(2014-12-04) Bullet-Time Cinematics
Bullet-Time Cinematics
Summary: Hawkeye and Domino catch up on some imminent street level violence, a mysterious woman, and the realization that in a matter of hours they're going to be on another planet. (Language Use)
Date: IC Date (2014-12-04)
Related: None
NPCs: None
Scene Runner: NA
Social/Plot: Plot

Another day, another job. Domino likes to keep things as free of complication as possible, which is largely responsible for her now being grumpy. Things in the Tri-City area have been anything but free of complication lately, the situation continuing to decline at a troubling pace. While she's not one to flat-out ask for help she does know a thing or two about utilizing resources for personal gain. And, if she plays her cards right, being a little more pro-active now will all pay off for her in the long-term.

That's why she calls Barton. No, he's not busy. Drop everything and come wait at the curb, look for the blacked out Jaguar.

Wide street tires slosh through the mixture of rain and melting snow as the British sports car pulls up alongside the curb, a window tinted dark enough to fall beneath the legal limit rolling down enough that a monochrome patchworked face can peer out into the world beyond. To the archer.

"Gonna stand out there all day or are you gonna get your ass in here?"

Not that she gave him that much time to react. Seconds, really. In a hurry, as always.


Yeah. Drop everything. Finish the pizza, polish off the beer, and -then- go out and freeze his ass off at the designated corner. Clint's bundled up, hands in his coat pockets to keep them warm. "That thing needs chains on the tires or you'll get zero traction in this." Is that a smirk? Absolutely.

Stepping off the curb, Clint opens the door and slides in, shutting it soon after, undoubtedly as the car begins rolling again. Good thing he's got good reaction time.

A glance is given to the driver, and with discretion being the better part of valor, Clint pulls the safety belt down and clicks it deliberately. "Where to?"


"I'll take my chances," she flatly replies in regard to the car's tires. Between the option of traction control and her own little tricks she's willing to roll with the risks.

The archer reaching for his belt isn't commented on. Dom's wearing her own. Not because of her driving, it's everyone else she doesn't trust. Vehicles tend not to last terribly long around her, though not for lack of her trying.

"Wherever," she replies in the same level tone while sliding (a bit literally) back into the flow of traffic. "A little privacy's the name of this game. We've caught a lucky break. The Mexicans are flipping their shit over our party back at the Shell. Swore death on our Tracksuit pals. Everyone's up in arms, they're gonna take it to the streets before the week is through. Full-on street-side mob warfare stuff."

Yeah. Real fortunate break, that.

"There's also the matter of our ghost girl. I generally like to know what to watch out for before it's going for my throat, thought you might be able to put some of those vast SHIELD resources to use before I turn into albinokabab."


Clint sits back in the seat, looking as if he's relaxing. Twitches of cheek clearly state otherwise, though he's not going to be the one to say anything. "That's good. So, we've got the hornets' nest stirred. Anything they do after that, they're going to be so disorganized that they're not going to be ready for anything we might throw at 'em." His gaze is out the front windscreen, his tones conversational.

"I have no idea who or what that was in there. And the fact that she disappeared after bleeding out all over me?" Clint shakes his head, "Couldn't find her yet. But I will." Even his clearance only goes so high.

There's a shift and the archer looks at Domino, a smirk rising to rest upon his face. "Guess what. We move. Tomorrow, 10:00. Drink your last six pack tonight and get a good sleep. Might be your last -good- sleep for awhile."


A thin smirk crosses blackened lips, Domino's expression turning somewhat malicious. "Everyone's going to be going for their biggest, most badass guns. Both sides will lead us right to their stockpiles. It'll be one helluva Christmas this year."

"Fortunately, I have something that should help. Part of why I wanted some face time. I really do cherish these little moments we share. So damn touching-did you just say we're shipping out tomorrow?" she interrupts herself, turning to stare back at the archer with her head pitched slightly forward. She holds for a second before turning forward and thunking her head back into the seat, icy blue eyes narrowing as she hisses out a "Jeezus. Thanks for killing the mood."

(Schedule update: Rest of evening reserved for cleaning guns and getting shit-faced. Don't confuse the Jack Daniels and the Hoppe's Number Nine this time.)


And that's exactly what Clint's thinking in terms of the turf war. They'll wander right in, and…

"I've been good." There's a pause before he finishes with a shrug, "Enough." Okay, there's another pause before he finishes, "For the most part."

Clint's gaze hasn't left the abino. "Not a day goes by that I don't think of you." And that came out with a straight face? The smirk remains, but this is most decidedly his 'game face'.

"Yeah. Tomorrow. Just got word myself. Our ride was caught up in something, but she's good to go. Things have been too quiet, so I'm concerned there's going to be another concerted attack. Which means," Yeah. Tomorrow.

Hawkeye's smirk turns to a grin and now shrugs, his attention returning to the windshield. "I don't know. I think the thought of real death just makes everything else just that much more… more."


Domino can read his expression well enough. He's been thinking about her. Daily..?

(He's not joking.)

"You're not joking."


The glance is as short-lived as her verbal response, choosing instead to focus on the road while hearing the guy out. Shit definitely just got real. In the end she thinks aloud "And here I thought you kids forgot about it. Saving the world must not be a top priority these days, though I can't say that I blame anyone for it."

(Deep breath… Okay.) "I've got a new trick we can bring to the field. Figured someone should know about this ahead of time. Doesn't do anyone any good if no one knows it's a thing we can do."

She finds a relatively quiet place to pull over but leaves the engine idling, pulling out her phone then swiping across the screen in the direction of the Jag's dashboard LCD screen. A second later and the screen comes to life, showing a still picture which is only slightly difficult to make out the details of. It's a shot from The Shell, with a certain black haired girl front and center.

"Remember the bullet Yuri gave me to off the competition with?" she asks with another sidelong glance, one brow hooked upward. "Check this shit out."

Sliding a fingertip across the phone's screen causes the image to zoom straight forward without any discernable loss of clarity. The image keeps getting closer and closer to the girl with the claws before the image goes dark, right at the level of her neck. A moment later the image reappears, zooming in a few more seconds on its way straight to the Mexican guy's face. Darkness follows once more, then there's a brief flash of light before the image zooms straight into what had been the back wall.

"Bullet-time cinematics just became a thing."


Domino's question gains a quirk of a smile before he's on to the topic of world saving, etc. "Yeah. SHIELD's given it a go. Only things have changed slightly. 'Tash has been away, so it's been dropped onto my lap. She's coming, but I'm team lead on it."

Which brings his attention completely around to see that bullet and the play it gives. Blue eyes stare at it and is grateful for the fact they've pulled off. Now he doesn't have to watch where they're going.

"Where the hell… is that from the Russians?" Or… "Damn. I want it. Yesterday." Immediately, Hawk can think of so very many uses for it that it surpasses those ten fingers and toes he's got. "Seriously, Dom. How many can you get?"


Now he's the team lead? She lightly nods once to this information, not seeming all that concerned or upset about the change."

"Right out of Yuri's personal toybox," Domino confirms. It's followed with a thin frown, admitting "Not a whole lot" while backing the image up until the mystery girl's face is filling the screen in high definition color.

"This is real bleeding-edge stuff from the Motherland, Yuri and Co have their hands in more cookie jars than I realized. Wiping them out may prove to be difficult. The upside is that they think they have control over me now that I'm on their payroll. I negotiated to have six of these as part of my signing on bonus. They're kind of big though, we're looking at the fifty caliber range with current tech, but software loaded into any modern smartphone can decode and format the footage for rotation on the fly. Pretty cool, huh," she finishes with another glance and smirk.

"I can have all six loaded and ready to roll before we depart. Might come in use at some point. And," she adds with a motion to the screen, "now you've got something to throw at the facial recognition program. Win-win."


"Damn, bros," Clint breathes. "Knew there was a reason I figured they're a better back than the Mexicans in Gotham. They have the better stuff to find when we raid." As much as he hates them. No, he hasn't forgotten what they did to him and isn't likely to.

"Yeah. Good call on that." Even if the caliber is a bit high for standard SHIELD issue, the R&D geeks will be able to do something about it in months. Maybe. "It's damned cool."

Though now, with the potential of facial recognition, Clint unbuckles and shifts his weight to pull his phone out. A couple of pictures are snapped of X-23 before that supposedly fatal bullet strikes and uploads it to a folder on his work machine. (Not just a dumb archer!) "We should get a hit soon."

"Now. Drive. Should probably talk about your next step with them, and are they going to care you're gone."


When the instruction to drive is given Domino slowly turns to look back at Clint, another mildly amused smirk having already settled into place. "Well yes, -sir.- And to think some people pay others to boss them around," she adds while tucking her own phone away, pulling back out onto the road a moment after.

"They'll just have to suck it if they have a problem with my being gone. I've got that part covered, don't worry about it." She'll just fly by the seat of her pants and let Lady Luck do her thing, as usual. "Making plans now seems kinda pointless, on count of us being -off of the planet- and all. In another week it may not even matter, being the eternal optimist over here."

"I don't know who's going to strike first between the two but everywhere from Brooklyn to Gotham is going to be a major fucking hot spot. Might be time to put those traffic cams to use."


"And if I hear a 'Driving Miss Daisy' comment, I'm gonna grind your gears." Which should hurt her more than it hurts the car. Clint smiles smugly, looking right at Domino before looking out front again as he puts his cellphone back.

Traffic cameras.

"I don't know what you're talking about. City's got the cams locked down to civilian use." Is he actually fooling anyone? Clint's not even trying. "If SHIELD could tap into them, it'd require a judge's order, a couple of tap requests from the federal government…

"Those drones, though."


"Be still, my cold, black heart," Domino mutters loud enough to be heard. It's promptly followed by a roll of her eyes. "Oh don't give me that bull. The planet's biggest security force can freely access the cameras on any cellphone on this rock but they need a court order for the goddamn -traffic cams?-" Pause. Blink. "Now you're onto something," she concedes with a two-fingered point in his direction.

There's a quick glance to the watch beneath her left wrist before she asks "So how'd you like to spend your last seven hours and twenty-three minutes on Earth? 'Cause I'm thinking 'drinks, darts, and donuts' followed by some heavy firearm petting and an evening which may or may not include actual sleep."

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