8-11 - Everyone and then some.
Aug. 12th, 2012 09:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aa_natasha 8/11/2012
This bar has a self-consciously divey decor: it tries very hard to suggest that it has been there for decades, if not centuries; it tries very hard to project an illusion of smoke-grunged pictures despite the reality of clear air. It's like someone took a snapshot of the place and then uploaded it to Instagram, and yeah, that probably means there are hipsters here.
The pool is cheap, though, and so is the beer.
It might be worth noting that the building is offset on both sides by dark alleys. They don't look like the kind of alley you want to hang out in. There is a car in one which has somehow improbably wedged itself in, probably for a delivery of some kind to the bar. Probably. Or maybe that isn't of note at all.
Anna, a dark-haired woman given to frequent (dimpling!) smiles, has claimed four tables for all those invited. She is not yet sure if she is being optimistic or not. She has only a few friends with her -- two other SHIELD henchies to bring the grand total of redshirts up to three. They are the no-names that people pass every day in SHIELD HQ: the beating heart of the organization. Anna, of course, is the laughing heart. The friendly heart. The, "Hey! Awesome! Glad you could make it. We were going in on pitchers of beer instead of bottles. That okay with you?" heart. With each new arrival, she looks more and more satisfied. Whee!
At least those redshirts are often seeable within SHIELD, Pepper is not. Instead, the Stark Industries employee is slightly out of her element, made even more so by the fact that she wears jeans and a simple white blouse rather than her usual strict, professional wardrobe. She also is in flipflops, though she is still tall enough. She has been punctual, on-time, so she is standing at Anna's reserved tables with a beer of her own as she waits for a game. Or something.
"Ha-hah!" Thor roars at Anna. "Pitchers it is, my lady!" he adds, grinning happily. He strides into the bar, muscles bulging beneath a checkered polo shirt that's one, or two, sizes too small. It's probably Fury's. Stolen. For when he goes to the beach as a tourist... It could happen. Thor stomps along, headed for the tables and beer. Mjolnir is dropped with a reverberating thud onto the floor near a chair.
Steve is maybe not so punctual as Pepper, but he is there on time, ready for smiles and ~team bonding~ because he believes in that shit. "Sure, yeah, whatever you like," he tells Anna with a quick smile of his own. He's actually -- get this -- dressed down in jeans for the occasion, though he still has a checked button-down on. But the sleeves are rolled up? He winces a little as Mjolnir drops solidly to the floor, and finds a chair to slide onto.
Bruce is dressed in a faded blue dress shirt that you can barely tell is blue anymore, and a pair of khakis that are loose enough that he needs the belt to actually hold them up. Their cuffs puddle around his sneakers and get stepped on when he walks, as he does now, into the bar. But his shoes are tied, so that's something. He says, "Okay," with an easy(ish) smile on the subject of pitchers ... but still goes up to the bar to buy a cold ginger ale before hitting the tables, because ... Bruce.
It's a good thing that pool is cheap because Peter can't much afford anything too expensive at the moment. As for beer--? Not so much. It's obvious early enough that they're not kicking out the underagers that just want to play pool, which Peter is doing with his quasi friend, Flash Thompson. It's not something they have done regularly, but it at least gives Peter the excuse to be hanging out around Greenwich Village, which he's been doing a lot lately. Before curfew and the time he's to be back in Queens once more. He's got on his own pair of jeans and sneakers, and wears a longer sleeve shirt under some skateboarding t-shirt on top, showing his dedication to being on the cutting edge. The rebel.
Jane trails after Thor, her clothes (uniform? does she ever change?) hardly any better than his too-small polo. She did not dress up for the occasion, apparently. She draws out a chair for herself, flashing the lovely Anna a toothy grin. The thud caused by Mjolnir breaks a wince across her features. Gosh, that thing is heavy.
One of Anna's friends -- we'll call him Richard, because he's kind of a dick -- looks fascinated by the thump that Mjolnir causes when it hits the floor. He sidles over all nonchalant with beer in hand to study the hammer. He doesn't touch. Yet.
Anna's eyes go wide when she sees Thor, and she whistles long and low. It's a whistle that cuts through the chatter and tends to draw attention her way, particularly when she laughs. Peter may have heard this laugh before. "Wow, you can help me carry the next round, muscles. Pictures do /not/ do you justice. Thanks for coming!" She dimples particularly at Steve.
The last redshirt is in Coulson's mold: he says little, watches much, and starts racking the balls for pool.
Natasha is a bit fashionably late (but only a bit) in jeans and a fitted tee and boots that give her an extra inch or two just cause. The general once-over (twice-over, thrice-over) she gives the space before heading toward faces both familiar and un is habitual and subtle. "Did someone say 'round'?" she checks. "I'm in."
"Phil," Pepper greets with her own quieter smile and laugh, drawing to the table where Coulson starts to rack. "Challenge you to a game?" She even goes about getting a cue stick without waiting for the agent's answer.
No, no. It's a fake Coulson. Coulson-esque. Maybe even balding. Not actually Coulson. Understandable mistake. If Pepper would still talk to a NO-NAME NPC, then he'd be happy to say, "Sure."
Auburn hair glints in the low light of the bar, hanging in thick curls that swing just above the angle of a pale shoulder as Wanda slides along the edge of a table. A crimson dress flutters over her knees, clinging at flattening angles, and lengthy coat in a deeper red hangs over the back of a chair. She wears flat combat-styled boots. Her finger tips brush the felt as lightly as the smile touches her red lips, collecting a crisp stack of bills settled at the end of the table once she reaches it. A pretty smile accompanies a soft, "Well played," direct at Pietro's losing opponent. A shark lurks in these pool-table waters. It isn't the first loss of the evening.
Thor takes a pitcher and does what Norse gods to best: guzzles. Gulp-gulp! He wipes his beard with the back of his hand with a satisfied sigh and a grin. "That would be my pleasure," he replies to Anna. He pulls a chair free from the table and sits beside Jane with a solid thunk. Leaning back, and in the process making the chair squeak, his attention turns to the game already in progress. One arm moves to wrap itself around the back of Jane's chair.
Obviously Pepper said "hey" not Phil. Heeeey. And she is not prejudice against people with no-names. Instead, she chalks her stick, leaning against it to wait on the NPC when she finishes.
"Thor--" Steve starts to say, but he's already guzzling. He sighs a bit, in the rare position of being able to instruct the Asgardian on contemporary Midgardian habits. "You're supposed to pour it into a glass," he tells him with wry humor.
As the sparkle of laughter cuts through the bar, Peter's cue tip bounces off the cue ball awkwardly, eliciting a laugh and crowing jeer from Flash Thompson at the missed opportunity. Peter quickly gives Flash a half-smile of his bad pool skills and lets his friend line up at the table, moving back to their little table and starting to look around the crowded bar, eyes searching out the source of the laugh that struck a nerve.
Bruce claims one of the glasses at the table, so that he can make short work of pouring his ginger ale to foam into his glass, where he can at least pretend to fit in. "Good luck with that," he tells Steve, as glass clinks against glass and his eyebrows lift.
"Mmm?" Thor asks, mid-guzzle. He lets loose another happy, contented sigh before glancing at the pitcher... and then a glass... and then to Steve. "But, they're so tiny!" he complains.
Is Thor... yes. Jane's grin dimples with disbelief as she glances between he and Steve. "Can't take him anywhere," she jokes with and affectionate laugh as she reaches forward to claim an empty glass. She gestures with it to Thor - here, one of these, dear.
Thor takes Jane's offered glass with a sad face. He stares at it, unhappily.
"I'm sure you can conquer sipping, if you put your mind to it," Natasha puts in, sliding between bodies to grab at a glass for herself.
"The pitcher's supposed to be for everybody," Steve points out reasonably, though his humor lingers. He takes a glass of his own after everyone else has claimed one.
Bruce sips. Demonstratively. His eyes crinkle at the corners.
Jane gives Thor a gentle pat on his chest. "And they'll kick you out if you keep drinking from the pitchers," she warns.
Pietro isn't as polite as Wanda with her congratulations. He glances her way and simply tacks on a "Yeah" of agreement to her statement and smiles across the table -- though his smile is lopsided in a way that lends itself to being more of a smirk. "Good job," he adds, though that seems to be addressed more to Wanda than his opponent. He's dressed simply compared to his pool companion in fitted jeans and a deep blue t-shirt with a lightning bolt symbol printed on it in a way that's supposed to make it look all old and vintage. The wind-swept silver hair he sports is striking, though. He twirls his pool cue in an obnoxiously showy way, challenging.
"Well, that's why we got a couple of pitchers." Anna grins at Steve. Her short, dark hair is somewhat less distinctive than her laugh, but she looks familiar as well as sounding familiar. "If you drink it all, you have to get more," she adds to Thor.
Not-Coulson breaks neatly and proceeds to half wipe the table in a pretty appalling display of calculation and skill. He's no Hawkeye, here, but who would want to play pool with Hawkeye, anyway?
Richard, the other one, is still focused on Mjolnir. "So how heavy is that?"
"This is going to be a quick game," Pepper warns the Not-Coulson with a quick smile, moving forward to take her shot. She is even tall enough that it isn't hard for her, and doesn't have to position herself awkwardly to reach the cue. She sinks the first shot, missing the next.
Thor grumble-grumbles at Natasha and Steve, pitiful eyes in full swing. He seems about ready to rage some more before Jane tempers his appetite, or anger - maybe both. "I will avoid trouble," he says easily enough before pouring himself a glass. Like a normal person. He sets the pitcher aside and gulps the glass down with a few gulps, though. Apparently he's not one for sipping. Glancing up at Dick, he says, "It is not measured in increments you are familiar with," with a chuckle.
"I think it depends on who's picking it up," Steve says with a slight smile in Richard's direction. He reaches for the pitcher to pour for the ladies first, because he is that guy, and then whoever else is left before him. He probably has to move onto the next pitcher by the time he fills his own glass.
"How much beer does it take to get an Asgardian drunk?" Natasha wonders idly as she extends her glass to Steve for a quick fill before settling her attention on Jane Foster, she of the familiar face and file. She gives her a jerk of her chin, a nod of greeting. "Hi. Natasha. I heard you'd decided to come linger in the Big Apple." Curious eyes drift briefly to Thor.
Bruce seems to be taking his sweet time with his drink, probably because ginger ale will be much more of a pain in the ass to refill than anything that comes out of the pitcher. His dark eyes track idly over the pool players. Wanda catches his eye in a twitch of brows. It's all that red, twitching his inner green, maybe. "Is that what you heard?" he asks Natasha without quite looking back in her direction, something distinctly wry twitching his mouth.
Peter blinks once, and then twice as he recognizes the woman across the way at some of the other pool tables before he looks at some of the other company that she is with. A few of them he recognizes from their fame, despite being in civilian gear like he is. He steals a mozarella stick from the basket at his table and takes a bite while watching the Avengers and their friends get comfortable, shoot pool, and drink beer. "Hey, Flash-- I'll be right back, okay?" He makes like he's got to go to the bathroom, and heads that way to the back of the bar. He's probably just going to duck into a phone booth or something. He grabs a small knapsack on his way, taking it before Flash can even see he's taken his bag with him to the bathroom.
"Jane," sticks out her hand for Natasha, flashing another grin. She's in a good mood tonight, isn't she?! "Nice to meet you, Natasha." She asides encouragingly to Thor as he drains his glass: "Much better."
The SHIELD app on Natasha's smartphone sends up notification of a first-stage alert at SHIELD HQ. (There's totally an app for being an international superspy, right?) It could be nothing. Happens all the time. It is often a false alarm. There's no further information and no call for her to come back in. It is just -- informative.
"Steve," offers his hand next for Jane, all smiling and friendly-like. STEVE ROGERS YOU MAY HAVE HEARD OF HIM.
Natasha gives Bruce a brief, unfathomable look, then turns to fix a smile on Jane. "You, too." Her beer pauses halfway to her lips and then lowers again, sliding onto the table as she gives a distracted, frowning moment to her phone.
"We could find out," says Anna with a wide-eyed grin as she considers the pitcher of beer that Thor was drinking from.
"Probably, ma'am," Not-Coulson says to Pepper as he lines up his next series of shots. He misses the last, but he might've missed on purpose.
Dick lifts his voice to ask, "Can I try picking it up?"
"Agent Romanov is a very talented ally of mine," Thor explains, booming voice hesitant. He gives the woman a curious grin. When Steve moves over, he slaps the man on the back with a hardy grin. "Him I just like to fight," beside, preferably, though he doesn't elaborate on that point. Glancing at Dick, Thor replies, "I prefer you not touch hammer!.." with a growling yell. His expression turns stern. And then he grins and laughs. "Unless it is in the name of your science!" He gestures towards Mjolnir, indicating Dick should give it a go.
Or a jerk.
A minute or two after Peter disappears into the back of the bar, there's an audible *THUMP* on the front glass of the bar that's facing the street. When people look out at the front glass of the bar, they will see an upside-down Spider-Man clinging to the top half of the glass, his waist and legs out of sight. The blue and red webbed wonder knocks on the glass again to get the attention of the bar patrons, though it's hard to tell who he's really focusing on with those bug eyes. Except Anna. She might know who he's looking at as he calls through the glass, "Oh, uh-- hi there! Say, I was hoping that one of you could help me find my way to the S&W Art Gallery around here?! See, I lost my way, and I think I turned left at Houston (he says How-ston properly!) instead of right--"
It is such an awful lot of red. It is just for a heartbeat, but Wanda catches Bruce's gaze from beneath a flicker of long lashes, pale eyes intense. The smile that touches her lips edges broader. Hello. Then, she turns to walk back to her brother. "Shall we find you another?" She wonders, soft voice tinged with accent. "Or a drink?"
"Are pool shark skills required at SHIELD?" Pepper asks with some amount of humor, not seeming upset at all at the impending loss she is about to face. Instead, she finishes off her beer and steps forward to make her own shots. This time, she manages to make two before scratching by sinking the cue. "I think I am going to need another beer, though."
"Science? No. I leave that to--" Dick glances at Bruce and swallows his, "--ner--" to produce, "--other people." It isn't a very convincing substitute. With an expression of 12-year old glee, he rubs his hands together before wrapping his hands with care around the shaft of Thor's hammer. He gives it a good, clean jerk. Not much happens, and with the thump on the window, he doesn't try again. "--what the hell?"
Anna loses her smile and her eyes go wide. She laughs, but it is a bit brittle. "Wow. This town is weird. One of your friends?" she asks Steve.
Steve's attention is caught pretty quickly by the knock on the front window. Good ears and all that. "Uh," he replies eloquently to Anna. "No. Not -- one of my friends."
"Jane," repeats Jane, bobbing her head agreeably as she leans forward to shake. "Hi, Steve. Nice to meet you, too." She narrows her eyes a little at the Cap, but that's all. Whilst she's leaning over the table, she might as well grab a glass of beer -- wait, "Huh?" What is everyone looking at over her shoulder? She twists to see.
Hey, eye contact, plus an elusive smile? Cool. Bruce smiles, too, sipping his drink. Eye flirting is distracting, even if he is no Tony Stark. He misses the inscrutable look. He does not miss the masked man thunking against the window, though. Frowning faintly, he blinks. "I might have to second the weird," he says.
Natasha's head whips around to fix on Spidey at the window-thump with a bit more focus than is strictly called for. No weapon actually appears in her hand, but the level of focus suggests she might be considering it. After a tenseish moment spent identifying the thing on the window, she relaxes slightly, stands and slides her way around to Steve's side, phone lifted and tilted in his direction.
Suddenly, downward hanging Spider-Man points a finger directly at Anna through the window, leaving his other hand to cling to the glass by his fingertips. No, not you, Steve. Or you, Natasha. /You/, Anna. "Hey, wait a minute!," he calls through the glass, clear enough to be heard. Muffled, but heard. "YOU! Didn't I see you at a fire sale being held there the other night?! I did, didn't I?!"
"Pretty sure that's a public disturbance," Anna says with thin humor. She turns her back to Spider-Man. "City is full of crazies." LA LA LA. She palms her phone and squeezes out a quick text.
In the alley next to the bar, a car door opens and closes. A low-level unease registers on the Spidey-sense level.
Steve glances back at Anna, his brow knitting as Spider-Man points clearly at her. Then his gaze flickers down to the phone Natasha angles in his direction, and his brow furrows deeper. "Did they say anything else?" he asks her in a low voice.
Still swinging his pool cue around idly, Pietro turns his head to follow his sister's gaze over to Bruce. He does not smile. He stops twirling the stick to set the butt of it against the floor and glances around at the bar's patrons consideringly. "Maybe it is best to leave it alone for a little while." Quit while ahead. "Unless someone is feeling particularly /brave/." Or that. He opens his mouth to say something else to Wanda, then starts at the thumping Spider-Man. "New York," he says dismissively with a shake of his head. Weirdos.
"I'm really sorry I didn't call you after you gave me your number!" Spider-Man calls out, even as Anna turns her back on him, unafraid to just dangle there at the bar window and cause a big, huge scene. Because that's what he does. "I can't really carry a phone in this outfit, though! No pockets!" Ignoring the low level sense of danger that's nagging at him, he knocks a little louder this time, calling out to Anna once more, "Oh, hey! Did you ever find that alien tech you were looking so desperately for?! There's probably some up in China town-- if they can knock off Coach purses, I bet they can develop some pretty awesome knockoff alien tech for you!"
"What you see is what I've got," Natasha answers, voice light in contrast to the seriousness of the topic. "We'll know if it turns out to be anything more than mice in the ventilation ducts." She glances around the room, tucking her phone away. She's totally not eavesdropping on the upside down spandex'd boy.
Now Spiderman has, at least momentarily, captured Bruce Banner's attention. His dark eyes lift from his ginger ale as he turns in a creak of chair to narrow his eyes at the window. "Why is Crayola box over there asking our boffins about alien tech," he sotto voces to those nearest him at the table. Which may be Steve? Or Thor? Why would he ask either of them this question? And since when did he obtain a proprietary interest?
Natasha's phone beeps again: the situation at SHIELD HQ is now a level three, which happens infrequently enough to be of /some concern/. There's a problem in the labs and also a problem with, uh, shipping and receiving. That's code for prisoner transfer.
"I don't know if there is anyone brave enough to meet you across the table, Brother," Wanda muses, gaze lingering a little on Bruce before sliding on to the rest of the crowd. She folds the bills in her hand, slipping them into his palm as she moves past to collect her coat. Only to stop and stare at the weirdo. "This is a very strange city." Aliens? Missed Connections? This is a Craigslist hipster bar. Awesome.
Steve's gaze slides quickly to Anna as Spider-Man continues on the subject of her particular INTEREST in ALIEN TECH. ANNA, HOW COULD YOU. "I don't know," he says in a low voice in reply to Bruce. He looks back to Natasha's phone as he hears it beep again.
That low-level Spidey tingle spikes into a sudden siren of disaster: a man emerges from the alley and, in one smooth movement, brings up a -- what is it? He brings up /something/ to fire at Peter. Spider-Man's reflexes being what they are, he can dodge it. Almost. A nimbus of electrical energy crackles at his limbs, briefly numbing them. The window flashes as though Spider-Man was struck by a very tiny lightning bolt.
"I can't believe I'm being stalked by some weirdo in spandex," Anna says, laughing and not at all guilty. NOT AT ALL. DOES SHE SOUND TENSE? MAYBE? A dimple tucks at her cheek. She determinedly ignores the window and continues her texting, and so misses the little zap.
Jane looks a little pale as she twists back to the table. "I swear this kind of thing didn't happen as often in New Mexico," she mumbles under her breath, shifting her bum closer to Thor's side of her chair as she reaches forward again to finally claim a beer.
Given that she is in the process of losing so soundly, Pepper can spare some attention towards the window just at the exact moment that little electrical flash goes offer. Her breath catches in a quiet noise, and her voice lifts where she asks, "What was that?"
Thor stands up, staring at the conversation as it takes place - and while no one is looking he takes a gulp of beer from the pitcher. Mmm. Afterward, he wipes his beard and holds out his hand. Mjolnir jerks up into his hands, whether Dick is holding on or not, and walks towards the window. "What in Hel?" he asks the bolt.
"Yeah, that's my call," Natasha answers in response to Steve's look. Louder, she says, "Sorry, but I'm going to have to call it an early night." She glances toward Steve to add, "Want to give me a ride, Captain?" Her gaze drifts toward Thor, momentarily indecisive.
On that note, Natasha, Steve, Bruce, and Thor receive simultaneous priority alerts from their phones. Pick up, you guys. Pick up. Somewhere, Stark can't hear it over his music.
"Anyone left, sister," Pietro corrects with a briefly smug look, tipping his chin in gesture at their fat pile of money. This is probably a good time to give up the table. You know, before any accusations get flung around. "It is," he agrees with Wanda, then lifts his brows as there seems to be some...lightning? "The bug got zapped." Sort of.
As his spider sense spikes dangerously, Spider-Man jerks away from the window, twisting and turning in the direction of the stranger, "Oh, are you here to--" He's cut off, rudely, by the blue lightning bolt, even as it catches him. Seconds after the strike of blue energy, Spider-Man falls limply to the sidewalk in front of the bar, obviously falling past the window. "Ow," he says a little weakly, "That tingles." And works on coaxing some feeling back into limbs that have suddenly become uncommunicative.
Natasha does, almost instantaneously. "Romanov," she says shortly.
"What the--" /Steve/ does not curse like Thor does, but he's already standing when Natasha asks him for a ride. And then his phone is going off in a blare of pop confectionary. "Falling from cloud nine," Katy Perry croons from his pocket. "Crashing from the hiiiigh." Which is even /more/ cause for confusion, but at least he manages to pull it out of his pocket and answer it. (Give him points, okay?) "This is Rogers."
Bruce's phone is on vibrate, because he knew he was going to a bar. It hums against his leg. He glances across at Natasha, answering her phone, and Steve, answering his, even as he pulls his out of the pocket of his loose khakis. "We look subtle, guys," he asides to -- well, not Thor, Thor got up. He answers his "Hi," instead of sounding badass and saying 'Banner.'
Pietro has earned that smug look, even if their sharking methods are not entirely above board, he did win. Accusations are never fun. Wanda fingers curl in her jacket, tightening around it as she slides in the money into an inner pocket. "By what? Unlucky bug."
Jane's phone isn't ringing. She arches her bum off the chair to retrieve it from her back pocket anyway. All the cool kids are doing it?
Thor watches Spidey hit the ground with a tilt of his head. He pokes the thing in his ear and says, "Odinson," with a growl. "Be brief. I have urgent business." Which may be beer.
"Walk away," says the man with the bug zapper, keeping it leveled on Spider-Man and staying out of view of the window.
Anna is still texting, and her breathing is coming a bit quick as her eyes widen.
Jane frowns at her phone screen, apparently having missed a call from her mom. What? Ignore.
And from SHIELD HQ there comes this ominous radio call for back-up. "We've had a security breach, back-up needed, any and all available personnel. Headquarters compromised by an unknown number of unknown assailants. Surveillance is down, but reports indicate they've breached the lab where the Chitauri technology was being studied. Additionally, they may have intercepted and interfered with the transfer of Johann Schmidt." Things are not going well.
"Shit," says Natasha, succintly, with a fast glance around the room before she gives Steve a glance. Oops. Guess she forgot not to curse. Ride?
Jane's mom tries to ring again. Jane cancels the call and stuffs her phone back into her pocket. Whatever generic ringtone her phone came with starts to chime again, muffled under her bum. Go away, mom.
Bruce mouths 'an unknown number of unknown assailants,' without actually saying it into his phone, his eyebrows going up and then down. "Oh great, so actually we have no idea what," he mutters, and lowers the phone. He hesitates a moment, dark eyes straying across the bar. He glances at Steve in his moment's hesitation. Maybe this is because he is ~Captain America~. Maybe it is because the last time Bruce got in a mess he mashed Steve. Or, maybe -- the Schmidt thing. So many reasons.
Then, drawing a breath through his nose, Bruce stands up.
Thor listens to the person on his cellphone-ear-pepper-rig before tapping it. Mjolnir hums in his hand, crackling with energy that licks the floor beneath his feet. "Brother, I pray you are not a part of this," he says darkly. He turns to his buddies and says, "Rogers. What is your plan?"
As he feels feeling start returning to his limbs, Peter tilts his head up to look backwards at the guy with the fancy looking gun still pointed at him, "Hey man, listen. I didn't know she was your girlfriend, okay? And she gave me /her/ number. How was I supposed to know that the jerk she wanted to ditch was you?" He lifts his hands in mock surrender in the stanger's direction-- only he doesn't. A big glob of webbing goes for the guy's face, and the other shoots for a leg, which then Peter, /YANKS/ on to pull the gunman's feet out from underneath him completely.
"What about--" Steve is moving towards the door, because his motorcycle is out there. And so is Peter. "I can take one on my motorcycle," he says on the assumption that people will follow him. "Thor, could you maybe--" You know. Do that flying thing? HELLO BADDIE OUTSIDE WHAT ARE YOU DOING.
The civilians in the bar -- and the redshirts, those totally innocent redshirts hey Anna stop texting -- don't quite seem to know what to make of the shenanigans going on between mass phone calls and bug-zapping. Conversation is pretty much at a dead halt, and Thor's crackling hammer draws a lot of looks.
A raised hand deflects enough of the webbing for the gunman to get another shot off at Peter even as he goes down. The zap is brighter, splashing off the glass and washing over Peter in a teeth-clenching nimbus of electricity. It is ... probably not actual electricity, then. YOU ARE ON A SCHEDULE STEVE.
"Pest control?" Pietro suggests of the unlucky Spider-man's attacker, canting his head towards Wanda. He glances towards the group of people all subtly answering phones at the same time, before continuing to watch the goings-on outside the window along with some of the other civilians around. "This is more excitement than I was expecting."
Thor rolls his eyes, annoyed, and jabs Mjolnir at the window. A jolt of lightning, the real stuff, smashes the window and pounds the gunmen straight to the chest (unless he moves). "I like this planet less and less," he grunts while the hammer sizzles. "I can take one," he extends his hand and gestures for someone to join him in his big, burly, handsome arms. Who's it gonna' be? There's a grin and shimmer in his eye to boot.
Pepper is part of that classification of civilian, and she is largely silent as well as she looks between Steve and Natasha, as well as Thor and his hammer and the humble Banner. Then she reaches for her phone too, lifting it to her lips to tell the automated assistant, "Dial Happy." It responds, "I am sorry, Pepper. I am unable to process your request at this time."
Natasha is already out the door ahead of Steve, which must mean Bruce gets to cuddle close to the Asgardian. Lucky boy.
Gunman isnt' in view of the window, so unless Mjolnir can see through walls--.
Doing her best to ignore her ringing phone, Jane sends a quick look around those in the group. "What's... going on?" This doesn't seem like preparations for a bar-hop or anything else as innocuous as that. Probably joined by many in the bar, she ducks and squeaks as Mjolnir's bolt blasts through the window. "Where are you going?"
Maybe Spidey gets the bolt.
He looks pretty shifty, it's true.
"It's like watching a swarm," Wanda notes, flitting her fingers towards the scene at the window before drawing back to the phone-happy table. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. She suddenly grabs Pietro's arm as Thor's bolt of lightning comes crashing down, jumping a little. "Big sting."
"Right," Bruce says. He eyes Thor a little skeptically, even as he takes his glasses out of his pocket and leaves them on the table. Maybe someone will be nice and rescue them for him when he forgets he did this. "Try not to drop me, Thor," he says. "The whole collateral damage thing--" He glances at Jane and goes, "Uhm," because he has no idea how to explain. He smiles. "Someplace?" he says, and snags Thor's arm. Hi buddy. Wtf, your muscles are ridiculous.
Let's just say that Steve got really, really lucky and got a parking spot close to the bar. (This is a total breach of realism.) He swings on and waits for Natasha to hop on back as he gears up the engine. I GUESS WE ARE JUST LEAVING YOU SPIDEY SORRY THE GM SAYS I'M ON A SCHEDULE. Zooooooooom goes the motorcycle. He is a good driver.
Natasha clings tight. She is a good clinger.
Thankfully, Spidey is still /underneath/ the glass bar front when it explodes outward with a blast of lighting. He's too busy lying on the ground in pain after getting zapped a /second/ time by the futuristic tech. "Ow!" he calls out, "Hey, anyone catch the number of that lighting bolt?!" A red-clad hand reaches up to the broken window front, and Peter pulls himself up off the sidewalk, forcing his arms and legs to move as his bug eyes search out first Anna, and the guy with the gun.
"Leave immediately, Jane. I will meet you at your office when this is over," Thor says as he pulls Bruce close. He practically picks the man up and hefts him through the window. "I will try to be careful, Banner," he says. Mjolnir starts swinging. Woosh, woosh, woosh, woosh-woosh-woosh-woosh! They leave the ground with a lurch and soar into the air.
With that bolt of lightning, Pietro jumps and is suddenly standing in front of his sister, glancing down as she then grabs his arm, holding the pool cue like a weapon. What the hell was that. "A fleeing swarm," he observes of the phone-happy folks. "The bug lives," he notes, sounding a touch surprised as Spider-man stands.
"Dial happy," Pepper tries one more time, the phone responding without being able to connect to the number again and earning a low-murmured curse under the assistant's breath. Finally, she says sharply to the phone instead, "Call the police." "Dialing. Please hold." She looks from Anna to Peter as she starts walking to the broken window carefully.
Happy*
Bruce hugs Thor.
"Work," says Anna to Jane with a tense smile. She still has that thin humor pasted in place, but the strain is clear. She has her back to Spider-Man -- and she's even moving away from him. She heads to make her way to the back of the bar where a red EXIT sign indicates a side... uhm, exit that opens into the same alley that Spider-Man's attacker came from.
The guy with the gun is trading high-tech for low-tech. While he had previously been out of view of the window, even falling back to the alley when the Avengers made their exit, he advances in full view now that they are gone with gun leveled at Spider-Man. "Here's your number." Oh no. How will anyone ever stop him before he pulls the trigger. Who could be fast enough. His finger squeeezes.
Steve teleports out.
=NYC= Labs - Shield HQ - Midtown
Perhaps the shiniest area of headquarters, the labs here at Shield HQ are top of the line. There are a multitude of them for different scientific areas, both hard and soft, and are often staffed by various SHIELD scientists doing their country proud.
This room is set watchable. Use alias SHIELDLabs to watch here.
One by one the guards within the labs go down: some go entirely dead and some vitals merely read as unconscious. The surveillance is still down and no one as given any very clear report of what is happening. There are perhaps half a dozen -- no, eight now -- who no longer report. At least the scientists were out for the day.
The doors leading into that wing have been locked down, leaving Hill on the other side. A tech works with furious efficiency and attempts to bypass what are really their own safeguards, turned against them. This is the scene that will greet Natasha when she arrives: a lot of SHIELD agents standing around a door and ominous updates about casualties -- or fatalities.
Natasha arrives at a full run, skidding to a stop next to Hill with a deeply serious expression and a gun in each hand, though she's still denim-and-cotton-clad. "Situation?" she requests briskly.
Hill is in her SHIELD uniform. Because she was totally spending Friday night at work, as she is wont to do. Her gun's in hand, questionable as its utility against the forces of doom may be. "Night was quiet, Schmidt's transfer underway. Then everything went to hell. Surveillance is down in the lab where we were studying the alien tech, and on Schmidt himself. And everywhere now. The facility's been breached by hostile forces, though we haven't ascertained who they are yet. Presuming it has something to do with Schmidt, given the timing. We don't know how many men we've got down yet."
"I brought back-up," Natasha says, quietly serious. "So we'll hope they can take care of that situation. I'm more than a little worried about someone getting their hands on what's on /there/." She jerks her head toward the door, then fixes an annoyed look on the tech before muttering, "Isn't there another way into that room? Unsecure air vents or something?" Cause that's what SHIELD's ttly known for. Unsecure air vents.
"There are air vents," the tech not at work on the door says to Natasha, and shows her a schematic. "They were monitored though. They have the usual precautions." Laser-wires. Bombs. Nothing she can't avoid. "There's a path in, but--."
"--I'll have the door open in a few minutes."
And who knows what will happen in the lab in those few minutes? Natasha can certainly get in there faster -- if she doesn't fuck anything up on the way.
Hill frowns. Perhaps about the many holes in SHIELD air vent security. "Let's go," she says simply to Natasha. Adding, "You first." Presumably the super-spy is less apt to fuck up a bomb or something.
Natasha glances at Hill, professionally doubtful. Politely. "I'll go," she says. "I'll either get the door open or clear a path. Wait for my word." Because sometimes getting around laser wires doesn't mean /disabling/ them. She's tucking her weapons into hidden holsters as she speaks, gaze cast upward after the vents. She glances at Hill once more, gives her earpiece a quick, testing tap, and then starts the process of hefting herself into careful position.
Hill's eyes narrow, but she nods short. Because...yeah, tripping over a laser wire is not how she wants to end her government career. "We'll jump on your signal. Try not to blow up anything unnecessarily."
SHIELD security is /very good/ security. Natasha is forced to take her time in order to stay alive, and there are more than one close calls as she weaves through the vents. By the time she drops on the other side, all is silent in the labs beyond some distant mechanical noises. There's a door release on this side that she can pull and undo all the tech's hard work. The door will spring open, allowing Hill in.
Natasha wastes only a little time giving the room a check from her high perch before she flips her way into position to slide the release down. She puts her back to the wall, pulling her gun free as she starts a slow prowl around the room on the (relatively safe) assumption that Hill has her back.
Hill sprints through the door when it's opened. Which is, admittedly, a much more comfortable entry than weaving and bobbing around bombs and lasers. She tries to keep her back tight to the wall as well, gun out, though it's with more cop-like proficiency than any stealth. Whatever's in here, once that door opens, theoretically knows she's coming.
Other agents move in behind Hill and Natasha to secure doors after they check them. The alerts originated from the deepest, most secure labs -- and the rooms that they pass barely seem disturbed. The closer they get to the lab with the Chitauri tech, the more clear the metallic and mechanical noises become. There's a lot of clanking.
Natasha would mutter something pithy under her breath, but she's kind of focused on staying quiet. She moves on silent feet with thoughtless, habitual ease, working her way carefully but steadily toward the noise with the occasional wave or gesture to Hill in silent communication as they sweep the empty labs. When they arrive outside the lab in question she pauses for a moment to take stock, frowning at the noises from within.
Hill keeps pace some distance behind Natasha, dipping her chin in a short nod to the Black Widow when she catches her eye. Hill is not a notably stealthy creature, particularly as the other agents move in to clear the lab, so Natasha will hopefully get the jump on what the f is doing all that metallic clanking before they all bust in. The noises coming from inside that lab make her wince.
The noises are actually setting down just now, and there is a high-powered whine that spins up to a bizarre ZWOP. Then the noise level rises again. It sounds like big things are being moved in the lab.
Natasha draws in a deep breath, says a mental 'fuck it', and pushes her way forward with a brief wave to those behind her to linger back and listen in for a few moments. Are there lab benches and giant machines she can duck behind? In any case, she maintains her effort toward stealth, though she'll sacrifice it for a good view on what is actually happening. She keeps the line on her earpiece and mic open, transmitting freely.
Some of the broken pieces of technology that SHIELD brought in, ostensibly Chitauri tech, have reassembled into functioning automatons. Two robots work under the direction of a green-cloaked figure with his back to the door. They are doing /something/ to some of the lab equipment and it all looks pretty fucking technical, really. There's enough equipment and plentiful tables, lending reasonable stealth to their approach. There's less equipment in the lab than there should be, even discounting what has become the robots. Some of it has been taken.
Hill waits, those metallic clanking sounds growing louder and louder in her earpiece. None of what's transmitting back on Natasha's mic is particularly comforting.
Natasha waves the others forward, then spends a brief moment studying the robots in hopes of identifying a source of power. For all the things Natasha is, though, she is not actually a scientist, so she sticks with her strengths and slides her way closer to the green-cloaked figure instead. She moves with impressive speed to deliver a blow that would knock a normal man flat.
It is a testament to Natasha's training that the blow causes the man to stumble, because it hits with a /clang/ against metal armor which had not been visible from the back. The robots continue their work as the green-cloaked man turns to face her. There's a subtle noise to his movements, a hydraulic whine, that means his movements may be assisted -- or something. He strikes at her with a powerful backhand, but leaves himself open to any attack on the part of those behind her.
"Shoot to..." Where are the vital areas on a robot? Hill amends. "...disable as effectively as possible." She raises her weapon to aim a shot at the head of the figure Natasha is tangling with. For whatever good bullets may do against armored infiltrators and alien robots.
Natasha, superspy, is still a light little thing when it comes to, say, mechanically enhanced backhands. It's fortunate, then, that the noise of his movements provides warning, and her dodge is quick enough that it catches her halfway, sending her stumbling for footing instead of flying. She moves swiftly in response, dodging backwards and leaving plenty of room for Hill's bullets.
The armored faceplate and chest piece stand up to the battering of Hill's guns. Although one or two bullets pierce the thick metal, there is no blood. A clear fluid leaks and the caped figure advances. The two robots still don't care. They are getting another load of stuff ready for -- what, exactly?
With everything else going on the lack of blood probably shouldn't be jarring, but it is. "Concentrate fire on the subordinates!" Hill says, unable to come up with a more proper way of describing the robots. One of which she tries to shoot next, given that bullets don't seem to do much good against the armored, caped figure.
Natasha doesn't have the electric-shock benefit of her widow's bites at present, so she's stuck pulling two guns free as she stays clear of the caped figure's reach. She aims down first, aiming at knees, then shifts upward for armpits, where gaps in armor are most likely to be present.
Knees are such delicate things. "You DARE--." The man in the (?) caped suit of arm lifts his hand. Electricity snaps out, very like Natasha's bites, to nip at the air -- but they are moving on a delay, and metal grinds as clear liquid pumps from the holes. The shots to the knees cause him to grind to a halt, and shots fired in the armpits briefly arrest the arm's movements. Electricity sparks uselessly, at the wrong angle to hit her.
The subordinates fail to receive an update to their directives. As the agents fire on them, they just keep moving things. They are awful sturdy. Got anything bigger?
Hill holds up a fist to signal a halt to firing on the robots. Which appears to be a waste of ammunition. Her eyes flick up to the air vent, though more thoughtfully than with any sudden notion of fleeing. "We need grenades," she says into her mic. Maybe there's some ordinance on hand.
"Stop before this gets any worse," Natasha says, gun held level and, momentarily, silent. After a beat she clarifies, "For you."
A red light flashes behind the mask, sparking past the slits meant for eyes. Behind, the eyes aren't quite -- right. They don't look organic. They look mechanical. "You wish an explosion?" he asks Hill, and spreads his hands wide. Red light gathers beneath the the armor and spills where holes puncture metal. The voice cracks, distortion building as energy gathers. It no longer sounds quite so human, and increasingly gains artificial under and overtones. "Then Doom will provide." A whine builds, subaudible and swiftly rising.
(I'd run.)
Natasha does. She also yells, "/Move/," as she turns on her heel and takes off at a flat sprint.
That wasn't exactly what she had in mind. "Run!" Hill at least waits until the other agents starting fleeing before booking it herself.
As last out the door, Hill takes the brunt of the explosion. Although the lab does a good job containing it -- almost like it was designed to contain explosions when things get out of hand -- a wave of pressure, sound, and heat burst out of the open door and down the hall with a roar. Burning shards of shrapnel fling themselves after the SHIELD agents. The building's fire prevention measures kick in, dumping foam. It is not dignified, but it keeps things from getting out of hand. Other than the hiss of foam, all is suddenly quite quiet.
Natasha finds herself flat on her face, with an unpleasant bit of shrapnel embedded in the back of her arm. She groans as she pries herself up, and a few moments are neccessarily given over to checking on the working order of various bits and pieces before she moves to give the lab a tired check. Quiet. Well. That sucks. At least clean-up isn't her job.
Hill groans, but does not immediately get up. Ow, explosion. She is //not// a paste, at least.
This bar has a self-consciously divey decor: it tries very hard to suggest that it has been there for decades, if not centuries; it tries very hard to project an illusion of smoke-grunged pictures despite the reality of clear air. It's like someone took a snapshot of the place and then uploaded it to Instagram, and yeah, that probably means there are hipsters here.
The pool is cheap, though, and so is the beer.
It might be worth noting that the building is offset on both sides by dark alleys. They don't look like the kind of alley you want to hang out in. There is a car in one which has somehow improbably wedged itself in, probably for a delivery of some kind to the bar. Probably. Or maybe that isn't of note at all.
Anna, a dark-haired woman given to frequent (dimpling!) smiles, has claimed four tables for all those invited. She is not yet sure if she is being optimistic or not. She has only a few friends with her -- two other SHIELD henchies to bring the grand total of redshirts up to three. They are the no-names that people pass every day in SHIELD HQ: the beating heart of the organization. Anna, of course, is the laughing heart. The friendly heart. The, "Hey! Awesome! Glad you could make it. We were going in on pitchers of beer instead of bottles. That okay with you?" heart. With each new arrival, she looks more and more satisfied. Whee!
At least those redshirts are often seeable within SHIELD, Pepper is not. Instead, the Stark Industries employee is slightly out of her element, made even more so by the fact that she wears jeans and a simple white blouse rather than her usual strict, professional wardrobe. She also is in flipflops, though she is still tall enough. She has been punctual, on-time, so she is standing at Anna's reserved tables with a beer of her own as she waits for a game. Or something.
"Ha-hah!" Thor roars at Anna. "Pitchers it is, my lady!" he adds, grinning happily. He strides into the bar, muscles bulging beneath a checkered polo shirt that's one, or two, sizes too small. It's probably Fury's. Stolen. For when he goes to the beach as a tourist... It could happen. Thor stomps along, headed for the tables and beer. Mjolnir is dropped with a reverberating thud onto the floor near a chair.
Steve is maybe not so punctual as Pepper, but he is there on time, ready for smiles and ~team bonding~ because he believes in that shit. "Sure, yeah, whatever you like," he tells Anna with a quick smile of his own. He's actually -- get this -- dressed down in jeans for the occasion, though he still has a checked button-down on. But the sleeves are rolled up? He winces a little as Mjolnir drops solidly to the floor, and finds a chair to slide onto.
Bruce is dressed in a faded blue dress shirt that you can barely tell is blue anymore, and a pair of khakis that are loose enough that he needs the belt to actually hold them up. Their cuffs puddle around his sneakers and get stepped on when he walks, as he does now, into the bar. But his shoes are tied, so that's something. He says, "Okay," with an easy(ish) smile on the subject of pitchers ... but still goes up to the bar to buy a cold ginger ale before hitting the tables, because ... Bruce.
It's a good thing that pool is cheap because Peter can't much afford anything too expensive at the moment. As for beer--? Not so much. It's obvious early enough that they're not kicking out the underagers that just want to play pool, which Peter is doing with his quasi friend, Flash Thompson. It's not something they have done regularly, but it at least gives Peter the excuse to be hanging out around Greenwich Village, which he's been doing a lot lately. Before curfew and the time he's to be back in Queens once more. He's got on his own pair of jeans and sneakers, and wears a longer sleeve shirt under some skateboarding t-shirt on top, showing his dedication to being on the cutting edge. The rebel.
Jane trails after Thor, her clothes (uniform? does she ever change?) hardly any better than his too-small polo. She did not dress up for the occasion, apparently. She draws out a chair for herself, flashing the lovely Anna a toothy grin. The thud caused by Mjolnir breaks a wince across her features. Gosh, that thing is heavy.
One of Anna's friends -- we'll call him Richard, because he's kind of a dick -- looks fascinated by the thump that Mjolnir causes when it hits the floor. He sidles over all nonchalant with beer in hand to study the hammer. He doesn't touch. Yet.
Anna's eyes go wide when she sees Thor, and she whistles long and low. It's a whistle that cuts through the chatter and tends to draw attention her way, particularly when she laughs. Peter may have heard this laugh before. "Wow, you can help me carry the next round, muscles. Pictures do /not/ do you justice. Thanks for coming!" She dimples particularly at Steve.
The last redshirt is in Coulson's mold: he says little, watches much, and starts racking the balls for pool.
Natasha is a bit fashionably late (but only a bit) in jeans and a fitted tee and boots that give her an extra inch or two just cause. The general once-over (twice-over, thrice-over) she gives the space before heading toward faces both familiar and un is habitual and subtle. "Did someone say 'round'?" she checks. "I'm in."
"Phil," Pepper greets with her own quieter smile and laugh, drawing to the table where Coulson starts to rack. "Challenge you to a game?" She even goes about getting a cue stick without waiting for the agent's answer.
No, no. It's a fake Coulson. Coulson-esque. Maybe even balding. Not actually Coulson. Understandable mistake. If Pepper would still talk to a NO-NAME NPC, then he'd be happy to say, "Sure."
Auburn hair glints in the low light of the bar, hanging in thick curls that swing just above the angle of a pale shoulder as Wanda slides along the edge of a table. A crimson dress flutters over her knees, clinging at flattening angles, and lengthy coat in a deeper red hangs over the back of a chair. She wears flat combat-styled boots. Her finger tips brush the felt as lightly as the smile touches her red lips, collecting a crisp stack of bills settled at the end of the table once she reaches it. A pretty smile accompanies a soft, "Well played," direct at Pietro's losing opponent. A shark lurks in these pool-table waters. It isn't the first loss of the evening.
Thor takes a pitcher and does what Norse gods to best: guzzles. Gulp-gulp! He wipes his beard with the back of his hand with a satisfied sigh and a grin. "That would be my pleasure," he replies to Anna. He pulls a chair free from the table and sits beside Jane with a solid thunk. Leaning back, and in the process making the chair squeak, his attention turns to the game already in progress. One arm moves to wrap itself around the back of Jane's chair.
Obviously Pepper said "hey" not Phil. Heeeey. And she is not prejudice against people with no-names. Instead, she chalks her stick, leaning against it to wait on the NPC when she finishes.
"Thor--" Steve starts to say, but he's already guzzling. He sighs a bit, in the rare position of being able to instruct the Asgardian on contemporary Midgardian habits. "You're supposed to pour it into a glass," he tells him with wry humor.
As the sparkle of laughter cuts through the bar, Peter's cue tip bounces off the cue ball awkwardly, eliciting a laugh and crowing jeer from Flash Thompson at the missed opportunity. Peter quickly gives Flash a half-smile of his bad pool skills and lets his friend line up at the table, moving back to their little table and starting to look around the crowded bar, eyes searching out the source of the laugh that struck a nerve.
Bruce claims one of the glasses at the table, so that he can make short work of pouring his ginger ale to foam into his glass, where he can at least pretend to fit in. "Good luck with that," he tells Steve, as glass clinks against glass and his eyebrows lift.
"Mmm?" Thor asks, mid-guzzle. He lets loose another happy, contented sigh before glancing at the pitcher... and then a glass... and then to Steve. "But, they're so tiny!" he complains.
Is Thor... yes. Jane's grin dimples with disbelief as she glances between he and Steve. "Can't take him anywhere," she jokes with and affectionate laugh as she reaches forward to claim an empty glass. She gestures with it to Thor - here, one of these, dear.
Thor takes Jane's offered glass with a sad face. He stares at it, unhappily.
"I'm sure you can conquer sipping, if you put your mind to it," Natasha puts in, sliding between bodies to grab at a glass for herself.
"The pitcher's supposed to be for everybody," Steve points out reasonably, though his humor lingers. He takes a glass of his own after everyone else has claimed one.
Bruce sips. Demonstratively. His eyes crinkle at the corners.
Jane gives Thor a gentle pat on his chest. "And they'll kick you out if you keep drinking from the pitchers," she warns.
Pietro isn't as polite as Wanda with her congratulations. He glances her way and simply tacks on a "Yeah" of agreement to her statement and smiles across the table -- though his smile is lopsided in a way that lends itself to being more of a smirk. "Good job," he adds, though that seems to be addressed more to Wanda than his opponent. He's dressed simply compared to his pool companion in fitted jeans and a deep blue t-shirt with a lightning bolt symbol printed on it in a way that's supposed to make it look all old and vintage. The wind-swept silver hair he sports is striking, though. He twirls his pool cue in an obnoxiously showy way, challenging.
"Well, that's why we got a couple of pitchers." Anna grins at Steve. Her short, dark hair is somewhat less distinctive than her laugh, but she looks familiar as well as sounding familiar. "If you drink it all, you have to get more," she adds to Thor.
Not-Coulson breaks neatly and proceeds to half wipe the table in a pretty appalling display of calculation and skill. He's no Hawkeye, here, but who would want to play pool with Hawkeye, anyway?
Richard, the other one, is still focused on Mjolnir. "So how heavy is that?"
"This is going to be a quick game," Pepper warns the Not-Coulson with a quick smile, moving forward to take her shot. She is even tall enough that it isn't hard for her, and doesn't have to position herself awkwardly to reach the cue. She sinks the first shot, missing the next.
Thor grumble-grumbles at Natasha and Steve, pitiful eyes in full swing. He seems about ready to rage some more before Jane tempers his appetite, or anger - maybe both. "I will avoid trouble," he says easily enough before pouring himself a glass. Like a normal person. He sets the pitcher aside and gulps the glass down with a few gulps, though. Apparently he's not one for sipping. Glancing up at Dick, he says, "It is not measured in increments you are familiar with," with a chuckle.
"I think it depends on who's picking it up," Steve says with a slight smile in Richard's direction. He reaches for the pitcher to pour for the ladies first, because he is that guy, and then whoever else is left before him. He probably has to move onto the next pitcher by the time he fills his own glass.
"How much beer does it take to get an Asgardian drunk?" Natasha wonders idly as she extends her glass to Steve for a quick fill before settling her attention on Jane Foster, she of the familiar face and file. She gives her a jerk of her chin, a nod of greeting. "Hi. Natasha. I heard you'd decided to come linger in the Big Apple." Curious eyes drift briefly to Thor.
Bruce seems to be taking his sweet time with his drink, probably because ginger ale will be much more of a pain in the ass to refill than anything that comes out of the pitcher. His dark eyes track idly over the pool players. Wanda catches his eye in a twitch of brows. It's all that red, twitching his inner green, maybe. "Is that what you heard?" he asks Natasha without quite looking back in her direction, something distinctly wry twitching his mouth.
Peter blinks once, and then twice as he recognizes the woman across the way at some of the other pool tables before he looks at some of the other company that she is with. A few of them he recognizes from their fame, despite being in civilian gear like he is. He steals a mozarella stick from the basket at his table and takes a bite while watching the Avengers and their friends get comfortable, shoot pool, and drink beer. "Hey, Flash-- I'll be right back, okay?" He makes like he's got to go to the bathroom, and heads that way to the back of the bar. He's probably just going to duck into a phone booth or something. He grabs a small knapsack on his way, taking it before Flash can even see he's taken his bag with him to the bathroom.
"Jane," sticks out her hand for Natasha, flashing another grin. She's in a good mood tonight, isn't she?! "Nice to meet you, Natasha." She asides encouragingly to Thor as he drains his glass: "Much better."
The SHIELD app on Natasha's smartphone sends up notification of a first-stage alert at SHIELD HQ. (There's totally an app for being an international superspy, right?) It could be nothing. Happens all the time. It is often a false alarm. There's no further information and no call for her to come back in. It is just -- informative.
"Steve," offers his hand next for Jane, all smiling and friendly-like. STEVE ROGERS YOU MAY HAVE HEARD OF HIM.
Natasha gives Bruce a brief, unfathomable look, then turns to fix a smile on Jane. "You, too." Her beer pauses halfway to her lips and then lowers again, sliding onto the table as she gives a distracted, frowning moment to her phone.
"We could find out," says Anna with a wide-eyed grin as she considers the pitcher of beer that Thor was drinking from.
"Probably, ma'am," Not-Coulson says to Pepper as he lines up his next series of shots. He misses the last, but he might've missed on purpose.
Dick lifts his voice to ask, "Can I try picking it up?"
"Agent Romanov is a very talented ally of mine," Thor explains, booming voice hesitant. He gives the woman a curious grin. When Steve moves over, he slaps the man on the back with a hardy grin. "Him I just like to fight," beside, preferably, though he doesn't elaborate on that point. Glancing at Dick, Thor replies, "I prefer you not touch hammer!.." with a growling yell. His expression turns stern. And then he grins and laughs. "Unless it is in the name of your science!" He gestures towards Mjolnir, indicating Dick should give it a go.
Or a jerk.
A minute or two after Peter disappears into the back of the bar, there's an audible *THUMP* on the front glass of the bar that's facing the street. When people look out at the front glass of the bar, they will see an upside-down Spider-Man clinging to the top half of the glass, his waist and legs out of sight. The blue and red webbed wonder knocks on the glass again to get the attention of the bar patrons, though it's hard to tell who he's really focusing on with those bug eyes. Except Anna. She might know who he's looking at as he calls through the glass, "Oh, uh-- hi there! Say, I was hoping that one of you could help me find my way to the S&W Art Gallery around here?! See, I lost my way, and I think I turned left at Houston (he says How-ston properly!) instead of right--"
It is such an awful lot of red. It is just for a heartbeat, but Wanda catches Bruce's gaze from beneath a flicker of long lashes, pale eyes intense. The smile that touches her lips edges broader. Hello. Then, she turns to walk back to her brother. "Shall we find you another?" She wonders, soft voice tinged with accent. "Or a drink?"
"Are pool shark skills required at SHIELD?" Pepper asks with some amount of humor, not seeming upset at all at the impending loss she is about to face. Instead, she finishes off her beer and steps forward to make her own shots. This time, she manages to make two before scratching by sinking the cue. "I think I am going to need another beer, though."
"Science? No. I leave that to--" Dick glances at Bruce and swallows his, "--ner--" to produce, "--other people." It isn't a very convincing substitute. With an expression of 12-year old glee, he rubs his hands together before wrapping his hands with care around the shaft of Thor's hammer. He gives it a good, clean jerk. Not much happens, and with the thump on the window, he doesn't try again. "--what the hell?"
Anna loses her smile and her eyes go wide. She laughs, but it is a bit brittle. "Wow. This town is weird. One of your friends?" she asks Steve.
Steve's attention is caught pretty quickly by the knock on the front window. Good ears and all that. "Uh," he replies eloquently to Anna. "No. Not -- one of my friends."
"Jane," repeats Jane, bobbing her head agreeably as she leans forward to shake. "Hi, Steve. Nice to meet you, too." She narrows her eyes a little at the Cap, but that's all. Whilst she's leaning over the table, she might as well grab a glass of beer -- wait, "Huh?" What is everyone looking at over her shoulder? She twists to see.
Hey, eye contact, plus an elusive smile? Cool. Bruce smiles, too, sipping his drink. Eye flirting is distracting, even if he is no Tony Stark. He misses the inscrutable look. He does not miss the masked man thunking against the window, though. Frowning faintly, he blinks. "I might have to second the weird," he says.
Natasha's head whips around to fix on Spidey at the window-thump with a bit more focus than is strictly called for. No weapon actually appears in her hand, but the level of focus suggests she might be considering it. After a tenseish moment spent identifying the thing on the window, she relaxes slightly, stands and slides her way around to Steve's side, phone lifted and tilted in his direction.
Suddenly, downward hanging Spider-Man points a finger directly at Anna through the window, leaving his other hand to cling to the glass by his fingertips. No, not you, Steve. Or you, Natasha. /You/, Anna. "Hey, wait a minute!," he calls through the glass, clear enough to be heard. Muffled, but heard. "YOU! Didn't I see you at a fire sale being held there the other night?! I did, didn't I?!"
"Pretty sure that's a public disturbance," Anna says with thin humor. She turns her back to Spider-Man. "City is full of crazies." LA LA LA. She palms her phone and squeezes out a quick text.
In the alley next to the bar, a car door opens and closes. A low-level unease registers on the Spidey-sense level.
Steve glances back at Anna, his brow knitting as Spider-Man points clearly at her. Then his gaze flickers down to the phone Natasha angles in his direction, and his brow furrows deeper. "Did they say anything else?" he asks her in a low voice.
Still swinging his pool cue around idly, Pietro turns his head to follow his sister's gaze over to Bruce. He does not smile. He stops twirling the stick to set the butt of it against the floor and glances around at the bar's patrons consideringly. "Maybe it is best to leave it alone for a little while." Quit while ahead. "Unless someone is feeling particularly /brave/." Or that. He opens his mouth to say something else to Wanda, then starts at the thumping Spider-Man. "New York," he says dismissively with a shake of his head. Weirdos.
"I'm really sorry I didn't call you after you gave me your number!" Spider-Man calls out, even as Anna turns her back on him, unafraid to just dangle there at the bar window and cause a big, huge scene. Because that's what he does. "I can't really carry a phone in this outfit, though! No pockets!" Ignoring the low level sense of danger that's nagging at him, he knocks a little louder this time, calling out to Anna once more, "Oh, hey! Did you ever find that alien tech you were looking so desperately for?! There's probably some up in China town-- if they can knock off Coach purses, I bet they can develop some pretty awesome knockoff alien tech for you!"
"What you see is what I've got," Natasha answers, voice light in contrast to the seriousness of the topic. "We'll know if it turns out to be anything more than mice in the ventilation ducts." She glances around the room, tucking her phone away. She's totally not eavesdropping on the upside down spandex'd boy.
Now Spiderman has, at least momentarily, captured Bruce Banner's attention. His dark eyes lift from his ginger ale as he turns in a creak of chair to narrow his eyes at the window. "Why is Crayola box over there asking our boffins about alien tech," he sotto voces to those nearest him at the table. Which may be Steve? Or Thor? Why would he ask either of them this question? And since when did he obtain a proprietary interest?
Natasha's phone beeps again: the situation at SHIELD HQ is now a level three, which happens infrequently enough to be of /some concern/. There's a problem in the labs and also a problem with, uh, shipping and receiving. That's code for prisoner transfer.
"I don't know if there is anyone brave enough to meet you across the table, Brother," Wanda muses, gaze lingering a little on Bruce before sliding on to the rest of the crowd. She folds the bills in her hand, slipping them into his palm as she moves past to collect her coat. Only to stop and stare at the weirdo. "This is a very strange city." Aliens? Missed Connections? This is a Craigslist hipster bar. Awesome.
Steve's gaze slides quickly to Anna as Spider-Man continues on the subject of her particular INTEREST in ALIEN TECH. ANNA, HOW COULD YOU. "I don't know," he says in a low voice in reply to Bruce. He looks back to Natasha's phone as he hears it beep again.
That low-level Spidey tingle spikes into a sudden siren of disaster: a man emerges from the alley and, in one smooth movement, brings up a -- what is it? He brings up /something/ to fire at Peter. Spider-Man's reflexes being what they are, he can dodge it. Almost. A nimbus of electrical energy crackles at his limbs, briefly numbing them. The window flashes as though Spider-Man was struck by a very tiny lightning bolt.
"I can't believe I'm being stalked by some weirdo in spandex," Anna says, laughing and not at all guilty. NOT AT ALL. DOES SHE SOUND TENSE? MAYBE? A dimple tucks at her cheek. She determinedly ignores the window and continues her texting, and so misses the little zap.
Jane looks a little pale as she twists back to the table. "I swear this kind of thing didn't happen as often in New Mexico," she mumbles under her breath, shifting her bum closer to Thor's side of her chair as she reaches forward again to finally claim a beer.
Given that she is in the process of losing so soundly, Pepper can spare some attention towards the window just at the exact moment that little electrical flash goes offer. Her breath catches in a quiet noise, and her voice lifts where she asks, "What was that?"
Thor stands up, staring at the conversation as it takes place - and while no one is looking he takes a gulp of beer from the pitcher. Mmm. Afterward, he wipes his beard and holds out his hand. Mjolnir jerks up into his hands, whether Dick is holding on or not, and walks towards the window. "What in Hel?" he asks the bolt.
"Yeah, that's my call," Natasha answers in response to Steve's look. Louder, she says, "Sorry, but I'm going to have to call it an early night." She glances toward Steve to add, "Want to give me a ride, Captain?" Her gaze drifts toward Thor, momentarily indecisive.
On that note, Natasha, Steve, Bruce, and Thor receive simultaneous priority alerts from their phones. Pick up, you guys. Pick up. Somewhere, Stark can't hear it over his music.
"Anyone left, sister," Pietro corrects with a briefly smug look, tipping his chin in gesture at their fat pile of money. This is probably a good time to give up the table. You know, before any accusations get flung around. "It is," he agrees with Wanda, then lifts his brows as there seems to be some...lightning? "The bug got zapped." Sort of.
As his spider sense spikes dangerously, Spider-Man jerks away from the window, twisting and turning in the direction of the stranger, "Oh, are you here to--" He's cut off, rudely, by the blue lightning bolt, even as it catches him. Seconds after the strike of blue energy, Spider-Man falls limply to the sidewalk in front of the bar, obviously falling past the window. "Ow," he says a little weakly, "That tingles." And works on coaxing some feeling back into limbs that have suddenly become uncommunicative.
Natasha does, almost instantaneously. "Romanov," she says shortly.
"What the--" /Steve/ does not curse like Thor does, but he's already standing when Natasha asks him for a ride. And then his phone is going off in a blare of pop confectionary. "Falling from cloud nine," Katy Perry croons from his pocket. "Crashing from the hiiiigh." Which is even /more/ cause for confusion, but at least he manages to pull it out of his pocket and answer it. (Give him points, okay?) "This is Rogers."
Bruce's phone is on vibrate, because he knew he was going to a bar. It hums against his leg. He glances across at Natasha, answering her phone, and Steve, answering his, even as he pulls his out of the pocket of his loose khakis. "We look subtle, guys," he asides to -- well, not Thor, Thor got up. He answers his "Hi," instead of sounding badass and saying 'Banner.'
Pietro has earned that smug look, even if their sharking methods are not entirely above board, he did win. Accusations are never fun. Wanda fingers curl in her jacket, tightening around it as she slides in the money into an inner pocket. "By what? Unlucky bug."
Jane's phone isn't ringing. She arches her bum off the chair to retrieve it from her back pocket anyway. All the cool kids are doing it?
Thor watches Spidey hit the ground with a tilt of his head. He pokes the thing in his ear and says, "Odinson," with a growl. "Be brief. I have urgent business." Which may be beer.
"Walk away," says the man with the bug zapper, keeping it leveled on Spider-Man and staying out of view of the window.
Anna is still texting, and her breathing is coming a bit quick as her eyes widen.
Jane frowns at her phone screen, apparently having missed a call from her mom. What? Ignore.
And from SHIELD HQ there comes this ominous radio call for back-up. "We've had a security breach, back-up needed, any and all available personnel. Headquarters compromised by an unknown number of unknown assailants. Surveillance is down, but reports indicate they've breached the lab where the Chitauri technology was being studied. Additionally, they may have intercepted and interfered with the transfer of Johann Schmidt." Things are not going well.
"Shit," says Natasha, succintly, with a fast glance around the room before she gives Steve a glance. Oops. Guess she forgot not to curse. Ride?
Jane's mom tries to ring again. Jane cancels the call and stuffs her phone back into her pocket. Whatever generic ringtone her phone came with starts to chime again, muffled under her bum. Go away, mom.
Bruce mouths 'an unknown number of unknown assailants,' without actually saying it into his phone, his eyebrows going up and then down. "Oh great, so actually we have no idea what," he mutters, and lowers the phone. He hesitates a moment, dark eyes straying across the bar. He glances at Steve in his moment's hesitation. Maybe this is because he is ~Captain America~. Maybe it is because the last time Bruce got in a mess he mashed Steve. Or, maybe -- the Schmidt thing. So many reasons.
Then, drawing a breath through his nose, Bruce stands up.
Thor listens to the person on his cellphone-ear-pepper-rig before tapping it. Mjolnir hums in his hand, crackling with energy that licks the floor beneath his feet. "Brother, I pray you are not a part of this," he says darkly. He turns to his buddies and says, "Rogers. What is your plan?"
As he feels feeling start returning to his limbs, Peter tilts his head up to look backwards at the guy with the fancy looking gun still pointed at him, "Hey man, listen. I didn't know she was your girlfriend, okay? And she gave me /her/ number. How was I supposed to know that the jerk she wanted to ditch was you?" He lifts his hands in mock surrender in the stanger's direction-- only he doesn't. A big glob of webbing goes for the guy's face, and the other shoots for a leg, which then Peter, /YANKS/ on to pull the gunman's feet out from underneath him completely.
"What about--" Steve is moving towards the door, because his motorcycle is out there. And so is Peter. "I can take one on my motorcycle," he says on the assumption that people will follow him. "Thor, could you maybe--" You know. Do that flying thing? HELLO BADDIE OUTSIDE WHAT ARE YOU DOING.
The civilians in the bar -- and the redshirts, those totally innocent redshirts hey Anna stop texting -- don't quite seem to know what to make of the shenanigans going on between mass phone calls and bug-zapping. Conversation is pretty much at a dead halt, and Thor's crackling hammer draws a lot of looks.
A raised hand deflects enough of the webbing for the gunman to get another shot off at Peter even as he goes down. The zap is brighter, splashing off the glass and washing over Peter in a teeth-clenching nimbus of electricity. It is ... probably not actual electricity, then. YOU ARE ON A SCHEDULE STEVE.
"Pest control?" Pietro suggests of the unlucky Spider-man's attacker, canting his head towards Wanda. He glances towards the group of people all subtly answering phones at the same time, before continuing to watch the goings-on outside the window along with some of the other civilians around. "This is more excitement than I was expecting."
Thor rolls his eyes, annoyed, and jabs Mjolnir at the window. A jolt of lightning, the real stuff, smashes the window and pounds the gunmen straight to the chest (unless he moves). "I like this planet less and less," he grunts while the hammer sizzles. "I can take one," he extends his hand and gestures for someone to join him in his big, burly, handsome arms. Who's it gonna' be? There's a grin and shimmer in his eye to boot.
Pepper is part of that classification of civilian, and she is largely silent as well as she looks between Steve and Natasha, as well as Thor and his hammer and the humble Banner. Then she reaches for her phone too, lifting it to her lips to tell the automated assistant, "Dial Happy." It responds, "I am sorry, Pepper. I am unable to process your request at this time."
Natasha is already out the door ahead of Steve, which must mean Bruce gets to cuddle close to the Asgardian. Lucky boy.
Gunman isnt' in view of the window, so unless Mjolnir can see through walls--.
Doing her best to ignore her ringing phone, Jane sends a quick look around those in the group. "What's... going on?" This doesn't seem like preparations for a bar-hop or anything else as innocuous as that. Probably joined by many in the bar, she ducks and squeaks as Mjolnir's bolt blasts through the window. "Where are you going?"
Maybe Spidey gets the bolt.
He looks pretty shifty, it's true.
"It's like watching a swarm," Wanda notes, flitting her fingers towards the scene at the window before drawing back to the phone-happy table. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. She suddenly grabs Pietro's arm as Thor's bolt of lightning comes crashing down, jumping a little. "Big sting."
"Right," Bruce says. He eyes Thor a little skeptically, even as he takes his glasses out of his pocket and leaves them on the table. Maybe someone will be nice and rescue them for him when he forgets he did this. "Try not to drop me, Thor," he says. "The whole collateral damage thing--" He glances at Jane and goes, "Uhm," because he has no idea how to explain. He smiles. "Someplace?" he says, and snags Thor's arm. Hi buddy. Wtf, your muscles are ridiculous.
Let's just say that Steve got really, really lucky and got a parking spot close to the bar. (This is a total breach of realism.) He swings on and waits for Natasha to hop on back as he gears up the engine. I GUESS WE ARE JUST LEAVING YOU SPIDEY SORRY THE GM SAYS I'M ON A SCHEDULE. Zooooooooom goes the motorcycle. He is a good driver.
Natasha clings tight. She is a good clinger.
Thankfully, Spidey is still /underneath/ the glass bar front when it explodes outward with a blast of lighting. He's too busy lying on the ground in pain after getting zapped a /second/ time by the futuristic tech. "Ow!" he calls out, "Hey, anyone catch the number of that lighting bolt?!" A red-clad hand reaches up to the broken window front, and Peter pulls himself up off the sidewalk, forcing his arms and legs to move as his bug eyes search out first Anna, and the guy with the gun.
"Leave immediately, Jane. I will meet you at your office when this is over," Thor says as he pulls Bruce close. He practically picks the man up and hefts him through the window. "I will try to be careful, Banner," he says. Mjolnir starts swinging. Woosh, woosh, woosh, woosh-woosh-woosh-woosh! They leave the ground with a lurch and soar into the air.
With that bolt of lightning, Pietro jumps and is suddenly standing in front of his sister, glancing down as she then grabs his arm, holding the pool cue like a weapon. What the hell was that. "A fleeing swarm," he observes of the phone-happy folks. "The bug lives," he notes, sounding a touch surprised as Spider-man stands.
"Dial happy," Pepper tries one more time, the phone responding without being able to connect to the number again and earning a low-murmured curse under the assistant's breath. Finally, she says sharply to the phone instead, "Call the police." "Dialing. Please hold." She looks from Anna to Peter as she starts walking to the broken window carefully.
Happy*
Bruce hugs Thor.
"Work," says Anna to Jane with a tense smile. She still has that thin humor pasted in place, but the strain is clear. She has her back to Spider-Man -- and she's even moving away from him. She heads to make her way to the back of the bar where a red EXIT sign indicates a side... uhm, exit that opens into the same alley that Spider-Man's attacker came from.
The guy with the gun is trading high-tech for low-tech. While he had previously been out of view of the window, even falling back to the alley when the Avengers made their exit, he advances in full view now that they are gone with gun leveled at Spider-Man. "Here's your number." Oh no. How will anyone ever stop him before he pulls the trigger. Who could be fast enough. His finger squeeezes.
Steve teleports out.
=NYC= Labs - Shield HQ - Midtown
Perhaps the shiniest area of headquarters, the labs here at Shield HQ are top of the line. There are a multitude of them for different scientific areas, both hard and soft, and are often staffed by various SHIELD scientists doing their country proud.
This room is set watchable. Use alias SHIELDLabs to watch here.
One by one the guards within the labs go down: some go entirely dead and some vitals merely read as unconscious. The surveillance is still down and no one as given any very clear report of what is happening. There are perhaps half a dozen -- no, eight now -- who no longer report. At least the scientists were out for the day.
The doors leading into that wing have been locked down, leaving Hill on the other side. A tech works with furious efficiency and attempts to bypass what are really their own safeguards, turned against them. This is the scene that will greet Natasha when she arrives: a lot of SHIELD agents standing around a door and ominous updates about casualties -- or fatalities.
Natasha arrives at a full run, skidding to a stop next to Hill with a deeply serious expression and a gun in each hand, though she's still denim-and-cotton-clad. "Situation?" she requests briskly.
Hill is in her SHIELD uniform. Because she was totally spending Friday night at work, as she is wont to do. Her gun's in hand, questionable as its utility against the forces of doom may be. "Night was quiet, Schmidt's transfer underway. Then everything went to hell. Surveillance is down in the lab where we were studying the alien tech, and on Schmidt himself. And everywhere now. The facility's been breached by hostile forces, though we haven't ascertained who they are yet. Presuming it has something to do with Schmidt, given the timing. We don't know how many men we've got down yet."
"I brought back-up," Natasha says, quietly serious. "So we'll hope they can take care of that situation. I'm more than a little worried about someone getting their hands on what's on /there/." She jerks her head toward the door, then fixes an annoyed look on the tech before muttering, "Isn't there another way into that room? Unsecure air vents or something?" Cause that's what SHIELD's ttly known for. Unsecure air vents.
"There are air vents," the tech not at work on the door says to Natasha, and shows her a schematic. "They were monitored though. They have the usual precautions." Laser-wires. Bombs. Nothing she can't avoid. "There's a path in, but--."
"--I'll have the door open in a few minutes."
And who knows what will happen in the lab in those few minutes? Natasha can certainly get in there faster -- if she doesn't fuck anything up on the way.
Hill frowns. Perhaps about the many holes in SHIELD air vent security. "Let's go," she says simply to Natasha. Adding, "You first." Presumably the super-spy is less apt to fuck up a bomb or something.
Natasha glances at Hill, professionally doubtful. Politely. "I'll go," she says. "I'll either get the door open or clear a path. Wait for my word." Because sometimes getting around laser wires doesn't mean /disabling/ them. She's tucking her weapons into hidden holsters as she speaks, gaze cast upward after the vents. She glances at Hill once more, gives her earpiece a quick, testing tap, and then starts the process of hefting herself into careful position.
Hill's eyes narrow, but she nods short. Because...yeah, tripping over a laser wire is not how she wants to end her government career. "We'll jump on your signal. Try not to blow up anything unnecessarily."
SHIELD security is /very good/ security. Natasha is forced to take her time in order to stay alive, and there are more than one close calls as she weaves through the vents. By the time she drops on the other side, all is silent in the labs beyond some distant mechanical noises. There's a door release on this side that she can pull and undo all the tech's hard work. The door will spring open, allowing Hill in.
Natasha wastes only a little time giving the room a check from her high perch before she flips her way into position to slide the release down. She puts her back to the wall, pulling her gun free as she starts a slow prowl around the room on the (relatively safe) assumption that Hill has her back.
Hill sprints through the door when it's opened. Which is, admittedly, a much more comfortable entry than weaving and bobbing around bombs and lasers. She tries to keep her back tight to the wall as well, gun out, though it's with more cop-like proficiency than any stealth. Whatever's in here, once that door opens, theoretically knows she's coming.
Other agents move in behind Hill and Natasha to secure doors after they check them. The alerts originated from the deepest, most secure labs -- and the rooms that they pass barely seem disturbed. The closer they get to the lab with the Chitauri tech, the more clear the metallic and mechanical noises become. There's a lot of clanking.
Natasha would mutter something pithy under her breath, but she's kind of focused on staying quiet. She moves on silent feet with thoughtless, habitual ease, working her way carefully but steadily toward the noise with the occasional wave or gesture to Hill in silent communication as they sweep the empty labs. When they arrive outside the lab in question she pauses for a moment to take stock, frowning at the noises from within.
Hill keeps pace some distance behind Natasha, dipping her chin in a short nod to the Black Widow when she catches her eye. Hill is not a notably stealthy creature, particularly as the other agents move in to clear the lab, so Natasha will hopefully get the jump on what the f is doing all that metallic clanking before they all bust in. The noises coming from inside that lab make her wince.
The noises are actually setting down just now, and there is a high-powered whine that spins up to a bizarre ZWOP. Then the noise level rises again. It sounds like big things are being moved in the lab.
Natasha draws in a deep breath, says a mental 'fuck it', and pushes her way forward with a brief wave to those behind her to linger back and listen in for a few moments. Are there lab benches and giant machines she can duck behind? In any case, she maintains her effort toward stealth, though she'll sacrifice it for a good view on what is actually happening. She keeps the line on her earpiece and mic open, transmitting freely.
Some of the broken pieces of technology that SHIELD brought in, ostensibly Chitauri tech, have reassembled into functioning automatons. Two robots work under the direction of a green-cloaked figure with his back to the door. They are doing /something/ to some of the lab equipment and it all looks pretty fucking technical, really. There's enough equipment and plentiful tables, lending reasonable stealth to their approach. There's less equipment in the lab than there should be, even discounting what has become the robots. Some of it has been taken.
Hill waits, those metallic clanking sounds growing louder and louder in her earpiece. None of what's transmitting back on Natasha's mic is particularly comforting.
Natasha waves the others forward, then spends a brief moment studying the robots in hopes of identifying a source of power. For all the things Natasha is, though, she is not actually a scientist, so she sticks with her strengths and slides her way closer to the green-cloaked figure instead. She moves with impressive speed to deliver a blow that would knock a normal man flat.
It is a testament to Natasha's training that the blow causes the man to stumble, because it hits with a /clang/ against metal armor which had not been visible from the back. The robots continue their work as the green-cloaked man turns to face her. There's a subtle noise to his movements, a hydraulic whine, that means his movements may be assisted -- or something. He strikes at her with a powerful backhand, but leaves himself open to any attack on the part of those behind her.
"Shoot to..." Where are the vital areas on a robot? Hill amends. "...disable as effectively as possible." She raises her weapon to aim a shot at the head of the figure Natasha is tangling with. For whatever good bullets may do against armored infiltrators and alien robots.
Natasha, superspy, is still a light little thing when it comes to, say, mechanically enhanced backhands. It's fortunate, then, that the noise of his movements provides warning, and her dodge is quick enough that it catches her halfway, sending her stumbling for footing instead of flying. She moves swiftly in response, dodging backwards and leaving plenty of room for Hill's bullets.
The armored faceplate and chest piece stand up to the battering of Hill's guns. Although one or two bullets pierce the thick metal, there is no blood. A clear fluid leaks and the caped figure advances. The two robots still don't care. They are getting another load of stuff ready for -- what, exactly?
With everything else going on the lack of blood probably shouldn't be jarring, but it is. "Concentrate fire on the subordinates!" Hill says, unable to come up with a more proper way of describing the robots. One of which she tries to shoot next, given that bullets don't seem to do much good against the armored, caped figure.
Natasha doesn't have the electric-shock benefit of her widow's bites at present, so she's stuck pulling two guns free as she stays clear of the caped figure's reach. She aims down first, aiming at knees, then shifts upward for armpits, where gaps in armor are most likely to be present.
Knees are such delicate things. "You DARE--." The man in the (?) caped suit of arm lifts his hand. Electricity snaps out, very like Natasha's bites, to nip at the air -- but they are moving on a delay, and metal grinds as clear liquid pumps from the holes. The shots to the knees cause him to grind to a halt, and shots fired in the armpits briefly arrest the arm's movements. Electricity sparks uselessly, at the wrong angle to hit her.
The subordinates fail to receive an update to their directives. As the agents fire on them, they just keep moving things. They are awful sturdy. Got anything bigger?
Hill holds up a fist to signal a halt to firing on the robots. Which appears to be a waste of ammunition. Her eyes flick up to the air vent, though more thoughtfully than with any sudden notion of fleeing. "We need grenades," she says into her mic. Maybe there's some ordinance on hand.
"Stop before this gets any worse," Natasha says, gun held level and, momentarily, silent. After a beat she clarifies, "For you."
A red light flashes behind the mask, sparking past the slits meant for eyes. Behind, the eyes aren't quite -- right. They don't look organic. They look mechanical. "You wish an explosion?" he asks Hill, and spreads his hands wide. Red light gathers beneath the the armor and spills where holes puncture metal. The voice cracks, distortion building as energy gathers. It no longer sounds quite so human, and increasingly gains artificial under and overtones. "Then Doom will provide." A whine builds, subaudible and swiftly rising.
(I'd run.)
Natasha does. She also yells, "/Move/," as she turns on her heel and takes off at a flat sprint.
That wasn't exactly what she had in mind. "Run!" Hill at least waits until the other agents starting fleeing before booking it herself.
As last out the door, Hill takes the brunt of the explosion. Although the lab does a good job containing it -- almost like it was designed to contain explosions when things get out of hand -- a wave of pressure, sound, and heat burst out of the open door and down the hall with a roar. Burning shards of shrapnel fling themselves after the SHIELD agents. The building's fire prevention measures kick in, dumping foam. It is not dignified, but it keeps things from getting out of hand. Other than the hiss of foam, all is suddenly quite quiet.
Natasha finds herself flat on her face, with an unpleasant bit of shrapnel embedded in the back of her arm. She groans as she pries herself up, and a few moments are neccessarily given over to checking on the working order of various bits and pieces before she moves to give the lab a tired check. Quiet. Well. That sucks. At least clean-up isn't her job.
Hill groans, but does not immediately get up. Ow, explosion. She is //not// a paste, at least.