1963-10-14 - Inner-City Hunting
Summary: Central Park makes for some good hunting with that there Hellmouth portal hanging around!
Related: None
Theme Song: None
clint domino 

The buildings overlooking Central Park are prime real estate of late. Hawkeye's taken up to patrolling them at times, moving from point to point to get a good gander at the sweeping lengths of the park and the bound hellmouth so far down. Each high rise gives a good point to take aim from, good field of view, clean line of sight. Things are relatively quiet tonight, however. No beasties nor ghouls nor ghosties have wandered out of late, despite what has already been vomited forth from the gate to the underworld. But still, with some of his other investigations stalling… Clint finds himself patrolling from one high point to the next.

He lands upon the edge of the rooftop, pulling himself up with one hand and scissoring his legs over the side. His combat boots crunch the gravel faintly as he draws himself up. He's wearing what could kind of pass for civvies. Well at least the code that's over his gear might give his silhouette at this time of night a decent normal look. But in the faint light of the moon that combat harness under it seems anything other than ordinary.

The archer pauses as he considers the terrain on that rooftop. Lots of old industrial equipment, some sort of air conditioner, an old water tower. It all lends that nice chaotic break up to the skyline that a sniper loves. It's why he'd use this spot to take a shot at the hellmouth if he had his druthers. Not that he needs to. But for now he starts to walk across the roof, then pauses for a moment. Something seems… out of sorts.


SHIED training sure is a useful thing, though it doesn't require reading the Division's Tips and Tricks handbook to realize that some of these rooftops sure do make for good sniping roosts. Someone else has the same idea tonight, and as it turns out they aren't that far away.


It was a little thing lurking out in the night sky. Maybe it was only just a pigeon. It's hard to tell anymore as tiny pieces of gore spray outward and silently rain down toward the park, ripped apart by a single rifle bullet which originated from very close to where Clint is currently situated.

At the other end of the smoking Remington 700 is a prone albino, an open bottle of rum left within easy reach. Smooth motions of her hand works the bolt, kicking the spent casing out across the rooftop as a fresh round is chambered.

Tonight Domino's decided to confront her demons with a bolt-action .308.

"One..and we're off."


The instinct always is there with a guy who has seen battle. A gunshot, and cover is sought. He takes a knee behind that indutrial air conditioner, freezing in movement and turning his head to the side. At first the echoes of the surrounding building plays havoc with the sound of the gunfire. Clint pushes back the hood on his coat and stands there for a moment, trying to triangulate and then frowns to himself.

But then tink-tink of the spent casing it what betrays her. He slips to the side, taking a roundabout approach. Now if he was going to take a shot low then he'd take it from… yeah over there. At first he draws closer silently. And when he gets a first angle on her… he doesn't recognize her. Their first meeting had been brief though the skin tone that sticks out, and the silhouette since a beautiful woman in form-fitting attire and with white skin tends to linger in the thoughts.

Before he announces his presence he reaches to the small of his back and adjusts the sit of his piece before he clears his throat, gives a small scuff of his boot, and then lifts his voice. "Am I gonna regret asking you what's the deal?"


The way that the shockwave echoes across the park and bounces off of so many buildings must be like some sort of music to her ears, one of her hands lifting upward and lazily moving about like an orchestra Maestro.

The bottle beside her isn't exactly full at this stage.

"Never get tired of hearing that," Domino mutters to herself as she adjusts the stock back up against her shoulder, questing for another target. Fortunately for Clint she isn't facing the direction he comes in from.

Rather than jump up and take to the defensive there's a simple tensing of her shoulders, not an unexpected response when someone suddenly feels as though there's a giant bullseye printed across their back. Her head dips forward, left hand coming away from the rifle to slowly rub at her forehead. "I know that voice…" Beat. "The Drunk Enigma from Mutant Town, right? Sorry kiddo, this watering hole's already claimed."

She relinquishes her remaining hold on the rifle so she can turn around and sit upright. Being able to make eye contact just makes her feel better, especially if this is going to lead to a fight. "I'm an honorary guardsman now. Didn't you get the memo? Just doin' my part to make the streets safe again," she claims with an amused looking grin. The rum must have done some good, she's not usually so ..casual.


"That's funny, I don't see your name on this rooftop." Yeah it's that guy, and considering the general state of disarray he's in what with the unshaven stubble and the wild mess of hair… maybe he wasn't in that much of a disguise as that drunk guy the other day. But there's no stench of alochol to him, and to be fair he's not exactly looking like he's aiming for a fight as he leans against the stairwell enclosure, arms folding over his chest as he eyes her askance. "Then again I'd have ta know yer name to be able to find it." He glances over at the air conditioner housing and cocks an eyebrow, "But I don't think it's Electrolux."

"You know everything about you screams 'trouble'. Now why is that?" He lifts his chin, "Or is it just the bottle and the rifle and the rooftop at this time of night?"


The albino looks somewhat thoughtful at first when he says her name isn't on the rooftop. Her answer to that is to reach into a pocket for a small trinket which she can then flick across the roof to land right next to Clint.

It's a domino playing piece. One and six.

"Wish all of life's problems were so easily fixed. Now that we've got that out of the way, I'd just like to point out that Electrolux was my cousin," she kids.

With the next question she glances down at her hands, smirking with what might be some genuine amusement. "Probably because it's true? I'm constantly paying the price for it, just so you know. Do you have any idea how many diners refuse to serve me because I'm pale? Everyone thinks I'm one of those mutants. Kind of a pain in the ass, if you ask me," she says while picking up her bottle for another drink.

"So what's your deal? I'm sure you aren't poking about on the rooftops in the exclusion zone because you're fond of the view, and I don't see that you're prepared for long-distance engagements. Unless you've got some mutant ability that lets you smell booze from half a mile off, or something."


"I dunno, I figure the whole scary pale gal might take away some opportunities, but combine that with the whole pretty gal thing and I reckon it's a wash." Since really, the beautiful people do live in an entirely different world. Then again she does seem a bit scruffy. Hnh.

But as the domino clatters at his feet his lip curls into a smirk. "Touche." He picks up that domino, leaning down and casually flipping it into the air to catch it again even as his eyes slip back to her. "My deal is I don't entirely know what ta make of you." He scrunches up one eye, as if trying to filter out some of that inherent confusion. "Did some digging after our little dance. Figured how many scary good albino gunlingers there were in the world. Actually you might be surprised, there's this Gustav guy in East Germany…" But that's neither here nor there.

"As for this place, here, now." He looks around slowly, "I like to keep my hand in now and again. Get a good eyeballing of the crazy that runs around out and about at night."


"Germany, huh. Don't know about him."

She didn't miss the rest of what he has to say, rather she's just taking her time to address it all.

"It's kind of a mixed bag," Domino admits with a slight wavering of a hand. "I'll never get a normal job but that kinda works out in my favor. I don't -want- a normal job, I'd be wasting my skills on a normal job. On the flipside, as you've just proven, I don't look like the trustworthy sort." She glances to one side and shrugs lightly. "So here we are. Just another flavor of crazy in your night."

She recollects her thoughts while getting back onto her feet, the chilled night air tugging at the ragged black mess that is her hair. From initial appearances these two may as well be seeing the same barber.

"But what -I- want to know…" she trails off while stretching with one arm and gently setting the bottle aside somewhere safe with the other, "is why you started digging up on me. And I want to know if you even managed to find anything. As it turns out..I like to keep an eye on the crazy, too."


"Ah, that would be telling," Clint plays it a touch close to the vest as he watches her sidelong. He keeps that nonchalant air going, what with his leaning there and his arms over his chest. Yeah, juts two people hanging out on the top of a roof, liquor and firearm galore. Typical friday night. But his gauging is controlled and at ease as he looks upon her.

Then he tells her, "I got some of the bits about your training, your background. The project in florida. Your nickname," He hold up the small domino, "Thank for this by the way." He repockets it and says, "The number seven in December. You could have done some play on Pearl Harbor, but yeah."

He pushes off of the wall then to face her, "What I'm wanting to know is, who are you working for now, and why?" He gestures towards her, "Our meeting like this could mean a few things. Either you've been tailing me a bit. Which hey, who wouldn't? Or it could mean the fates and destiny might have a hand. So there's that."


In the next moment Domino's got her own arms folded together, leaning back against part of the building's various ventilation equipment as she watches the other guy with unwavering focus. "That's kind of the idea," she grunts.

Then..as they say..shit gets real. To her credit she does a -real- stellar job of holding perfectly still and looking like none of this information is getting under her skin. Someone like Clint would notice the more subtle details. Fingers hooking inward. A firm setting of the jaw. A slow but gradual bunching of muscles like a giant spring being wound ever tighter.

When his next question is asked her voice has dropped low, turning into something much more dark. "I don't see how that's any of your goddamn business." Then, "I could just as easily say the same about you. I still don't know a damn thing about you, and yet here you are. How do I know you aren't tailing -me?-"

Frankly she would have preferred that option to the one that's left. Destiny, really?

Before she says anything else she pushes away from the vent and stalks closer to the other figure, her mind already playing out several different scenarios on how she might remove him from the picture if it came down to it. The first step is to close the distance, which is what she now attempts to do.

"Well gosh, G-Man." Because how would he have found out -any- of that intel on her unless he was connected to a Government organization, really? "You know so much about me, why is it that you don't know who I'm working for?" She stops a short distance away from him and reaches up to tap the side of her head. "That'd be this bitch. Right here."

There's also the whole 'Brotherhood' matter but right now their leader is trapped in Hell, so technically she isn't working for them at all at the moment!


"Well," Clint stands there as if he wasn't overly concerned about her approach. But the tell-tale signs are there. She can see it in the way he shifts his weight to the other foot. The turn of his head to the side and the subtle tension in the tendon of his jaw. It's there in the way his eyes meet hers and the faint furrowing at the corners. He knows he's balancing on a knife's edge at the moment, and chances are before the night's over she might be trying to stab him with one. But for now…

"My name's Clint. Clint Barton. I work with SHIELD." And there, it's out there, tossed like a conversational hand grenade at her feet. The reaction he gets from it might well map out the next few moments of their interaction. If she leaps to the fight, well… he's got a trick or two. But if she can handle it and keep to dialogue… then hey there's hope. "Not that endears you to think of me as being Johnny Honest Boy Scout, I didn't tail you."

He lifts a fingertip to the side of his chin, scritching there audibly against the stubble. "And sure, we all work for self-interest and all that. But I did dig a bit about some of the jobs they have you angled at for… maybe you aren't all that bad."


It's one of the inherent dilemmas when playing with fire. Even if Domino did get the upper hand, she's just one person. Clint has a global powerhouse backing him up. The only real victory out of this situation is for there to not be any fight at all.

The albino looks like she really -could- go for a knife right now. She's got that look about her that says she wants something she can tear apart in a manner most feral. Despite that, her actual response just might catch the guy off guard.

"Never heard of it."

These four words of admission manage to defuse the entire situation all on their own. She has no ground to stand on here, nothing to really channel any of her anger toward. Maybe there's something to this whole 'destiny' encounter, after all…

Then she simply turns around and walks right back over to where she had left the rum, catching the bottle and helping herself to another hearty drink. "Just don't try to sell me on the patriotic bullshit. Uncle Sam can kiss my tiny white ass for what those people did to me, and the rest of 'em can burn forever."

Turning back to Clint and motioning his way with the bottle in hand, she asks "Did your intel say anything about how I got to be out here? I doubt it, because -they- don't know that I'm here. If you want to keep this place from turning into a warzone then you'll make sure they all stay in the dark. I am NOT..Going..Back."


Pushing a hand through his hair, Clint steps away from that stairwell. He turns and starts to walk towards her, hands at his sides and open as he closes the distance. "I don't have the whole picture, but I can put two and two together. Most of the time." Barton tells her that easily enough as he stops a few feet in front of her, "See. I figure you're not the sort to sit still. You move, and you keep movin'."

As he speaks he reaches for the bottle in her hand, cocking an eyebrow as he asks silently for permission. And if she grants it he'll kick it back for a long pull, then wipe his mouth with a forearm before offering it back. "I also figure you might already be working for someone. If that's so, then hey. But if not, then well there are opportunities out there you might not be entirely aware of."

He meets her gaze and then adds, "The guys you dealt with seemed like assholes. And trust me, I know from assholes. I know you gotta do what you gotta do. But if you can help it, don't cross the line. It'd stink if your tiny white ass couldn't be brought in from the cold some day."


The look which Domino pins Clint with next is suspicious, turning to see that he had followed her over. Though with the silent request, and what he has to say, she inclines her head a few degrees then relents and hands the bottle over. Really, it's the contents of that bottle which has managed to keep her civil throughout all of this. In a manner of speaking. "Most of the time," she repeats as if accounting for her own side of the story.

The fortunate thing for her is that Clint here, and perhaps the rest of SHIELD by proxy, don't yet know just what she's up to. She has an opportunity to twist this in her own favor. Just how long it'll hold it is anyone's guess, but it could buy her some breathing room for the immediate future.

"I suppose you could consider some lady calling herself the Iron Fist as a form of employer, though if it really does count as work then I'd better start demanding a raise because I'm not getting a dime for the effort. About a week ago she organized a meeting in the Kitchen looking to bring people together to fight back against this whole demon/vampire/gateway into Hell business. Unofficially..I'm signed on with that resistance. Hence being Miss Eye in the Sky here," she says while dipping her head toward the rifle.

"If that doesn't place me on the right side of your line then I think we're done here."


"Nah," Clint says as he steps past her, and for the first time might give her the benefit of the doubt, trusting that she won't immediately shank him in the spine when he moves towards the side of the building to cast his gaze downwards, gauging the sight lines again. Yeah, this really was a pretty decent point to get an angle on the gate area.

Turning back toward her he murmurs, "If I was the sort who blabbed I'd confide in you that a guy I knew was doing this exact thing a few days ago. Government types don't always sit behind a cushy desk and bust out the numbers. Sometimes they gotta go gets hands on." He frowns as he eyes the dimensional rift location, "Sometimes even for a little hand to claw action."

Once that's said he turns back towards her. "But I got no horse in this race, Domino." He says her 'name' for the first time. "I just got this sort of hunch. I suppose."


No sudden surprise-shankings are on the way to Clint's spine. The albino decides to take a seat and have another drink, she's got enough to think about and she's got just the right amount of buzz going to make sure she takes her time in drawing any conclusions.

"You don't strike me as a pencil-jockey, either. I've seen you handle yourself in a fight. You aren't one of the CO's, anyway. But you're awfully confident, confronting me like this without any backup to speak of."

Nothing that she's been able to find, anyway. She's pretty good at getting a read on these things, too.

"So where's that leave us. You aren't gearing up to drag me in, one way or another. What's left here," she says while holding her arms out to the sides. "Is this all going to become our dirty little secret? I'm your new girl on the ground, digging up all of the dirt for you to take action on? Because..call me crazy, but I swear that I'm hearing some suggestions of an unofficial alliance here."


He lifts an arm to rub at the back of his neck, frowning as he catches a kink and works at it before he turns back towards her and lifts his chin. "Well. I figured I'd give you a few days to run down what you want about me. Dig up what you can and verify that I'm not some full of shit scam artist or something. Then we meet up again and see what happens and what we have to tell each other."

Blue eyes meet hers as he looks down at her, a fair bit of height and reach on his side of things. "I was thinking of just letting fate play its hand again. Or there's a number at a particular phone booth where you can leave a message for me. Either way seems like a decent way for us to meet up again."

He opens his hands as he gestures, "If you're good with that, then yeah… I think we're good."


"If you turn out to be some 'full of shit scam artist' then I'm not the one who has to be worried," Domino replies. All the same, she's mentally working over the logistics of just how she could dig up information on this guy from behind the security that is this whole SHIELD operation. If the name he gave her is real then there should be -something- out there, but anything major is probably going to take a lot of fighting for.

Good luck finding the time to do that.

"Great. We can harass one another another time, figure out what the final score is, and maybe cause some trouble together." Or attempt to kill one another. Either way!

Dom stands once more, this time going back for her rifle. "For tonight, if you hear my pal talking again you've got real good odds that she's not speaking to you." There's still nasty critters left to hunt.

And pigeons.

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