Owner	Pose
Nolan Voight	One would think that with ghosts and magic at somone's disposal, cleaning and dusting would be a snap. Alas, the ghosts seem to be avoiding work and sometimes it's just easier to push a broom then to whip up a spell to do it for you. Easier, but more time consuming. And after ALMOST a year out of town on whatever sabbatical he was on, there was a LOT of dust for Nolan to sweep up. And aa WHOLE lot of mail for him to sort, all of it on the old bar along the side of the below-street-level 1930's speakeasy that he has turned into his 'office'. "Well, thats a job done.." he grips, wiping his brow and leaning the broom against the wall, switching it for his forearm crutch as he limps to his bar/desk. "You know, you jerks /could/ have lent me a hand." he calls out over his shoulder to the empty air. of course there is no reply, at least not one that normal people would hear. "Sure sure sure... Whatever you say.. lazy assholes." he gripes as he steps behind the bar and pulls out a bottle of Whisky and a fairly clean glass. "Don't expect any favours from /me/ anytime soon."
Clint Barton	Wearing casual clothes, carrying a small sport bag slung over his shoulder, Clint Barton climbs down the few steps to the steel door, the archer shakes his head, looking down at a visit card he's holding in his hand. "Really, Barton? I swear, this is the last place I'm trying! Psychic investigator, then what?" he speaks to himself in what is barely above a whisper. Standing by the door, Clint uses the buzzer to announce his presence. Mentally, he gives himself one minute then he's gone. Everything about him says he's not overly sure about this. Whatever /this/ is.
Nolan Voight	Nolan is JUST about to take a sip of his investigator's lunch (A fine pairing of Whisky and, afterwards, a cigartette) when the buzzer, well, bizzes. Loudly. It's one of those REALLY old buzzers, probably dating back a century and used to warn the patrons that the police were about to raid. So of course he spills some of his whisky on himself. "Goddamnit!" he gripes and eyes the door suspiciouslty. "Did one of you assholes do that? I told you not to play with the buzzer! Its for sutomers only!" he says, and in the silence that follows he raises a brow. "Wait, really?" he asks.,, more silence. "A guy with a diufflebag.. In Gotham.. You don't think that sounds a WEE bitch sketchy?" .. pause... "He has a card?" HE looks at his whisky a moment, then the door... And sighs. "Fine, let him in." he says. THe multiple lock bolts on the door suddenly unlock one at a time, a half dozen of them, and when they are unlatched, the door opens of it's own accord. "Oh sure, NOW you guys help.." he mumbles, then says a bit louder. "Come on in. Abandon all hope, and crap like that.." and takes a swig of the remaining half a glass of whisky.
Clint Barton	It takes all his will to not just roll his eyes and turn on his heels. Not that Clint is scared, not one bit. The door opening seemingly by itself at the buzz, all the locks unlocking in a cascading sound make him wonder if this is some sort of Horror House. Then the voice inviting him in makes him pause - and grin. This is the kind of humour he appreciates. This will be interesting So it is with a grin on his face that Clint steps in the rather dusty and dark place. With a quick look around, the archer realizes that the only obvious exit is the steel door. Making sure of his surroundings at all times is part of the reason why he's still alive. And he plans on remaining in that state for a while. "Nolan Voight?" he asks, looking at Nolan.
Nolan Voight	Setting down his glass, Nolan regards the guy for a long moment. Even though the room is dim, there is mor ethen enough light for one to see that Nolan's eyes are of mismatched color. One a cold cerulean blue and the other an almost molten amber. Nolan notes the man's stance and approves, since this /is/ Gotham and one doesn'y just walck into Gotham unprepared or unwary. "Yep, thats what the nuns named me." he says as he limps out from behind the bar. It is obvious that Nolan is crippled somewhat since over his leg he wears an old fashioned metal and leather legbrace, a sturrup sliding beneath his shoe. "Welcome to Drop Dead Investigations, purveyor of your more esoteric investigative needs. By law I hafta remind any potential customers that I am not bonded nor am I licensed.. and something something something.. I forget what else." he admits.
Clint Barton	If it wasn't for the matter that brought him here, Clint would laugh. Not at the man, oh never, he's not the kind of guy to laugh at people. It's just that he appreciates Nolan's sarcasm. Clint nods, looking at the card one last time before pocketing it. "So says the card," he replies. "Esoteric investigation is what I'm looking for. A match in Heaven, or maybe in Hell. Let's cut the chase. Can you talk to the dead?" Along his quest to find answers about the dead, and how to communicate with them, the archer has met many people. Most were of help, or tried to help. But each time, he returned home with only possibilities and nothing concrete so far. Not one definite answer. Although he is smiling, everything about him says he's serious when he asks this question to Nolan.
Nolan Voight	Blinking once, Nolan regards Clint a bit more closely. The nature of his gift allows him to see 'beyond that of mortals', or whatever, which in his case he gets to see the real world AND the world slightly beyond at the same time. It gives him some insight about things.. but really, right now he's just trying to make sure this guy isn't a kook... Meh, does it matter? "Well thats quite direct." he says, leaning back against the bar. "Usually the first question is 'What am I thinking'. Or 'Whats next week's lottery numbers. To which I usually reply 'I don't care' and 'If I knew that I wouldn't be living in this shithole'. "That said, yes, Thats one of my gifts. If you believe in that sort of thing, of course." Then he stops and frowns, and looks behind him. "Hey, it's not like he'd be the first to come here and NOT believe." he says to the air, then back to Clint. "Sorry.. Anyways.."
Clint Barton	If Nolan hadn't answered positively to the question, Clint would have been out the door by now. A guy talking to himself ain't usually someone you'd want to stick around. The fact that he said he could contact the dearly - and hopefully also the not-so dearly - departed, raises Clint's interest. This time, Clint laughs lightly at Nolan's reply. Although he's not totally convinced yet. "Right. I have to believe. And try." He pauses, then adds, "Look, I had some weird offers made to me to achieve such communication. Riddles, whatever. Even a séance that was quite eventful, you know, dancing candles, all that gig. But so far, no direct communication. How would /you/ proceed, and for how much?" Yes, he's direct like a guy at the end of a quest, so close to the goal, or to the way back home.
Nolan Voight	Nolan listens to the explanation, such as it is, and frowns.. and then winces when the seance is mentioned. It looks like he has opinions about seances, somewhat akin to that 'Uncle Roger' character on youtube many years ago who critiqued people about how they made fried rice. "All you're missing is mentioning a Ouija Board.." he mumbles, then shakes the thought away and straightens up. "Well, I'm not sure what you've been told, of course, but Let me be honest with you.." and again he pauses and his brows furrow, looking at an empty corner. "Stop laughing!" he says, glaring at emptiness. "I have TOTALLY been known to be honest!" and then looks away in disgust and back to Clint. "Sorry.. anyways as I was saying before the peanut gallery interupted, let me be honest. There is no one, surefire way tyyo talk to the dead. No hard and fast rules. There are many factors. How long they have been dead. DId they die here or somewherer else. How did they die. Where they judged and Did they fully pass over to the Afterlife or are they stuck between here or there. Do they even /want/ to talk." He runs fingers through his mop of read hair. The fingers of this hand are a bit gnarled, thje knuckles tattooed in prison style. "SOmetimes tools are needed, hence things like.. seances.." he makes a face. "Sometimes the process requires them for a nudge or a stronger connection. AN item they owned that was special.. Hair or blood.." he then frowns and looks at the dufflebag. "You don't have a severed head in that, do you?" he asks carefully.
Clint Barton	Clint listens attentively, nodding. What Nolan explains seems to make complete sense - again, if you believe in such things. Right now, the archer wants to believe. Nolan seemingly hearing voices starts to be of concern to Clint, for now he leaves it aside. He'll let the man talk to himself as long as he's provinding valuable answers. Which he is doing. "You are the second one to mention Ouija board," he says, smirking. And frankly, he never thought of using it "No, I did /not/ try it." As he speaks, he reaches for his bag and takes an object out of it. Nope, it's not a severed head. "See, I knew this could come handy someday." The object is an old rusty can of beer, which seems to have been pierced, maybe by an arrow. "This is the last can of beer he drank. Thirty or so years ago. As for blood..." Clint points at himself, "I got it all."
Nolan Voight	Well Nolan isn't concerned about hearing voices since that is literally his thing. Also, in public it proves a form of camoflage, making people underestimate him. "Well I have a bad history with Ouija Boards. Dangerous things. Ghosts are notoriusly bad spellers." he says. And a moment after that he smirks and looks at the empty corner, and sticks out his toungue at it, before composing himself again. When Clint brings out the can, Nolan raises that brow of his... "Okay, well I won't say thats the weirdest connection I've been shown.." he says and almost reaches out for it, but stops. "The can, besiders being the last beer this person drank, presumably a family member, represents something special?" he asks, making sure. "Also, this person wasn't a magic user, a psychic, or didn''t make any deals with metaphysical entityies, did they?"
Clint Barton	Clint's laughter echoes in the dark room for a second. Nolan's questions incited this reaction, especially at the mention of magic user, psychic powers and the like. Once he regains his more serious demanour, Clint replies. "Sorry 'bout that," he says, "It's just that, really, that man had a beer sponge for a brain. The only deals he could do was to beg for a free beer." Now he's not laughing, not even smiling as he adds, "He died in a car crash, DUI, his own fault, killing innocent people along. So yeah, it's special." He pauses, looking around quickly. There's no one else here! This man must be insane, hearing voices. "And who are you talking to? It's only you and I here."
Nolan Voight	"You only /wish/ it was just you and me." he tells Clint. "You came looking for a man who can talk to ghosts and spirits. Well thats what.. sorry.. /Who/ I was talking to. If it makes you feel better that it's an act, or that I'm a nutcase, thats fine. You may be right. I know they drive /me/ mad. Mainly because I don't get much choice in the matter. There are a LOT of spirits that haven't fully crossed over, most places you go. Gotham just has more than most. Also, I sort of attract them." That said. "So.. Mister Barton." he says, becoming more resolved. and ALSO knowing his clients name when it was never given, "This person of interest... If he died killing innocents, even by accident, I HAVE to warn you he may NOT be available. He could have been.. Judged." he says softly. "But.. sometimes, souls in situations like this /do/ get stuck in the between, still linked to our world by guilt... And that can sometimes be worse. If I am able to contact him at all he may be..." he tries to find the word..
Clint Barton	"In Hell," Clint finishes the sentence that Nolan started. "I know, I'm also looking into it. Someone told me there isn't a directory for Hell, so I need to make sure he's there." Then it registers that Clint did not reveal his name, how would this man know? It is becoming quite unsettling how many people seem to know him just like that! It's not like his photo appears on the front page every week. Narrowing his eyes, the archer studies the man even more carefully for a moment. Could it be that he's saying the truth, that he really talks to ghosts? At that point, Clint can accept it as a possibility, keeping an open mind. "Did /they/," he waves his hand around, encompassing the room, "Tell you my name?"
Nolan Voight	Nolan makes a weird face at the mention of 'Hell', but he does nod. "Exactly. Though hell is sort of a catchall name for a bunch of layers of the negative aspects of the afterlife. I'm not being vague about that. Things like personal beliefs, religious or spiritual (and there is a difference) can change where one goes. That is why there is no comprehensive directory for the afterlife. Also, why sometimes some spirits don't MAKE it to an afterlife, at least right away." "But what I am also trying to say is.. Ghosts tend to get stuck in the circumstances of their deaths. Sometimes repeating it over and over. And sometimes this can drive them mad, or despondent. Thats why I warn people, because when I make contact, the person isn't the same one the living one remembers. Death literally changes people." he says quietly. Then he straightens a bit. "And no, they didn't tell me." he admits, and holds up a FAMILIAR wallet.. and smiles as he hands it back to him.
Clint Barton	"Holy shit," Clint groans, half-seriously, as he takes back his wallet. He's not mad, mostly surprised. Not many people can be so sneaky as to do this to him. In usual circumstances, they would end up with a concussion or a broken bone. This would be highly counterproductive at the moment. "Nice," he says, not sounding very appreciative. "Frankly, I have no idea what were his beliefs if any, other than that beers would solve all his problems. That's probably the closest he's got to magic, magical beers solving problems." Sighing litghlty, he asks, to the point. "So, tell me, can you check on him, make sure he's in Hell? And most importantly, what would be your price?" The last is said in order to underscore the fact that no deal is done yet, since the price has not been mentioned, even less accepted.
Nolan Voight	What /is/ Nolan's price? This guy seems really sincere about reaching this person, either a father or brother or uncle, and Nolan thinks could easily pad his usual fee, of that he is quite sure but... YEah, Nolan is sometimes an ass, but even he can see that this guy REALLY cares about this soul. This isn't some rich old woman trying to contact her dead cat, or some grandchild wondering where gramma put the heirloom pearls. This is someone who cares about the state of their loved one's /soul/. And willing to accept it for good or ill. For family. What is that worth? What is FAMILY worth? "I don't think you could afford my /true/ price, Mister Barton." he says solemnly, "But for this... One Dollar." he says and motions for the can.
Clint Barton	Clint narrows his eyes at that, he was expecting a ridiculous price. One dollar! Life taught him many lessons, one being that if it's too good to be true, then it's probably not true. "I can't accept this price," he says, "But since it's your request, I'll feel free to add to it." As for the can, Clint is not letting it out of his hand. For over thirty years he carried it around with him, among his meager possessions, from place to place, as a sad momento of how life sucks at times and of things promised and lost. "Sorry, I cannot let you keep it. Maybe we could arrange for you to do your thing with me around? I mean, it's not that I don't trust you, it's just that really, I can't afford risk loosing it."
Nolan Voight	Those strange and usually hard mismatched eyes soften just a moment as Clint refuses to part with the can. There is a glimmer of understanding and he nods. "You don't need to give it to me. Just when you are ready, I need to touch it. You needn't even let go of it,. In fact, being so special it would help if you DIDN'T release it." he points out. "As for the price.. It is up to you if you wish to add to it. Usually I would just make up some ridiculous number but.. sometimes.. I /can't/ set the price. SOmetimes the price sets itself. Yeah, I know.. SOunds like a buncha mumbo jumbo bullshit but.. you know.. sometimes the rules make no sense." "But, if it salves your dignity.." and with that he smirks. "We can call /today/ a Pre-session Consultancy, set an appointment for the actual session since it could take a while, and I can charge you a hundred bux."
Clint Barton	"This would be perfect," Clint replies with a nod. "When can you do it?" Yes, he's not only determined, but also in a hurry. Some things have a way to eat at you until you resolve them. While talking, the archer checks in his wallet - yes, all the cash is still there. He didn't check before, feeling that Nolan would not steal and then return an empty wallet. You might be talking to ghosts, it doesn't mean you /want/ to become one! "There, for now," he says, handing the hundred bux. He also hands Nolan a visit card, with the name Hawkeye at the Avengers Mansion. "Let me know of your day, your day is my day... Hrm, if the end of the world doesn't come first."
Nolan Voight	Nolan Voight takes the Hundred and smirks a bit, not in the slightest insulted that CLint is checking his wallet. "Trust mne, if the End of the World was happening anytime soon, I have a feeling people like me who actually know what we're doing would probably get SOME warning." he assures the archer. He then plucks the offered card between his fingers. "I'll check my schedule, it shouldn't be long from now." he promises and then eyes the card, frowning a bit. JUST a bit. "Ahhh.. AN avenger.." he says softly, then sighs as he seems to remember.. something, then shakes his head and tucks the card in his pocket.