CLINT (HAWKEYE) BARTON (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vagabond_code) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2016-02-07 10:34 am
vagabond_code) wrote in driftfleet2016-02-07 10:34 am
Entry tags:
◉ Video + Action
Who: Clint "Hawkeye" Barton and yous
Broadcast: Fleet-wide
Action: FS Starlight, SS First Breath
When: Any time this week
Video | Fleetwide
Hey, so does anyone here play darts? I have this guy at a bar called The Trophy Room offering free pints for bulleyes f'the next fews nights. Sure - if you miss, you gotta pay. But what are the chances, right? And if that sounds like an easy night's drinking to any a'you, I'll bet you two-hundred-credits you can't beat me at your darts-based game of choice. Shanghai? Round-the-clock? You name it. If I don't know it, all the better. Drop by The Trophy Room one night this week, and who knows? Y'might make a quick two hundred.
Action | Starlight
[Clint has gotten into something of a daily Rythm at the FS Starlight, piloting taxi-shuttles by day and playing darts at various bars by night. Most of those nights are spent at a bar called The Trophy Room, where he has made something of name for himself. Here, his presence seems to draw an enthusiatic crowd. He makes trick-shots, he takes dares, he challenges all comers. Bets are placed, drinks are drunk. He knows well enough that there's money to be made in keeping them hungry, though, so every few nights he switches to another bar until they throw him out for one reason or another. Then it's back to The Trophy Room.
As for the daylight hours, his taxi'll get you there fast or quiet, slow or not at all if that's your fancy. There was this one lady who just wanted him to drive a few laps and drop her off where he'd picked her up, whatever that was about, but hey. She'd paid. He smuggles, too, but that's on the hush hush. Either way, people seem to get a kick out of the idea of a deaf cabbie.
If he's not doing any of this, find him basically anywhere else on the station. I'm not your dad.]
Action | SS First Breath
[Clint hasn't been spending a lot of time on the First Breath, partially because of the over-crowding situation and partially because he hasn't had enough time to think of it as his home. He does return every so often though, to crash when they catch him trying to sleep in the taxi. If someone on the ship had their eye out, they'd find him eventually.]
Broadcast: Fleet-wide
Action: FS Starlight, SS First Breath
When: Any time this week
Video | Fleetwide
Hey, so does anyone here play darts? I have this guy at a bar called The Trophy Room offering free pints for bulleyes f'the next fews nights. Sure - if you miss, you gotta pay. But what are the chances, right? And if that sounds like an easy night's drinking to any a'you, I'll bet you two-hundred-credits you can't beat me at your darts-based game of choice. Shanghai? Round-the-clock? You name it. If I don't know it, all the better. Drop by The Trophy Room one night this week, and who knows? Y'might make a quick two hundred.
Action | Starlight
[Clint has gotten into something of a daily Rythm at the FS Starlight, piloting taxi-shuttles by day and playing darts at various bars by night. Most of those nights are spent at a bar called The Trophy Room, where he has made something of name for himself. Here, his presence seems to draw an enthusiatic crowd. He makes trick-shots, he takes dares, he challenges all comers. Bets are placed, drinks are drunk. He knows well enough that there's money to be made in keeping them hungry, though, so every few nights he switches to another bar until they throw him out for one reason or another. Then it's back to The Trophy Room.
As for the daylight hours, his taxi'll get you there fast or quiet, slow or not at all if that's your fancy. There was this one lady who just wanted him to drive a few laps and drop her off where he'd picked her up, whatever that was about, but hey. She'd paid. He smuggles, too, but that's on the hush hush. Either way, people seem to get a kick out of the idea of a deaf cabbie.
If he's not doing any of this, find him basically anywhere else on the station. I'm not your dad.]
Action | SS First Breath
[Clint hasn't been spending a lot of time on the First Breath, partially because of the over-crowding situation and partially because he hasn't had enough time to think of it as his home. He does return every so often though, to crash when they catch him trying to sleep in the taxi. If someone on the ship had their eye out, they'd find him eventually.]
action
Docks, please.
action
[Clint had been turned around looking over his shoulder, waiting for the go-ahead. He appreciates the guy's concision. Easy to read.]
Another day another dollar, right?
[That's something the cabbies in New York always seem to say. He'd been cycling through a mental rolodex of industry-platitudes all week. The sort that didn't allow for a huge amount of variance in people's replies.
The cab took off now, following the invisible path the Clint had learned had been determined safe for commercial traffic. The taxi's on-board computers helped with that. In the first few days on the job the console had flashed at him whenever he veered out of bounds.]
action
[He takes a closer look at the driver once they're in motion, squinting as an initial sense of vague familiarity niggles at him until it finally clicks into place.]
Oh, hey! Mr. Blockbuster.
action
[It was a coincidence. Clint had spared a glance across at his passenger. It was safe, mostly. There were sometimes transport ships ferrying stuff between the docks and who-knows where, but they were huge -- easy to see in his peripheral vision and even easier to avoid.]
no subject
[He doesn't offer his hand - bad idea, obviously - but he does lean an elbow up against the back of the passenger-side seat, cheerfully oblivious to any concept like seatbelts.]
no subject
Y'got business at the docks?
[Clint was fiddling with a mirror. If Eugene happened to look at it once it was in place, he'd see Clint's face.]
no subject
[There's the off feeling of the conversation having skidded out of traction for a second, and Eugene frowns, meeting the driver's eyes in the mirror and looking closer. Shit. Is he not the guy from the network?]
Sorry, I- uh. Are you not with the Atroma fleet?
no subject
[See, this is easier. He can watch the 'road' and watch Eugene's face without turning his head.]
I just, I have this thing where my ears don't work right, so I gotta see your lips. It can come off as rude.
[There's a light blinking on the dashboard display. Clint alters the cab's course a touch and it flickers out.]
If you wanna get out, there's a drop-off point up ahead. No charge.
[That's what happened last time he had to explain this to someone. Clint had called his taxi the 'deaf cab'. Frankly he thought the other guy over-reacted.]
no subject
What-? Oh, geez, no. It's fine. Honestly, I'm just glad I'm not apparently hallucinating.
[The perturbed what-the-hell squint eases as he does his best to laugh it off, leaning back in his seat so there's as much of him visible in the mirror as is possible. His patter slows down a little, too - not to ridiculous HELL-LO, I WILL TAAAALK SLOW-WEEER levels, just back into the clean-diction, even-paced patience he'd learned through years of handling important radio transmissions over fussy equipment.]
Sorry about that. I would have stayed more visible if I'd known.
no subject
[Or worse, they pitied him.]
no subject
[It's annoying. The staring isn't nearly as bad as the oh-my-gosh-I'm-so-sorry song and dance.]
no subject
[This guy gets it, so Clint relaxes a little. There's a slight drop to the tension in his shoulders.]
It's fine anyway, I can fly this thing just fine. Got the pilot chip.
[He tapped the place in his neck where they'd embedded the augment.]
no subject
no subject
[Clint hoped so. He hoped sludge-science was far more interesting than it sounded somehow.]
no subject
[The stuff seems to be nutritionally complete enough to keep them from starving and to not be sickening at the end of a month or two. That's all the credit he's giving it.]
My job's in-house butcher knows a guy who can set me up with a used chest freezer in good condition at a decent price. That's one step closer to being able to stock enough meat and vegetables to keep us happily in real food between planets.