1965-10-17 - NOW It's a Coffee Table
Summary: Lazy rainy day apartment efficiency leads to redefining the role of the coffee table, career cowboys, and talks of chair visitation rights
Related: None
Theme Song: None
clint jp 

It was raining and rain meant extra permission to be lazy as hell. Also they were showing a telethon of Have Gun, Will Travel. Rainy day with cowboys wasn't so bad at all. Also having a crazy Cajun that actually enjoys cooking is not a bad commodity to be holed up with. In reference to the name of the main character JP oted, "You know 'Paladin' is French." Clint, speaking French likly knew that one but it still mystified JP a bit. "Didn' know we had French cowboy. Should do that f'hallowee, hmm? Make Sev be a horse. Wha'chu think? Think I could pull it off?" There was that wry grin.

Rain was the perfect reason, not that Clint needed a reason to honestly do nothing. It sure helped, though. Just in case anyone asked. Not that anyone ever asked. But it was good to have contingency plans.

Sprawled out all over the place, wrapped up in a sweater, Clint also had shuffled off most of a blanket. That might be partially because he wasn't wearing pants, just a sweater and underwear. Like you do.

"In Italian, it's 'paladino'," Clint mentions, apropo of absolutely nothing. "French cowboy. Sounds like it should be a movie. A bad one. But could be hilarious." A corner of his mouth starts to lurk upwards while he thinks about it. "Cat horse? Would he go for that, lettin' you ride him around?"

Dark blue regard swishes back over to the Cajun, flashing a wink at JP. "I could be into you in a pair of chaps."

JP pushed himself to his feet and took up a playful 'quick draw' stance. He llooked down at himself, "Yeah I think I could pull em off. More n' likely have a toolbelt instead of a gunbelt though." A hand reached over and lightly patted Clint's cheek twice as he got up, walked over and pop! unplugged the coffee pot? There was some rummaging around from the kitchen.

Wait, go back, did a blasphemy just occur?

"Cause a how I do'? Actually pretty good with guns, but, I try to avoid usin em. Sometimes get wrapped up in what I' doin an I don' like," There was a grunt, "makein a decision I can no take back ay know jes because." Sensible

JP walked back over with teh coffee pot, all of it, and set it on the low table. The table was draaaaged closer to teh wall and the coffee pot was plugged in. "There. NOW… you has a real coffee table, chere. You welcome." He poked it so it started to heat up and now the need to move dropped considerably.

"Toolbelt with one of those drills in it instead of a six shooter?" Clint grins and pretends to quick draw. Right from the hip, finger-gun pointed right for JP. "Pew, pew. Reeoooooh." Making both gun sounds and a drill whirring one next. "You don't even need to plug it in."

He finally sits up properly, leaning as far as he could to one side, trying to get line of sight into the kitchen. "Hey, where you goin' mon pard-ner?" The subtle sounds of coffee maker unplugging luckily lost on him. He groans, rocking up to his feet and dragging the blanket with him, hitching it up over his shoulders. Following with a shuffle into the kitchen, just in time to follow JP RIGHT back out with a long-suffering groan as he trailed after again. "Wait. What're you doing with my coffee pot?" Brows popping upward at the insanity of…the simplicity.

And now he's up and moved around for absolutely no reason. "That. Is actually brilliant."

A grown ass man standing in a bulky sweater, underwear, and a blanket over his shoulders. It's ridiculous. Not as ridiculous as said man draping an arm over JP's shoulders from behind, kissing the rogue hard on the cheek. "So fuckin' smart."

JP replied with a laugh, "Unlike the rest a' you thinks it ain' windin up back at my garage." Aww chairs yis. There. Percolating and there was the rare and elusive undamaged Clint Barton praising his inginuity.

Oh yeah he preened at the smooch. "Yeah you didn' have to get up at all."

Too amused. A hand slid under the blanket, under the sweater, and around Clint's waist in a hug with hands that could be warmer honestly since he jsut ran the tap to put water in the coffee pot. Oh he knew it too! "Eh, May no be the world's most educated guy but the rumor that I get by on good looks alone is slightly exaggerated." He does pretty good.

"Hell at this rate we could jes put the couch a d tv into the kitchen somehow and never leave. Best gave of the Floor is Lava ever. An' Sev? Yeah, he' lemme ride em. You missed last Christmas. Turn into a real gen-u-ine mutant reindeer for les petites at the community center. They lil eyes bugged out. It was pretty great."

"Like half my shirts?" Clint smiles. "And my Chairs. I loved those chairs. You know…" A shiver and low purring groan as warm hands slide under his sweater. Barton resecures his grip on the Cajun, wrapping his blanket around JP. "You know, I like those chairs. And if yer going to take custody of them, I should still get visitation." Leaning in, turning his head in to give the feisty rabbit a tiny bite that's hardly that just under the line of his scruffy jaw.

"I like the way you think. If we're going to move everything around, we might as well just move everything into the bathroom, and then we /really/ never gotta move." Really just making this as ridiculous as he possibly can in any and every way, Clint waggles his brows back at JP.

"Reindeer oh yeah? Were you his elf or somethin'?" Talk about ridiculous, that lurking cheeky smile appears again.

JP wrinkled his nose. Busted! "Il n'y avait que trois!" Only three man! His head tilted up not minding the bite considering the source. So much nicer than when that damn possum does that shit. "I needed space for the couch t'fit an… also needed a chair, yeah… ya got me there. Yous can visit em. I know ya did once." To set that box trap up.

The rabbit thought about it snugging fox as he was leaned into, other hand itching at his jaw. "Good timin too. Got the e'er livin shot kicked outta me tha' night out in the Bronx. Tha chair was a damn miracle." Pausing he looked to Clint, down, back up again and put all the math together, "I can see how ya miss it." Appreciation from buswreck to trainwreck.

That grin went ear-to-ear with a most mischevous laugh, "Aw, merde, This either genius or terrible idea. Plug that toaster in in the bathtub the bread won' be toast but we would." He had to snicker at the hilarity of how absurd it was conceivably. "Need a tiny grill. Prolly hammocks too." He stopped and his eyes went huge, "Oh shit I need hammocks in th' common room."

The garage suddenly had a demand for hammocks that was derailed by asking if he was an elf. His hand splayed across his chest proudly boasting, "Naaaah, J'etais pere noel.I know I too skinny though, so I had t'get a pillow t'fill out the suit. I tell em mutant santa didn' have a beard too. S'how you can tell me apart from like regular csanta. See Mutant Santa? Don' need the beard to have santa powers. Is all very technical."

"Yeah. Like I said; half." Clint reitterates when JP confirms that it was three shirts he made away with. Because why would a guy need more than 6 shirts in his closet? Really.

"Yeah, I visited them once…or twice. Or whatever." Clint teases the guy wrapped up in that blanket, as if he were wrapping the bun up in a big fluffy red tail. Hey, it's gotta be worth something. "What'd the other guy look like when you were done with 'em?"

"Hell, like I got a toaster? Unless you actually brought one?" Clint perks up, glancing backward toward the kitchen briefly. "Hammocks?" The same eureka, wide-eyed look stared right back at JP when he turned it on Clint. Whispering, elongated and hard, "Yeeeeeeeees. Oh, Hammocks, Yes!" Eyes start flicking around the room, immediately planning.

Planning and immediately forgetting (missing) all that was said about Mutant Santa. Such a problem when you're not watching people's lips. "Rope or cloth?" Blink. Clint looked back at JP. "The hammocks, I mean."

Blanket tail-proxy went a long way. JP seemed to have two modes: entirely aloof and snuggly as hell. What did a guy with 9 siblings in a tiny house have to care about personal space. His nose wrinkled and innocently he offered, "Well I got like e'erythin I own in one bag an it's over there so you wanna visit em…" There ya go. Hells JP was still living out of a duffel bag? Made sense. He didn't have a closet and much more than a few milk crates for storage. They were affordable and functional. A guy has a good bag and a shelf he's all set!

Then the question and his head hung. One could imagine the ears drooping forward and down like some manner of cartoon too. Looking up he shrugged, "Ya win some ya lose some." Yeah JP lost that one. He hesitated and offered a slightly less bullshit answer, "Had about a hundred on me. Doin a deal for a guitar for mon frere. Beauuuutiful piece too. Soundin jes like an angel laughin when he play it. But I get there an he try t'change the deal on ol Jean-Pierre. Think Hmmm non. Made it out wit' the guitar an all my teeth though so long run I think I do alright. Tha's why you had t'wait for the couch." Because he got his fluff butt handed to him. Sometimes that happened, even to a yard boss. Good's good but a guy weighing all of 140 is going to have a hell of a time against someone 250 on up. Especially if they're ready for it. It happens. His pride was still smartin the bruise on that one.

The smile warmed and came easy to him like the world was one big yo-yo, not down for long. "Nah I pan cooked the toast earlier but I can get one. I see one on a job I like I'll pick it up for you." Yeah baby, I'll steal you a toaster. A pretty one at that withthe chrome. What a romantic the rabbit is.


Ah yes! His hand pulled into a fist! He had a soulmate in hammocks. The question stopped him up and he blinked, confused, answering, "Uhh neither without a safeword?" OH for the- right. yeaaaaah. "I dunno, cotton rope kinda comfier, but cloth one ya won't lose you keys though. As I don' like… usually use keys I guess it comes down t'what you wanna see? Cloth won' try t' bite into you ass, but also lacks toeholds." He might have thought a bit on this. Looking around he snappointed to where the heavy bag was hanging. "There gotta be more 'n one stud in the ceilin we can use. or a frame? We got the tools. That might lead to a fort though. We can sneak upstairs and drop a bolt through the floro there too if we really need to." Like he might suspend a boat from it.

Eh, duffle made sense. Clint's seen what JP works with, and honestly, that the rabbit spent more time feathering Clint's den is honestly no surprise. Hey. It made it an escape. That was good.

Of equal lack of surprise was that fight. Clint still winced, if a little on the theatrical side. "Eh, the stupid fights we gotta pick sometimes, huh?" The archer ducked his head down to touch his nose to JP's when he tipped his head forward, coaxing the small woodland rascal to tip his head up for a front line smooch and a flash of a grin just after. "Worth the wait."

For him or the couch?


"Safeword?" Barton straightened up, tightening those thick arms around JP's lean frame. "Killjoy. But I'm gonna keep that in mind." Winking at the wiley rabbit, the blond unravels his blanket from around JP and rolls bonelessly to flop onto his back, onto the couch. Legs and arms splayed in open invitation, Barton wiggles his fingers in beckoning. "Yeah there's a few studs around here. I've hung a few things here and there, but filled 'em all in after I was done. The only stud I'm thinking about right now, though, is the one planning to get us a toaster."

Jean-Pierre nodded in agreement, "MmmHMM!." Worth the wait and the effort. He smiled, sated, pleased at the nose boop. The whys and hows of how that shit happened in the past mattered less than that it happened and he walked away and that was all he wanted to remember of it.

The flop to the couch, the wiggling of fingers was met with the pouring of coffee first from the new totes legit coffee table and those were set closer in reach before he flopped down and pulled the blanket around. Chilly rainy days. So good.

Another snicker at being called a killjoy. "Don' worry. I trust you not to mess up an need coachin halfway through. You safe." Hand patted knee leaving it to rest there, thumb idly brushing over one of Clint's old scars as Paladin finally got to the ranch on the television set. His head dropped back into Clint's shoulder with ease murmuring, "I'll see about findin us one of them fancy enamel ones." For now though? The 'us' felt pretty good and his fox was home, hale, and hearty. For once the universe wasn't screwing anyone over. JP was pretty certain this was what success in life felt like…without a toaster.


JP's weight drops to the couch -after pouring a coffee. Aw, Coffee, yes- and Clint adjusts a slightly to drape the blanket over the mutant along with one of his arms to keep a loose grip on him. Chin to his shoulder. Turning his attention back to the images on the screen. Eyes still there, he turns his head and mentions just past JP's ear. "Purple. If it's gonna be fancy, might as well go all the way." The very frivolous request mentioned without demand, expectation or guilt. Hey, if they were gonna go big…

"Je t'aime, Bunny. Fabric, I think. Rope's nice and rustic and all, but it always leaves little criss-crosses all over my face when I fall asleep on it. Or I drop stuff through the loops." Burying the lead and making a decision on the toaster, the hammock and the rabbit.

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