1963-07-02 - Clint Pays A Call
Summary: Clint pays a call on the Starks. Well, *the* Stark
Related: None
Theme Song: None
clint howard 

In the middle of fifth avenue spanning from 721 all the way to 890 stands a single building the size of a city block. Standing multiple stories high and stretching out in all directions its brick facade is the stuff of legends. Every inch of its facade boasts the absolute peak of design from the early 1900's, with each and every square foot lovingly designed.

Tucked in between a high rise and other buildings it stands a reminder of the sheer wealth that Howard once personally commanded. The front lawn of this luscious estate is walled in by a massive brick and wrought iron fence to match the expansive compound of an estate. In the center of said lawn is a fountain covered over by a large set of scaffolding the figure underneath hidden from view. those massive gates have been pushed open inwards allowing for easy access to the lawn during the day.

The front door of the building is hidden under the shade of a well built awning to one side of the door a large panel with a single button on it. At the top of the awning and along certain points of the building cameras keep a constant vigil for any potential trespassers.

It's a quiet evening the street filled to gridlock with cars trying to make their way through rush hour traffic. The sheer interlock means that most vehicles find themselves going about a mile an hour give or take. Each car is packed tight bumper to bumper honking and humming and hawing as they try to get everywhere at once way too fast for their own good.

HE's a far cry from the bright-eyed kid Howard knew during the war - one of Peggy's finds, along with Coulson. But Clint's grown up into a man in his middle thirties, without a hint of his carnie past to the casual glance. DEcent suit, if a little rumpled, tie loose, as if he were some middle manager at one of the Wall Street firms, happy to be off work. He's come on foot, so the car traffic's just background noise. Not exactly birdsong, but ignorable enough. He presents himself at the front door, as if he had every right to be here….sure Stark the Elder will remember him.

The door is a simple affair all things considered a set of marble stairs leading up from the poured path. As Clint makes his way to the door the cameras lens zooms in. There's silence for a few moments clouds hanging low over head as a slow breeze blows through the courtyard. The blinds on every window of the mansion are drawn, the lawn itself looking to be as pristine as ever the plants in perfect condition.

Clint lifts a hand, gives the cameras a little wave, and the faintest of smiles. As if used to overt surveillance. Then he knocks on the door, for all that it's surely redundant, considering that someone has to be watching those cameras, and chirps, "Avon calling!"

Silence for a long moment. Soon the small panel on the side of the door slides open revealing a black and white crisp monitor. On screen is an empty desk where someone would normally be setting. At first the sound in the background is hard to make out but it's a familiar voice. "Hey uh, Clint, yeah good timing." The man himself nowhere to be seen, the workshop desk a complete mess. "Could you just let yourself in, I'm kind of.. stuck."

His expression is momentarily very dry indeed. "All right, Mr. Stark," he says, matter of factly, before he does exactly that. Or tries to, at least - reaching for the doorknob as if half-expecting it to be booby trapped.

Sadly the door doesn't open, the locks on the door itself holding the door closed. It gives just a slight bit but not enough to actually force it open. The door itself is a rather well kept mahogany to match the windowsills of the building. The window on the top of the window allowing a slight bit of view into the home. "Take your time, I'm not going anywhere."

"The door's locked, sir," CLint's voice is only faintly plaintive. Let in the Hawkeye, it wants a drink of water. "Do you have another suggestion? Or could you unlock it?"

"If I could unlock the door, I wouldn't need to have you get me out." Howard points out. There's another pause before he asks. "Just break in or something, I've been stuck like this for hours and I really have use the little scientists room."

"What about the roof, sir? I imagine all your windows have countermeasures, but…." He's gazing up at the facade, no longer so much dismayed as relishing the possible challenge.

Howard hmms quietly over the other end of the conversation. "Well hey, be my guest, there's an elevator on the roof I might be able to activate from down here." Sounds of trying to struggle again from the other side of the call, some light cursing. "Just make sure you don't break the windows, I need to get around to replacing a few of them, sort of like my staff." A longer pause. "Speaking of which, you know a good hiring agency, I need a few dozen maids, old staff didn't exactly stick around after the whole me dieing thing."

He takes off his suitjacket, and his tie, and even his dress shirt, leaving only the white t-shirt beneath…and sets them neatly to the side on the stoop. Then he's leaping up with a lightness one wouldn't suspect from merely looking at him to grab the pediment above the door, and hauling himself up. Not as graceful as he might be, but there's a kind of unmistakable competence. Clint's used to free climbing, even if it's not usually the facade of tony New York mansions. "'fraid not, Mr. Stark. Above my pay grade."

"I'd ask Peggy for a recommendation but after that last Nanny." Howard laughs at his own joke, his laughter trails off somewhat. "Oh that's not good, nose is starting to itch." Sounds of discomfort from the other end of the intercom as the screen folds back up behind the panel. "Remind me to hunt down Jarvis at some point and offer him the job back." Added to no one in particular.

The pediment above the steps prove little to no impediment for the skilled climber. With easy to use grips in the form of the small roofs shingles, and the front facade of it. It's surprisingly stable to stand on with the shingles held perfectly in place despite being stood upon. The building itself is three stories tall with a number of bricks and overly fancy windowsills that can be used for hand holds. However at Howards warning it's anyone's guess how stable they are.
<OOC> Howard says, "The pediment proposes no prodominent impediment"
<OOC> Howard says, "Now that's a way to learn english"

He's lithe as a cat, as he makes his way up to the roof, this way and that. Enjoying the challenge, and not looking down. There are nights he spends that way, when he can't sleep, up on the rooftops. His t-shirt is soaked with sweat by the time he makes it, and he wipes impatiently at his forehead with the back of his hand. "I'm on the roof, Mr. Stark," he calls, as if not sure where he should address his voice.

The rooftop of this estate is as opulant as the rest of the building. A full length Olympic swimming pool rests on the roof itself, a full wet bar, and hot-tub right with easy access. To make matters even more interesting are a set of three helicopter landing pads and the full sized runway right beside the pool itself.

As Clint finally sets down on the roof he would notice right away a decent sized chunk of the roof lifting up at the edge of the pool. A pair of thick metal elevator doors are on the front of this pristine elevator. Though something of worry might be the fact that the roof itself looks almost the part of a warzone. Half of a rocket is stuck out the side of an awning a number of scortch-marks and debris is scattered about the roof. The building right next door has a massive hole in its side which looks to still be being patched over, and the large tree out back has a man sized hole in it.

The doors of the elevator slowly slide open revealing the scorched interior of the lift.

That pool is tempting. HE settles for wiping at himself with water from the bar's sink. Only then does Clint stroll into the elevator, with as much as sangfroid as if he'd merely been shopping on Fifth Avenue. "Looks like you had yourself a hell of a party, sir."

Little more then silence as the doors close shut. The elevator ride down is a quiet one with the subtle hum of the lift traveling down down and further down before eventually reaching rock bottom. There's a pause before the doors open again revealing the bright white lights of the lab.

This vault of technology is a hive of some of the most advanced technology that Howard is still working on. The walls are lined with various inventions in different states of repair. The back wall contains a series of what look to be heavy armor suits and robots that have been left in varying states of completion. A small model of his flying car concept hovers in its own display, and a bright red wing suit hangs in the center of the room painted up in red silver, and yellow with a bright and shinning coat.

In one corner of the room stands a suit that looks to be somewhat hunched over. It looks like it wouldn't be too out of place in the trenches of the great war, with its heavy metal armor design hun like helmet and matching gas mask. Yet the position it's locked in looks to be one of mid stride slightly hunched over.

For all that he attempts to play it cool, Clint's eyes round. He gazes along the ranks of works in progress with a kind of hesitant wonder, like a kid overwhelmed by the glory of FAO Schwarz. A breath or two, before he wrenches his attention back to the matter at hand. "Where are you, Mr. Stark?"

"Took the scenic route did you?" Howards voice comes from the hunched over Germanic monstrosity of a suit. "Gotta say, this is about the fourth most compromising position I've had someone find me in." His own discomfort a bit more apparent in person as he tries to move but the suit barely even slightly trembles. "Turns out the power consumption on this thing was a bit higher then I thought it would be."

Even with this small view there are further displays stretching back. All manner of weapons armor, and life enhancing inventions half or more finished left on display to be worked out at a later date or in some cases completely finished and preserved for posterity. There's enough weaponry here to supply a small army if even half of the stuff here actually worked.

"Something like that," comments Clint, voice wry. "Now, what can I do to get you out of there without either the biggest damn can opener you've ever seen, or a flamehthrower?" He strolls up to the suit, flicks it with a fingertip, as if it were crystal whose quality he could judge by the way it chimes.

Flicking the suit is like flicking a tank. It's harder then one would expect for an actual suit of armor, it must weight a literal ton at least for all the protection it has to provide. "Oh don't worry I keep the giant can opener next to the two story tall penny." He tries to motion with his hands to it before realizing yet again he can't move. He's still in surprisingly good joking spirits for someone whose spent the last six hours trapped in a man sized metal can. "There should be a release mechanism on the back, if you can manage to lift the air tank up you should be able to just open the valve and pop open the back-plate."

It takes him a little bit of consideration, but he manages it, does Clint. Lifting the air tank, and then finding the relevant valve. A little fiddling and then there's the sound of the back plate opening.

It certainly takes time and one hell of a lot of elbow grease. It's almost too much of a struggle to actually open the darn thing but with enough effort the back plate pops off the air tight seal giving way. Out the back tumbles a man dressed in dark brown leather pants, and a simple shirt. The man in question is none other then Howard Stark. He takes in a deep breath of fresh air and stretches out his limbs still on the ground looking up at Clint.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License