Siberian Spores part 1: Infection

May 14, 2014:

Siberian Spores part 1: Infection (Language + Adult Humor Warning)

A Bar!

Some bar in the NYC area, or whereabouts.


NPCs: None.


Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

It's been a hell of a week. Shot in the arm.. not once but twice. Stuck out in an overnight thunderstorm waiting for a contact that never showed… so they had to be tracked down. And the best way to unwind on a Saturday night? In one of the darker (in terms of lighting) bars that the City has to offer. The beer selection is wanting, but like all hole-in-the-walls that tourists never touch, their potato skins are to die for.

Clint Barton is at the bar, leather jacket hanging open, and he's got a beer in front of him and a half-finished plate of cheesy, potato-y, greasy goodness. He's made a phone call, and with a desire to hand a wallet back, he's not going to finish that plate of 'skins.


The rumble outside differs from the usual stroke of lightning and crash of thunder, sounding more like the beats of a motorcycle engine. The air was particularly humid and hot for a spring night, but it was compounded with the heat and exhaust of cars and sewer gas, eventually turning into a thunderstorm. Despite this, Evelyn rode a motorcycle to the bar anyways. A black kawasaki ninja streetbike, it's black with a plate that clearly says "rental". Where can you even rent a motorcycle?
Kicking off the engine, she parks it by the front of the bar, chaining it up to a nearby parking sign which clearly says "Employee parking". Whatever, it's raining and the lot is pretty much empty anyways. Unlike the bike, Evelyn's helmet is a shiny white colour with a bunch of stickers on it, with a clear visor. Her jacket is just a leather jacket over a red and black dress shirt and a pair of denim jeans. Strapping the helmet over her back, she heads into the bar, stopping again at the entrance as she looks for her target.
It only takes her a moment's hesitation to find the man of the hour, and she begins to approach Hawkeye.


Back from Siberia. Back out of the cold and into the shoulder to shoulder mob that is the Tri-City area. Domino's not sure if this is much of an improvement, these cities are so densely populated that not even she has enough ammo to solve all of her problems. That it's also raining, well..what the hell. She's tired (flying across the globe will do that to ya,) she's grumpy, and (after those idiots thought she'd be an easy target for mugging) her knuckles hurt.

There's only one thing left to do with the remainder of her evening.

Get royally sloshed.

It's not long after the Ninja pulls up and parks that a blacked out Jaguar XKR pulls into the nearly empty lot, the driver 'parking' it by popping the clutch and giving it a few extra rev's to kick the back end out in a 270-degree slide into an empty spot. The pavement's nice and slick, it barely makes a sound.

She won't be terribly far behind Evelyn as far as personal entrances go, though for the moment the two are decidedly albino-less.


Clint's got an eye on the door ever since he'd arrived, and this next entrant is no different. The mostly gone glass of beer (that didn't even have time to grow condensation on the outside of the glass!) is put aside on top of the bar and that hand dips into the inside pocket of his jacket. Taking a hold of the wallet, he sets it on top of the bar in a slow, meaningful gesture- right in front of the 'skins, and gives Evelyn a nod in her direction in silent offer of the seat beside him.

"Like I promised. Didn't have to cancel any of the cards, did you?"


Evelyn approaches the bar, reaching forward to take the wallet. Once she has it, she pockets it in her leather jacket, while giving Hawkeye a sort of stare. It's not aggressive or mean, it's more like she's deciding whether to leave or not. Eventually she settles with a, "…No.." It's almost as though she's incredibly uncomfortable. Looking back, she spots Domino just in time by the entrance. 'Fuck.. Her -again-?' She thinks, and it's her presence that causes Evelyn to step forward and take a seat next to Clint.
She's dripping wet, it was raining outside, and she was on a motorcycle. After a short awkward pause, she shoots a question, "Want to play a game of pool?" She dips her chin in the direction of the pool table.


Enter the scrawny mercenary. A fingerless gloved hand runs through the wet mop of spiky black hair as Domino approaches the bar on her own, rainwater steadily running down the length of her coat wherever she happens to roam. The timing and positioning of everything is just ideal that she happens to miss the only two people within the room she happens to know.

"Rum on the rocks. Bottle'n all."

When the bartender gives her an appraising stare, less in the personal interest regard in more of the 'can that gal handle that much?' she drops forward onto her elbows and just -stares- back up at the guy until he gives in and turns away. (Atta boy.)

Her pursuit of the evening is single-minded. As chance would have it she's practically standing right beside the two and doesn't realize it yet.


Following Evelyn's glance back, Hawkeye follows the merc's progress to the bar and subsequent order of rum. Doesn't take a brain surgeon to get the connection between Domino's presence and the 'oh hey, let's shoot a game of pool' that is offered. There's a moment when Clint is motionless before he catches the bartender's gaze, and with a nod and a subtle point, the rum will be added to Clint's tab (Read: SHIELD's tab.) He hasn't yet drank all his per diem.

Pushing back and grabbing one of the heavily cheesed and baconed potato skin, Clint takes a bite before sweeping to grab what's left of his beer. "There's skins," he offers up to either, both, or neither… but there's another glance towards the bartender. 'Don't pick up the plate before it's all gone!'..

"Pool. You know I suck at that, right?" Beat. "No, probably not. That's classified."


Evelyn gives a glance towards Domino, then Hawkeye. Man, how do we have all these full conversations with just our eyes? Putting a hand on the potato skin dish, she slides it infront of Domino just before stepping away from the counter to approach to pool table with Hawkeye. Her hands find their way back to her pockets as she digs out four shiny quarters to use in the machine. "That's a shame, because I'm great at pool."
There's a small smile, perhaps the first of the evening, hopefully not the last. Rounding the pool table, Eve kneels down to slot in the quarters and push the reel in. The table grinds and the balls roll out into the pocket below the coin slot. Pulling out the racket, Evelyn begins setting the balls. "When does your agency classify anything? So you gonna tell me your full name? I've shown you mine, show me yours?" It may not have been intentional, but Hawkeye knows!


Domino may not know that her tab's been covered yet, but she will. So will Clint's bank before the night is through! The offer for potato skins is what finally gets past her blinders, her shoulders tensing in unison and a fairly pained expression falling into place as she mutters "Eighty-three thousand nine-hundred twenty-six to one" under her breath.

Head canted at a forward angle, she turns to look at the pair. Spot and all. "You two had better not be following me, 'cause I'm sure as hell not following either of -you.-"

As the two turn toward the pool table she lets out another slow breath, thinking aloud to herself "Misery loves company" before grabbing her glass, the bottle, and yes, the basket of potato skins, to relocate herself. Yes, by the other two. Maybe she shot at them both. Maybe she -shot- them both. But at least she won't be drinking with strangers tonight!

"Clinton Francis Barton, age thirty-four, born on January seventh nineteen eighty, blood type Oh-positive," she promptly answers to Evelyn's question while half-sitting on the edge of the table they're playing at.

She's helping!


"Are you kidding? What they serve in their cafeteria is classified. And if someone figures it out, the damned recipe is classified," Clint rejoins as he takes a grab of a cue off the wall. It's a crappy one; public cues usually are. Curved, and not in a good way. Still, it's what the place has, and if Evelyn's is the same, the playing field is even. Ish.

Opening his mouth to offer some semblance of a reply, Domino's interjection gains the woman a stare.. and an exhaled sigh. "The only thing left is the name of my dog when I was a kid," is groused. Before anything can be said, Clint continues, "It's a trick question. I was never a kid."

Blue eyes move back towards the person he actually -invited- to the place, and brows rise. "You break or shall I?"


Evelyn looks at Domino as she approaches. She's about to say something when Dom interjects with all the information she wanted. Looking towards Hawkeye, she grins. "Like I said. Classified what?" Leaning of the table, Evelyn fully sets the rack and then slots the racket back into the table. Leaning off the table, she goes over to the display of cues and looks at a few before taking the /least/ curved one. What can you do? When you've got lemons, burn the house down.
Turning, she stands next to Clint and points towards the table, "You go first. It's only a courtesy." She bites her lip a bit while playing with the cue. "So am I ever going to get time alone with you, or is Domino attached all the time?" Luckily, they're not here to kill each other. Today. She smiles a bit, startling a little bit at the lightning flash outside.


Hearing that, Dom's half tempted to try and guess the name of Clint's past dog. Odds are in her favor that she'll guess correctly! However, she doesn't want to tip -too- much of her hand… Weird things tend to happen when others catch wind of her gift of probabilities.

For one, people stop gambling with her. That's just annoying.

"But you were always an asshole," she offers back with a lopsided grin and a teasing 'salute' of her glass. Then, glancing between the two, she pointedly asks "I'm not interrupting date night, am I?" (Cause..y'know. If I am, tough.) She missed the wallet exchange earlier.

Back to Evelyn, she directly states "Driver's license." Which..may or may not account for the whole 'blood type' part. Then looking down to the icecubes in her glass, she offers "We're not a bundled deal. I'd sooner turn the barrel on myself if things got that dire. All of this? Dumb..fucking..luck," she declares with eye contact once more established. If Ev bothers to look back her way, at least.


Wait, wait… blood type? Holding up a hand in a silent 'one moment', Clint digs out his wallet and checks the information on his drivers' license. Eyes narrow as he lifts his gaze and has it land upon the albino merc. Nope. Not there— and at Domino's comment, he scowls as he puts it back. Without lifting his eyes, his answer is for Evelyn, "I'm seeing if I can't buy her the hell away," though chances are good that plying her with rum won't do it.

The stick is now grasped with intent, and stepping forward, Clint racks the balls, setting the cue off to the side. "No one calls me 'Clinton'. Except maybe my ex-." Pulling back his stick, he strikes the cue forward and the balls begin to disperse along the table.. clacking against the other. "Told you. I suck at this."


Evelyn smiles as she stands by the side. Her eyes make contact with Domino's briefly, but as predicted, her gaze breaks. She doesn't have much of a backbone in these social situations. At the date night comment, Evelyn just says, "No, he was just returning my wallet." Despite the firmness in her voice, she's blushing visibly. After Hawkeye breaks the balls, Evelyn steps up with cue in hand.
"That was a good try, Clint." Evelyn says, leaning forward and over the table with her cue. Sizing up her shot, she putts the cue against the white ball, knocking solid green 6 into the corner pocket effortlessly. "I guess I'm solids." She looks at Domino for a second, before moving to another spot on the table.
Leaning over, she sizes up another shot against the white billard ball. 'Clack!' She knocks it right into a group of them and two solids pocket. "Yess," she murmurs before stepping back to size up the table for her next shot. "Glad to be out of the cold, Domino?"


"Well I do have a price," Domino 'helpfully' informs Clint with that smirk falling back into place once more. (Oh, was that a good guess on the blood type?) "Unfortunately for you it's gonna take more than what a SHIELD agent's annual budget can cover."

As if to help drive the point home someone nearby starts coughing.

"Would you rather I called you Francis?" (Gosh, maybe I should start demanding payment up front for this stuff. Eh, maybe once the rum and potato skins tab wears off.)

Watching Clint's failed attempt at pool earns him a muttered "No shit" from the albino. Oh - wait. Waaait… Is that… Can she..? Is Evelyn -blushing?- How in th - nevermind, she probably doesn't want to know.

"Yeah," she simply replies to Ev's question. "Think I'm still hallucinating, though. Everywhere I turn I keep seeing the same two goddamn people. Clearly I'm not nearly drunk enough." (And nice eyes for lining up the shots. I wonder if that program came pre-installed or if it was a factory option?)


Wait, wait.. did he miss something? Evelyn's got a 'look', or is that because the girls are… what?

The 'no just returning my wallet' brings Clint's attention around, and his attention moves from one to the other.. and back again before he shakes his head and steps back to let Evelyn take her turn. "Looks like it," is agreed. "Don't trounce me too badly." The *click*clack* of the balls as they move around the table demands his notice, and the following *thwump* into the pockets elicits a sigh (not the first, not the last!) from him.

"If it was a date, I'd probably have chosen something that makes me look good." Yes, he did hear the comment!

"And no. That's a priest's name. Or some school administrator; a name that is usually followed by 'Xavier', and I am sure as hell no 'Xavier'." Clint smiles, but it's a tight one. "'Barton' works."


"Barton?" Evelyn straightens up a little bit to look at Clint again. "Okay, you can call me Evelyn or Eve. I actually like Evelyn a little bit more, but I understand people find Eve easier to understand. It's what my family used to use for me." She offers a bit of a smile, before looking back to the table. On the subject of dates, Eve lokos back towards Hawkeye and pauses before making a small, "Heh.." Like you need to do anything to look good.
Circling the table, Evelyn leans down to line up the cue. Click! Thwump. Another solid in another pocket. Playing this game against an android girl was obviously a mistake, because she's dynamite. "How can you be so good with a bow and arrow, and not be good at pool?" She muses silently, circling around towards Domino to line up another shot. The balls are kind of scattered now and it's a difficult shot.


Dom's been biding her time on this one. 'Date night,' teasing Barton about his name. Now there's the matter of the wallet still fresh upon their minds, and there's a freaking -android- lining up another shot on the pool table…

"I'd imagine you two have moved past that stage by now. Is she ..all there? You know. All of the necessary odds and ends. I mean, she's looking pretty appropriate from where I'm standing and all but I don't have backstage privileges," she observes while ..observing Evelyn from behind. "Someone really enjoyed his work, huh."

More coughing off to the side. Same guy, judging by the tone. It's getting bad enough that his face is starting to turn red. "Dude, stop inhaling your drink!"


"Evelyn then," and Clint doesn't even have to look up from the pool table. As the balls are hit, he winces and glances over his shoulder to gesture for another drink. In this case, a young looking waitress brings another beer around on a tray and hands it over with an (what she believes to be) engaging smile. The archer nods his head, digs into his pocket for some loose bills, and sets a few where the beer had once been.

Domino's musings certainly earns the woman a -stare- before brows rise, and now here comes the annoyed tenor creeping in. "Will you stop that?" Is Eve attractive? Hell yes. Is he going to start making what he considers to be rude comments because he's being egged on? Oh, hell no. Though, he can't help it. A smile hints underneath at the innuendo and he takes a swallow of his own newly arrived drink. 'Backstage privileges'?

"Does make it a little easier to be beaten." After all, what guy would be a jerk and -beat- a lovely woman at pool? This type of 'date', there is no real 'win'. He wins at pool, he loses. He loses at pool, he, yes, loses. So…


Teasing Hawkeye on his name is certainly one way to pass the evening. Closing one eye, Evelyn really puts a lot of focus into lining up this shot. Pulling back the cue, putting it forward, just lining up and feeling it for resistance. All of this going on while Domino says her piece. It's not until the end that she really processes what's being said, and she jerks forward, punting the table and billard with her cue. The ball bounces right off the table.
Her face just lights up bright red as she stares back at Domino with wide eyes. Staring for a moment, she narrows her gaze and shoots back in a snippy tone, "I didn't know you liked other women, Domino. Kind of ironic coming from someone as busty as you. Do people often ask if you have a black spot 'down there'?"


Serious fumble.. in the true sense of the word. Wincing, Clint can just -feel- the fabric of the table begin its tear. (Someone's going to have to pay for that..), and when the ball goes flying off? It's uncontrolled, and makes that harsh 'bounce' sound as it hits the floor and rolls. Lost to sight, the errant ball is caught underfoot by the waitress that has just delivered the beer to the table, and her feet come out from underneath her, causing her to land heavily on the ground, the tray crashing, and the empty glass shattering on the floor (as well as the bills fluttering..)


Domino..could just -clap- if she didn't have a drink in hand. She's still practically doubled over cackling, though! When the waitress goes down the albino very nearly loses the ability to stand, herself!

It takes her a moment to find some sense of personal composure before she drops a heavy hand on Evelyn's shoulder, complete with a face-splitting grin. "I'm willing to like anything that can show me a good time, kiddo. But I still don't like -you- two -that- much."

These two make great verbal punching bags, though!

"Oh god, if I spend any more time around you two then I'm not going to meet my boozing quota for the night. Careful what you place on the table with her, Barton. Your odds aren't what you think they are."

Meanwhile, elsewhere, someone else starts to cough, as well…


Evelyn is liable to burst into flames if her face were any more red. This expression fades when the waitress falls over in a clatter of dishes. "Oh shit." She says, blinking as Domino pats her on the shoulder. Pushing past Domino, Evelyn kneels over to the waitress and tries to help her up. "Oh shit, oh shit. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" She manages, looking over to Barton while helping her up. "I'll pay for the damage, I'm so sorry." She still blushing, too. God, so much for just getting her wallet and getting out.


Hawkeye takes one look at the table and slowly turns around to put the cue back up onto the wall. 'Nothing to see here'. SHIELD is pretty damned tired of paying for cleanup after one of his evenings out, so… yeah.

Domino's commentary earns the woman a glare now, and he does take hold of one of those pool balls as if to bean her with it. "Go forth and drink, Domino. I'll grab the keys to your car so you don't drive." After all, she's not soaked to the bone like Evelyn is/was. So.. car. (Clever agent is clever?)

Now, Clint follows Evelyn's path, righting chairs and stools that have fallen in the wake of the waitress' downfall. "C'mon, Ev.." there goes Evelyn or even Eve. Though he has the courtesy to wait until the server is back on her feet. (Is she BLUSHING?) "I know a place that serves good Thai.."

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