tushanshu | [001; video]

[When the video feed clicks on, anyone paying attention will be treated to the image of a man who looks wildly uncomfortable. He's dressed in local clothes—his options were change into the garb generously offered or sit in the bloody, wet suit that just happened to be his favorite and is now instead draped across the back of his chair and probably ruined forever along with most of his other stuff—and is wearing an expression that's a curious mix of frustrated and tired and dazed. Like he knows what's going on, but can't quite believe it.

He rubs his face before speaking, shoulders rising and falling with an inaudible sigh. Without fully raising his gaze to meet the camera, he says:]

My name is Phil Coulson. I just—

[He hesitates, thinking. How is he supposed to approach this? "Hi, I just died, it's nice to meet you all here in this afterlife I wasn't expecting?" Bright blue eyes flicker toward the keyboard, then dart back up, this time focusing directly on the lens.]

I arrived here a little while ago.

[And there it is, the versatile, thin-lipped little smile that those who know him already know so well. This time, it's meant to convey something akin to appreciation toward those who helped him, but it looks a bit pained. He's not sure he can help that.

Because, you know, his back is killing him. Pun completely intended.]

Just thought I would say hello.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Three guesses as to how she got here, Barton.

[wow could he sound any more unamused right now I mean really]

[She glares at Coulson, his tone making her raise the gun a fraction.] I got his address from the network and came to confirm his identity, signore.

[She's starting to sound like Henrietta.

Stand down. Triela places the badge carefully on the desk, and frowns at the tiny red smutch it leaves on her thumb.

Quickening heartbeat. Spiking adrenaline. Triela's grip on the gun tightens and she holds her breath.

Stand down.]

Edited 2012-09-30 19:09 (UTC)

How were you planning on doing that, when you don't really know who he is?

_{( His tone is mild; it's a simple question. But really, he's trying to decide whether to laugh or be stern, and the first impulse is dangerously close to winning.

He shoots Coulson a look that might be an apology. )}

Subduing him and then contacting you, signore. [She gives Clint a flat look that dares amusement, and then promptly looks away. She can feel her pupils dilating as the room brightens and loses focus again.

Exhale. Stand down. Stand-

In the brightness she can see darker patches on Coulson's suit. They don't smell like much. Mostly salt water. But underneath it all she can smell, or thinks she can smell, the permeating odor of blood.

Triela's face goes blank.

Exhale as you fire.

Up comes the Sig and she empties the remainder of the clip.]

Edited 2012-10-01 14:10 (UTC)

[Normally, Coulson would have been on the move as soon as he heard the words subduing him, but he's half-frozen in place because what the flying fu—

This is a nightmare, right? He can't die twice.

He stares at her gun for a half-second before diving out of the way. The bullets miss, but just barely. Once he has his bearings on the floor he rolls and aims his own weapon, fully intent on returning her oh-so-not-kind gesture.

Except it won't fire.

Can't say he's surprised, but. Shit.]

Clint, tell her to stand down!

Triela!

_{( Clint really isn't in the practice of yelling. Hushed whispers on comm-links, that's his normal mode of communication. But as soon as he sees what's happening his voice rings out like a shot, and he doesn't even realize it's the first time he's called her by her name.

He sees that blank look on her face and gorge rises in his throat, and then he hears Coulson's voice and the panic gives way to something harsh and efficient. He knows how far away Phil's place is, knows how Coulson can take care of himself, so he bets on that before cutting the feed, grabbing his bow, and running like hell. )}

Please don't die again, Coulson. _{( But that's said under his breath. )}

Edited 2012-10-01 16:25 (UTC)

[She drops the gun and goes into motion, covering the distance between them in a zig-zag faster than an ordinary person could manage. Triela twists into a kick and pulls a knife at the same time -

And pauses for a breath as she misses Coulson and demolishes a stone sculpture resting on a small table next to him. The table clatters over.

Confusion.

Move.]

[Okay.

A normal teenage girl should not have been able to do that. He wonders if he's dealing with another modified human, someone who's been given some variant of the super soldier serum—

But he doesn't wonder for long, because he needs to focus on not getting his ass kicked. Which... if she is some kind of super soldier, yeah. That's going to be difficult.

His hand snaps out and grabs her wrist, and he moves behind her in an attempt to twist her arm.]

[She moves with him, using her own arm as a fulcrum to flip straight again in a swirl of weighted cloth. She darts the knife at the big veins in Coulson's arm, an encouragement to let go, before she twists in close with the blade angled to open up his heart.]

[Somewhere in the fray, he forgot about his gun. It's sitting on the floor amid the rubble from the sculpture, and he has an idea.

He lets go and moves back a step, then two, with his hands up.

The gun may not work, but he can still hope to God that vaulting it—and some of the debris—with his foot at Triela will distract her long enough for him to grab the side table by its legs and take a good swing at her head.]

[Triela throws up an arm to block the debris, dust in her eyes less of an obstacle than for some, but still lowering her available visibility.

She goes by sound when she turns her free hand to seize the flat of the table and wrench it out of Coulson's grip.

His improvised weapon gets thrown over her shoulder as she reverses her grip on the knife, face still empty of empathy or aggravation.]

Edited 2012-10-01 19:08 (UTC)

_{( The first arrow flies as a warning, landing at the spot between Triela's feet. The second follows in an instant, aiming for the fabric of her collar. Clint's hoping it'll pin her against a wall, as he enters the room. His expression is carefully blank, there are three more arrows already balanced between his fingers, reading to fire.

He looks over at Coulson and gives him a nod--thank you for being alive, sorry about the wreck in your apartment. And then he turns back to Triela. )}

Hey, kid. Look at me.

[For someone prepped and ready to react to gunfire, the arrow throws Triela completely off-guard. She starts to turn, and the second arrow slams through her trench collar and into the wall - she's moving to snap it when Clint speaks and she freezes.

There's outward sign that she recognizes him, but she's at least unmoving.]

[Phil relaxes as soon as the first arrow appears in his field of vision. That means this is over, right?

—and just like that, before he can even take a full breath, Triela's tacked to the wall and Clint's nodding at him and he's just going to go over to a chair and sit down before his knees give.

It's been a long time since he's felt this shaken.

Once he's in the chair, he sets his head down in his hands and starts counting breaths. Clint can handle this. All of it. In fact, Phil's not even sure he wants to speak to either of them—certainly not Triela—until the world stops threatening to twist out from under his feet.

So it might be a while.]

_{( Clint winces a bit, at Coulson's actions. He's probably going to have to buy the other agent a drink or two later to make up for this. But Phil isn't his primary concern, so its on Triela that his focus remains.

He snaps in front of her face. )}

Hello? Anyone in there?

[She twitches, jerking back and starting to reach for Clint's hand with one of her own, with the intent to seize and break fingers. Until she realizes who it is. Where she is.

It's not hard for her to figure out what happened, based on the damage and the demeanor of those involved. Triela closes her eyes and leans back against the wall.] You should probably take my gun, signore. And my knives.

[There's little point to apologies, as far as she's concerned.]

[001; video]

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