9123/Set 18, Shoot 18

Set 18, Shoot 18
Date of Scene:	16 December 2021
Location:	Shooters - Chelsea
Synopsis:	Dinah and Clint shoot some pool.
Cast of Characters:	Clint Barton, Dinah Lance

---

Clint Barton has posed:
Sometimes, you gotta shoot some pool.

And Clint was bored out of his mind at the Triskelion, and with a potential trip to Siberia in the front mirror...well, best to get some of the cobwebs out of his head before he heads that direction. So he's here, dressed in a purple shirt with black designs and some blue jeans, He seems to be lining up one helluva shot with a puck, smirking at a fellow who looks like he just finished making some absurd bet.

There's five balls left including the dreaded 8.

With one thrust of the stick, however, the white ball hits each and every one of the balls, black ball last, and somehow, each pool ball manages to find a hole to fall into, and Clint just stands up tall and looks at the poor fellow who now owes clint $300 and someone else a lap dance.

"Have fun with that dance, try again next time." The man growls as he wanders off after paying, and Clint just sighs happily. "Man, it's fun to knock a douche off the throne."

Dinah Lance has posed:
There were two knots of people in Shooters that night. One was gathered around the uniquely-styled guy with a pool cue made of equal parts shark skin and magic. The other was located at the end of the bar, the very last seat after it wrapped around. The seat that can't be seen by those entering and is hard to see by those inside.

Even when there isn't a crowd around it.

That second knot, however, at the noise (and applause) from the first knot turns to see what went down, revealing who they were around.

What's there is short. Even as concealed by the tall bar stool, the torso that sits above the stool is short. Not dwarf or child short, but certainly a shortness that was noteworthy.

And talking of that torso, it's a torso that's designed to be seen. Clad in close-fitting leather, glossy and black, with a plunging neckline that swoops dangerously low before rising on each side over the shoulders where the long blonde hair conceals its continued course. As does, naturally, the leather jacket. Loose, high-waisted and opened, loose sleeves pushed up to the elbows leaving a bare (but muscled) expanse that ends in leather gloves, one of which is curled around a tumbler of whisky.

The legs are another thing that catches the eyes, clad as they are, unusually, in fishnet stockings. And shaped and muscular as they are, bare from the risque heights the body suit (like a leather bathing suit) leaves open down to mid-calf where curb-stomping leather biker boots take over.

The entirety is a lot to take in. One could be forgiven to not notice the sky blue eyes for a while. Especially if one is suitably wired to appreciate the rest.

The sky blue eyes covered by a domino mask and sitting above a slightly twisted grin of amusement. The sky blue eyes staring straight at Clint, breaking contact only to salute him with the tumbler before tossing it back.

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint seems to smile a little bit at the sound of applause, even if it may or may not be for him. He even notices the guy who seems to have a weird magic shark pool cue thing. Thats all well and good...but if you can't (or rather, just don't) miss, doesn't seem like much of a challenge unless Clint can somehow get that pool cue. Oh well, maybe Strange will know something about it if Clint manages to win it off of that guy.

But something else catches his eye.

The Black Canary. Dressed in close-fitting leather that leaves, honestly, very little to the imagination. Don't even get him started on the legs that look like they could crush someone with a single stomp, but Clint actually seems to smirk back at her when she salutes him with a tumbler. He gives her a little wave and sets the pool cue down just so he can approach.

"Is this the part where I try to hit you with a pick up line and I get shut down or the time it actually works?"

Clint's expression is friendly, but even Dinah can detect a little bit of sass covering his voice. He looks her in the lbue yees, past the domino mask, and he extends a hand to her. "I'm Clint."

Dinah Lance has posed:
The Black Canary ... well, the mask hides it, but probably raises her eyebrow. The right side. Given the other motions of the visible parts of her face.

"I don't know," she says laconically. "I'd think it very much depends on which pick-up line you're using, what I thought of you before you used it, and if I'm in the mood for being picked up or not."

The tumbler is set on the bar and the barman is there instantly refilling it with two fingers of Five Roses bourbon.

"I guess there's no way to find out but to suck it and see."

Canary recrosses her legs and faces Clint more directly from her stool.

She looks much smaller in person than her larger-than-life exploits in the news would suggest.

"You're not just some guy, though, are you?" she asks.

Clint Barton has posed:
Clint takes a moment to look at Dinah then, smirking at her reply. "Well, that's pretty fair. Honestly I see a badass drinking straight from a tumbler and either looking for a good time or seeing how much of a fool I can make of myself....or vice versa." Clint tells her with a confident smirk. "So, let me try this one then and lets see if we can suck it up and see if it can hit home." Though Black Canary asks if he's some guy.

"Hawkeye. I don't miss."

Thats all he tells her. He's an archer, if anything about Hawkeye is to be believed. Word on the street is that he's never missed a shot. Ever. Not even when he was a kid.

"You an artist? Because you're pretty good at drawing me in."

He ewaits a moment for it to maybe take effect, and he looks like he's stifling a laugh.

Dinah Lance has posed:
Canary just stares a while, face enigmatic, rendered more so by the mask that conceals the micro-expressions around the eyes. She takes a slug of the whisky before setting the half-empty tumbler on the bar.

"Better than the 'hold it against me' line."

The judgement is pronounced.

"6/10. Acceptable but not outstanding."

The body language relaxes as Canary gestures to the pool table. "You're smoother on that. But Hawkeye? You've got a name. It's not a surprise you cleared the table so easily."

She pats the stool next to hers. "Let's drink. You're buying. You have funding."

She grins and winks. "I'm drinking Five Roses and could really do with a large platter of nachos, double-everything. Running low on fuel."

Clint Barton has posed:
Judgment is pronounced.

And it would appear that Clint has been found worthy! Even if it was by a literal hair on his head. "Well, I thought about it, but I figured, lady as gorgeous as you probably has had that line said on her -way- too many times. Its either that or the magician one: 'are you a magician? because when I look at you everything disappears.'" He shakes his head with a bit of a chuckle touching his words.

But he accepts the invitation, sitting next to her. "Sounds like you're quiet the hungry lady." He looks at the tender, giving him a nod. "and open a tab, will ya? I'm tempted to drink myself silly. Been one of those days." He shrugs a little bit. "So, you here alone, or do I have to worry about a boyfriend trying to punch me?"