En Route to and Across Madripoor, Friday Morning
Clint had been tempted to see if he could get a portal to Madripoor, but no, he had to sit and wait for a flight like he was some kind of normal person. The only good news was, he had time to leave a few texts and messages before having to board.
Yeah, that had been loads of fun.
When Clint got to the airport in Madripoor, he headed straight for customs. He hadn't gotten any crap in the US for not having any luggage besides a bow and some arrows, but he had SHIELD to thank for that. Here, he wasn't sure what he'd have to say, but it turned out to not be a problem at all. He'd barely made it off the plane before he found himself being flanked by security guards and hauled away from the crowd. They kept it professional and clean, taking him far enough away that no one would hear any screams, yells, or shouts, no matter how harsh the punishment.
That was good.
Clint only hesitated long enough to straighten his clothes when he was done dealing with the guards, heading out of the airport and into the muggy Madripoor air as quickly as he could. As he folded himself into a cab, he knew his greeting had been a test, but he wasn't sure who'd set it up.
"Take me to where the action is," he said to the cabbie. "Do you speak English?"
"It's Madripoor. I speak little bit of everything," the cabbie said, smirking at Clint as he rested his head against the back of the seat.
"Awesome. Then take me to the good stuff," Clint said, trying to relax. His ears were still ringing, even more than usual, and he was considering that maybe he shouldn't have headbutted that last guard when he started to doze off. After a little while, Clint was out soundly enough that he didn't wake up until he felt someone reach into his pocket and grab at his wallet.
Sigh, Madripoor, sigh.
Clint tried to push the cabbie away--weren't people supposed to rob cab drivers, not the other way around?--but with the cab stopped on the side of the road and the windows wide open, it didn't take long before Clint was outnumbered and, still dazed from passing out, outmatched. He managed to knock out the cabbie and one of the thugs, but the second scumbag snatched his wallet before Clint could get out from under the unconscious mess of bodies he'd created.
His passport was safe, along with the AMEX Black, but all his cash and other IDs were gone. This was why it was a terrible idea to send him on solo missions.
After swearing up a storm and dumping the unconscious asshats on the street, Clint didn't have much of anything... except a cab with a half a tank of gas. Well, he'd just have to find the action himself, wouldn't he?
[NFB due to distance, OOC okay. Adapted from Hawkeye #4. :D :D :D Warning for mentions of off-screen violence.]
Yeah, that had been loads of fun.
When Clint got to the airport in Madripoor, he headed straight for customs. He hadn't gotten any crap in the US for not having any luggage besides a bow and some arrows, but he had SHIELD to thank for that. Here, he wasn't sure what he'd have to say, but it turned out to not be a problem at all. He'd barely made it off the plane before he found himself being flanked by security guards and hauled away from the crowd. They kept it professional and clean, taking him far enough away that no one would hear any screams, yells, or shouts, no matter how harsh the punishment.
That was good.
Clint only hesitated long enough to straighten his clothes when he was done dealing with the guards, heading out of the airport and into the muggy Madripoor air as quickly as he could. As he folded himself into a cab, he knew his greeting had been a test, but he wasn't sure who'd set it up.
"Take me to where the action is," he said to the cabbie. "Do you speak English?"
"It's Madripoor. I speak little bit of everything," the cabbie said, smirking at Clint as he rested his head against the back of the seat.
"Awesome. Then take me to the good stuff," Clint said, trying to relax. His ears were still ringing, even more than usual, and he was considering that maybe he shouldn't have headbutted that last guard when he started to doze off. After a little while, Clint was out soundly enough that he didn't wake up until he felt someone reach into his pocket and grab at his wallet.
Sigh, Madripoor, sigh.
Clint tried to push the cabbie away--weren't people supposed to rob cab drivers, not the other way around?--but with the cab stopped on the side of the road and the windows wide open, it didn't take long before Clint was outnumbered and, still dazed from passing out, outmatched. He managed to knock out the cabbie and one of the thugs, but the second scumbag snatched his wallet before Clint could get out from under the unconscious mess of bodies he'd created.
His passport was safe, along with the AMEX Black, but all his cash and other IDs were gone. This was why it was a terrible idea to send him on solo missions.
After swearing up a storm and dumping the unconscious asshats on the street, Clint didn't have much of anything... except a cab with a half a tank of gas. Well, he'd just have to find the action himself, wouldn't he?
[NFB due to distance, OOC okay. Adapted from Hawkeye #4. :D :D :D Warning for mentions of off-screen violence.]