Owner	Pose
Clint Barton	It has indeed been some time since Clint and Helena have been able to meet up and chat, a follow-up to their prior meetings. Something always got in the way. Of course, with both being costumed adventurers, it wasn't business trips or staying at home for contractors, it was taking down drug rings or fighting the lower tier members of the Masters of Evil. Nonetheless, eventually there had to be a time when both of them could meet up without heroic intervention, and that night (finally) is tonight! Clint had reached out ahead of the upcoming baseball game to see if Helena had the time to meet. He picked Katz's Deli, an iconic enough restaurant that might appeal to the Gothamite if she has not been. A date and time was arranged, and sure enough, it appears as if they might make it there. Clint sits at a table, which admittedly is a sin at Katz's before you obtain your food, but no one is going to argue with an Avenger. Waiting to see if Helena makes it, or if she has to stop along the way to punch some fascists in the face.
Helena Bertinelli	Helena Bertinelli had been busy in her own ways through the end of winter and much of the spring. Being a teacher, mid terms and finals were always a thing. It was a nonstop march toward the end of the school year. Add in her own after hours moonlighting as a vigilante and spare time kind of went up in a puff of smoke. When Clint had texted her, it was something of a surprise. Had it actually been since the holidays? Yes. Yes it had. If nothing else, she agreed to meet up just to show she hadn't been avoiding him. Life, they say, comes at you fast. She knew better than to drive to Katz's. Emerging from the subway station not far off, she enjoyed the walk. It was finally warm enough to do so without adding a dozen layers just to fight off the cuting winter wind. She was dressed comfortably. A faded Rolling Stones tee-shirt, denim jeans and a black leather jacket. Entering the deli, she scanned the room. From the order counter to the tables before finally seeing him. Closing in on the table he so brazenly claimed without anything to eat, she smiled, "Hi. Living dangerously as usual, I see?"
Clint Barton	"I'd much rather tangle with Ultron than a bunch of angry New Yorkers who think I cut them in line," replies Clint with a grin. "But I actually stopped this place from getting robbed a few weeks back, and they told me to come back and have a free meal on the house." He slides out from his seat to stand up. "They said I should bring a friend, or a 'friend', if I had one, and so..." he waves his hands around. "I mean, as a native Gothamite, I thought maybe you'd like to see one of the things that makes New York special." He waves a hand to indicate the ordering counter. "After you." Similar to Helena, Clint is dressed down today, wearing a pair of denim jeans, a t-shirt with Captain America's shield on it, and a black leather jacket. Maybe the irony of wearing the shield amuses him.
Helena Bertinelli	Helena Bertinelli smirks. "Who says being a good guy can't have its perks too?" Then she smirks again, "As a Gothamite huh? Because none of us from the best city in the county could find our own way across to this crime-ridden place you call a city?" she almost sounds like she believes what she's just said. Other than the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. "But mama didn't raise me to be foolish and turn down an offer for good food and company."
Clint Barton	"I'm usually too nice to take advantage of them, honestly, but this one seemed worthwhile, and they've had been offended if I didn't come back." Clint smiles , and moves along with Helena to the counter. "Yeah yeah, trade me anything other than the Knights for the Jets." He rolls his eyes, as he gets to the counter and places an order. Pastrami on rye. "Man, if I'd known the company was good enough on its own..."
Helena Bertinelli	Helena Bertinelli moves over to the counter as well, looking over the many offerings. She then snorts quietly, "The Knights? Please. No one would take them after last season. But you can keep your Jets" she fires back playfully. She orders a roast beef and turkey on rye. Then she uh-huh's. "Good company is nice. But it can't feed an empty stomach."
Clint Barton	There is a certain degree of appreciation on Clint's face at the sudden and easy sports retort. "Maybe we can toss 'em both in the river and start again," he murmurs, watching her as she orders. He waits to retrieve his sandwich, and in fact waits on both, offering to carry her tray as well once done. "Good point. Maybe the company is just secondary. I can get that." He grins. "As unnecessary as the normal guy walking next to a god and a flying billionaire."
Helena Bertinelli	Helena Bertinelli shakes her head, "Just painful" she agrees about the luck of both teams lately. "There's always hockey. That is, if anyone can ever beat Tampa." Shaking her head, she loads up her tray with a bottle of tea, a pickle, and her side of chips. "I have no doubt that you can handle boh trays. But if the worst were to happen, they'd never forgive you for ruining the food. You know that, right?" She then offers righteously, "/I/ would. But still. Better not to tempt fate." A wink and she gets her tray, navigating her way back to the table. "I'm pretty sure we both know the guy with the bow is probably more important than the flying billionaire. The god? Well. I'd have to meet him before I could speculate" she quips.
Clint Barton	"They've got to lose at some point, right?" replies Clint, his smile broadening. Hockey too, huh? "And you think that if I can manage to juggle SHIELD, the Avengers, and my workout regimen, I can't handle two trays of sandwiches..." He does not argue further though, allowing her to take the tray as he follows her back towards the table. "Please don't - every woman that ever meets him just never looks at me or any other guy the same way." He laughs. "Can't say as I blame them, though. Have you seen photos of his biceps? They do NOT do him justice..."
Helena Bertinelli	Helena Bertinelli considers his argument. "Yeah. That's what I'm saying" she fires back sweetly. "And when I said I'd forgive you? I'm Italian. The daughter of a mafia don. Forgiveness is a lie." She says it with a serious expression before grinning again. "I'm joking. Other than the mafia part. That's all true" she offers with a casual shrug of her shoulder. As if it were no more surprising than the change of weather. "Now you're making me want to meet him all the more."
Clint Barton	Rolling his eyes, Clint sighs. "The beautiful ones are always the scariest," he murmurs to himself. He considers the mafia for a moment, and then shrugs to himself. "Not the strangest origin story I've heard." he assumes, at least, that that is related to her nocturnal activities. He slides into his seat and sets his tray down, and turns his gaze back over to Helena. "I mean, I can get you to meet him if you want. It's not like I have a chance anyway, so may as well, you know, go down with a good excuse than crash and burn because of my abrasive personality and inability to connect." He laughs. "That's what they call it, anyway, apparently."
Helena Bertinelli	Helena Bertinelli shrugs, "For me either. There are some odd pairings out there. History and profession. For me? It all pretty much ended when I was eight. I'm only at my most dangerous now when one of my students fails to live up to their potential and tries to skate less than full effort past me." Pausing to take a bite, she glances over, shaking her head at the last offer. "Hmm?" swallowing, she shook her head again, "No. I wasn't trying to use you to meet anyone, Clint. Just trying to tease a little." She shrugged. "I can't say I've seen this abrasive side. Yet anyway. I mean. All New Yorkers are abrasive. It's just part of the charm. I'm Italian. We're direct and blunt. That isn't so different."
Clint Barton	That earns an eyebrow. "When you were eight?" Clint picks up the sandwich and takes a bite, studying her quietly for a moment. "I suppose not. It's just honesty, which I respect." He takes a sip of his drink. "And I know. I'm pretty sure you'd have your own way to meet Thor if you wanted to." He puts his drink down, and smiles warmly towards Helena. "I like that you don't have any pretense about you."
Helena Bertinelli	Helena Bertinelli shrugs. "I don't think I told you most of it before. But yeah. My step father was a mafia don. When I was eight, a contract was put out for he and my family. I was the only one who survived. So if I'm blunt or abrasive myself? That probably has a bit to do with it. Its the past. I don't mean to let it affect my future or friendships, though." She offers an apologetic smile, taking another bite. "There's just not enough time in life for pretense."
Clint Barton	There is a certain sadness on Clint's face as Helena tells her story, and he nods quietly. "I am sorry to hear that." He takes another sip from his drink, as if searching for something to say and ultimately he comes up sort. "You seem to be doing well for it, now." He nods in agreement. "There's not. Not really." He takes another bite of the sandwich, studying her. "I think you're a very interesting woman." Since there is no pretense.
Helena Bertinelli	Helena Bertinelli smiles. "Thanks. It was a lifetime ago, now. Those responsible are all dead and gone, themselves, now too." Not that she'll explain how that happened to come about. She sips at her tea. "Interesting? Maybe you do need to get out more" she jokes. "But you're an archer. So. I'll give you a pass. Even if I maintain that crossbows are better."
Clint Barton	There is a slow nod from Clint as she says that. He wonders if there are greater implications to that statement - just how much she had to do with that happening. "You see what I deal with on a regular basis. Trust me." Clint grins a bit, and takes another bit of his sandwich. Then the eyebrows go up. "You _really_ want to go there?" he asks. He looks at her very seriously. "In what way are crossbows 'better'?"
Helena Bertinelli	Helena Bertinelli just smiles sweetly. "I already went there. And there is no answer or argument that you can propose that will win. You can't win an argument against an Italian woman." She shrugs. It's fact. Then she bursts into laughter. "I think I've found my new hobby. Winding you up over whether bows or crossbows are better.." she winks. "They've got their own uses. And what I've heard and seen you do with a bow are worthy of legend."
Clint Barton	"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that," replies Clint, with a grin. "Just because you're Italian doesn't mean you can't lose, it just means that bad things happen to people if they win against you." He winks, and settles back against his seat, studying her. "It is, yes. And for the record, I can do the same thing with crossbows, too." He reaches up to rub at his chin, studying her. "I feel like you need to see this proven. We need a challenge." A pause. "And stakes."
Helena Bertinelli	Helena Bertinelli laughs. "You've never argued with an Italian woman if you believe you have even a chance of winning." she then arches a brow. "Is that so. I think you're just blowing smoke now" she challenges playfully. Then she tilts her head, "A challenge and stakes hmm?"
Clint Barton	That evokes a sharp laugh. "I've argued with alien women that are harder than anyone else I could imagine," replies Clint, leaning forward, smiling towards her. Goading her on, clearly. "And I would never boast about something I couldn't deliver on." He looks at her for a moment, thinking intently. "Yes. A challenge with stakes. You in?" He tilts his head.
Helena Bertinelli	Helena Bertinelli smirks. "I think you just might." Boast that is. She couldn't help but needle him a little at least. "I don't know. I don't agree to challenges without knowing the rules or the stakes first. That's how things end up on the internet forever."
Clint Barton	Nodding slowly, Clint drums the table slowly, considering her words. "Very true. Very true." He holds his sandwich with the other hand. "Propose some stakes. Let's see what you've got." A grin. "Then I'll see what i've got." He takes a bit of his sandwich, eyeing Helena, amusement on his face.
Helena Bertinelli	Helena Bertinelli leans back in her chair with a laugh. "Oh no. No. no. no." She looks at him with a smirk, "This was your idea. Your challenge. You said there should be stakes. You don't get to put this on me. Because when I kick your ass? I am going to completely rub. it. in." she says with a wolfish grin as she leans forward to emphasive just how decisive her vicory will be. As she waits for him to finally cough up details and just what the stakes should be, she traps the corner of her lower lip in her teeth.
Clint Barton	As she leans back, Clint seems to stop to really think about this. She has called his bluff - he really did not have any idea of what to say, what stakes to make. This was so far outside of what he was usually doing. He rubs at his chin, and tries to think to himself. What would Natasha do? Natasha wouldn't get herself into this situation. Next. He frowns. Maybe it is the smirk. Maybe it is the phrasing she used. Maybe it is the fact that he, inexplicably, decided for himself, what would Tony do? Never a good model, there.     "Strip bullseye." He realizes how dumb it is as soon as he says it. That's why they all say that Hawkeye has no chill.
Helena Bertinelli	Helena Bertinelli watches him. "Wow." She shakes her head, bursting out in laughter. "Somehow I should have expected something like that." She sipped at her tea. "I tell you what. I'll bet you five bottles of the best wine from my uncle's personal vineyards on Sicily." SHe regards him, "Even if you're not a wine drinker, I guarantee you will be once you taste these." She leans back again, waiting on him to offer a proper prize that won't result in front page tabloid news around the planet.
Clint Barton	The embarrassment on his face was coming even before she said anything, as Clint looks almost like a deer in headlights. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me there." Damnit, Tony, you're a bad influence. As Helene presents a far more reasonable wager, he nods. "That sounds nice. How about..." He thinks for a moment. "You want to do something good for the cross bow cause?" he grins. "You win, I'll use nothing but crossbows for a month. Let them see an Avenger using a crossbow."
Helena Bertinelli	Helena Bertinelli shakes her head. If she were offended there is no question she would make that abundantly clear. Insted, perhaps, on some level she was flattered. But no. She considers his counter. "You know what? I'll take that wager. But I get to pick the hardware you use when you've lost."
Clint Barton	There is a bit of a snort. "Well, sure, but you're not going to win." Clint grins. "Although, admittedly, you probably could pick better hardware than I could." He takes another bit of his sandwich, watching her. "This is going to be fun."
Helena Bertinelli	Helena Bertinelli just smiles sweetly. "You should be less worried about the brand and model of hardware i pick" she pauses to sip at her tea, "and more worried about what colors I pick for said hardware."
Clint Barton	Finishing off the sandwich and taking a long sip from his drink, Clint grins. "I already assumed it'd be pink, but I run around in a purple suit already. What makes you think that would embarass me?" He sets the drink to the side and goes back to just studying her now. "I can almost taste that wine."
Helena Bertinelli	Helena Bertinelli shakes her head with amusement. "We'll just see, won't we?" She paused as her phone chirped. Glancing back, "Thank you for the meal and company. I enjoyed it very much. But I'm needed back in Gotham."
Clint Barton	"Of course," replies Clint, as he nods to Helena. "You name the time and the place, and I'll be there." He flashes a grin at her. "No need to bring the pink crossbows, but do bring the wine." He nods to her tray. "I'll take care of that, you scamper."