Sara Lance (acanarycry) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2014-08-10 16:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | !thread, clint barton / hawkeye (616), sara lance / the canary |
Who: Clint Barton and Sara Lance
When: Afternoon August 10, 2014
Where: An alley near Stark Tower
What: Sara Lance makes all sorts of new friends. And knocks them unconscious.
Rating: minor violence
The amount of coffee shops in New York made casual surveillance easier than Sara would have anticipated. Granted all she could really keep track of were the comings and goings out the front door, but after a couple days patterns were easy enough to establish. Sure there was a lot to be thankful towards Stark Industries for but that didn’t mean that Felicity was wrong about that instinct that they might be up to something. In Sara’s experience give a person enough money and it was pretty much a guarantee. Sure it might not always be something malevolent but more often than not it was. So Sara took her post, sipping on her coffee as she gave the waitress a smile. ”Why must we wait? He has disgraced us enough, this needs to be brought to an end.” The conversation at the table next to her was hard to overhear but right outside Stark Industries wasn’t exactly the hot spot of New York City to be speaking arabic in hushed, angry tones. ”We cannot afford an attack on Stark. Do you want to drag us all out into the light?” The elder chastised their pupil, as the conversation continued on that path. There was someone in that building these two wanted dead. And the longer their conversation went on, heated and hushed, the more of a picture Sara got. She was hardly naive enough to think that some kind of assassin’s guild wouldn’t exist in this world. The league would always exist, her reality or not. People always wanted other people dead and were willing to pay out the nose to have it done in the method they deemed appropriate. Eventually the two got up, putting their money down on the table. Sara saw a kid, maybe 18, walking out the door. He was too poised for a normal office worker. Paying her bill with a smile, Sara took to following the followers. It was easy to get back in a habit when you never actually stopped. Following their trail was easy enough as they stalked the kid. Looked like he was heading home, probably another one of the refugees by the route they were taking. When her targets ducked into an alley, Sara followed. The knife was expected, Sara dodging quickly and grabbing the arm behind it to slam down hard on her knee. ”Do not test me.” Sara ordered. Which of course meant that they immediately went to doing just that. Which, to be fair, was probably what she would have done in the same situation so it was not as if Sara could blame them. The one she had grabbed a hold of immediately slammed her back into the alley wall. Sara refused to let go, instead twisting the broken arm till she heard a pop and shoving him towards the other. Who abandoned his friend to immediately dove at her. Clint Barton hadn't gone out looking for trouble. He had gone out looking for lunch. However, leaving the house was usually enough for the Avenger to invite trouble to join him. Too late for the gym, too early for Parkers, and with the surprise changes from home this week, Clint wasn't really up to talking to realtors. So he had gone to look up utility records instead. He was shaping up to be a not awful spy after all! New York City was strange without any noise apart from the high pitched and fuzzy white noise that had been echoing around in his head since Wednesday. But in a lot of ways, this was how New York made sense to Clint. But he had to pay more attention. He didn't hear the scuffle in the alleyway he had ducked down carrying his folder of records and a bag of donuts. And he didn't hear the threats in a language he didn't speak anyway. But he did notice the knife that went clattering across the pavement, bouncing to a stop about two yards in front of him. Huh. He let his eyes follow the path of the knife back to see what or who had dropped it. What he saw was two men fighting a blonde woman. Her back was to Clint. She seemed to have one of them, but it'd be hard to keep him with the other man lunging at her. "Hey!" Clint dropped the donuts and the folder of printoffs he had paid 25 cents a sheet for and reached out to the side, grabbing a lid off a nearby metal trashcan. He hadn't been armed, bows were bulky and he didn't have too much else of an armory here yet, but being Hawkeye was nothing if it didn't mean the ability to improvise. He threw the trash can lid with the same broad sweep he'd watched Steve do a million times, letting it fly and connect with the second man's neck. It was an aluminum trash can lid, not an arrow, so it hit with a clang and bruised more than anything, but it knocked the flying man off course and drew attention to his presenceiop. He didn't know the circumstances of the fight, but when a pretty woman was in trouble, it should at least be fair. A civilian getting involved was less than ideal. A civilian drawing attention to himself letting Sara and her targets know he was there was even less ideal. At least that was until a trash can lid came out of nowhere and almost brained one of the men she was fighting. Years of conditioning kept the surprised swearing at bay, because an opening was always taken when it could be found. With aim like that maybe mister civilian wasn’t exactly a civilian. Not that she had time to take a good look. Instead she took the moment to bring the head of the one in her arms sharp against the brick wall, effectively knocking him unconscious. It would be practical to reach down and snap the man’s neck but that wasn’t really an option with someone watching her. So once he was down Sara turned her attention to the newly wounded man and his distraction from trashcan lid man to her advantage. Except he had already turned to abandon his companion. ”Coward!” Sara shouted after him, ready to chase him down. Clint watched the other man get up and run, and could have tried to stop him, though, at this point, it would have been throwing his phone, keys, or there was a not entirely empty bottle of whiskey bottle on the top of the heap of trash-- which should really have been recycled--that could have worked, but if the man was running, he wasn't trying to hurt the other woman in the alley and that meant the trouble was over. For all Clint knew he was running from her. He covered the space down the alley in a brisk jog, eager to clarify what he had just walked into. He didn't think twice about placing a large hand on the shoulder of the woman yelling after the retreating man. It announced his presence, and more than that, it kept her from giving chase. He glanced at the older man slumping groggily down the wall as he waited for her to turn. That guy'd hurt in the morning, but he'd live. Now he just needed to make sure she was alright too. "You alright, Miss?" When the idiot had been forward enough to actually put a hand on her, Sara did everything in her power to not add another unconscious body to the one already on the ground. It wasn’t a hostile gesture and if anything whoever this guy was he had spared her a couple bruises. But it did mean that one of them had gotten away which meant he would report in to whoever their master was. Which probably wouldn’t end to well for her or the kid they were following. “Had worse.” she commented as she watched the one she had caught settle in a puddle on the ground. At least she might be able to get some answers out of this one. Or he would bite off his own tongue. It didn’t really matter much in the long run, the kid hopefully knew at least a little of what was going on. Turning, Sara raised an eyebrow when she finally got a good look at her would be savior. And the picture that greeted her was one she knew probably a little too well but not from in person. “Feathers?” That wasn't great. Clint felt the tendons in her neck move as she said something before she turned. It was probably the answer to his question, but even with eyes as sharp as his and a hand on her shoulder, it was impossible to tell. He let his eyes drift down her form and linger where they always got caught on attractive women until she started to turn. The recognition crossing her face, triggered one in him and the word her lips formed was one of the first ones they actually taught to lipread. The f sound coming off the lips, the tongue coming forward, the hiss of air to finish which spread the mouth momentarily into a smile. She was a long way from Fantasia. Clint smiled brightly. "Birdie!" He might as well have run into her in a grocery store for as trivial as he played the greeting. Clint took his hand off her shoulder and gestured down. "Who's he?". “I don’t know.” Sara shrugged, looking over at the guy on the ground for a moment. She hadn’t really gotten more than them tracking the kid. She knew they were assassins, and she could place some of the dialect. Northern Africa more than likely. But there was a lot more than she didn’t know. “They were following a kid. I don’t like it when people go after kids.” She turned back towards him midway through her sentence, quirking a quick smile and reaching up to squeeze his upper arm for a moment. “That was quite the throw there. Most people wouldn’t be able to pull that off. And I didn’t think discus was your sport of choice.” When she said discus, Clint's brow furrowed. What did she want to kiss? Clint was okay with that and kind of used to people wanting to express gratitude. But it didn't seem to match her body language. Or what he figured was a kid in trouble. But still. If she was offering. "Y..yeah." Clint agreed with whatever she had said. He dropped to a knee to check the fallen guy for identification. Surprisingly, although not really, the unconscious guy who had attacked her didn't have a wallet. Clint had been so much worse at being a criminal. He never thought of that shit like leaving ID at home. "I mean." He looked back up and shrugged, pocketing the knife he found. "Maybe later?" Now it was Sara’s turn to look confused. Later what? She knew he had been listening, there was no reason to zone out that quickly. And he had been staring at her face the entire time. Granted it wasn’t eye contact but at least it wasn’t breast contact. But that still made no sense with anything she had been saying. Or even anything he had asked her. She watched him check around for a wallet. When the man’s arm shifted she caught sight of something peeking out from his sleeve. “Wait.” Sara put a hand on Clint’s shoulder to stop him before kneeling down next to him. Letting go, she reached out and pulled the sleeve up. The tattoo was simple enough, an ankh formed into a dagger. Far too showy for her league but other organizations were more ostentatious. She had a feeling this was the closest they were going to get when it came to identification. Clint moved aside when Sara knelt down next to him. He hadn't found any identification but he wasn't the only on scene now. "I didn't find any papers." But she had. Clint looked down at the tattoo and thought for a moment. It wasn't one he knew. The symbol maybe. It was one of those death freak vampire things. Sara did work at a vampire bar. He turned back. Rolling up to crouch on his feet rather than kneel in the alley and he looked from the man and back to her. "He stiff you on a tab?" Sara’s frown deepened as she looked at Clint, studying his face for a moment. There’s no way he was that absentminded, oblivious, or stupid. Granted she didn’t know him all that well but she had literally told him why this all happened about thirty seconds ago. “They were stalking a kid.” she said pointedly, looking him directly in the face. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched him react to what she just said. Apparently his joke--cause if it upset her that was totally what it was--hadn't gone over very well. Clint didn't actually think she'd attack a vampire in broad daylight over a bar tab, I mean he didn't know her and wikipedia said she was an assassin, which was pretty inconvenient to have published on the internet about you, but she seemed like the good sort. Sort of like Nat, or Jess, or Bobbi sometimes. But hearing or not, he recognized that annoyance and likely the tone that entered her voice. He just did not recognize what she was saying. They were stalking her? Clint decided now was a good time to fold, or at least to bluff. "Okay, Birdie. I've gotta be honest." Clint held up his hands and proceeded to lie his ass off."Yesterday was legs day, and as you can guess, I'm kind of more an arms guy. So I took probably half a bottle a tylenol this morning. I have got mad tinnitus going on. I am getting maybe -- 40% of what you're saying?" "They're stalking you?" That was a load of bullshit if Sara had ever heard it. But there was no point in calling in out and there was no point in arguing over it. So he was having trouble hearing? Work out aside that was something she could deal with at least. His eyes seemed to be working just fine from the aim it took to peg that guy earlier. Whatever it was its not like they knew each other well enough to have a conversation about it. Settling back on her feet, she pulled out her phone and quickly typed up her message before holding it up for him to read. They were stalking a kid. They weren’t planning on being very nice when they ran into him. If you can’t hear you should say so, Feathers. "I can hear." Clint frowned, perhaps ruffling a bit more defensively than a person should have over something so trivial. "Just... not today." That wasn't the point anyway, though it wasn't so easy as she made it sound. There was already pressure on Clint to be perfect in the high stakes business of heroing. He palled around with geniuses, super soldiers, and even literal gods. He didn't have moral ground, he didn't have the power ground, the least he could manage was shoring up any weaknesses. He shook his head. The part about the kid was more important. Clint could see why she beat them up. "But there were two of them." And one had gotten away. It'd be hard to find a criminal, but how hard could a kid be--for the good guys or the bad? "We should find that kid." For a moment Sara looked at Clint, a little baffled as to why that would bother him so much. Everyone had weaknesses. No matter how much the league tried to beat it out of them, they still existed and denying them made you weaker. Pretending he could hear her when he couldn’t, well, it just caused needless time to be wasted. But it was almost endearing that he felt the need to and so Sara couldn’t help giving him a little bit of a smile. He was right. They needed to figure out who the kid was, what he had done to piss these people off. Or someone with enough money to hire them. He works for Stark Industries, looked like a tower resident. Maybe 18, long hair. Middle Eastern. And has assassin’s after him. Shouldn’t be too hard to find. If he was a refugee that made the population a lot smaller to pull from. Of course if he was easy for them to find there was no telling how easy it was for his hunters. That was more of a description than Clint usually had to go on and maybe it sounded familiar. But it wasn't someone Clint could pull to mind. But it was a better place to start than ConEd records. "I mean, I guess, we check the Tower? Stark bought me pants the other week, so I'm pretty sure that means we're friends. I could check with him on his employees." Clint scratched the back of his neck as he thought up the parts of a plan. They could at least get the kid's number and warn him. Clint Barton rarely stopped that short in helping.. "I know some people who could get him to talk." He gestured with a thumb towards the assassin leaning against the wall. It was funny, for a man as averse to killing as Clint Barton was, how readily he would suggest handing someone over to Natasha and Bucky Barnes for questioning. That did make Sara laugh. Mostly because it meant she wasn’t entirely sure just how much reading up on her he had done. There wasn’t much on him. This version of him anyway. The one from this world was an assassin in his own right, one that went straight and government side. But he seemed to be in the back pocket of Stark now so who knew just how straight and narrow that line was. I can get him to talk. But looking in at Stark isn’t a bad idea. If Clint actually had an in with Stark himself that was something. Even if it was something like clothing. Felicity could start looking into records for her but she was still new enough that causing waves wouldn’t help any of them. "It cuts out the middle man." It didn't really matter who got the guy to talk so much that he did. Though he made a note of the tattoo and situation to talk over with his own team later if this kid made it through this storm. Clint was kind of amazed that an 18 year old could apparently warrant assassins, but then again, Madame Masque had a personal vendetta against Hawkeye, so it wasn't unheard of. "So awright. You do that." Clint pushed himself up to standing as he continued. "And you wanna meet up later?" He looked behind them to where he had dropped his things. The folder with printouts had busted open splaying all of his quarters that might in an ideal world have been spent on laundry across the alleyway but worse than that, the bag of donuts had fallen open, allowing crullers to roll around the open paper and into the grime and dust of New York City. "Aww…" Clint let out a sigh. He briefly considered the idea, but acknowledged that there was no extended five second rule for New York City alleys. "Donuts.." The fewer people involved the fewer people that could be targeted by whatever it was that this group wanted. Honestly Sara didn’t want anything to do with assassins, she didn’t even want to deal with her own league. But she wasn’t about to let them target some kid who had gotten into who knew what kind of trouble. Standing up, she looked over her new burden. It wasn’t going to be the first time she transported a body. Now she just needed to figure out a place to store him while she got the information. Looking over her shoulder she saw his mess. It had only happened because he had decided to help her, which made it almost a little bit Sara’s fault that his papers were everywhere and that the donuts had gone the way of the dumpster. Tapping out another quick message, she just sent this one as a text. Room 512. I’ll even bring donuts. |