Kenzi Malikov (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
onteamdyson) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kore_logs2012-11-04 12:08 am
onteamdyson) wrote in kore_logs2012-11-04 12:08 am
Entry tags:
You're totally jealous of Ricardio.
Who: Kenzi and Clint
What: If you can't get drunk with the people you live with, who CAN you get drunk with?
Where: That one house with all those secret agents
When: End of day six?
Warnings: Intense idiocy, alcohol consumption, ridiculouslness
If there was one thing Kenzi had gotten really good at during her time here, it was sitting upside down on the couch in the living room and staring up at the ceiling. Blankly. For hours. It usually happened around the time she'd burnt herself out running around on a sugar high, trying to find something to do that didn't involve technology. Just after dark. Too early to sleep, too late to be productive. Making faces into the cameras had just lost its appeal. She wasn't an expert on giant boxes that fell from the sky and would probably only get in the way if she tried to be productive and help, so couch it was.
With her legs over the back, bent at the knees, and her head hanging off the seat, Kenzi just kind of stayed there. Flopped over like a rag doll. Maybe if she was lucky, one of her roomies would be walking around shirtless.
She'd never seen Natasha without clothes. Her timing was never precise enough to catch Steve coming out of the shower. Seeing Phil shirtless would be like checking out some parental figure, so weird, that was a no. But there was one that was almost constantly sans-shirt. She didn't even have to try! Maybe just closing her eyes and wishing really hard would work.
... What the hell. Why not.
She squeezes her eyes shut and attempts to summon the hot archer guy. After a few seconds, she pops an eye open--
What: If you can't get drunk with the people you live with, who CAN you get drunk with?
Where: That one house with all those secret agents
When: End of day six?
Warnings: Intense idiocy, alcohol consumption, ridiculouslness
If there was one thing Kenzi had gotten really good at during her time here, it was sitting upside down on the couch in the living room and staring up at the ceiling. Blankly. For hours. It usually happened around the time she'd burnt herself out running around on a sugar high, trying to find something to do that didn't involve technology. Just after dark. Too early to sleep, too late to be productive. Making faces into the cameras had just lost its appeal. She wasn't an expert on giant boxes that fell from the sky and would probably only get in the way if she tried to be productive and help, so couch it was.
With her legs over the back, bent at the knees, and her head hanging off the seat, Kenzi just kind of stayed there. Flopped over like a rag doll. Maybe if she was lucky, one of her roomies would be walking around shirtless.
She'd never seen Natasha without clothes. Her timing was never precise enough to catch Steve coming out of the shower. Seeing Phil shirtless would be like checking out some parental figure, so weird, that was a no. But there was one that was almost constantly sans-shirt. She didn't even have to try! Maybe just closing her eyes and wishing really hard would work.
... What the hell. Why not.
She squeezes her eyes shut and attempts to summon the hot archer guy. After a few seconds, she pops an eye open--
no subject
Shooting Logan hadn't been on his plans; being threatened by the ice trucker wasn't the best moment of his life either. Or best choice so far since they had gotten there but it was a choice he had made. He was sticking to it. The archer had ended up passing out face first on his bed in the attic, wishing he would wake up somewhere else. Or just wishing he was just back home. Something Clint hardly wished for. It didn't offer any solitude -- the last memory he had of the helicarrier was watching it explode. The more recent memory was that he would arrive and Coulson wouldn't be there. He'd be left afloat, among strangers (and Natasha). He could just bury himself with work. That was always a logical option but he didn't really like working with other handlers other than Coulson. No other handlers could handle him if he was honest with himself. He drove them all off and the first one that asked what he thought about a scenario? What his opinion on a mission was, he naturally latched onto him. Clint didn't have anyone to trust in the world until Phil Coulson walked purposefully into his life and drove him to be better. To be a hero. Or just a gray spot in the universe. He wasn't the masked hero that Captain America was, but he still tried to get Phil to see him like that or something similar like that.
He was unconscious for about an hour and a half before he woke with a shout. Nightmares were nothing new in his line of work. But these weren't nightmares, he dreamt of being whole. Having all the answers and no doubt in what he was doing. It was being free of freedom and it was better than he would have imagined for himself. But at the same time, he knew the blood on his hands. The red in his ledger was growing day by day as an agent of SHIELD. There was no excuses for that. He didn't expect to come up with any excuses, he just wanted someone to tell him that he wasn't bad because of the things he did. It wasn't that much of a demand. Just a stupid demand. Clint wandered into the bathroom, showering off the day before sliding a puffy pink and white towel around his waist before settling down on the fact that he should something into his stomach, even if he didn't know what this place had to offer. If it had anything at all as he ended up going downstairs, towel still wrapped around his waist with his back turned towards one of their other wayward roommates before shuffling around the kitchen. He paused for a moment before looking over to her, brow arching a bit. "Well, that can't be comfortable there." Who was he to talk? He practically lived on roofs and in air vents.
no subject
She turned her head, twisting slightly to raise an eyebrow right back at him! "Neither can the inevitable draft you're gonna get when you open a cupboard."
A towel. Seriously? Maybe now would be a good time to start wishing for pizza, a way home, and a million dollars. Thank you, wish-granting gods of shirtless roomies!
"If you help me up, I can make grilled cheese." Because her spine had pretty much conformed to the shape of the couch by now. Her back was pretty sore, yeah, but she wasn't going to admit it. Instead, she just held her arms up patiently, hoping he'd give her a hand. "Not like there's anything else to do."