[001; video]

[earpiece]

[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.

Comments

[arches]

<sub>( 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. )</sub>

Hey, kid. Look at me.

[daughterofelysium]

[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.]

[earpiece]

[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.]

[arches]

<sub>( 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. )</sub>

Hello? Anyone in there?

[daughterofelysium]

[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.]