But, oh God, the guy speaks English. Scott could cry. He almost cries! Really, the only thing that keeps him from doing it is the fact that... well, he's probably already made a big enough fool of himself.
The line isn't long at all, so he doesn't feel so bad stepping out of it and letting the next person go. He can read the aversion towards human contact in waves, but is less concerned about that and more concerned about whether this guy can translate for him.
"I do, yeah." A brief pause. "An' yeah, as long as you're payin'. You got the money?"
He holds out a hand as if to say give it to me - a dirty, calloused hand with sharp nails which indicate this guy is in serious need of a manicure, not to mention the use of some soap.
It'd be easier to just tear the whole damn place down an' feed myself, but there's somethin' I wanna know about this boy 'fore I rip out his throat.
He'd told Hawkeye (er, Barton) he didn't have much use for... the stupid amount of cash he'd been given, but Hawkeye didn't want to hear it. This is where Scott would make con jokes if he could, but as far as anyone concerned John "Jack" Paddington couldn't do cons if he tried.
(Jack! Seriously, if he didn't admire Captain America with his life--)
"I just, uh, can't speak... French? To save my life." A laugh, and then a joke: "Pas d'avocats."
Because, yeah. No solicitors is definitely a thing.
Victor raises an eyebrow, the expression doing a very good job of showing how little he thinks of the man's attempt to speak French (although really, perhaps Scott is lucky that Victor is actually in a good mood) and continues to hold out his hand
"Let's see it, then. I ain't gonna charm a free lunch outta them usin' just my good looks."
He's doing this because he's bored more than anything else. Maybe a little hungry, too. But mostly bored.
"'course I speak..." Scott's glancing at the menu, though, pulling out enough to pay for a cup of coffee and a sandwich. He's not an extravagant guy; the money lands in the other man's hand easily enough. "...English.
"Do you want something, too? I mean, I owe you for ordering for me."
Because Scott really doesn't know what to do with all the money the Avengers have given him. Hell, he doesn't even feel like a proper Avenger at all.
"I already said I was gettin' somethin', didn't I?"
Grouchy doesn't even begin to cover it. Victor's not so much a bear with a sore head as a bear with a sore head, piles, a migraine, and a thorn wedged right up his ass.
"Y'ain't told me what you want yet. I might be a lot o' things but I ain't no psychic."
Really, what is this other guy's problem? He's about as competent as a wet piece of tissue paper. How the Hell he's managed to survive here this long, Victor has no idea.
This is where Scott wants to say 'jeez, relax!', but he supposes the guy's got a point. So he points to the cheapest sandwich on there, which is some vegetable medley, probably. He can at least understand that three of the things in it are vegetables, and that there's some cheese on it.
"I can't even pretend I know how to pronounce what that is," he admits, then sticks his hands into his pockets.
"It's a pan bagnat" Again, Victor eyes the man with suspicion. "What the Hell are y'doin' here if y'can't even order a sandwich?"
He doesn't acknowledge Scott's gratitude, just sneers at the man and turns away from him towards the queue of people waiting to get served - and then he's shoving them all aside, pushing his way to the front and slamming his fist down on the counter with a snarl. He growls a few words in French, which apparently silences any protest from the horrified (and do they look scared?) staff, who begin scurrying around to get his order. He looks back towards Scott, and laughs.
Well, Scott didn't think the guy would do it like that.
"Uh..." The fact the guy's looking at him means that some of the patrons are looking at him too, and it's with a small sigh and a light rub of his neck that he manages a 'désolé'. It's likely he pronounced that poorly, and it's not like he knows enough French to be able to explain his way out of this one (not like he knows this man well enough to explain his behaviour, jeez), so he lifts both his hands up in what hopefully looks docile enough to the other people so they can hopefully forgive...
Man. Both of them, he realises, now that they're sort of connected.
Scott does walk up to where the man is though, moving to grab his wrist fearlessly. The fact that 'fearlessly' has to be specified isn't lost on him; this means there's something Scott should instinctively fear about him.
But he does pull him off to the side where they can wait for the pan... whatever the hell that was, in peace.
"Is that how you always order things in public?" he asked, voice sort of hissing towards the end.
no shame man, he's sexy af for Toxic Masculinity made flesh
It's not a pleasant laugh. It's a deep, guttural sneer, the humour failing to reach his eyes, which continue to study Scott as though he's some kind of unpleasant insect. Standing even closer now than they have done before, it's uncomfortably obvious just how big Victor is - not just in height, but there's a lot of muscle there too.
"Y'should be grateful I'm actually orderin', kid." He doesn't seem to give a shit about the way anybody else is staring at them. "Usually I just get what I want without askin', but I'm feelin' merciful 'cause you're so goddamn pathetic."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But, oh God, the guy speaks English. Scott could cry. He almost cries! Really, the only thing that keeps him from doing it is the fact that... well, he's probably already made a big enough fool of himself.
The line isn't long at all, so he doesn't feel so bad stepping out of it and letting the next person go. He can read the aversion towards human contact in waves, but is less concerned about that and more concerned about whether this guy can translate for him.
"You know how to order here, right?"
no subject
He holds out a hand as if to say give it to me - a dirty, calloused hand with sharp nails which indicate this guy is in serious need of a manicure, not to mention the use of some soap.
It'd be easier to just tear the whole damn place down an' feed myself, but there's somethin' I wanna know about this boy 'fore I rip out his throat.
no subject
He'd told Hawkeye (er, Barton) he didn't have much use for... the stupid amount of cash he'd been given, but Hawkeye didn't want to hear it. This is where Scott would make con jokes if he could, but as far as anyone concerned John "Jack" Paddington couldn't do cons if he tried.
(Jack! Seriously, if he didn't admire Captain America with his life--)
"I just, uh, can't speak... French? To save my life." A laugh, and then a joke: "Pas d'avocats."
Because, yeah. No solicitors is definitely a thing.
no subject
"Let's see it, then. I ain't gonna charm a free lunch outta them usin' just my good looks."
He's doing this because he's bored more than anything else. Maybe a little hungry, too. But mostly bored.
"Can y'even speak English?"
no subject
"Do you want something, too? I mean, I owe you for ordering for me."
Because Scott really doesn't know what to do with all the money the Avengers have given him. Hell, he doesn't even feel like a proper Avenger at all.
no subject
Grouchy doesn't even begin to cover it. Victor's not so much a bear with a sore head as a bear with a sore head, piles, a migraine, and a thorn wedged right up his ass.
"Y'ain't told me what you want yet. I might be a lot o' things but I ain't no psychic."
Really, what is this other guy's problem? He's about as competent as a wet piece of tissue paper. How the Hell he's managed to survive here this long, Victor has no idea.
no subject
"I can't even pretend I know how to pronounce what that is," he admits, then sticks his hands into his pockets.
"I owe you big time, man."
no subject
He doesn't acknowledge Scott's gratitude, just sneers at the man and turns away from him towards the queue of people waiting to get served - and then he's shoving them all aside, pushing his way to the front and slamming his fist down on the counter with a snarl. He growls a few words in French, which apparently silences any protest from the horrified (and do they look scared?) staff, who begin scurrying around to get his order. He looks back towards Scott, and laughs.
wow i'm like surprisingly gay for that icon
"Uh..." The fact the guy's looking at him means that some of the patrons are looking at him too, and it's with a small sigh and a light rub of his neck that he manages a 'désolé'. It's likely he pronounced that poorly, and it's not like he knows enough French to be able to explain his way out of this one (not like he knows this man well enough to explain his behaviour, jeez), so he lifts both his hands up in what hopefully looks docile enough to the other people so they can hopefully forgive...
Man. Both of them, he realises, now that they're sort of connected.
Scott does walk up to where the man is though, moving to grab his wrist fearlessly. The fact that 'fearlessly' has to be specified isn't lost on him; this means there's something Scott should instinctively fear about him.
But he does pull him off to the side where they can wait for the pan... whatever the hell that was, in peace.
"Is that how you always order things in public?" he asked, voice sort of hissing towards the end.
no shame man, he's sexy af for Toxic Masculinity made flesh
It's not a pleasant laugh. It's a deep, guttural sneer, the humour failing to reach his eyes, which continue to study Scott as though he's some kind of unpleasant insect. Standing even closer now than they have done before, it's uncomfortably obvious just how big Victor is - not just in height, but there's a lot of muscle there too.
"Y'should be grateful I'm actually orderin', kid." He doesn't seem to give a shit about the way anybody else is staring at them. "Usually I just get what I want without askin', but I'm feelin' merciful 'cause you're so goddamn pathetic."