(Rather than write the same vaguedrivel, here is a pretty gif to inspire you, a link to the weather for the week, and a link to londonist, a great resource for all things London related. As always this post is open all week. Tag in, tag others, check back often!)
She nodded as though she'd expected the answer. "What about you? Is there a keeshond in your future? Or - what sort of dog might a consultant prefer? - perhaps a pointer? Good eyes and all."
"I got a retriever mutt back home actually. My neighbor kid takes care of him and sends me photos sometimes." That was, oddly enough for them, perfectly honest. Except for it being Kate Bishop who was the neighbor kid and she didn't precisely count as a kid, a neighbor, or anything but practically an Avenger.
"Ah. So you're not here only to see the dogs – and not dogs - but because you miss the one you left behind." Victoria's eyes were sharp, but not unkind, and her smile was small but genuine. "Are you mashed potatoes on the inside, Mr Barton?"
"Inside and out," he said, putting on a winning smile. Clint gestured to himself, aware of his physique. He was all muscle but when he stooped a little, his bulk seemed of the softer variety. An easy but effective transformation.
"If I remember correctly, the day we met, you told me your job involved calling people on their bullshit." Victoria deliberately looked him over, sharp eyes holding his again when she said, "I call bullshit, Mr Barton. Effective bullshit – I've no doubt a great many people underestimate you. But I was in HR."
"Well that's my working life, ma'am," Clint said with an obvious attempt at a charming smile. "I gotta play it like I'm everyone's friend until I can't be. Makes them comfortable with my presence."
"Now that sounds familiar." In her younger days, Victoria had developed a reputation among her – mostly male – colleagues as a ballbreaker, but with most everyone else, she'd had to cultivate a different image.
"Some. Mostly men who thought I was there to get them their tea." Victoria's smirk would've made most of those sorts shrink. In fact, many of them had, in one way or another. "It was a different time."
Clint smiled and wondered if the World Security Council had any openings because this woman probably met all the job requirements and then some. She was very impressive and probably smart enough not to send a nuke to Manhattan.
"Well, then thank Jesus for changing times, right ma'am?"
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"Then again, I met all types when I was working."
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"Well, then thank Jesus for changing times, right ma'am?"
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