Vacation Time!

[onceinabluememe]

You've been planning this vacation for ages, down to the last detail and now it's time to go! Time to pack your bags and get on the road to wherever! Aren't you excited? Better savor that joy while it lasts, folks, because no vacation is without flaws and problems.

You know how this works. Comment with your character name in the subject line and any preferences you may have. Comment to others and use the handy dandy RNG to pick out your vacation spot;


1: Camping
2: Beach vacation
3: Foreign land
4: Cruise
5: Ski Vacation
6: Wildcard. Whatever you want.

And then pick out how hideous your vacation will be:

1: Lost luggage.
2: Lost tickets.
3: Missed your flight.
4: Flight is delayed. And delayed again. And delayed some more!
5: Lost room reservation.
6: Food poisoning.
7: Wild animals.
8: Forgot something important.
9: GPS/Map issues.
10: Poisoning by local wildlife.
11: The weather is horrible.
12: Wildcard! Make something up.

Comments

[nested]

[He can't help a quiet chuckle at that.]

Don't I always, Coulson? I thought you liked being kept on your toes.

--you could fight me for the shower.

[superbabysitter]

I do.

But I also like my showers.

And I could fight you.

[There is dry chuckle at the other end.]

And you'd lose.

Look alive. Target in a minute.

[nested]

[His reply is a soft chuckle. Oh, Clint knows how good Coulson is. There's a reason he's the handler, and it isn't just his impeccable dress and how polite he is to everyone.

He swipes his arm across his brow once more, and finds his sight lines again. His voice goes from their light banter to cold and serious.]

Understood.

[superbabysitter]

Let me know when you've made contact.

[Phil drops back into comm silence. For all the trouble that Clint can cause, he honestly wouldn't want to be paired with anyone else. He's frighteningly accurate for a mere human; and one of the few people who can make him laugh.

And considering how much time they spend with one another, it's always a good thing.]

[nested]

[He scans the crowd in the target area, very softly humming Chopin's Prelude in E Minor (he does it when he trains or listens to it, listening isn't an option here with Coulson in one ear), and stops, finding his mark. Coulson may catch the tail end of the note he was on as he goes back over comms, though his voice is still flat and emotionless, attuned to the mission.]

Contact confirmed. Hawkeye has eyes on target.

[His finger moves from being straight along the trigger guard, to crooking around the trigger itself as he waits.]


Clear to proceed?

[superbabysitter]

[Phil smirks, listening to the hum. It was something they both had in common, really; love of classical. While modern music had it's time and place, there is something about a good classical piece that can fit all moods.]

Take the shot.

[nested]

Copy that.

[Final adjustment. Clint breathes in, exhales, and depresses the trigger. The target drops with a spray of blood, screams start up down below, and Clint immediately begins to pack his things away with speed. He has thirty seconds to get out of his nest and down to street level. Equipment packed, he's on the move.

His voice holds some mirth to it.]

Care to call it, Coulson?

[superbabysitter]

Subject down.

[There is a pause]

And neutralized.

[Very, very dead. He smirks, moving himself, heading to their rendezvous point.]

Perfect shot. So where would you like to eat?

[nested]

[Clint grins as they meet up, and he tells him that. It was always nice to know how well you did on a mission. He adjusts his bag on his shoulder, casting a glance around to make sure there are no suspicious looks headed their way.]

There's that little joint a few blocks west from where we're staying. No idea what they serve there, but it smells good. I'm starving.

[superbabysitter]

Always discerning taste you have.

[Phil deadpanned, heading quickly to their car. He opened the trunk for Clint's gear, before getting behind the steering wheel.]

Luckily I think I know what you're talking about.

[nested]

It's a gift. [He stows his gear and climbs into the passenger seat.]

Haven't exactly been wandering around for fun. We've been tracking the target for three days straight.

[superbabysitter]

And the patience paid off, didn't it?

[Phil easily pulls into traffic, checking the mirrors once or twice to ensure they didn't have a tail. Contrary to what people might think, he doesn't drive the safest. Always a bit over the speed limit, always weaving between cars with minimum safe distance.]

---because they don't get to have a nice, calm dinner night. that would be boring >.>

[nested]

[Clint is used to the way Coulson drives. He actually likes it, he'd rather be weaving in and out of traffic than stuck tailgating someone if shit went sideways.]

It did.

[While Coulson makes sure they don't have a tail, Clint's eyes are forward and up around them, scanning rooftops and windows. He catches a reflection off of a window. Except with the sun where it is (his mind goes through the calculations in a matter of seconds, wind speed, trajectory, center mass) it's all wrong.]

Swerve right, now!

This is all your fault, Clint. Somehow.

[superbabysitter]

[Phil doesn't even flinch when Clint barks the order. The wheel is turned, cutting off three cars as he takes a hard right onto the nearest street.

Keeping his eyes on the street, he takes a hand off the wheel, slipping his gun out of it's holster, passing it to Clint.]

We don't have a secondary car stashed this trip.

[Something he had pushed for, but had been told was unnecessary. Hitting a button, the sunroof opened, giving Clint more room to look.]

Get your eyes up there, Barton.

[Phil's quickly making calculations, determining their best exit.]

To quote a great man, "It's not my fault!"

[nested]

[Clint slides to the left with the sharp swerve, reaching out to take Coulson's gun (flipping off the safety), and climbs up so he can peer out of the sunroof. It isn't his preferred weapon of choice by any means, but he'll have to make due.

He catches the reflection again, and aims for it. He doesn't flinch as the gunmen fires and the bullet pings on the roof inches away from his left shoulder. Another shot, closer this time.

He fires. His doesn't miss, and the guy falls out of the perch he'd been using.]

One unfriendly down. [He continues scanning.]

If this is your way of trying to get out of buying me dinner, it isn't going to work.

[ooc: I can type I swear.]

[superbabysitter]

Yes. I thought getting both us killed would be cheaper than purchasing you one meal.

[Phil touches his bluetooth still nestled in his ear, quickly reporting in the situation.]

I want a head count, Barton..

[Phil took another left turn, trying to find a less populated street. It would make them more vulnerable, yes, but the handler isn't interested in racking up any civilian casualties.]

[ooc: I believe you, I swear.]

[nested]

Never know, Coulson.

[Scanning.]

One sniper is down, no sign of another.

[But they've been made, there will be more.]

Do you see anything? [Two sets of eyes are better than one, especially when they're Coulson's.]

[superbabysitter]

Scanning.

[Phil sighs. He needs a strong coffee with alcohol in it, after this. A good bourbon would be nice. Catching movement out of his eye, he slows the car down, shifting lanes.]

Car coming up on our left that might be a problem.

I suggest we ditch the car soon.

[He'd rather be on foot; he isn't one to play fast and the furious in an Acura.]

[nested]

[His eyes land on the car just after Coulson mentions it.]

I'm on it.

[Sure enough, passenger side window is rolling down to reveal a semi-automatic rifle. He'd say that it wasn't fair, but Clint is hardly a terrible shot.

His would have gone right through the windshield, but it was bullet-proof glass. He aims for the grill instead, firing a few rounds into the engine, which begins to smoke.]

I'd definitely say-[He ducks back down as a hail of gunfire hits their vehicle, taking out the back glass.]-they're a problem.

Is this why we can't have nice things?

[superbabysitter]

[Phil presses his lips together. This is ridiculous, and he's a bit...put out, to say the least.

Letting out a breath, he quickly reaches over to put a hand on Clint's calf, squeezing.]

I'd hold on.

[The hand returns back to the wheel just as Phil slams his foot down onto the break, stopping the car suddenly. The move forces the other car to swerve. It gives Phil the time to throw the car into reverse and pull the parking break, sending the SHIELD vehicle spinning.

The minute they've completed a 180, Phil puts the parking break down and throws the car into gear, gas pedal hitting the floor.]

That should give us the time we need. You can access the trunk through the back seats--get your arrows.

[nested]

[He doesn't miss the hand on his calf, and the slight squeeze as Coulson gives him a warning. He reaches up with his right hand, gripping the side of the seat, fighting inertia as they spin around, and start forward again.

Ignoring the broken glass littering the backseat, Clint climbs into it. He's not in his usual gear, leather that would keep the shards from biting into his shins and forearms as he pulls down the seats to get at the trunk. Once he has the seats down, he crawls half into the trunk to grab at his gear.]

What's the play?

[superbabysitter]

I want you to take them out.

[The first time he had swept this street, he had seen a dead end ally way, with a chainlink fence down half way. Two doors on each side of it. Good exists for them, the ability to lose the pursuers if there were more, or Clint didn't take them all out.

Though the latter was highly doubtful.]

You know what to do.

[He took a hard right and pushed the car into the alley way, ignoring how it sparked as it hit various dumpsters. One day, this sort of thing won't seem so normal to Phil.]

[nested]

Understood. Sure you don't want me to leave anyone for you to talk to?

[It's almost joking, or as close as he gets in situations like this. He can feel small trickles of blood down his forearms and legs from where the glass has bit in (and embedded) in some places.

Grabbing his gear, he holds on as he swerves into the alleyway, and wriggles back out from the trunk after putting together the rifle. He pulls off his button down shirt, ripping buttons as he does and leaving him in a white tank top, and pushes the rest of the glass that hadn't broken off out of his way to set up his rifle.

Once their pursuers make a reappearance, he doesn't waste any time in aiming for the tires. Two shots, one for each tire, and the weight drops the car forward, the driver unable to control it at the speeds they were going. It swerves violently, crashing nose first into the side of one of the buildings.

Clint waits for the rest of them to get out, if they're stupid enough to try it.]

[superbabysitter]

I think they lost that opportunity the minute they ruined this car.

[Phil will be dealing with your wounds later, Clint. Grabbing his briefcase (which has a first aid kit in it--he's always prepared), he quickly phones in an update on the situation, before shifting the door open.

Pulling out his gun, he quickly slips out of the car, moving to put the door between him and the other guys. Dodging a few bullets, he takes a shot through the windshield; he wants to force them out.]

[nested]

It was a pretty nice car.

[Stunned as they are, with the front end smoking from the bullets he'd fired into the engine earlier, it does send the dazed passenger who had been firing at them out.

Clint puts him down with a neat hole in the center of his forehead.

He has to duck as the driver tries to take a few shots at him. There's also movement in the backseat, he spots a weapon.]

Another shooter in the backseat, coming out your way.