londoncallingrpg

Hunting down these sorts of men, the kind who bought and sold the innocent, seemed to be a pet project for Bond, and while Q wasn't totally sure what had inspired the man's mission, he respected it.

The first time they'd followed a lead like this, it hadn't gone as hoped. Though this time around at least Q was prepared to play the part. Currently he was alone in the bar, deliberately dressed a bit younger than usual, his glasses swapped out for contacts, and his hair styled in a way that made him look younger.

Q looked young anyway, but like this he truly looked too young to be a bloody quartermaster.

This was just reconnaissance though. They knew their target frequented the bars on this street, and Q's job tonight was to simply catch his interest. He had tanner in his ear, Eve on his phone sending texts, and he wouldn't have been surprised if Bond was listening or watching as well. Though he was sure they were all bored out of their mind right now. There was no sign of their mark, and he was yet to be approached by anyone who might be involved in the ring. ...Or anyone, for that matter.

(OTA! Q is kinda on the job right now, so expect him to play a part, even if you know him. Your pup can be mistaken for the target, an associate of the target, or just get have a nice chat. If you're in the mood your character can even mistake Q for an actual possible victim/target. The choice is yours.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Looking through the window, Clint thought he saw the impending necessity of an extraction. Not even a SHIELD-level one but the sort of extraction female friends had sometimes requested with a date gone sour.

Raising his eyebrows, he made eye contact with Q through the glass and hoped Q knew enough BSL that he recognized what Clint was doing. Subtly, he put a a fist on top of a flat hand and gestured outward from his body. Did Q want help?

Q caught the look and the sign, and as he let the other man pull him back down into his seat, he offered Clint a subtle nod.

Clint was damned agile, for all that he was compact, even bulky. Had to be if he wanted to keep up with gods and supersoldiers while he only had a bow and arrow to his name. He used that now to maneuver himself right behind the guy and glare down at Q.

"I take you out to dinner and you're already running out on me?" he asked, eyes narrowed and voice hard.

"We were just talking," Q said quickly, feigning nervousness.

It was enough to prompt the man to let go of the Quartermaster's wrist, and Q used the opportunity to get up.

"I'll make it up to you," he promised, getting up close and personal with Clint, one hand on the other man's chest. "We can leave, if you like."

There was an ever so slight look of thanks in the young quartermaster's gaze, and that part wasn't an act. He very much didn't like physical confrontation.

"Of course we're leaving," he said, voice gruffer than usual. It was a pretty decent imitation of some of the guys in tracksuits that loitered around his building at home. Clint put on a snide look and glared at the man, committing his face to memory, and then took Q by the shoulder and steered him out.

"So do you need an escort to safety or whatever?" he asked, under his breath. "Or do you want to have a loud fight and split up? If it's the first, I know a place that does really good chicken tikka."

"I wouldn't say no to a meal," Q replied.

Though really, he just didn't want to risk being followed home by their target. Last thing he needed was Bond putting a bullet in the man before they had all the intel they needed.

"Are we splitting the bill or am I still your date?" Clint asked, falling back into his usual cadence now, all traces of Mr. Rough and Possessive thrown away for now in favor of being himself.

Walking along, he turned right until he found the Indian restaurant he'd discovered the other night. "What'd you get out of the guy?"

"I believe the date's over, but dinner is my treat," Q smiled. "As for the intel, not much- Just a number and a possible meeting. I'm worried this will eventually end with someone needing to go undercover inside."

Clint raised an eyebrow thoughtfully at that as they walked in but said nothing until after they'd been led to a table. "Did you get the impression that they were into...variety? Because I might know someone."

Someone with a very particular skill set who had played this game so many times that it was nearly old hat.

"A generous offer, but- I'm not sure six would go for it. Thank you though," he added softly.

OTA

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