Apologies in Ale (Clint)

[aa_valkyrie]

It is Sunday evening, September 2nd, 2012. The dust from the attack and escape on Hydra has mostly settled, leaving the Avengers remaining from the battle to lick their wounds and regroup in the aftermath. The marks from the battle show fairly indelibly on Valkyrie, who perches on the end of the bed in what would be called her room -- but has more of the look of an armory. The shirt she wears is slashed, sleeves ripped from to not stick to burned skin that lingers on her side, and her hair is slightly lopsided. She sits polishing her sword to a gleaming tremble of spun metal and death.

Wounds have been licked in private, away from the press of Avengers, but when Clint returns to the mansion, he first seeks out this particular door. He has a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm, the slight outline of a bandage on his arm showing through the thin, black shirt he wears. He knocks, a quiet but sure sound of his knuckles against the Valkyrie's door.

"Enter," Valkyrie calls, lifting her face from her work. Dragonfang balances on her knee, whetstone grasped in her left hand.

Clint does without hesitation, slipping into the room but leaving the door open behind him. His gaze skims against the interior of Valkyrie's room, unlike his own, before focusing with a study on the Asgardian herself. "Valkyrie," he greets. "I came to apologize with beer. American tradition."

It lacks much character, other than the aged weapons strewn about and the boots kicked off near the foot of her bed. "Barton," Valkryie greets, lifting her head with a slight smile. Her gaze slips from his features to the offering at hand, brows rising slightly. "I cannot deny tradition, but I admit uncertainty as to what the apology belongs."

A flick of his finger indicates the general area of her side and that exposed skin, though Clint offers an explained, "That accident, there." He pauses, the corner of his eyes wincing subtly before he adds, "I hardly ever miss, and hitting an ally--. I am sorry."

"I believe I have heard the American soliders term it to be 'friendly fire.' It was a necessary, had you killed him it would have been damage well taken," Valkryie offers, lifting a shoulder in a half shrug with a touch of a feral grin. "I will take your beer, Barton. I will heal far quicker than a human ally and explosives are uncertain -- no matter how well your aim is." Then the matter will be behind them.

"Yeah, that's the military term for it," Clint confirms with a nod, one of the beers pulled easily from the cardboard and offered to Valkyrie by the neck. The glass is still cold, though it could be colder. "I shouldn't have missed."
The beer is accepted with a nod, her broad and blunted hands curling around the slim bottle.

"Salute," Valkyrie offers, lifting it before taking a swig. She doesn't seem to mind the temperatue. "I do not think you could have forseen the application of my boot to his sternum," she jokes.

A smile finally pulling at one corner of his lips, Clint says with a look of slow appreciation, "It was a pretty impressive use of your boot." He takes a bottle for himself, setting aside the pack and prying off the cap with a hiss. He salutes back, lifting it and drinking half before he stops.

"I have very large boots," Valkyrie suggests, lifting her chin towards her abandoned footwear with a slight smile. She takes another drink of her beer, tipping it back in long swallows to match his. Asgardian manners? Perhaps. "They have gotten much use. Your arrow was a thing of chaos, very fine."

"They have a saying in America about the size of shoes, but I don't think it would apply to you," Clint jokes lightly, a satisfied breath slipping past his lips as he pulls the beer away from them. "SHIELD designed it for me. It's been useful more times than I can count." He gestures with a lift of his brow towards a chair, waiting a moment before settling himself into it. "Do you only use the sword? Ever shot anything?"

"It seems as if it would be." A flit of Valkyrie's hand gestures him towards the chair, the draw of her chin sharp in agreement. Yes. Sit, of course. "I can use many things. Yes, I have shot. The time I have spent on earth would be -- more tedious if I had not tried new things. I prefer my sword best though or the spear."

"Want to shoot an explosive arrow?" Clint offers it with wry humor, his gaze sliding back over Valkyrie with a smile as he takes a slower sip of beer this time. He adds, "Once we have SHIELD back and my supply isn't so limited."

"I would not say /no/," Valkyrie agrees, the touch of teeth to her smile all a predator's delight. She sets her beer aside for a moment, sheathing her blade, then setting it and the whetstone out of the way. Mhm beer. "Before then would be an ill choice. I was given cause to test the Captain's shield, fascinating weapon as it is."

Clint makes an agreeable murmur in his throat, nodding before he says, "One of a kind. Nothing else in the world like it." A pause, and he tips the lip of his beer bottle to Valkyrie. "Lucky. Though, I wouldn't know what to do with it even if I tried."

Valkyrie grins, tapping her ring finger against the bottle. "I tried to put my sword through it. Exquisite as it is. Not even Dragonfang could penetrate it." She pauses. "I am sure the Captain would let you try, provided you asked nicely."

"I'll keep that in mind. I like my own toys, however," Clint answers with a smile. Are his words suggestive? They are, suggestively warm, for all the good that will likely do him.

"Most prefer their own weapons," Valkyrie agrees easily, lifting her bottle with a swallow. "One of the Valkyries I trained, long ago now. She was no bigger than," she pauses gesturing with her hand, "But she could take off the head of a Bilgesnipe with a wave of her axe."

Clint finds some humor in Valkyrie's response, for all that it is likely that she ignored his suggestion more than her answer. He finishes off his beer with one last gulp, replacing the empty bottle into the container as he leans forward in the chair to question, "What about your weapon? Can I try that?"

Brows rising mildly, Valkyrie swallows the last of her own bottle and sets it aside with a satisfied noise. "It would be of little interest, I am afraid. Dragonfang is bound to me alone by Odin's grace not unlike Thor's Mjholnir."

"You Asgardians seem to be so possessive of your weapons," Clint jokes, as if he isn't the same way with his own bow and arrows.

Valkyrie laughs, low and of a softer boom than Thor's bellows. "We have shed much blood on them to get them this way?" She suggest with humor that may not be made of a falsehood.

Clint does not seem to mind bloodshed, but as a SHIELD assassin, he'd be in the wrong line of work if he did. He only smiles at Valkyrie, a thing that attempts at being charming. "I'll have to work on that for mine," he says. A long moment passes in silence before he adds, "And thank you, for showing up. Can't imagine how badly it would have gone without you or Thor."

Her returning smile is without guile, although it not doubt lacks some charm what with her eyes still bright at the thought of bloodshed. "No doubt, you will manage with shots as you make," Valkyrie says with honest approval. Icy blue eyes sharpen in that silence, scaling the broad planes of his features looking for its cause. She shakes her head at his thanks. "You called. I will always answer if I am able. I took the cause, through blood or bone."

"Are you saying that you'll always answer when I call?" Clint asks with a light laugh, though he shakes his head slowly after. "Nevermind. Bad joke."

"Of course?" Valkyrie seems confused that this is a question.

"It was a pick up line." It's ok, Clint will be the one to explain these things to you. He pairs the explanation with a quiet smile.

Her eyes narrow to thin slits as Valkryie squints at him in confusion. "What did you presume to 'pick up?' You might try to lift me, but your mortal strength will not be enough."

Clint's brows lift, and some preverse humor causes him to explain, "No, to get someone in bed. A line to try to sleep with them."

"I do not understand this element of human seduction. Your women are instructed in elements so far separate that in their embodiment all both they would seem unhinged, but your language does not wish for you to be direct?" Valkyrie shakes her head, gesturing for another beer. "It is beyond my ken."

"It is only a way of flirting. Something silly and fun," Clint corrects, but he fetches her beer for her and hands it over. He smiles easily at her.

"A single line accomplishes getting someone to agree to fuck often, then?" In a twist of her hands, Valkyrie frees the cap from the bottle.

Clint jokes off-handedly, "No. It usually takes at least two or three for me."

Valkyrie cants her head. "That seems inefficient."

"How do Asgardians do it?" Clint questions, curiously.

"Ask Thor? I believe their statements of affection tend to be as abrupt as their personalities," Valkyrie suggests dryly.

"Oh, well." Clint casts a look over Valkyrie, considering in the tip of his head and the slight smile to his lips. He says, bluntly, "I think you are very attractive. And interesting." But, then he is turning for the door, not really pursuing that line.

Isn't she a becoming creature? All crispy with lopsided hair and burns and scars. Hello Clint. "Thank you for your kind words," Valkyrie says, a touch of humor in her voice, leaning back as she takes a swallow of beer. "Goodnight, Barton." That line is a hook and a miss.

"Goodnight." The beer is left for Valkyrie, and Clint pulls the door shut behind him when he goes.