ArchivedLogs:Basic Human Rights

Basic Human Rights
Dramatis Personae Clint, Fury, Steve
In Absentia	2016-05-02 "/Nobody/ is ready for that clusterfuck."
Location <NYC> S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters - Director's Office - Times Square
This corner office is big, bright and airy, which is not cheap to come by in midtown Manhattan. On one side, a huge glass desk sits in front of the floor-to-ceiling window looking out over Times Square. The far corner has a leather couch, a coffee table, a liquor cabinet and a sideboard, but the rest of the floor space is left open between bookshelves Fury is pacing, shoulders hunched forward, movements sharp and controlled. He wears a As usual, he is outfittered entirely in black, from his polished boots to his sweeping leather coat to the patch over his left eye. "So," he is saying, "let me get this straight: you want me to break Jackson Holland out of jail?!" Clint leans against the wall with his arms folded over his chest, beside the lone potted ficus lending greenness and a little extra oxygen to the office. He wears a violet dress shirt with gray pinstripes, a steel chevron bolo tie, and black plain-front trousers. His sharp brown eyes track Fury's pacing from behind a new pair of clear goggles which in no way matches his outfit. Steve is standing at ease, his hands clasped neatly beneath the shield strapped to his back. He wears a pale blue button-down shirt that matches his eyes, a silver tie with subtle embroidered silver stars, and charcoal slacks. "No, Sir. I want you to arrange for him and Ryan Black to be transferred to S.H.I.E.L.D. custody while awaiting trial." "Why the hell would I want to do that?" Fury stops mid-stride and glares at Steve. "And before you start jumping to any conclusions about my particular prejudices, no, I'm not scared because one of them is a walking hydrogen bomb and the other a living LRAD. I don't even think they are a flight risk." He starts pacing again. "But there's a /lot/ of publicity around those two right now, and do /not/ want to blunder into the middle of so many locked politcal horns. S.H.I.E.L.D. is not ready for that clusterfuck." Then, after a considering pause, he adds, more gently, "/Nobody/ is ready for that clusterfuck." "I disagree." It's the first time Clint has shown, save for a terse greeting when he first entered. He double-taps a button on the side of his goggles and says, " Autotranscribe off. That feature needs more work." For a moment, it seems as if he does not intend to elaborate further on his disagreement. Then, just when Fury looked about ready to jump in, Clint says, "First, this /does/ fall under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s purview. Whatever training these feds have, they still don't know what Holland can do. Say their suppression tech goes down, a CO panics, shoots the man. Boom." He shrugs. "Or, far less dramatic but more likely, they let him grow ill and die quietly, but make him a martyr anyway. The Brotherhood of Mutants gets a bump in recruitment and an excuse to make open war." Clint unfolds his arms, splay his hands open, palms up. "Holland and Black are polarizing figures, yes, but in the long run we're much better off with them alive and influential in the mutant community than dead and used as a rallying cry by more violent elements. Additionally, the chance they might come out of this seeing us as the lesser of many evils is worth expending any political capital we have at the moment. Besides," he adds, kind of off-handedly, "there is that whole. Basic human rights thing." Steve had squared his shoulders at Fury's virtual dismissal, and looked very much ready to go a tirade. Instead he just listens to Clint, his face contorting briefly with horror at the hypotheticals he poses. By the time the man finishes speaking, Steve has subsided and is leveling a look of equal parts confusion, admiration, and wariness at him. Perhaps he hadn't thought of everything mentioned, or perhaps he simply hadn't counted Clint being on his side. At length, he unfolds his hands from behind his back and signs, very haltingly, while voicing "Thank you. Do you need..." He wavers for a moment, grasping for the right sign, "...interpreter?" Fury stalks back to his desk and drops into his chair as if he just intends to ignore Clint's argument. But he just leans back with his hands steepled and listens, emitting occasional disgruntled noises at more or less the same things that make Steve wince. While Steve struggles through sim-comming, Fury pulls out his keyboard tray and turns his monitor around to face Clint. A text editor occupies almost the entire window, and he types in 36 point Arial (also while speaking, though he's clear more practiced at it than Steve), "Topic too sensitive for interpreter. Tell Agent Fitz what's wrong with auto transcription software. Don't hold back." He pauses again, his eye flicking from Clint to Steve and then back. "You know know how to sell this, I'll give you that. But you left out one important point: if I refuse, Captain Blunderbuss here will probably rage-quit. AGAIN. Then next week some merry band of mutant outlaws will bust those two out, which is going to create all kinds of mayhem and somehow end up being a pain in my ass even if I had nothing at all to do with it." Clint allows a thin, shallow smile. "Oh, the transcription works alright if you're standing still and speaking loudly and evenly at my face. It's basically useless otherwise. Both useless /and/ hilarious when you're ranting and pacing. Anyway." He straightens up, nods to Steve. "As long as we all know where we stand with this, I'll leave it in your hands and go see Fitz." With that he's gone, pulling the goggles from his face as he departs. Steve waves to Clint as he departs, then turns back to Fury. "It's not because he's my..." "Boyfriend," Fury fills in the word for him. "I know. It isn't--or isn't /wholly/, anyway." He closes the text document without saving it. "There's a chance we'll have to go public with S.H.I.E.L.D. to pull this off." "Maybe it's for the best, if you want to be a middle ground between complete lack of oversight on people with special abilities and blanket oppression of mutants -- or worse." Steve looks past Fury, through the enormous window at the glamorous mid-town skyscrapers. "For what it's worth, you have my respect for doing this. I know it's not going to make you any friends." "Well, I didn't get where I am by making friends." Fury grumbles, but there's just the faint suggestion of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "I did it by being ornery, competent, and not a little paranoid. Now get the hell out of my office before I change my mind."