Clint Barton (
hasthehighground) wrote2013-08-27 08:20 pm
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Kind-of-an-OOM: Car adventures!
Clint's not entirely sure how Oswin's gained access to the car she has -- a sturdy four-door sedan.
Whichever way that happened, she has a set of keys and hasn't wrecked it yet. Clint's given it a look-over, including pulling out out of its parking spot and re-parking it in the middle of the lane, and now he's sitting in the passenger seat.
He hands Oswin the keys once she's buckled in.
Whichever way that happened, she has a set of keys and hasn't wrecked it yet. Clint's given it a look-over, including pulling out out of its parking spot and re-parking it in the middle of the lane, and now he's sitting in the passenger seat.
He hands Oswin the keys once she's buckled in.
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The guilt in her expression at finding out she's right is horrible, but the gratitude is just as fierce. She's going to get them killed, but... maybe. Just maybe. This time the rescue can be not-too-late.
That'd be really good.
"Um. Yes." She's utterly flustered but her computer and data is grounding, so she focuses on that. "Through the main doors, left at the giant skeleton, right just past the restrooms, through the emergency exit at the end of the hallway, and a sharp left leads to the garage."
She blinks at the file for a moment, before adding:
"The one that has electrified gates. That are off. But still reading as functional."
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He drives in through the space the main doors used to be in, pulling into the lobby.
Clint unlocks the door, rolls down the window, and lays on the horn for five seconds. "Car in the lobby!" He calls out the window. "We're leaving in 90 seconds. Give a sign!" Clint takes a breath as he lays on the horn again, then repeats himself in Spanish -- adjusting the time down.
He rolls the window most of the way back up.
Now they just have to wait.
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Seconds slip by without an answer, and she feels like more and more of an idiot. But it is good, to check, she clings to that... because what if they'd been wrong?
This place is crawling with Daleks.
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Clint steps on the clutch, hand to the gear stick. "Who's there?" he calls.
There's silence, and then something crashes onto the roof. Clint flinches back as it dents, but it's only about as far as it would if a full grown man hit onto it.
There's a thick, reptilian tail down the windshield. Clint reverses with a sharp jerk.
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And then, you know, there's that tail.
Clint gets a rapid introduction to swear words of the future as the roof dents further, and receives the lesson again in a more panicky key of 'augh' when those dents turn into rents, and the raptor's talons rip through into the cabin.
"Door to your left the ceiling is lower there door just go now now now!" Oswin yalps, sliding lower in her seat, her attention divided between the schematics on her tablet and, you know. The velociraptor above her head.
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In front of them, now that Clint can see, is the remains of a gift store. They've managed to knock over enough of the racks that the path back to the door isn't clear. "Get down," Clint says, as he takes the path anyway.
When the raptor isn't shaken by them pushing back out, he adds, pressing the P30 against the roof: "Cover your ears!"
He doesn't have time to see if she's going to comply, or to turn off his hearing aids. They turn themselves off after the first shot (smart tech), but his brain is already ringing. His audiologist -- fuck, he's so dead.
He moves the gun slightly, and shoots twice more in quick succession.
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And that balcony is creaking again.
"That hallway, there, that's the restrooms, go!" She urges, before the light dims behind them. She twists in her seat, just in time to be able to stare into the unseeing eye of the dead velociraptor that's slowly sliding its way off their roof.
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The raptor hits the ground, and the car slows up immediately as it drags. That'd be bad enough, even if there weren't more coming in through the doors, but the rest of the pack's decided to move in.
"Okay," he says, and hits the gas. It's not like the car is going to survive this in drivable condition, anyway.
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But then one bounces forward, mouth open to screech and any spell of innocence is entirely broken. Oswin tries her very best not to stare, tries not to hear their noises, tries not to hear the thumpthumpthump of the dead dinosaur's body as it's dragged along the lobby floor. Instead she checks and rechecks the electrical system, making sure that gate will be electrified after they go through it.
And then to be safe she checks it a few more times, in between shouting at Clint to 'here here turn here hallway that one here!'
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Crashing through the emergency doors almost shakes the dead raptor off, the vibrations of it thumping into the doors strong enough for Clint to feel in the car.
It's the next turn where they lose it, a sharp left after the emergency exit.
With the sudden reduction in drag, the car all but leaps forward.
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So she's working, typing frantically. Restarting generators, re-starting electric fences where she can get a signal to run - someone on this island wasn't an idiot, and installed solar panels, and that's helpful. She's determined that no matter what, she'll be causing these creatures trouble for an awfully long time.
With her focus, she can't see the fruit of her labors - the garage doors loom open ahead, with their heavily-built gates waiting to crash down, strung with enough electric wire to bring down even the largest animals on the island, and ringing the lot, flashing yellow lights warning that they are live.
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Whole constellations of sparks ignite as the velociraptors slam into the live wires. It's hard to say which is more horrendous - the sounds of their screams, or the reek of burnt reptile.
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He swings the car back around, in a more controlled turn than before, and stops fifteen feet from the door, putting the car in park and jogging out.
The velociraptors were thrown back when they hit the fence, but there's still some charring flesh on the wires.
Clint makes eye contact with one of the raptors who didn't hit the fence. It turns its head to look at him better.
The garage door makes a satisfying thunk as it hits the ground.
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"CLINT! NO!" There's true panic in her voice because what is he doing they're safe now. Of course, it's a bit muted - she can't get her dang door open because the unfamiliar layout doesn't lend itself to quick opening with shaking hands.
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He's just turned around to see her panicked flail with the car door.
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"What were you doing?" She demands once she's gotten her feet underneath her properly. "What were you doing?"
So maybe she could figure it out, logically, if she took a moment to stop and think. She would even call it smart. But all she's running on is the image of him walking back towards the dinosaurs seared into her brain.
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"Hey," he says, gentler. "We're okay. I just didn't want anything trying to get through, later."
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She turns to go lean against the car, but... the car is battered and bloody and has holes in where there weren't holes before and... The last time she felt this off, she found herself curled up in a corner bawling her eyes out. Firmly she tells herself that she hasn't broken down that badly in a year, it is not happening today.
Maybe.
There's... so much blood.
"I think we killed it."
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He doesn't really need stabilizing, not yet (and he already has his coping methods deeply entrenched), but he's found other people find it useful.
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Her weight is pretty slight, but her grip is tight, and hugging him means she doesn't have to work so hard keeping herself up.
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"Oof," he says, after awhile, once he figures it's safe to comment. "I do like air, Oswin."
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"Sorry, sorry." She's not, but still, it's not nice to squeeze someone's lungs out. "Just... nerves. Reeeally not liking the after bit."
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"I'm going to need to get to the medical suite, here." Hopefully she's calm enough to take that okay.
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"Oh my stars, where, I'm sorry, I didn't even see, I am so sorry..." She's babbling worriedly, her hands fluttering where she was just holding on for dear life, because how did she miss that he was hurt? Of all the self-centered, idiotic moves...
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