by the c
carnival confab
rating: g
characters: Nick Fury, Sam Wilson
warnings: none
summary: Sam had probably heard of stranger things. Then again, it was a text from Fury telling him to attend the Annual Boardwalk Festival on Saturday with the simple instruction, "You'll know me when you see me."
'Probably' was pretty much the best word choice for that.
"Are you serious." Sam crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the elaborately outfitted pirate in front of him while festival-goers flowed around them.
"Do I look like I’m joking?" Nick Fury asked, bright purple plume bobbing over his one good eye. What Sam found most amazing about this whole picture was that he could say it with a straight face.
"No, that’s actually the scary part. Don’t you think a hook and an eye patch is a little excessive?” He refused to budge, mentally filing away the image for future use. Romanoff would probably forgive a few favors if he could get pictures.
"I like the hook," the former Director of SHIELD replied as a little girl in a mermaid costume stopped to blink at him, giggling when he gave a mock scowl and sent her scampering off again.
"And let me guess, it’s SHIELD tech with a taser or a mini-pistol or something just as nasty hidden behind it."
Fury stared at him, sighed, and put a hand on his sword hilt.
"Double action revolver. And for the record, it wasn’t my idea."
Sam blinked for a moment before breaking out into laughter, head thrown back and eyes watering by the time he took a breath.
"Whose was it? No, no, let me guess, Barton."
"Coulson," the older man deadpanned. "Man has a costume kink like no other."
"So the question is," Sam pointed out, still getting his breath back, "whether he had that before or after he started worshiping Captain America.”
"Word of advice, Wilson, there are some things you don’t want to pry into if you'd like to stay sane. Now," and he glanced at the celebrating crowd around them, "let’s go drink a pint of grog and discuss a few things. I’m on a tight schedule."
They got their drinks, talking in low voices about networks and agents and rogue labs to look out for, and before Fury went back to playing dead and Sam headed back to his sister’s place, he sneaked at least five prime photos of a velvet-clad Nick, frothy shirt, sword, and all, and slid open his contact list on the boardwalk home.
to: romanoff, n., hill, m., rogers, s.
attached: 1929.jpg, 1931.jpg, 1932.jpg
What does a pirate call his soldier friends? ARRRR-my mates!
rating: g
characters: Nick Fury, Sam Wilson
warnings: none
summary: Sam had probably heard of stranger things. Then again, it was a text from Fury telling him to attend the Annual Boardwalk Festival on Saturday with the simple instruction, "You'll know me when you see me."
'Probably' was pretty much the best word choice for that.
"Are you serious." Sam crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the elaborately outfitted pirate in front of him while festival-goers flowed around them.
"Do I look like I’m joking?" Nick Fury asked, bright purple plume bobbing over his one good eye. What Sam found most amazing about this whole picture was that he could say it with a straight face.
"No, that’s actually the scary part. Don’t you think a hook and an eye patch is a little excessive?” He refused to budge, mentally filing away the image for future use. Romanoff would probably forgive a few favors if he could get pictures.
"I like the hook," the former Director of SHIELD replied as a little girl in a mermaid costume stopped to blink at him, giggling when he gave a mock scowl and sent her scampering off again.
"And let me guess, it’s SHIELD tech with a taser or a mini-pistol or something just as nasty hidden behind it."
Fury stared at him, sighed, and put a hand on his sword hilt.
"Double action revolver. And for the record, it wasn’t my idea."
Sam blinked for a moment before breaking out into laughter, head thrown back and eyes watering by the time he took a breath.
"Whose was it? No, no, let me guess, Barton."
"Coulson," the older man deadpanned. "Man has a costume kink like no other."
"So the question is," Sam pointed out, still getting his breath back, "whether he had that before or after he started worshiping Captain America.”
"Word of advice, Wilson, there are some things you don’t want to pry into if you'd like to stay sane. Now," and he glanced at the celebrating crowd around them, "let’s go drink a pint of grog and discuss a few things. I’m on a tight schedule."
They got their drinks, talking in low voices about networks and agents and rogue labs to look out for, and before Fury went back to playing dead and Sam headed back to his sister’s place, he sneaked at least five prime photos of a velvet-clad Nick, frothy shirt, sword, and all, and slid open his contact list on the boardwalk home.
to: romanoff, n., hill, m., rogers, s.
attached: 1929.jpg, 1931.jpg, 1932.jpg
What does a pirate call his soldier friends? ARRRR-my mates!