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Slade. Attacking you while your guard is down is a cowardly act. No, I'm not going to off you from the bushes, kid. I have a place. I have a time. Bring a weapon, if you choose.

[Kid?]

you know i'm, like, thirty years old, right?

[Something like that. Comic book ages are vague.]

just to be clear, uh...this isn't, like, to the death, right? if it's not, i accept your terms, slade.

Edited 2020-12-01 22:05 (UTC)

'Like' thirty? I'm, like, sixty. Which makes me, like, twice your age. Kid.

[ Comic book ages are very vague. But he's taking notes. ]

You know you come back when you die here, right? No one ever explained that one to you?

give or take a few years. it gets weird because i was dead for a little bit.

i mean, i do know that. it's just i feel like the process of dying still sucks

but whatever. let's do this. let's hope you don't throw out your back in the process.

You too? How long did you stay underground for? If you lose, my back will be the least of your problems.

oh, no, i mean i just straight up died. my memory's still kind of spotty about it. then reality got altered and i came back. weird stuff.

um. i still don't know why we're fighting, beyond some arbitrary measure of 'proving myself'. what if i just refuse to go?

I was dead for weeks. Then some Romani pirate gave me leprosy. Brought me back to life but to a world where some alternate version of myself had taken my place. Weird stuff. And that's within your right. I'm not your dad. About the sweater. Any wings or extra arms I should take into account?

oh

and here i thought you were about to threaten me or something. just goes to show, i guess.

also, no. but you might want to think about making it, uh, a little more roomy. wouldn't want to end up tearing your precious gift.

seriously why are you giving me a sweater?? i barely know you

Sweaters stretch. Just how much pie do you plan on eating this Christmas?

i'm a werewolf. it sucks having to grow, like, two feet every night. not to mention all the fur that gets everywhere.

you should have a talk or something on how to dodge questions.

I'll put you down for a *very* stretchy sweater. And a lint roller.

...thanks.

are we still, uh, fighting? if i lose, do i no longer get my sweater?

[ Some directions to the Defiance HQ, also located in Bavan. ]

Yes. You lose the right to your sweater.

aw, man, my sweater.....

[Checking out an unknown location with a guy who wants to fight (and potentially kill) him without any idea why? Sure, he's had worse ideas. It can't be that bad if he's willing to give him a sweater, right?

(Is the sweater the reward? He can't tell.)

Clint readies a quiver (still woefully without any of his trick arrows), selects one of the bows that he's IOU'd from the nearby hunting store, and sets off from the apartment at around 4 PM.

The encroaching winter has pushed its darkness well into the afternoon, with the sun barely touching the horizon at this hour. On the one hand, longer nights means that Clint has more time to get acquainted with his new werewolf form. On the other hand, it means that he spends a majority of the daylight hours passed out on the couch, every fiber in his muscle aching.

When he reaches Defiance HQ, he slows in his pace, squinting between the hastily scrawled address on his hand and the glass-entombed structure. This couldn't be it. Could it? This seemed more like a modern corporate building than anything else he's seen in Bavan.

His brain (and experience) screams that this is some sort of incredibly obvious supervillain trap, that he should just turn around and leave while he can. His eyebrows furrow together as his gaze wanders from the buzzer at the entrance to the glimpses of furniture he can spot from his position outside.

Stark would be jealous. Clint tentatively pushes the buzzer with his thumb.]

Uh, hello? [He calls out, adjusting the strap on his quiver.] Anybody home? Got an invite to kick an old man's ass in exchange for a sweater.

[Yeah, that sounds...cool. Right?]

[ There's a stretch of time where Clint is left in the cold.

From his sidewalk view of the inside the building, he can see modern furniture, hexagonal paneling, and, in the distance, a nursery full of plants. There's a quote by Neil deGrasse Tyson above the door, 'knowing where you came from is no less important than knowing where you are going.'

Clint's got a good forty seconds to consider his life choices before the door swings open.

To start, he gets a lot of eyes, all black and gold and fluttering sporadically. Eyes on Slade's face, eyes on Slade's neck, eyes on the wall of muscle he calls his torso, eyes on his stomach... Most of these wouldn't be seen, but they're on full display because Slade is not only shirtless, but he's wet and barely covered with two towels (one being for his hair). Normally fluffy wings droop slightly with the weight of water. Drips fall from the tips of his horns. He's got a toothbrush halfway in his mouth and a look that doesn't say much of anything.

Give Clint another ten seconds to reconsider everything about his life, and then: ]

Didn't think you'd actually show up. Didn't realize sweaters meant that much to you. [ Granted, bristles and foam make that sound much more garbled. He takes a moment to step past Clint and spit into the grass. ] Wasn't very smart of you. Could have been a trap. Should have been a trap.

[ But it doesn't look much like a trap.

It looks like Slade's peaceful shower was interrupted by someone with a death wish. ( Not because Slade has any intention of killing him, but why else would someone accept a strange invitation from a strange man? )

He's getting points for bravery. Or stupidity. ]

Come in, if you're going to. This fight shouldn't take long.

[ The decision is left to him. Slade, meanwhile, doesn't make any indication that getting dressed is a priority — he's been more naked in less forgiving company. ]

...And you brought something. Good. Saves me the trouble of having to loan you one of mine.

[Oh, okay, this may as well be happening. Clint blinks, watching the water drip from Slade's wings and onto the floor.

Maybe he should've waited until the sun went down completely, but it's not a big problem. If they still plan on fighting, he just needs to bide his time. Make some small-talk.]

Yeah, well, I never did too well in school. [He says, slinging the strap of his quiver higher on his shoulder. He never even finished high school.] Besides, what kind of trap comes with the promise of a sweater?

[More importantly, this isn't about the sweater. It's about figuring out why this man he's (apparently) never met before in his life has invited him to fight over something that's definitely worth more than the sweater. To evaluate him as a foe? He's had his fair share of enemies, sure, but none of them ever invited them over so blatantly. And as far as he's aware, he hasn't pissed off anyone recently--besides interrupting Slade's shower, that is.]

If you didn't want me to come, you should've just said so.

[He follows after Slade, trying to look anywhere except the nephilim. Easy enough to do so, given that the interior of the Defiance HQ is entirely alien to him.]

Slade, right? What is this place for, anyways?

[ What kind of trap comes with the promise of a sweater? The kind that Clint fell for, clearly. Slade doesn't say this, however. Doesn't have to. If Slade was planning to trap him, tie him up, and toss him in a slowly-filling water chamber with no chance of escape, Clint sure gave him the perfect opportunity to do so.

But Clint isn't a Robin, and Slade saves his water traps nearly exclusively for them. ]

Served as a headquarters.

[ If Slade is going to welcome him in and beat his ass, might as well give him the tour first. Still in this state of undress, he starts up the stairs, which glow under their footfalls. ]

Defiance. Based out of New York. A team of superheroes, headed by yours truly. [ Before they get too far, there's a brief pitstop into what looks like a dressing room of some kind. Black and white costumes in various sizes hang from what look to be rotating displays. It gives Slade time to change into something less naked, and Clint is welcome to explore the space or hang out in the hallway. It makes no difference to Slade; he talks while he changes. ]

Power Girl, Ravager, Kid Flash... Jericho.

[ He hasn't gotten around to crafting a costume that fits his new monster form, so he settles for spare sweats and a t-shirt with holes where the wings should be. He's got plenty of those. Good for training. ]

[If Clint was transformed, his ears would've perked up at the word "superheroes". Slade is probably observant enough to notice that Clint's demeanor seems to shift slightly after he mentions it. Slade's throwing out a bunch of names, but Clint doesn't recognize any of them. He certainly hopes he'd have noticed if there was another team of superheroes besides the Avengers mucking around in New York City.

Different universe, then. He scrutinizes the costumes on display. In the back of his mind, he can't help but think that the black-and-white scheme is garish and non-practical--but, then again, he doesn't really have room to criticize. He wore a bright purple and blue costume for most of his career before he realized it'd probably be more practical to dress a little more low-key.

He doesn't react when Slade mentions Jericho. It's not something that Joey has mentioned, though the two have definitely implied some sort of excitement in their respective lives.]

No wonder everything's so shiny and hi-tech.

[Could this be a test, then? Better not make too many assumptions. Clint doesn't know how much Slade actually knows on him, and he doesn't want to give up any additional information. His current strategy is just to act dumb and pretend he doesn't know shit--at least, until he finds out exactly what's going on.

Maybe not the best strategy, but, hey, it's made people underestimate him before.]

Superheroes in New York? Huh. What'll they think of next?

[When Slade is finished changing, Clint glances back towards the nephilim. He waits for him to exit the changing room, then follows closely.]

Seems kind of lonely, being in this big headquarters all by yourself. Got anyone else living here?

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WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, CLINT BARTON. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 008.01.023.11 * HAWKEYE has joined 008.01.023.11 <hawkeye> this is clint barton, please leave a message. <hawkeye>** if you need something fixed in your apartment please just knock on my door or something, it's faster.