barton (awcoffee) wrote in wtnvgame, @ 2021-05-05 22:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | !action/thread/log, ₴inactive player: rae, ₴inactive player: squid, ₴inactive: clint barton, ₴inactive: hellboy |
who doesn't love animals?
Work hardly felt like work at the shelter. Sure, there were weird days when shit wasn't puppies and kittens (one time there was a lobster) but by and large, Clint was content with it. Not taking half the dogs home was the major hard part. Cleaning up for the night was usually when Clint started dragging his feet-- the dogs got calm and most of the cats ignored him anyway.
The food bowls were all filled in the back, water and the like topped up and Clint was just about to take out the trash and stop two of the dogs from chasing each other around the place before locking up.
And probably hanging out for another hour since no one had indicated that he was expected anywhere and Wanda never complained when he left Lucky a little longer with her anyway.
Petty change was getting harder to come by, and his allowance given to him by the hotel was dwindling - meaning Hellboy had to actually go find a job somewhere. As entertaining as reprising his role as a luchador was - he wasn't sure if he wanted that sort of attention in this place.
Though - this town was strange. Like his kind of strange. Old school strange. But honestly as long as an Erika didn't try to kill him or start talking about him being part of an apocalyptic prophecy.... He was kinda okay with it? It had an animal shelter, at the very least.
Which was where he found himself, currently, hoping for an open-minded employer. Hellboy slinked in just before closing, the two dogs instantly running up to him to investigate - he offered a hand and let them sniff and get comfortable at their own pace. He had a couple of Baby Ruth's in his trench coat, but despite the peanuts they weren't exactly dog friendly.
"Hey, man... you have cats here?" he finally spoke up to the actual human assumed to be running the place, his voice a low, polite rumble. Maybe not the best line to open with, given his appearance, but y'know... priorities. if the shelter didn't have cats, well, why bother?
There was a blind second of huh that ran through Clint's mind before it flittered off like most of his thoughts; the bonus of working with green giants, winged mutants and Gods, probably. "Um, yeah we do." Not that they liked Clint all that much, they tolerated him, much like Natalia's cat did, but that was about as far as he ever got with cats anyway.
"You wanna see them? They're not quite ready for bedding down. They're fussy buggers really." Although feeding time was the same as closing time and usually they were good about getting into their little runs to get their food.
Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, Clint figured maybe feeding time would actually be the best time to make friends with cats anyway. "There's like nine of them or something?"
The initial lack of response to his appearance honestly made Hellboy wonder if perhaps this guy was actually blind. Even so, he didn't question it, or point out the obvious. "Yeah if you don't mind," he replied, sounding more eager than he would have liked but hey - he loved cats.
His tail twitched as he walked into the shelter further. "Nine? That seems like a lot for such a small town." Obviously, he was going to be leaving with a few so long as his adoption application went through.
"You guys need any help with them? With the shelter, I mean," Hellboy added. "Cats are kinda my thing." Not entirely a lie but not entirely the whole truth, as ancient Eldritch terrors and angry goddesses were also kinda his thing, as well.
"Isn't it though?" Nine was probably like seven too many, but who was he to say. Clint would be the type to say you could never have enough dogs, so he couldn't really fault people their cats. "But I think there was a problem with strays at some point, and these are the ones no one has adopted yet." Since he wasn't too sure about just leaving the place open this close to shutting and because he was pretty sure he'd spend the next hour in the back, Clint gave the lock on the front door a flick before waving big red back to the rear.
"Are they?" Clint shouldn't be surprised, really. Huge, red and mean looking didn't mean aversion to animals, Hulk probably loved animals too. "Man, cats are not my thing at all. My girlfriend has a cat and I swear it hates me." Probably because he stood on it once. "But like, yeah, we could use someone else around. And if it means I don't need to get clawed on a daily basis I'm all in for it."
He was rather particular about who clawed him after all. "I'm Clint, by the way. And these are the nine circles of hell." He just gestured to the various cats in the back, sprawling or exploring or just minding their own business and clearly not amused with Clint at all.
It really was, if you asked him - cats were better than dogs though he realized not everyone understood that yet. "Yet," he said, hand raised and finger extended in the air for emphasis. Because there was no way he was going home empty handed.
He gladly followed Clint to the back, chuckling quietly at the guy's insistence that his girlfriend's cat didn't like him "Well if she's smart she'll take the cat over you so, be careful," he joked lightheartedly. The clawed on a daily basis comment warranted a glance from Hellboy. Sure enough the guy had a couple of good, bright red scratches on the backs of his hands.
The temptation to go in and instantly surround himself with cats was strong - but he resisted for the time being. Sealing the job was more important at the moment. Hellboy paused in consideration - unable to help but question it. "Well then I'm your guy. You can just call me Red.. But uh, you sure that uh... this won't be a problem at all?" he asked, gesturing to his face.
Hey, if people wanted pets that judged them, brought home dead things and probably plotted to eat them when they died, people could do that, Clint was sans judgement. But Clint was all about the bright, happy, easygoing life that a dog brought. And Lucky was just the best boy in the world anyway.
"Yeah," there was something of a wistful sound in Clint's tone. Don't get him wrong, he knew Natalia loved him. But he also knew that was a situational thing too; her emotions were complex, like her history, and if there was something that scared her or worried her, she'd find a reason to break things off -always letting him down easily and trying to spare his feelings, but it wasn't like he didn't know she preferred to not have complications. "I'd probably pick my dog over anyone who asked me to."
Red, wanting to take care of cats, counted more in his favour than having a giant red face with a sawed off horn -was it a horn? What had been there? Clint was damn curious. And like, sure the guy was massive, but then again, if the animals liked him what did it matter? "Um... you remember we're in a pocket dimension in the middle of the desert which none of us can get out of, right?" Which seemed to rank up there on 'shit that is weird' never mind... red dude. "Besides, you're closer to my preferred colours than Hulk. Green is just so barf." Clint shrugged dramatically, "If the animals like you, who cares, right?"
"Touche," Hellboy said with a gentle snap of his fingers. He was worried for a second there that he had drudged up some therapy session worthy emotional baggage. Crisis averted, though.
Clint's comments about being in a pocket dimension struck a good point - it was even a little weird for his own daily grind. And even though he was, slowly, starting to realize that he didn't stick out nearly as much here as he normally did - he still had a hard time getting thru that mental block. Even in the absence of others commenting about his appearance, Hellboy couldn't as easily quiet his own voices in his head.
He wasn't entirely sure he'd ever been called closed to anyone preferred colors before. Somewhere in there was some sort of compliment - and at some point he'd realize that. "Green? C'mon," he scoffed faintly, like he knew anything about what this guy was saying or talking about. Though obviously when he got home later he was going to be doing a lot of Googling and self-education. "But alright, if it won't be a problem then yeah... I need a job." Hellboy looked back to see all the cats had collected near the door - pawing and stretching up at the glass.
"Do I need to fill out an application or do any sort of background checks?"
"Green's a popular colour back home, I mean Vision had some red mixed in, but I don't think he got to choose his colours anyway, he's an android and got made like that. Hulk though, I dunno, apparently rage monsters are green?" Clint just shrugged, because who knew why Hulk was green, maybe it was gamma radiation, maybe it was Bruce's eyes (what colour were Bruce's eyes?), maybe he'd been wearing a green shirt first time he transformed. Who knew!.
"Great man, yeah. It's just me and Jim around here, and we're both better with dogs." Not that either of them ignored the cats or anything, but the cats definitely knew that the two men liked playing around with dogs more. "And we could do with the help, you know?"
Clint was honestly shocked that more people didn't want animals or to work with them.
"Background checks are hard, so there's just a form that you mostly can't really fill everything in on, but just promise not to kill anyone in public and I think we're kinda fine with whatever."
Rage monsters sort of stuck out in that Hellboy was kind of just imagining the Jolly Green Giant on steroids. "Lucky for us then, that most animals are colorblind to a degree," he added weakly in jest, not that it truly mattered. They had an unmistakable intuition - what someone looked like didn't matter to a dog or a cat.
It was pretty clear from Clint's lack of real reaction to him, and the focus on the animals that his heart was in the right place - and in terms of employment he likely wouldn't need to worry about any issues rising because of the way he looked. "I could be your cat guy." And really, it was an understatement of just how Okay he was with holding that title. "Sign me up," he insisted.
"Not like I could really give you a full application any way, all my contacts, the whole two of them, are back home..." he explained. "And I'm sort of on a sabbatical but still willing to help anyone who needs it so... no need to worry about killing anyone in public, kind of not my thing," Hellboy reassured him. "Even in private," he said with a shrug. "So when can I start?"
Having 'a cat guy' would significantly cut down the number of times Clint randomly found a large red score on his arm, or face sometimes, and honestly, that was great in his books -regardless of if Red was a huge Hulk like guy or not. Cats probably appreciated that this dude was weird as fuck anyway. Cats were weird as fuck too.
"Great!" There was probably a bit too much enthusiasm in that, but Clint didn't really care for who had what perception of him anyway. People usually found out he was falling from one trashfire to the next in life, and it was easier to keep expectations low if they learned it early on. "I um... I can't be bothered getting the paper work out tonight, so like how about we do that shit tomorrow, it's literally just where you're staying and how to pay you, honestly." Because again, background checks, references and the shit normal people did for jobs was kind of impossible here.
And most of the people here didn't seem used to having 'normal' jobs either.
"You wanna help me get them settled and shit, and then we'll do the rest tomorrow and count his as like, training day or whatever?" Not that Clint offered much in the way of training; he knew where things were, what time stuff happened and what the animals names were -he knew the animals better than he knew some of his occasional teammates. But it wasn't like much more than that was needed around here. Right?
Even the most unruly of cats, and really it was rare that Hellboy met one who didn't take to him instantly - he had his right hand of doom. His stone forearm and hand that could sustain any amount of scratching or biting put out by the tiny fur assassins. And honestly Clint's Great! was on about the same level that Hellboy ws feeling internally - his tail now curling from side to side contently.
"I'm good with it if you are, boss," he told the man. The Last Resort was basically handed to him as housing so he didn't foresee any problems at all. When Clint asked if he wanted to help wrangle them for the night, Hellboy quickly looked over at him - his eyebrows shooting up eagerly. "Yeah, let's do that." This time it was his turn to sound more enthusiastic than he would have liked.
He paused, ready to dive in to "work". "Do they have names?" Obviously, if they didn't, they would by the end of the night.
More bodies was always good; but a body that liked cats and possibly could take what everyone called affectionate abuse from the felines, Clint was all for it.
“They’ve got like Shelter names, you know when they name them when they come in and then you get to know them and the names are terrible?” It was always something friendly like ‘Whiskers’ or ‘Fluffy’ when it should be ‘Hellbeast’ or ‘Asshole’. “No one will mind if you rename them, I’m sure.”
And even though Clint wasn’t their biggest fan, he knew what they were called. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”