InsaneJournal

Who: Clint and Meg.
What: Drinking. Because that never leads to anything bad.
Where: A random bar.
When: Evening.
Rating: TBD. Possibly high, for language if nothing else.
Status: In progress.

Clint had been in a state of perpetual confusion since arriving in this place. It wasn't even the fact that they were on another planet or world or some bullshit that he was sure Banner or Stark could work out by the placement of the stars or the levels of some thing or another that only they would understand, but that kind of thing was above his paygrade. And, yeah, okay...being kidnapped to some weird place with a fuckton of other people wasn't exactly the least uncomfortable thing to ever happen to him, but he could deal. Combining with that with Loki's presence, Tasha's absence and the fact that Coulson had apparently died and was now walking around in spite of that and causally dropping that fact on him in conversation...well, that was a little bit harder to shrug off. And we wasn't even going to get into the fact that someone had chopped off his hand and replaced it with a robotic one and given him a new tattoo that apparently matched some blonde girl's. No, if he thought about all that together, he'd probably go crazy. Instead, he'd just kept to the air vents for the most part, feeling safer and saner apart from the general mass of people. He'd even made a friend, if you could call sharing egg rolls with a twitchy blonde who also hung out in the vents and made up songs about your robot hand friendship.

Now though, he needed to get out and get some air and clear his head. This would all be so much easier if Tasha was around or Phil was acting more like himself and less like death had knocked something loose in his head but, since she wasn't and he wasn't, Clint would just have to deal another way. As easy as it might have been to go pick a fight with some locals and let violence and adrenaline combat the tension building in him, he didn't want a lecture from any of the others. Instead, he just headed to a whole in the wall bar, going for his less common coping mechanism. He usually wasn't the sort to drink a lot, preferring to stay away from that stuff and the memories it sometimes dragged back to the surface. But these were special circumstances, and he figured he could make an exception to his normal rules. Sitting down, he let his eyes wander over the available options before gesturing for one of the better vodkas. He had a grand, and he could easily get more hustling at pool or darts. No reason to settle for shitty booze.

He knocked back the shot, relishing the pleasant burn as it went down and closed his eyes as he allowed himself to decompress. "Another," he said after a moment. If he kept it up, he might just be able to forget how fucked up his life had become.