3181/Agents and a SWORDFISH

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Agents and a SWORDFISH
Date of Scene: 31 August 2020
Location: Swordfish Bar (SHIELD)
Synopsis: AAR: Mission: Make May smile.

Outcome: Failure. Featuring Clint, Daisy and Natasha at the SWORDFISH. But challenges were made and Daisy is still the kid of the whole bunch.

Cast of Characters: Daisy Johnson, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Melinda May

Daisy Johnson has posed:

A place of gathering for Agents to relax out of the judgemental gaze of all those senior agents that are doing evals right now! Which is pretty much everyone. A Neutral ground of sorts! Or so most hope...

Daisy is one of those hopeful ones, sitting by the bar with a bit of a slouch. Blame all those hours burning the midnight oil while doing a case or another, be it evil russians trying to move around nukes, Nazi Hydra..., or even SUPER Shield, the ever friendly Hydra-disguised group...

So it's been a few busy months, but nothing that a drink or three won't solve. "Hey E. How about you refill this..?" she slides her glass over. Beer. She is simple where it comes to drinks.

Clint Barton has posed:
It's time to go to work. Really. A few days of R&R makes Clint a dull boy, but before that happens?

Pushing the bar door opens, and surruptitiously holding it such that he doesn't slam it in anyone's face, the archer enters the place, and with the slightly dimmer lights, narrows his eyes as he gets used to the change from outside. Doesn't hurt to take the sunglasses off either!

"Hey," his voice carries easily- doesn't have to be loud. "Beer.. not in a bottle please. I wanna live a little."

While most are passing vaguely familiar in this bar, he does actually //recognize// at least one. Sidling up now to receive said beer, in a glass of all things!, Clint rests two forearms on the edge of the bar.

"Hey." He tilts his head sideways, "What's the good word?"

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Historically speaking, getting Natasha Romanoff to be social - when not already neck deep in a social persona - is like pulling teeth. But Clint Barton has more leverage than most people, and rumors abound that two years hanging around the Avengers has softened her up, so... here she is, wearing jeans, brown boots and a nice tan coat, taking a seat not too far from Barton and ordering. "Same. Bottle's fine."
    Knowing her the bottle preference may well be because it can convert into a weapon at a moment's notice.

Melinda May has posed:
Now, see, there's a reason May hates doing agent evals. It cuts into what little time off she actually gets. Especially when she's not been taken off any investigations to help accommodate it. No, she's still tracking down rogue nukes, chasing down rogue Russians, and trying to help a bunch of woo-woo types track down rogue magic.

Rogue-Hunter. That's her. (Don't tell the X-Men. They wouldn't understand.)

Generally, she's split her time between work and a spare suite in the residential wing of the Trisk in recent days. Rarely has she ventured out into city proper. More rarely still has she ventured into the local watering hole agents call SWORDFISH. Mostly because, when she's off, she's trying to *avoid* work.

And SWORDFISH, during evals, still looks like work. Even if it's not.

Really. It's not. She's here to grab a drink and maybe toss some darts or hustle a too-drunk probie at pool. (Some of them can only learn the hard way. And their fellows are only all too willing to step back and let them take the lesson.)

Up until now, she's been willing to give the lower tiered agents a break, staying away from the playground, so to speak. But she wants a drink. And she wants it in a friendly place.

So, shortly after the violet archer -- whatever his garb -- strolls in, daylight breaches the doorframe once again as the Field Leader pushes her way through.

True to form, she doesn't smile obviously as she passes people brave enough to greet her, but she does afford them a nod in greeting and, in some cases, the subtlest twitch of a microexpression that suggests she's either glad to see them or at least impressed they had the guts to greet her.

Those she's worked with most closely of late? They merit an actual wave of sorts, even if it is just a briefly raised hand.

She saddles across a stool at the bar and orders a microbrew on tap, before turning around to regard the gathering with hooded eyes.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
"Of course." The bald bartender replies with just the faintest of smiles, bringing up two beers (twins!) to serve to Clint and Nat. And in glasses! No bottles here! This is a respectful place afterall. "Do enjoy."

Daisy looks up but at least she doesn't jump scaredly at someone approaching her.. What? She was deep in her thoughts. She blinks some surprise away and nods her head at the archer. "Deep down in work as of late. But, not complaining! Just how things are." her smile opens further. "And what about you? Got tired of--" a pause when she notes the other Agent coming in. Natasha here? She makes that gesture of lifting a pair of sunglasses (if she had them on).

"This day is certainly turning interesting. Hello Natasha. How are you?" first names! Boo! But that's what you get for coming to socialize in a bar!

And then ..., another surprise?! Be still my heart! She waves at May as if in beckoning. "Hey, May." she calls out. "Come over!"

She leans in to Clint to whisper quietly. "We have one mission today. To get May to smile."

Clint Barton has posed:
Rumors. Never believe 'em. If people did? They'd swear that just last week, the vaunted Hawkeye LOST at a game of darts. That //might// have been started by someone who is more than happy to yank the chains of a few probies who think that they've got what it takes...


When Natasha joins him, Clint shifts a little to make room and glances over quickly before returning his attention back to Daisy. He shifts back a little when the glasses *thunk* down in front of him and his partner, the foam on the top juuuuuust right. Left hand curls around the glass a little and he nods, "You know how it is. Day here, day there.."

Raising his glass, he offers that quick toast to those past, present and future before taking his first swallow.. and sets it back down.

The entrance of May has him twisting his head to look over his shoulder at her progress in, and he half-smiles. "She lives. C'mon over," is said pretty much the same time the Cav finds her stool.

"Naw," and Clint's looking back to Daisy. "Only way to do that is if you tell her I'm retiring. Not ready for that yet."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    Natasha squints faintly with a raise of her eyebrows when Daisy addresses her by her first name, and peers at her sidelong for a moment. Most of the people who call her by that name either have higher rank than her, or can lift a car over their head. This is what bars do to people.
    "Hello, Johnson." Is the response she settles on, voice gentle and polite. It's public place, gotta keep affecting normal humanity. It's not a big deal, really.
    She catches her glass and vaguely lifts it in vaguely the direction Clint does before sipping at it with both hands. "You don't have to retire. A lost arm would probably do it. At least until you start pulling bowstrings with your teeth." She adds with a perfectly straight face, asthough she were speaking seriously.

Melinda May has posed:
Noting Daisy's call, May picks up her glass as it's delivered and strolls along the bar to greet both her and Clint, offering a nod to Natasha as well. "Daisy. Clint. Natasha." (Technically, she does outrank Romanoff. And it's a bar... not that just anyone gets away with calling her Melinda, mind. But she's got that arched-eyebrow-of-death to hold everyone at bay.) "Nice to see you," she tells them generally, pulling herself up another stool to saddle across.

If she's aware of what Daisy's said to Clint, she doesn't indicate it. But, you know... good luck and all. May may need a little more alcohol than the single glass she's holding before an easy smile happens.

But, you never know. Hope springs eternal.

If shoptalk weren't forbidden in the SWORDFISH, she might tell them that they've picked up chatter that might suggest where the Myasnikovs have gone to ground. Since it is forbidden, however, she says nothing. They'll find out soon enough.

"How's it going?" she asks genially -- well, genially for her, anyway. As in, she's not frowning. Or scowling. And even her resting bitchface is pretty laid back, all things considered.

What? It's May, not Pollyanna, we're talking about here.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Daisy can sort of lift a car over her head! Technically! But she knows well what she's doing, just her way to breaking the ice with people and being 'cool' with everyone. Even if deep down she is still a geek hackerette. "Oh, it's just Daisy. We aren't in a mission." she says that to Natasha, smiling at her and lifting her glass to salute the rest of the agents before taking a drink. Mmm, nice.. She -does- eye Clint though, just in case he considers calling her by *another* name. She even gives him a look. But then her attention is on May.

"And well, May..." A pause as she turns to rest her back to the counter, elbow atop it to support her in a sort of lazy way. "We were just going through some rumors here, trying to figure out which one is true. If you want to try and help us."

She lifts one finger up. "One is that Barton is retiring." a smirk, "The other is that he has lost at darts last week... "

"The last one is that he may even lose tonight. But that would require either you or Romanoff to beat him." there. Instant challenge thrown between them.

Clint Barton has posed:
"You're assuming I can't," Clint deadpans back in a sotto whisper. "Actually, what I think would work would be //not// starting a report with the phrase, 'No shit, there I was'.." His After Action Reports are notorious. Notoriously bad.

It's what one gets when they hire him!

After this long and a 'few' missions under his belt, Clint is good with May. Made peace more than awhile ago. There's a respect there, and he's not going to be the one to poke at her. "Savin' the day, one day at a time. You know, livin' the dream." It's a shrugged response, but with people in this establishment? More truth than not.

Lifting his glass again, Clint takes a couple more longer draughts before setting it down again, and looks at the small gathered. Brows do rise at the challenge being tossed around like nothing, and there's something of a sidelong grin that creeps up, coupled with a light shrug. "Like that'll happen," is murmured good naturedly. "'Romanoff' knows better." There's that quick glance to the side to his partner, the grin pulling down to something a little more subtle before he looks back at Daisy, and May.

"I think all that's pretty much rumors, anyway. Last guy who challenged me has a scenic posting." Buzz word for 'base in the Antarctic'. Or so they say, anyway.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    The corner of Natasha's mouth twitches into a hint of a smirk when Clint speaks of his AAR's, swiveling her bar stool around so her back is to the bar and bringing her glass to her lips as she replies, "Say what you want. They really bring you into the moment." She says blandly before taking a sip.
    "May." Is Natasha's respectful greeting when May approaches. Natasha's made a habit of not poking or kissing up to bears with the clearance or past assignments to know Natasha's history. She's kind of always waiting for the other shoe to drop on that one. It's taken a remarkably long time.
    Eyebrows raise at Daisy's assertion, and she gives Clint a look that translates to something like "u wut mate?" Though she doesn't deny it.
    "Rule number one:" she helpfully offers, "Don't talk a big game if you don't like the cold." She sips from her glass, and then lowers her brow thoughtfully, "I could see the first one, though. You're kinda getting on in years. Weren't you voted 'most likely to run off and start a secret family'? Did I imagine that?" Natasha's being positively chatty compared to her reputation.

Melinda May has posed:
May arches a brow at Daisy's rumours. "Please," she says dryly. "That's as likely as Fury retiring." A beat. She eyes. Clint. "Okay. I give. Barton's likely to retire first." But not today. "The sentiment stands."

She snirks, then, at the gauntlet the younger agent throws down. "You're in fine form today, Daisy," she drawls. "That's a sucker bet and you know it." And May's not a sucker.

Not usually, anyway.

Still, there's a twinkle in her eye at the attempt, even if it doesn't reach the rest of her face. 'A' for effort, Johnson. 'A' for effort.

She side-eyes Clint. "I think your best report by far was, 'No shit, there I was... no arrows and dragon the size of a helicarrier snaking through the middle of the marketplace...' Shanghai, wasn't it?" Yeah, there's a story there. And if it was Shanghai? One might guess she was there for it.

Or, more likely, that she ended up having to clean up after it. Romanoff's the boy's partner. Not her.

"And the last guy that challenged you deserves his scenic posting," she notes. Which is a nice way of saying she thinks the fellow was a moron -- an it has nothing to do with his failure at darts.

Her eyes flit to Natasha as she pokes at Clint. Again, that gleam in her brown eyes that serves as a smile to those that know her well.

Daisy Johnson has posed:
Daisy lets out an easy chuckle. Hey, at least it worked in getting people to chat up. And honestly, she is getting more words per minute out of SOME people in this room than she has got in a year. So.... Win-win!

"Secret family?" she follows up after Natasha's words. "Please do tell.." she helpfully asks. Because yay for more wood to the rumor mill..

As May appears to see through her ruse she lifts her shoulders. "It was worth a try..." but then she clears her throat. "But as I always say to my hacker friend McFly..." because yes, hackers have weird names like that. "Chicken, McFly..?" which really is a throwback to a rather known 80s movie! But she is quick to add. "Just kidding. Just kidding..."

The mention of a certain AAR makes her raise a brow, looking between them. "Let me guess, before my time? I have been missing out ...."

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint has his beer set to his lips again to drink, and instead of actually drinking it, inhales it in a 'take' at the mention of 'secret family'. Coughing to remove some of the aspirated beer. "Don't.. don't do that.." is laughed. He //might// be a touch sensitive about a possible reputation he //might// have. Exes not withstanding.

Truth be told, however, of this agent pair? If Natasha walks off into the night, the archer may not be too far behind. He's got her back.

"I think you imagined that."

Now Clint can finish off his beer, and he turns blue eyes to May. "I can neither confirm nor deny my presence in Shanghai during New Year," is offered with a grin. "Though, I did have to apologize to the puppeteers for stealing their sticks to take it out." Real dragon. Jeez... and he nods, his expression dropping //mostly// neutral. "International incident. Who knew they take those celebrations that seriously?"

He nods towards Daisy. "Before your time, and my AARs are eyes only."

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
    "Huh, how strange." Natasha replies distractedly to Clint. She gets to poke at Barton. They have a Thing that's hard to define. Mutual attempted murder and near death experiences do that to the right kind of person.
    She raises an eyebrow at Daisy and gently asserts, "You are too young for references that old, Johnson." Granted Natasha doesn't look much older than her. The glint in May's eyes is taken with a certain measure of satisfaction.

Melinda May has posed:
Not to mention the fact, when it comes to dragons and Shanghai New Years, May has been hanging out with a bunch of magic users lately and is not remotely above a bit of trolling of the younger agents. Thus, she gives a simple nod at Clint's summation and swallows a mouthful of her beer. Because, really? She's said enough.

And it's good beer.

Her brow drifts upwards at Daisy's movie reference. Hey. She was just about Daisy's age when that movie came out. And a probie, to boot. The only one older than her at this table is Romanoff. But May's not privvy to that info. Far as she's concerned, they're all wet behind the ears. Thus she flips a thumb towards the redhead in a gesture that means 'what she said'. That movie was out before Johnson was even a gleam in her pappy's eyes.

She swallows more of her drink. Before too long, it's just about gone. Placing the glass on the table, she pushes back. "That's all the fun I can handle," she tells them.

Rather than give a verbal farewell, however, she rolls her shoulders and tosses them a jaunty half-salute.

Her version of 'peace, out'. And she's gone.