Clint, Janet
Aug. 22nd, 2012 10:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aa_natashaI do not often think about the Минута тишина. It has been so long since anyone has noticed. Clint hasn't in years.
Perhaps it is silly to cling to such a pointless суеверие. I do not need it. I am not that girl anymore. I have not been that girl for a very long time.
I am not even Russian anymore.
And still. It makes my shoulder blades itch to skip past it. It makes the back of my neck tingle. I do not like it.
However silly the новичок finds it.
http://aa.mudmagic.com/w/index.php/2012-08-20_Moment_of_Silence
SHIELD has a supply of sleek black cars, perhaps not quite as blend-in-able as something in a tan sedan, but inconspicuous enough and who ever heard of a spy leaving headquarters in a tan sedan? Clint is driving this one, and Natasha has long since called shotgun, which leaves only Janet for the pickup. The car waits by the curb, idling in a 'no parking' zone.
Clint is in jeans and a faded shirt, glasses covering his eyes with his knee pressed slightly against the wheel of the car. He says nothing, for all that he looks in the direction of the curb as he waits.
Muted, amber-toned light spills out onto the sidewalk and Janet clatters through the door, lugging a large suitcase with her. It's a swanky enough address to have doormen, ones who jog ahead of their residents intending to assist with their bags. "No, Franco, thanks! I got it!" Janet chirps, leaning close to the car to knock on the window and pantomime that the trunk should be opened. She does manage to get it into the back before sliding into the back seat of the car and scooting to the middle so she can stick her head between the front seats like an eager dog. "Hi!"
"Hey," Natasha says, slumped down in her seat in jeans and a grey tee. She twists her head slightly to watch Janet's progress, brows lifted just a touch. "Excited?"
Doing as instructed, Clint does open that trunk with a shifting of his body, offering a brief smile to Janet as she steps inside and greeting, "Hi." With sunglasses obscuring his eyes, the assessing and appreciative gaze that he gives to the woman as she settles into the backseat could pass for simply attention.
"Sure! I mean, nervous too, but it's good to finally be moving, you know?" Janet tucks her hands between her knees and grins. Dressed in slacks and a summer cardigan set, she looks the party of a preppy co-ed. "So, private plane? Or are we going commercial? Because this persona only travels first class, I'll have you know."
"Commercial," Natasha answers, brief as she gives Jan time to get settled. She watches the other woman in the rearview mirror as she answers. "You'll be up front. We'll be coach. We'll start worrying about cover when we hit our layover in London."
Janet's cheeks ball up as she grins and settles back in her seat, keeping her attention split between the other two. "Well, I suppose that's tolerable," she says easily.
"Mm," Natasha says, and then she falls silent with a brief glance toward Clint before she lets her head tip back into the seat and closes her eyes.
Clint meets her gaze, or rather, might meet her gaze if the angle and tilt of his head is any indication. He is the one who looks back to Janet with a serious line of his lips, his finger lifted to them in a silent indication before he proceeds to slump back into his own seat and wait.
Janet shifts forward again and opens her mouth to speak, only to be greeted by Clint's finger. She snaps her mouth closed, glances between them, waits approximately three seconds, then demands "What?"
"Zatknis," Natasha says, a touch sharp as she opens her eyes to crane her head around for a glance at Janet. "Shush."
A smile may crack on Clint's lips, but he doesn't laugh. Instead, he merely shakes his head slowly and maintains that silence.
Janet blinks and frowns, but sinks back in her seat to sit in confused silence. For a few more seconds. Then she shifts. And shifts again. And buckles her seat belt. And leans across the seat to look out the window before stretching with a grunt to pick at a piece of paper under Natasha's seat. And generally just fidgets incessantly.
Natasha looks annoyed, but as long as Janet remains silent, she says nothing. Her eyes flick sideways to Clint, and she gives him a quiet, exasperated look before settling her gaze forward again. Seconds tick by.
That smile lingers at the exasperated look, a shoulder rolling up in a helpless shrug that conveys likely more to Natasha than it does to Janet. It isn't like they warned her, that shoulder roll says.
Janet's lips twist and she pulls her feet up on the seat, sitting crosslegged so she can drum her fingers on her knee and waste at least another ten seconds. Finally she leans forward again and sticks her head between the seats to ask, "Ok, what does zatknis /mean/? Is this going to take much longer, because I totally could hit the loo if it is."
"We sit quietly," Natasha says, her voice level with forced patience. "I am sure you can manage two minutes." After a grudging moment she adds, "It is udachi. Good luck."
"If I can manage it, anyone can," Clint offers to Janet, looking over his shoulder back at the woman as she speaks again. Surely that is comforting reassurance coming from the sniper who spends hours and hours silent.
"Oh." Janet is not convinced this is not some sort of hazing ritual, but Natasha doesn't seem the type to haze. Clint, on the other hand... She eyes him, brow lifting in a shaped arch while a smile hides in the press of her lips. She settles back in her seat again and waits. A bit more sedately this time too. If you ignore the bouncing knee.
Natasha lifts her brows slightly at Clint, and her expression slides slightly amused as her lips settle into a small but genuine smile. She slides down in her seat and waits.
His smile is all charm where Clint's brows lift back in an innocent expression at Janet, his gaze obscured but lingering on her before he settles back into his chair. He meets Natasha's smile with a smaller one of his own, nudging her elbow with his lightly on the console between them.
Janet does manage to maintain two minutes of silence. She also manages to clean her nails, pick lint off her pants, go through her purse, and fluff her hair.
Ah, well. Silence /and/ stillness might be too much to ask. Natasha stirs the instant two minutes tick by and straightens in her seat, though she doesn't speak yet. She looks at Clint for a short, studying moment, then cranes her head to watch oncoming traffic.
Clint breaks the silence, calling to the back, "Have your seat belt on?" But, he is already throwing the car into drive, his own look over oncoming traffic as he finds a time to wedge into it and pull away from Janet's building.
Perhaps it is silly to cling to such a pointless суеверие. I do not need it. I am not that girl anymore. I have not been that girl for a very long time.
I am not even Russian anymore.
And still. It makes my shoulder blades itch to skip past it. It makes the back of my neck tingle. I do not like it.
However silly the новичок finds it.
http://aa.mudmagic.com/w/index.php/2012-08-20_Moment_of_Silence
SHIELD has a supply of sleek black cars, perhaps not quite as blend-in-able as something in a tan sedan, but inconspicuous enough and who ever heard of a spy leaving headquarters in a tan sedan? Clint is driving this one, and Natasha has long since called shotgun, which leaves only Janet for the pickup. The car waits by the curb, idling in a 'no parking' zone.
Clint is in jeans and a faded shirt, glasses covering his eyes with his knee pressed slightly against the wheel of the car. He says nothing, for all that he looks in the direction of the curb as he waits.
Muted, amber-toned light spills out onto the sidewalk and Janet clatters through the door, lugging a large suitcase with her. It's a swanky enough address to have doormen, ones who jog ahead of their residents intending to assist with their bags. "No, Franco, thanks! I got it!" Janet chirps, leaning close to the car to knock on the window and pantomime that the trunk should be opened. She does manage to get it into the back before sliding into the back seat of the car and scooting to the middle so she can stick her head between the front seats like an eager dog. "Hi!"
"Hey," Natasha says, slumped down in her seat in jeans and a grey tee. She twists her head slightly to watch Janet's progress, brows lifted just a touch. "Excited?"
Doing as instructed, Clint does open that trunk with a shifting of his body, offering a brief smile to Janet as she steps inside and greeting, "Hi." With sunglasses obscuring his eyes, the assessing and appreciative gaze that he gives to the woman as she settles into the backseat could pass for simply attention.
"Sure! I mean, nervous too, but it's good to finally be moving, you know?" Janet tucks her hands between her knees and grins. Dressed in slacks and a summer cardigan set, she looks the party of a preppy co-ed. "So, private plane? Or are we going commercial? Because this persona only travels first class, I'll have you know."
"Commercial," Natasha answers, brief as she gives Jan time to get settled. She watches the other woman in the rearview mirror as she answers. "You'll be up front. We'll be coach. We'll start worrying about cover when we hit our layover in London."
Janet's cheeks ball up as she grins and settles back in her seat, keeping her attention split between the other two. "Well, I suppose that's tolerable," she says easily.
"Mm," Natasha says, and then she falls silent with a brief glance toward Clint before she lets her head tip back into the seat and closes her eyes.
Clint meets her gaze, or rather, might meet her gaze if the angle and tilt of his head is any indication. He is the one who looks back to Janet with a serious line of his lips, his finger lifted to them in a silent indication before he proceeds to slump back into his own seat and wait.
Janet shifts forward again and opens her mouth to speak, only to be greeted by Clint's finger. She snaps her mouth closed, glances between them, waits approximately three seconds, then demands "What?"
"Zatknis," Natasha says, a touch sharp as she opens her eyes to crane her head around for a glance at Janet. "Shush."
A smile may crack on Clint's lips, but he doesn't laugh. Instead, he merely shakes his head slowly and maintains that silence.
Janet blinks and frowns, but sinks back in her seat to sit in confused silence. For a few more seconds. Then she shifts. And shifts again. And buckles her seat belt. And leans across the seat to look out the window before stretching with a grunt to pick at a piece of paper under Natasha's seat. And generally just fidgets incessantly.
Natasha looks annoyed, but as long as Janet remains silent, she says nothing. Her eyes flick sideways to Clint, and she gives him a quiet, exasperated look before settling her gaze forward again. Seconds tick by.
That smile lingers at the exasperated look, a shoulder rolling up in a helpless shrug that conveys likely more to Natasha than it does to Janet. It isn't like they warned her, that shoulder roll says.
Janet's lips twist and she pulls her feet up on the seat, sitting crosslegged so she can drum her fingers on her knee and waste at least another ten seconds. Finally she leans forward again and sticks her head between the seats to ask, "Ok, what does zatknis /mean/? Is this going to take much longer, because I totally could hit the loo if it is."
"We sit quietly," Natasha says, her voice level with forced patience. "I am sure you can manage two minutes." After a grudging moment she adds, "It is udachi. Good luck."
"If I can manage it, anyone can," Clint offers to Janet, looking over his shoulder back at the woman as she speaks again. Surely that is comforting reassurance coming from the sniper who spends hours and hours silent.
"Oh." Janet is not convinced this is not some sort of hazing ritual, but Natasha doesn't seem the type to haze. Clint, on the other hand... She eyes him, brow lifting in a shaped arch while a smile hides in the press of her lips. She settles back in her seat again and waits. A bit more sedately this time too. If you ignore the bouncing knee.
Natasha lifts her brows slightly at Clint, and her expression slides slightly amused as her lips settle into a small but genuine smile. She slides down in her seat and waits.
His smile is all charm where Clint's brows lift back in an innocent expression at Janet, his gaze obscured but lingering on her before he settles back into his chair. He meets Natasha's smile with a smaller one of his own, nudging her elbow with his lightly on the console between them.
Janet does manage to maintain two minutes of silence. She also manages to clean her nails, pick lint off her pants, go through her purse, and fluff her hair.
Ah, well. Silence /and/ stillness might be too much to ask. Natasha stirs the instant two minutes tick by and straightens in her seat, though she doesn't speak yet. She looks at Clint for a short, studying moment, then cranes her head to watch oncoming traffic.
Clint breaks the silence, calling to the back, "Have your seat belt on?" But, he is already throwing the car into drive, his own look over oncoming traffic as he finds a time to wedge into it and pull away from Janet's building.