"…Watch your fucking tone."
Whit constantly swears he’s never going to take requests from women again but this was Antonia Stark. If she had someone she wanted dead, she had to have a rather pretty penny in order to assure the job was done right. “I was just saying, I don’t understand why you can’t kill your own enemies like a big girl. I mean, don’t you have a whole floor in your mansions of just those fancy suits?”
Clint casts a bored look over the man he’d just dropped, slipping a neatly rolled cigarette from his pack, flicking his lighter to life as he stares. He’s supposed to be waiting— in an alleyway— for that ever-ominous black sedan that SHIELD likes to use to pull up so he can leave.
But he had a feeling..
The archer rolls his eyes towards the voice, eyes narrowing as he slips the knife from his boot, not hesitating to show that no, not a good idea to sneak up on the assassin. His lips twitch into an obnoxious smirk when he hears paycheckand oh— he’s only done that to one other person— Bucky— but it was all fun and games (mostly). His eyes narrow and his head tilts to the side, still crouched over his target, unmoving.
“No,” he says firmly, blinking slow. “It wasn’t.” It’s all he gives because this was a test run, all for a neat little trick the Russian’s had, which Natasha and Bucky spent hours teaching him to execute perfectly. He has to say he did a pretty good job.
This guy— some corrupt mayor of a shitty little Spanish town— had just been the unlucky guy to pop up next on their data base. Steal from SHIELD— whether they were officially running or not— and the result is— ninety-nine percent of the time— death.
"Self-employed," he answers after snuffing out his cigarette next to their targets head. He stands slowly and cracks his neck, followed by his knuckles, before he adjusts the bow case on his back. "Sorry that I’m faster than you." He offers in a mock-sympathetic tone before he slowly backs away, hands out in an open little shrug, expression a little less than bored.
Whit cocks his head to the side, letting his eyes wander unashamedly over the blonde’s body. He was tone, muscular, a bit taller and broader than himself. Whit’s sizing him up as he can’t decide with lip like that whether he wants to shoot the other or screw all that attitude out of him. When the other starts to back away though, Whit’s hand does go to his gun because, damn it, it’s been a long night and this was supposed to be his fucking milestone and some little blonde asshole, just thinks he can walk in here, kill his target and make jest at his abilities? No, not tonight. If he’s not getting his two hundredth kill, then he’s getting his two thousandth lay, or whatever he’s up to now, that’s a number he doesn’t actually have any interest in keeping track of.
“Hey! I don’t let anyone talk to me like that unless we’re naked.” He snaps, cocking the gun threateningly though he doesn’t really intend to use it but none of that would be written on his face. “Now I can either shoot you in the leg and leave you here with the body for authorities to eventually find or you can come get a drink with me and I might become a little more pliable to your insults. My treat, blondie, I don’t see how the second option is really you losing out at all so if you want my opinion, you should just take me up on the offer because your femoral artery is having a staring contest with my pistol right now and I’m in a bad mood.”
"You the one looking for Whit?" He asks the stranger, clearly annoyed because clients are never meant to come to the club where he masquerades as a half decent member of society. Must have been Sanchez who told him, Whit really needs to put a bullet in Sanchez.
Whit’s pissed because this was going to be his two hundredth kill. It’s not that he’s ever ran into this problem before. Occasionally the people he’s paid to kill have more than one enemy or the employer for some reason, though Whit’s killing record is spotless, they think Whit just took the first half of the money and wasn’t going to actually go through with the kill. Whit usually just brushes it off but damn it tonight was a milestone.
“Oye!" He huffs at the blonde asshole smoking a cigarette over what was meant to be his kill. “Who sent you because you’re sitting over my paycheck, buddy.” He considers pulling his gun if only because he’s that angry but Whit has rules about not killing people he’s not being paid to. “Was it Sanchez?” He’s hoping not. If not, they can just both go back to their employers, say the deed was done and get paid for it.
How the fuck am I already at nineteen followers, holy shit hello. If you would like a small stupid starter to get the ball rolling, like this. If u want me to plot with you then idk, comment on this and tell my ass to message you.
Regicide: (n) The act of Killing a King
Independent, Fandomless OC blog for a Character from a book I am writing with the working title of “Relentless Regicide.”☠ Multiverse/Multiship/OC and Cross-Over Friendly
☠ Mun is 21+ with 8 years RP experience, 2 on tumblr
☠ One liners, para, multi para, novella and gifchats all welcome
☠ NOT trigger free but triggers are tagged.