Owner	Pose
Clint Barton	So here it is, Club Lux, Melville. Not exactly the type of bar or nightclub that Clint Barton, Avengers and SHIELD agent, would normally frequent. Actually, he doesn't frequent bars to start with. Frowning a bit as he steps in the noisy establishment, Barton quickly locates the large horseshoe-shaped bar and finds an empty seat, trying his best to ignore the patrons around. Anyone glancing at him would think that the archer looks like someone who really doesn't want to be here, starting with his choice of clothing, a pair of jeans, black t-shirt with a large purple target sign in the front, and his leather jacket. His personal mission here isn't to make friends, but to contact someone he heard of through the grapevine.
Lucifer	There's always something going on at Club Lux, and Lucifer seems to like it that way. Currently the well dressed man in his perfectly tailored suit of all black save for the red handkerchief sticking out of his left breast pocket is chatting up a couple at a table. Though the conversation doesn't last to terribly long and soon he's actually moving to walk behind that horseshoe shaped bar. One of the few tenders behind it whisper something to him and his attention shifts to Clint Barton, a quizzical eyebrow lofting upwards as a grin curls his lips as well. It's a breath, a blink, and then he's there in front of Clint with no evidence of having walked over. He sort of just appears, but with an air that he's either been there the whole time or did just walk up unnoticed. A tilt of his head as he looks to either empty seat beside the man with the target on his shirt and then he offers, "Get you something from the bar?"
Clint Barton	Does he know who he's talking with at the moment? Lucifer sure matches the photo Barton consulted on his file at SHIELD. This doesn't mean that reports are accurate as to the man himself, rumours being what they are. The archer, being quite of an incredilous nature, always prefers to see for himself and make his own assessments of situations and individuals. Which is exactly why he's at Club Lex at the moment. Having being in the superheroes gig for many years, it seems that nothing can startle the archer, not even Lucifer suddenly appearing on the other side of the bar. Used to handle what's in front of him, rather than to question everything to death, he looks up at Lucifer, silent as he most likely recognizes him from the file. "Yeah, I'll have a beer, light," he then replies, pausing for a second, then adding, "And some information on the side."
Lucifer	Lucifer continues with that grin as he motions with one hand and then the other. "Bottle or tap? Or is this more along the lines of, you don't care what you drink because the information is more important?" Asking this, his voice is smooth, his tone even. After asking, he goes ahead and grabs a glass, pouring a light beer from the tap and then sets it in front of Barton. "Will you be paying per drink, or shall I start a tab?" He keeps the entire tone of conversation light, and matter of fact. A glance around before he lets himself smirk a bit more. "Everything for a price, Mister Barton. Make me an offer I might not be able to refuse, and I can consider giving you this...side information you're looking for." He pauses then, watching the man in front of him for a lingering moment, perhaps seeing if he'll take the bait.
Clint Barton	"More in the line of, I don't care cuz I won't drink it." And on that, in answer to the payment question, Clint reaches for his pocket and gets twenty bucks, placing it on the counter. At the mention of his name, Clint barely flinches, getting used to it, never liking it. What is it with every creep in town knowing his identity? First Mademoiselle Elle, then the Greek history teacher, now this man, the Club's owner, calling himself Lucifer according to intel. "I've got nothing to offer up front," Clint says, his eyes on Lucifer, "Usually, it's the seller that asks a price. If you've got what I want, then we can talk about your price." He then pauses, taking the glass of beer and placing it on the side. Not being one to beat around the bush, he explains what he's looking for. "It's surprising how many creeps in the Big Apple pretend to know about Hell. I've already met enough of them to write a flamin' book about it. But none of them can tell you where the hell is... Hell. And, most importantly, how to get there and back safely. I'm curious to know if I should add you to the list of clueless creeps."
Lucifer	Lucifer watches as Clint lays a bill on the counter, but also claims he won't be drinking the glass he asked for. Then the pointed way the man sets the glass aside has Lucifer giving a smirk before reaching to take the glass back, setting it under the bar for the moment. He does not reach for the bill. "I don't work in usuals. It's too boring. I like to spice things up a bit. Keeps people on their toes." Comes Lucifer's retort to Clint's comment, and then he listens to the man further. Does he appreciate all the puns about his domain? Maybe, maybe not. It's really a matter of how one uses them, so he shrugs his shoulders. "Well, I suppose they only pretend to know about Hell because they've either never been - or their version of Hell is different than mine." Lucifer smirks. "There's really only one way to Hell, and you are still too alive to get there. Now, are there work arounds? Likely. If that's what you're wondering." He leans in then. "You might have to ask yourself if you're willing to suffer Hell...there's only so much I can do to help you there and back again." Then he sort of looks upwards, like he's ready for God to smite him where he stands. Nothing happens though.
Clint Barton	Clint crosses his arms over his chest, taking in Lucifer's words. The intensity in his gaze is a witness to the archer's intent. "Yeah, there are many ideas about Hell," he says, "Heck, evreyone has its own, it seems." He pauses, thinking for a moment, "But to me, Hell is whatever you do, or didn't do. Hell is everywhere, if you carry it around with you. One can create its own Hell, or create it for someone else." Pausing again, Clint leans forward over the bar, closing part of the distance between the two men, as he adds in a low, convinced voice. "I want to use my free will, God given free will they say, and fix a little hell of mine. I don't follow rules, I'm my own man. I /need/ to talk to someone in Hell. What work around, to going there and coming back safely?"
Lucifer	Lucifer studies Clint for a long moment, perhaps in a way of assessing the man entirely, perhaps just considering the man's words. One can never tell. He can clearly discern that Clint is convinced he needs to do this, and perhaps has the conviction to do such a thing. Still... "Perhaps it is not that you need to go to Hell. If there is someone in Hell with whom you need to speak, it might be better to pull them from Hell. Less consequences that way, if I'm honest." And he is. Always. Lucifer cannot tell a lie, not even a white one. "You see, taking a mortal person still alive into Hell and bringing them back can have consequences even beyond the initial taking. Hell is not a vacation. It's a destination. In a permanent kind of way." He frowns a moment and then looks around the bar to the other patrons. They don't seem to notice the conversation going on, and that seems to appease him for the moment. "But bringing someone from Hell to here, and then sending them back, that's doable. They already know what they're going back to, and the reprieve of being taken from it...well...could be a favor for them as much as seeing them is a favor to you." There's a pause then before he shrugs. "Would that suffice?"
Clint Barton	Listening to Lucifer's words, Clint leans back, both hands resting on the edge of the bar. He's rarely surprised, even positively surprised, but this... /this/ is something interesting indeed. Less risk, same goal. Perfect. After processing the possibilities of this new approach, Clint frowns lightly, thinking for a moment. /If/ the man can do that, the price might be heavy. Nothing's free in life, that's something the archer learned the hard way. "Yes, I can see it'd be safer the other way around," he states. "Now I guess would be when we start talkin' about a price, once it can be positively certified that the said individual is indeed where I expect him to be. I don't expect there's a database of the residents."
Lucifer	"Oh you mean a price that's different than knowing I've once again found a way to piss off God and give loopholes and work arounds?" Lucifer asks before giving a chuckle. Then he seems to be considering things a bit. Perhaps weighing his options. "The price is a favor. A favor that I can call on anytime I need it. No matter what the favor is, you cannot deny it - and don't worry - I do take personal morals in mind when I cash in what I need. So if murder isn't your thing, I won't ask you to do such." There's a pause. "I'm not as evil as people think I am, I just pass no judgement and relish in all the good *and* bad one does..." Then there's the question of whether or not this person is in hell to begin with. "Well, do you mean can I punch up something in a computer and pull up an excel sheet of every single soul that's entered my domain? No. However..." He taps his head. "It's all here. Or, if nothing else, I can pop in and make sure he's there...just to save face."
Clint Barton	"Well, if pissin' off God would be your price, I'd have no quarrel with that," Clint replies, grinnig. Indeed, it would then be kinda free for him this way! After a moment considering the other option - the favor - the archer nods, "A favor, but no killing or maiming anyone," he says. Contrary to common belief, the SHIELD agent is /not/ a killer. This, coincidentally, is at the core of the problem. The option of a favor in return seems less risky than what Miracle Elle asked. "Right. I'm not signing anythin' just now," he states, "I'll have to think about it. Once we know that he's there. Right, I'm looking for Barton, Francis." He sighs a bit at that, "I guess problems with dads are our common lots, and we ain't holding Father's Day partys."
Lucifer	"Honestly, if you jumped up out of your seat ready to sign the dotted line right here and now, I would have been a lot more concerned. You're a smart man, Mister Barton, and nothing like him..." Lucifer makes a note and then nods. "You aren't a killer, Hawkeye. Not without reason. So that would not be the favor I bring to you. I cannot tell you what the favor *will* be, because I don't need a favor yet. You might go another fifty years before I need something from you." The name had been given at some point which is why Lucifer had said what he did before. The last comment from Clint gains a nod of his head and a smirk. "We can't all be daddy's favorite, unfortunately. At least you don't have yours constantly holding out to show just how pissed off he is." A grin then. "I'll have a peek and the next time we meet, if we do, I'll know for sure if I can hold up our end of any agreement."
Clint Barton	With a nod of agreement, Clint stands, leaving the twenty bucks on the counter. "We will meet again," the archer corrects, "Would it only be to have confirmation of his location," he says. "I'll drop in a couple days". On that, he walks a couple feet away, before turning around to add. "No, mine isn't pissed off, he got what was coming to him. But he haunts me in other ways. It might be a heavy price to pay. But it's worth it, to make peace with my dad, and myself. Maybe, who knows, even you can try. Even just /trying/ might help." And that's exactly what Hawkeye is doing. That said, he nods, then exits the Club.