He had a mission, ah yes. A mission that proved to be not quite as easy as he’d thought. See, one didn’t break into S.H.I.E.L.D. just like that. Funny how the Stark Tower was less protected than this place, really.
So - he needed a way in. Turns out, he’d have to work for it a little. That was fine. The three-week stake-out was about to pay off in the form of one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. nerds walking into the coffee shop he’d been waiting in for, like said - three weeks.
Which was good, because people were getting nervous about him constantly being present.
“Pardon - double—-” he begun, as if stepping up to order - only to knock this guy’s coffee over. “—-Oh, mon dieu! I’m sorry, ‘m sorry—-” was continued; whip out the accent. Guys loved the accent. “C’mon, let me—-” Cue taking his shirt off, leaving nothing but the sleeveless wifebeater.
Really, though - he was very organized of a con artist, one had to admit.
“Really, ‘m sorry, lemme—- Lemme pay fer a new coffee, please? Double! Double coffees. You’ll get two. Or three! If ya like, God, just lemme make this up fer ya. C’mon, please—- Get this guy another coffee, ‘s on me, ‘s all on me. Toss a muffin in. Ya got any allergies?”
And this left him maybe a minute to chat the guy up. To hasten the process, his shades were taken off. Hey, people were usually pretty weak for his eyes - and the smile. That wide, charming smile he then flashed. A hint of an apology visible.
“‘M Remy,” He introduced himself, letting out a faint chuckle. “Really, I’m—- I’m sorry. I get nervous ‘round, well. Tattoos.”
Newton wasn’t one to visit the coffee shop close to SHIELD often, or any coffee shop really. Or anywhere else either, if he was really honest with himself. But one couldn’t just survive on the instant coffee that the machines provided, both at home and his workplace. Granted, the one at home was of a better quality and tasted better, maybe that was just because it was from home, probably not, because he actually did research on affordable coffee machines. So, once a month, or two months, or a week, it all depended on his schedule and his mood, he would stop by to pick up a random coffee from the menu. He didn’t have a usual, wasn’t even regular enough for one, just tended to stick to the special they had that month, week, day, season, whatever.
So happened he decided that today was one of those days, he’d woke up early and figured it was a good time to have it in, instead of taking his morning beverage on the go. Newt had ordered a double espresso, and a chocolate donut to go with it. Of course the coffee had to take time so he returned to his seat and meddled with his phone for a short while, typing out details which he remembered he forgot to put in his report about that new alien species yesterday.
He took a while to realise that the barista had called his name, too engrossed in his work. Newt got out of his seat, rolled his sleeves up a bit and moved to collect the espresso under his name. He didn’t expect, however, for a taller man to bump into him, spilling the hot liquid over his white shirt, soaking it in brown, and therefore scalding him.
“Jesus — ”
Newt’s first instinct was to release the coffee cup back onto the table. It clattered onto the counter, spilling whatever remaining liquid onto the mahogany. He was rather thankful that he wasn’t carrying his notes around with him like he was so used to. As it was his documents were in his bag and on a seat for once. He would have killed the man if his papers had been damaged. As it was, only his favourite shirt had taken the blunt of the damage.
A deep frown was etched onto his face, and looked back up in an attempt to voice his irritation. Newton did not get very far however, what with the man apologising profusely, and suddenly taking his shirt off to dab at the stain that was bound to stay. It was the thought that counted though.
The man, with his rich Cajun accent, offered to pay for more coffee, and a muffin, which just left Newt dumbfounded. No one was that kind anymore, probably all he would have gotten in a situation like this was an apology and probably something simple to compensate the shirt. His tattoos? They didn’t look that scary… It wasn’t like gang tattoos, but perhaps aliens freaked the guy out. The man seemed to babble just as much as he did, and reminded him of himself. Newt would have done pretty much the same, having a lack of social life or skills made one talk excessively. It would have been irritating to anyone but him. Newt gave the man, Remy apparently, a smile.
“No… really it’s fine. Not much harm done. It’s fine really.” He returned, as a barista came towards them with a mop and some serviettes to help with the cleaning process. “Let’s sit down, don’t want to hinder them doing their jobs.” Newt gestured to his seat, and figured that he could probably get changed back home later, or something…
“I’m Newt.” He added, as an afterthought, only fair that he returned the favour after all.
