barty raises his eyebrows, cycling through the right emotions for what somebody in his situation should be feeling - apprehension, understanding, and a sort of sly delight. he grins down at her, being careful to not try and gauge the guards’ reaction, and offers kate his arm just as she takes it. ] I’d be delighted. It’s a private office.
[ that time, he does glance over, trying to send the silent message of come on, man, help me out here. as they get closer to the door, he drops his arm, hand resting at the small of kate’s back - not so far down to be indecent or blatantly pervy, but. close. ]
Got something to grab at my desk. [ it’s a lie to the guards, even in their cover it’s still a brazen falsehood. barty holds his ID up so the guards can see, photo and museum logo visible, but his name’s blocked by his fingers. ] You mind?
[ when kate was still going to school, before the young avengers, there was a period where she was cycling through extracurriculars practically by the week in an effort to scratch the restless itch that befalls all teenagers with too much time on their hands. she had had a brief stint in the drama club, but a late audition relegated her to lady-in-waiting and understudy, and so she never really had the opportunity to flex her acting skills like she'd wanted to.
standing here now, hanging off of barty's arm and looking demurely down and off to the side to avoid the guards' eyes while she chewed on her bottom lip and coyly played with her hair, she thinks she could've been pretty damn good on the stage.
the guard barty speaks to glances at the id but only sees the museum's logo before cracking a conspiratorial smile. he steps aside, even props the door open for them.
Enjoy, sir. kate would've gagged if she could.
kate waits until they actually duck into said office before turning to barty and making a face. ]
[ there’s a lot of frustrating machismo and back-slapping in the world, and while barty’s not completely immune to it, there’s more than a few things that he’s resolute on. he doesn’t (usually) kiss and tell, and he absolutely doesn’t sleep with his students. they’re like, teenagers. playing the role of a cad is easy - ought to reflect on that sometime - but he still doesn’t like it. while kate’s playing the coy grad student, barty’s face is stony, working on selling the lie-within-a-lie he’d spun.
just to sell it, he does wink the one of the guards as they pass, but rolls his eyes the moment they’re out of sight. ]
You’d think, [ he begins, dropping his hand from kate’s back, ] That there wouldn’t be those sorts of meatheads in academia. And yet. [ he shrugs. at the very least, those are just basic rent-a-cops, nobody he has to make nice with again.
barty’s office is in a state of perpetually organized chaos. cluttered is putting it graciously: maps and books scattered throughout, travel suitcase leaning against the wall, souvenirs and statues and knicknacks crammed in the shelves. there’s an empty, dirty mug on his desk, but at least he’d swept up any stray crumbs or scraps of paper. ]
And yet, [ kate hums in wry agreement. the way she sees it, it makes perfect sense to find this kind of attitude fostered in academia, one of america's oldest known boys' club to still be left standing. it may not be as rampant or blatant as other institutions like sports or even nerd culture, but where there are fragile male egos, there be flagrant misogyny.
she wanders around to idly look through his belongings, figuring everything's free game now that they're in here. it's only when she makes a full sweep around the mahogany desk does she take a spot leaning against it, expectant. ]
So you gonna tell me where the mask is, or do I have to say "pretty please"?
almost absentmindedly, barty starts to straighten a few of the books and papers on his desk. it's habit when he's buying time to make a response - and besides, if somebody does check in on the office, he wants it to look at least a little different. times like this, it pays to be paranoid. ]
Transitional storage room, they'll be moving it into the display in about an hour. Check the bottom of the tiger statue.
[ tucked underneath a small statuette on his bookshelf is a small key that he's definitely not supposed to have. ]
[ after giving it a once-over, she tucks the key into the garter strapped to her thigh, just beside a short row of throwing knives. at his question, she turns to him with a dazzling smile, a kate bishop standard, the kind that gives one the impression they're staring right down the barrel of a gun. ]
Let me worry about that.
[ it is definitely worrisome, to say the least, but she doesn't seem at all fazed by it. instead, she looks him over, readjusts the lapels of his blazer. ]
Four doors down the hall to the left, right? [ she recounts the layout of the museum still fresh in her mind, but it pays to double-check. ]
[ oh. oh right. kate bishop is one of the world’s best sharpshooters - just because barty hasn’t personally seen her in action doesn’t mean that it’s not true. for just a moment, he truly feels it - the bullseye on his chest, the nearly feral glimmer in her eyes. the knives on her thigh aren’t the only thing that’s sharp.
bartholomew rook realizes that he’s in deep, deep trouble. ]
Sure.
[ but he smiles, tight-lipped and polite, as kate fiddles with his jacket. ] Yeah. I’ll keep watch. Don’t get sticky fingers, Bishop.
[ that smile only seems to sharpen as she takes note of the sudden tension in his shoulders. ]
Who, me? I'm the good guy, remember?
[ he's flashed a wink, like it's some secret shared between the two of them, and then she's slipping away and out of the office, quiet as a mouse. a quick glance down either side of the hall tells her the coast is clear for now, so she makes her way towards the storage room, heels carefully silent despite the swiftness of her steps.
she's nearly there when she hears the sound of chatter down the opposite end of the hall, and she knows from experience she has only a split second's worth to decide. no corners to hide behind, no door nearby to sneak past.
so she grabs for the next best thing, which is barty himself, just a half-step behind her. his lapel is affronted once more, white-knuckle gripped in a hand as she spins on a heel and whirls them around — her back hits the wall and he's pulled right up against her, flush, no room for jesus or even a breath because she's stealing his next one, sealing her lips firmly around his.
[ he almost doesn’t follow her. kate’s a professional heroine (if that’s even an actual job), they went over the plan. kate does the lift, he provides access and keeps watch, they both get out easy enough. and with the layout of the back corridors of the museum, it’s eventually a dead end to a room mostly used to store cleaning equipment and chairs, nobody should be coming from there.
should be.
but she turns to saunter off, barty gets this moment of last-minute paranoia. and without thinking about it, he’s following her down the hall, silently trailing. not that barty’s trying to keep secret from kate specifically, just - general secretive.
and it’s a good thing, too, because there’s chatter from exactly where there shouldn’t be. and thank god for kate bishop’s quick thinking. to his credit, barty’s not shocked, or at least he doesn’t let it show for long. Instinct takes over. barty rook does not kiss shyly, but with the focus and precision of a man who’s not only experienced in his fair share of against-the-wall hookups, but just might have pulled this distracting trick before.
he grabs kate’s leg and hikes it up, hoping that she’s as flexible as he assumed, and gets a good handful right where thigh meets ass. hey, this isn’t a time that he can (hah!) half-ass anything. it’s all in the name of making it look real. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
barty raises his eyebrows, cycling through the right emotions for what somebody in his situation should be feeling - apprehension, understanding, and a sort of sly delight. he grins down at her, being careful to not try and gauge the guards’ reaction, and offers kate his arm just as she takes it. ] I’d be delighted. It’s a private office.
[ that time, he does glance over, trying to send the silent message of come on, man, help me out here. as they get closer to the door, he drops his arm, hand resting at the small of kate’s back - not so far down to be indecent or blatantly pervy, but. close. ]
Got something to grab at my desk. [ it’s a lie to the guards, even in their cover it’s still a brazen falsehood. barty holds his ID up so the guards can see, photo and museum logo visible, but his name’s blocked by his fingers. ] You mind?
no subject
standing here now, hanging off of barty's arm and looking demurely down and off to the side to avoid the guards' eyes while she chewed on her bottom lip and coyly played with her hair, she thinks she could've been pretty damn good on the stage.
the guard barty speaks to glances at the id but only sees the museum's logo before cracking a conspiratorial smile. he steps aside, even props the door open for them.
Enjoy, sir. kate would've gagged if she could.
kate waits until they actually duck into said office before turning to barty and making a face. ]
Guys are gross.
no subject
just to sell it, he does wink the one of the guards as they pass, but rolls his eyes the moment they’re out of sight. ]
You’d think, [ he begins, dropping his hand from kate’s back, ] That there wouldn’t be those sorts of meatheads in academia. And yet. [ he shrugs. at the very least, those are just basic rent-a-cops, nobody he has to make nice with again.
barty’s office is in a state of perpetually organized chaos. cluttered is putting it graciously: maps and books scattered throughout, travel suitcase leaning against the wall, souvenirs and statues and knicknacks crammed in the shelves. there’s an empty, dirty mug on his desk, but at least he’d swept up any stray crumbs or scraps of paper. ]
no subject
she wanders around to idly look through his belongings, figuring everything's free game now that they're in here. it's only when she makes a full sweep around the mahogany desk does she take a spot leaning against it, expectant. ]
So you gonna tell me where the mask is, or do I have to say "pretty please"?
no subject
almost absentmindedly, barty starts to straighten a few of the books and papers on his desk. it's habit when he's buying time to make a response - and besides, if somebody does check in on the office, he wants it to look at least a little different. times like this, it pays to be paranoid. ]
Transitional storage room, they'll be moving it into the display in about an hour. Check the bottom of the tiger statue.
[ tucked underneath a small statuette on his bookshelf is a small key that he's definitely not supposed to have. ]
You got a way to stash it while we're leaving?
no subject
Let me worry about that.
[ it is definitely worrisome, to say the least, but she doesn't seem at all fazed by it. instead, she looks him over, readjusts the lapels of his blazer. ]
Four doors down the hall to the left, right? [ she recounts the layout of the museum still fresh in her mind, but it pays to double-check. ]
no subject
bartholomew rook realizes that he’s in deep, deep trouble. ]
Sure.
[ but he smiles, tight-lipped and polite, as kate fiddles with his jacket. ] Yeah. I’ll keep watch. Don’t get sticky fingers, Bishop.
no subject
Who, me? I'm the good guy, remember?
[ he's flashed a wink, like it's some secret shared between the two of them, and then she's slipping away and out of the office, quiet as a mouse. a quick glance down either side of the hall tells her the coast is clear for now, so she makes her way towards the storage room, heels carefully silent despite the swiftness of her steps.
she's nearly there when she hears the sound of chatter down the opposite end of the hall, and she knows from experience she has only a split second's worth to decide. no corners to hide behind, no door nearby to sneak past.
so she grabs for the next best thing, which is barty himself, just a half-step behind her. his lapel is affronted once more, white-knuckle gripped in a hand as she spins on a heel and whirls them around — her back hits the wall and he's pulled right up against her, flush, no room for jesus or even a breath because she's stealing his next one, sealing her lips firmly around his.
look alive, rook. ]
no subject
should be.
but she turns to saunter off, barty gets this moment of last-minute paranoia. and without thinking about it, he’s following her down the hall, silently trailing. not that barty’s trying to keep secret from kate specifically, just - general secretive.
and it’s a good thing, too, because there’s chatter from exactly where there shouldn’t be. and thank god for kate bishop’s quick thinking. to his credit, barty’s not shocked, or at least he doesn’t let it show for long. Instinct takes over. barty rook does not kiss shyly, but with the focus and precision of a man who’s not only experienced in his fair share of against-the-wall hookups, but just might have pulled this distracting trick before.
he grabs kate’s leg and hikes it up, hoping that she’s as flexible as he assumed, and gets a good handful right where thigh meets ass. hey, this isn’t a time that he can (hah!) half-ass anything. it’s all in the name of making it look real. ]