and she ducks promptly in. "Arrows!" She takes off her bow, scrambling across the room. "Shut the door!" Having no idea where Clint keeps his arrows, she quite literally looks under a couch cushion. "So, I'm going to make this super fast… went to investigate some questionable activity in Harlem. Some nightclub… dance club?" She actually pauses. "Hey, what is the difference between a nightclub and a dance club?"

There's the sound of some seriously heavy footsteps coming down the hallway, and if Clint didn't follow Kate's suggestion to shut the door, there's the slight of some fairly nondescript but typica looking henchmen turning the corner.

*

"Branding," says Clint in response to her question. He watches her scurrying around. He closes the door and latches a series of locks. "A nightclub would presumably attract a slightly more sophisticated crowd than a dance club, which is where you drink vodka orange juice that isn't much of either and grind while wearing fabrics that don't breathe."
He uses his watch to bring up the security cameras on a monitor mounted by the door. When it's off, it masquerades as a picture frame with a generic landscape. Hmm.
Meanwhile, he's letting Kate scurry around his apartment. Then he reaches to open the closet. He pushes aside the coats hanging there, then presses a fingerprint to a small panel. It opens with a click, revealing his archery equipment and including a plethora of arrows. "We really have to work on your spycraft if you couldn't get them off your tail, Katie."

*

Kate listens to the answer with the kind of patient attention she would have if they were just casually engaging in this conversation without the threat of thugs at the doorstep. "Oh, well… that makes sense. So. I'm going to say this was a nightclub based your helpful definitions." She hesitates, adding with a hand on her hip. "And what the hell kind of drink is a screwdriver without vodka or orange juice?" That is when she notices how the picture frames change, and her jaw drops. "Why don't I have something like that?"

When the monitors reveal the six big muscle heading down the hallway, there's a sense of typical goon. They move in a coordinated way though that suggests some kind of training. They bypass quite a few doors, nearing Clint's as if they are honing in on Kate. Bishop grabs three of the arrows revealed, and starts to organize them while she speaks to Clint. "Not my fault. I swear, they can smell me… I pulled a lot of tricks, and every turn, there they were. And Clint, their boss literally casually looked up and spotted me while I was trying to eavesdrop. We're talking preternatural."

And that's when there's a heavy thunk against Clint's door, making Kate jump a bit. She's definitely on edge.

*

"My point is…" says Clint as he reaches for his bow, "…that they don't use real orange juice. So it can't be a screwdriver if it's like…Tang or orange flavoured water." He shrugs as he loads up his gear with practiced ease. "Does anyone still drink Tang?" he muses as there's a slight electronic whine of his programmable arrowheads powering up. He looks over at the sound of the thud. "Unless these muscleheads are superstrong, they can't get through the door. It's not rated Hulk, but it's rated better than 'angry thug.' But they're going to wake up my tenants and I really don't want to deal with Mrs. Kingsway before her coffee. Speaking of, you owe me coffee and a short stack after this." He backs up a bit, then drops to the floor. He flips the programmable arrow, then lies down, aiming at the narrow slice of space under the door. After a moment of concentration, he lets the arrow fly. Once it senses an object, the arrow lets loose a strange kind of expanding foam meant to trap the thugs in their tracks.

*

Kate is going to need to come back to this whole tang in a screwdriver thing after she's not feeling her heart in her throat. She glances toward Clint at the news that his door is not quite Hulk-rated, but close. She nods. "I have no idea what's up with these guys, but some serious enhancements for your typical club thugs." Kate glances toward Clint once before she nocks her own arrow, holding it up slightly. She watches Clint with his arrow, and blinks in surprise as it flies under the narrow space between the door and floor.

Outside, there's several strong curses, and the sound of scrambling as the foam expands, capturing three of the six. Kate glances at the monitor and sees three retreating back, each with their own firearm.

*

"I really should cut an arrowslit in my door. Maybe some up on the roof, too." Because Clint owns a 16th century castle and not a 5-storey walk-up in Harlem. He moves over to the door and throws the locks, then looks back at Kate and nods once. He opens the door in on himself just enough to let her get shots off before the door is open all the way. He'll quickly fall into step behind her after she's gotten off the first volley.

*

"Is that in your city-approved improvement plan?" Kate teases him out of pure instinct. Then she steps up close against the jam, and she releases a quick pair of arrows, aiming for knees, so that the foam-encased thugs have to slump over, and gives her a better shot beyond them. She narrows her eyes as she steps out fully into the hallway, but tucking against her new human shields. This gives Clint an easier shot down the hallway. The moment there's moving targets, the thugs start opening fire down the hallway. The gunshots are muffled as if they are shooting through silencers — a rather unusual accessory for your typical thugs. One zings high, zapping the light right above Kate's head with a shower of sparks and then the hallway goes a bit more dim. Another hits the door jam very close to Clint's opened door.

*

"Aw man, come on. I hate doing woodworking." That's Clint's response to the bullethole that just appeared close to his head. He sighs and shakes his head. "This is supposed to be a family building. And bulletholes are not family-friendly decor." He lifts his bow and fires an arrow that digs into the floor near one of the thug's feet.
Now, an uneducated thug might just assume the archer missed. But anyone who knows him knows he just…well, he doesn't miss. The arrow has a small light on it that blinks steadily, then lets out a sharp pulse. The air smells faintly of ozone, and the thugs will find their guns jammed - at least temporarily.
Clint dodges out and executes a neat little wall-walk move to get around the foamed thugs. He drops low once on the other side and fires a shot at the closest thug's shoulder. Just a normal arrow this time. He doesn't always have to show off.

*

Kate looks over toward Clint, and there's a sincere look of apology. "Um. It's because I love you, Hawkeye. That's why I bring trouble to your doorstep." And she offers him a big smile that still does not overshadow the small glint of apology in her eyes. When the guns jam, she shakes her head. "Damn, I need that one." Then she steps out more boldly, standing in fine form with two arrows nocked together, and she releases them in such a way that they split into a neat V, slamming into the shoulders of two thugs. One drops his weapon, the other staggers back into the wall with a heavy thud. The uninjured one starts to run, turning the corner to bolt, leaving his five friends to fend for themselves.

*

"We have to have a conversation about the way you express affection," says Clint with a headshake. "

*

"We have to have a conversation about the way you express affection," says Clint with a headshake. "Also if this is love, please stop loving me." He raises his bow to get the last thug, but he dekes around the corner. Rather than giving chase, he stands very still for a moment, then dials up an arrow. He then fires at exactly a precise angle with a rubber tipped arrow. The idea is to have it ricochet around the corner and strike the fleeing thug. It's not going to dig into him, but it should hurt like a fastball to the kneecap.

*

"Are you suggesting that I'm dysfunctional, Barton?" Kate gives him a look before she ducks back near his door, and starts to take careful look over the thugs. Three stuck in foam, injured enough to just be groaning and holding their wounds, and two more at the end of the hall, staggering slightly toward the corner in hopes of following their more able-bodied friend. Or, their once-abled-bodied friend, as this one falls in a heap as his leg goes out from under him. Kate breathes out a slow breath as she carefully steps around the foam-locked thugs, and kicks away the jammed guns as best she can.

*

"I am not in a position to judge dysfunction, but yes," says Clint from where he's peering around the corner to check the downed man. Yeeeah, that's probably a shattered kneecap. He walks back toward the apartment, then kicks in to a bit of a run to wall walk over the foam again. He does it with a bit more flare than is necessary. "I'll call SHIELD and get these guys mopped up, preferably before any of my tenants start waking up."

*

Kate looks thoughtful for a moment, and then shrugs and offers a quick nod in agreement. "Fair enough." Then she digs into one of the fallen dude's pockets, digging out a wallet. She pops it open, and then removes the driver's license. She flings the wallet back at the groaning guy. "For research." She then starts to follow after Clint, and her eyes roll slightly when he tumbles his way over the foam, where she just casually climbs over. She doesn't speak again until she steps back into his apartment.

"I'm sorry, Clint. I didn't mean to bring this to your doorstep… but you were the closest ally." She fumbles her ponytail loose, shaking it out slightly before she starts to gather it back up again, smoothing the disarray. She glances back at the goons. "But seriously… I didn't expect the brute force. I think this guy is pulling some serious shit down in Harlem."

*

"Katie, seriously. I'm grumpy because you woke me up and I sort of want to shove you for that." Clint rolls back his shoulders. "And I didn't get a chance to stretch so I think I pulled something." Not with any of the required moves, but probably from that hot-dogging move to get back into the apartment. "But I never want you to feel guilty for coming to me for help." He picks up his phone and enters a code into a SHIELD text system. He doesn't even need to talk to a human to get a crew sent over. The FUTURE.

*

"Rude." Kate doesn't object beyond that to getting shoved. Then she slumps down heavily on the couch, looking up at Clint as he goes about calling SHIELD for a clean-up crew. She then offers a small quirk of a smile — a sheepish look on the otherwise unperturbed features. "I'm sorry that I didn't let you stretch first, old man. I'll make sure to call ahead next time." She then leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and rubs vigorously at her face, smearing some of that black kohl further down her cheek. It only reminds her, that, "Shit, I lost my mask. And my quiver."

*

"Maybe you should wear an actual mask instead of something you sweat off. Or use that spray like the YouTube people do to glue their makeup on." Why does Clint watch YouTube makeup tutorials? Does he even? It's hard to tell. He yawns big as he stumbles towards the kitchen to put some coffee on. "So what were you doing that made those guys chase you again?" There's already sounds of shuffling out in the hallway. SHIELD moves fast.

*

Kate actually slowly turns to look at Clint with her brows arched high above her bright blue eyes. It is obvious she is quite impressed that Clint watches YouTube. "Wow. YouTube." She repeats that all very carefully and then she peeks out toward the hallway at the sound of the shuffling, but Clint's question distracts her from being curious. Which is probably what got her in trouble in the first place. She leans back into the couch. "I heard some rumblings of some guy recruiting kids to do some jobs around the local neighborhoods. Found out he worked out of Harlem. They just call him Scales — I've got no idea what his real name is yet. Pretty hard to track. Found out he ran business out of this nightclub — not a dance club — called Stellar. I was trying to gather some intel, but I swear Clint… he knew I was there. It was insane. I ran for it when I saw the numbers were stacked against me. Guess I honed in on here first."

*

"Like I said, no apologies needed for coming to me for help, kiddo." Clint sets up the coffeemaker like, well, like he's done it in his sleep. Which he probably has. "Besides, I've been wanting to use that bouncy arrow. Did you hear the sound?" He kisses his lips like a chef. Perhaps a little disturbing, but it is early. He leans on the counter. "Probably a metahuman. Does SHIELD have any files on this guy?"

*

"You're so weird." Beat pause. "It was pretty awesome, though." Then Kate blinks, looking more directly at Clint. "I… I can do that now, can't I?" She facepalms — literally, slapping her palm against her forehead, slumping back into the couch. "I keep forgetting I'm a damn Avenger." She hugs one of Clint's throw pillows to her face, grumbling soundly into the fabric. She only speaks after a few moments of this, peeking up over the pillow. "They might… maybe I should ask. Um. Do I need to file some paperwork or something for that?"

*

Clint lets out a low whistle. "So much paperwork. For lost equipment, debrief for everyone you had contact with." He ticks off on his fingers, "…descriptions of bystanders, detailed incident report. Oh, injury report for medical…" He chuckles. "It's really gonna make you regret not staying solo. But…it's nice to have people watching your back." There's another soft thud in the hallway. The cleaners are doing their jobs. "In the future, I'd recommend filing a request for profiles on known criminals before heading into the field. It might've given you the head's up about this guy."

*

"Man, you have no idea how to make a sales pitch, do you?" Kate smirks then before she throws aside the pillow and pulls herself to her feet. Not a spry and bouncy teenager anymore, she actually groans a bit and rubs at the edge of her hip. "Alright, so I'll do that now… but I'm not mentioning my lost equipment. No way." She glances his way, hesitates sheepishly, and then coyly asks, "Do you have any coffee? I've been up all night."

*

Clint points towards the coffee pot that is sputtering and percolating and spewing its liquid life into the pot. "Lost equipment is important to document, Kate. Especially if it's custom or a prototype. You'd be in a lot of shit if you didn't report it and then someone else used it in say…a bodega robbery." Shifty-eyes. It does sound like he's speaking from experience.

*

Kate slumps her way toward his coffee machine, already knowing where to find a mug. She waits a few moments for more of the dark life-giving liquid to fill the pot before she pours herself a cup. She also knows where he keeps sugar, and will even check to see if his milk is still good, sniffing it instead of checking the expiration date. "Alright, alright," she grumbles. "I'll report my lost quiver and arrows… but I also have to worry about replacing them, too." She catches the shifty-eyeing, and just gives him a look.

*

The milk is actually okay. Lots of things go bad in his fridge, but Clint tends to take milk in his coffee so it doesn't turn into terrible stinkjuice unless he's unexpectedly away from home. "The great thing about having an organization to back you up is that they'll help you with replacements, Kate." He pours himself a cup, and her as well. Then there's a soft rap on the door. "Speaking of debrief. Get your gameface on, Bishop."

*

Kate spares him just this one about the moldering tomato, and shuts the fridge so she can finish putting together her coffee. She then slumps down into a seat once more, breathing out a sigh. Then she looks up at him, frowning a bit. "This is going to take some serious getting used to." The knock though has her straightening up, and she takes several long swallows of coffee before she wipes her face with the back of her hand, and nods. "Bring it, Barton."

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