He'd kindly argue that he does exactly what the Avengers do by name alone — he avenges. It's just that because his aren't government sanctioned he's the bad guy, even though the government's been screwed up for years, even though the government's been sanctioning packing pounds and pounds of heroin in the corpses of dead GIs and Marines over in Kandahar and using their bodies to mule them back to the states, even though the government's had Hydra in it and they've been exterminating innocent civilians.
Somehow we're all supposed to pretend like everything's honkey fucking donkey because it's some guy in a suit six levels detached from the issues that's calling the shots. Well screw that, he remembers all too clearly a good handful of these guys going off the rails to have their own say in their missions, it's just that he did it first, and he doesn't have a pretty-boy face or a billion dollars.
But as much as he's tempted to go off on that tangent, that steam-powered rant, he got most of his pissed-off energy out in that fight. Good thing, because laying it all out like that would almost certainly ruin his chances of getting on this jet right now. Turns out a little brawling is good for the soul.
He doesn't nod his appreciation to Clint — doesn't really need to. He does to Natasha, because they're not quite on that level, so he's gotta make sure she knows he respects the gesture, her willingness to stand up and vouch for him. She's good people.
And then he's stepping onto the most expensive aircraft he's ever been on in his life, which is saying something considering how much money the military spends on Helos and airdrop missions and shit.
Lowly, wryly, to Clint: "So this is how the other half lives. You guys get complimentary bath robes on these things?"
Thor's low voice comes out at a rumble, lower energy than most have ever seen him, tired, resigned, "Who's this?"
"Frank," he says, and tacks on "Castle," as an afterthought, reaching out a hand to shake because he's got some goddamn manners, unlike some of these other assholes apparently.
Thor takes his hand, flexes his grip just a little too tightly, and says, "Thor, Palace. On Asgard, I mean. Not here."
Frank stares in bemusement, not entirely sure if he's joking.
"I've heard of you," says Bruce, evenly, knowingly — and ends the comment there, because he knows they both know what he means.
"Yeah, heard of you, too," says one rampage murderer to another. Except all Frank's victims were horrible people; murderers and monsters and child abusers. Bruce concedes with a fair enough shrug, too tired to bother. Aren't they all.
And that apparently is all it takes for introductions, it must pass muster, because he's given leave to plant himself down into a seat with no further bleak commentary or tests to pass. Good enough.
no subject
Somehow we're all supposed to pretend like everything's honkey fucking donkey because it's some guy in a suit six levels detached from the issues that's calling the shots. Well screw that, he remembers all too clearly a good handful of these guys going off the rails to have their own say in their missions, it's just that he did it first, and he doesn't have a pretty-boy face or a billion dollars.
But as much as he's tempted to go off on that tangent, that steam-powered rant, he got most of his pissed-off energy out in that fight. Good thing, because laying it all out like that would almost certainly ruin his chances of getting on this jet right now. Turns out a little brawling is good for the soul.
He doesn't nod his appreciation to Clint — doesn't really need to. He does to Natasha, because they're not quite on that level, so he's gotta make sure she knows he respects the gesture, her willingness to stand up and vouch for him. She's good people.
And then he's stepping onto the most expensive aircraft he's ever been on in his life, which is saying something considering how much money the military spends on Helos and airdrop missions and shit.
Lowly, wryly, to Clint: "So this is how the other half lives. You guys get complimentary bath robes on these things?"
Thor's low voice comes out at a rumble, lower energy than most have ever seen him, tired, resigned, "Who's this?"
"Frank," he says, and tacks on "Castle," as an afterthought, reaching out a hand to shake because he's got some goddamn manners, unlike some of these other assholes apparently.
Thor takes his hand, flexes his grip just a little too tightly, and says, "Thor, Palace. On Asgard, I mean. Not here."
Frank stares in bemusement, not entirely sure if he's joking.
"I've heard of you," says Bruce, evenly, knowingly — and ends the comment there, because he knows they both know what he means.
"Yeah, heard of you, too," says one rampage murderer to another. Except all Frank's victims were horrible people; murderers and monsters and child abusers. Bruce concedes with a fair enough shrug, too tired to bother. Aren't they all.
And that apparently is all it takes for introductions, it must pass muster, because he's given leave to plant himself down into a seat with no further bleak commentary or tests to pass. Good enough.