Obstruction of Thought | Vivian + Clint
Belligerence could only be expected, couldn't it? When a threat was imposed it was only instinct to return the favor, to mirror the movements of the unsuspecting adversary. The fact that the mercenary had been hired, by slight degrees (not in any way specific), to do what had been flashed to him in a brief slip up from his enemy was just a plus of the situation. A reason, a justification; no, if he confronted her, then that'd be on his own accord. You only went so far, didn't you?
There is windy darkness, with shadow billowing out over the city like the gauzy curtains of a window. They whip and churn like the stripes of a tiger through the rain forest, appearing and disappearing as suddenly as they go. City lights twinkle coldly over the bay, hanging like frozen fireflies in the violet autumn sky. Cool weather had set in - foreboding, still chill like the bony grasp of a corpse left under frost and decay.
Tonight was, inevitably, a night for confrontation. A night for the translation of thought and threat and a general understanding of the enemy that waited, and what they wanted. Clint lights a cigarette, almost meditatively, and leans against the wall in cool judgement of passerby. Darkness increases, and he is waiting, and people become sparse on the midnight road. City that never slept his ass; there were places no one save a few dared to go after dark. New York was a ghost town on the best of its days.
"Keep your eyes wide open, right? And you're a SHIELD agent." The mercenary calls quietly, conversationally, as he shakes off a bit of ash. He tilts his head, examining the darkness, feeling for the shifting almost undetectable presence of another. He'd seen here, and she'd seen him hadn't she? The agent knew he had been watching, and that was why she was here. "Who do I owe the pleasure?"
