03. (Not) Shooting Things

[chirrutsluck]

WHO: Baze Malbus and OTA
WHERE: Outskirts of town, 6I
WHEN: September
OPEN TO: Any and all
WARNINGS: Look out for flying projectiles

After a couple weeks of being too sick to do much, Baze is getting back into life in 6I, despite the lingering cough and occasional shortness of breath. He's checking his traps in the morning, offering to fix anything people need that's broken and that he can figure out... and attempting to shoot things.

Two weeks of being confined to one building means he had a lot of time to try and carve bow staves and whittle arrow shafts, and to try and twist strings out of cloth, leather strips, and guts from fish and rabbits, anything he could get his bored fingers on. So he has three bows put together, and he spends at least some of his time every afternoon attempting to shoot things. "Attempting" is the operative word, there, because only one of the bows is remotely serviceable and that one was an experiment with bending the staff the other way when he hadn't really intended it to work, and his arrows-- merely sharpened and straightened sticks, at this point, since he wasn't going to waste stone or metal on tips when he's just learning-- don't fly very well.

There is a lot of cursing going on, when one catches him at it.

Of course, he's also available at the normal places: the inn, helping in the kitchen or attempting to whittle some better arrows; around the village, carrying things or pausing to cough or catch his breath; up on a roof battering down leaks; or peering across the divide into 7I, though he doesn't spend much time there. He may be attempting to shoot foxes sneaking across the border, but again, he's not that great at it.

Comments

cw: references to depression

[fishermansweater]

Finnick has been largely out of things for the past few weeks, too, though for reasons of his own that were unrelated to the illness he's since heard about. Unrelated, and maybe a factor in neither him nor Annie catching the disease that had swept through the village. It's been a slow recovery -- and recovery probably isn't the right word, because he's never actually better, just not as bad as he had been.

Still, he's back to helping Annie check the traps, even though it takes more time and energy than it used to. He still sometimes runs into people; he has the whole length of the river to walk, but others use it too, and sometimes he's there at the same time as someone else. This time, he's alerted to another presence by the sound of some words he doesn't recognize in a tone he does, that says they're some sort of swearing.

A few steps in that direction and Finnick's in sight of a man holding what looks like a makeshift bow. Very makeshift, the sort tributes make in the Games when they think they have no other choice, that hardly ever work. This one looks better than most he'd seen in the Games, but still nowhere near as good as a proper bow, the sort they'd trained on when they covered archery in the Academy. Finnick was never an expert archer, but he knows a bad shot when he sees one.

"Make that yourself?" he asks.

[chirrutsluck]

Hey, Baze is a very good shot, thank you very much. He just doesn't have good enough tools to work with, and he's more used to having plasma or laser ammo than wooden ones. He lowers the not-quite-weapon at the sound of the voice, glancing over at Finnick, and snorts.

"That obvious, is it?" Obviously it's obvious. The bow looks rough and it isn't shooting straight.

[fishermansweater]

"I've seen a lot of people try to make bows."

The use of the word try there is deliberate, because he's also seen how few of them worked. It was something a tribute might try if they had a knife and some sort of string or line and not much else, and hadn't spent enough time with the instructors to learn how to make decent traps. Bows are, unfortunately for most of the tributes, harder to make than they look, and Finnick himself knows very little about how to do it. He's not even a particularly good archer himself, though he'd had a little training years ago at the Academy.

It's still his habit here to hold back from being too genuine when he meets people, the same detachment he'd taught himself to use in public in Panem, where everyone knew what they expected from him, and it was easier to play into their expectations than anything else. Not that he still thinks everyone here knows who and what he is, but it's easier to fall back into what he's used to than to force himself to act against those habits.

Still, he's aware that it's particularly unhelpful to point out what's obvious without offering anything else, so he moves a little closer, using the end of the trident he's carrying to lean on.

"Having any luck with it?" That, too, might be a little obvious, but it's also an opening.

[chirrutsluck]

Nice to know he's not the only one who's failed spectacularly, around here. "This is the best one I have made so far," Baze grumbles, looking it over. It's the one he bent backwards, accidentally creating better tension for arrows to fly further, but since he hadn't meant for it to be bent backwards when he carved it out, it isn't very attractive or accurate. "And I can only hit something I am aiming for one time in six. So no, not a lot of luck. Why, do you have advice?"

He might, maybe, even take it.

[fishermansweater]

"More on surviving in the wild than on making bows," he admits, and his tone is a little softer, loses the faint sardonic edge that long ago became his habit when speaking to anyone other than Annie or Mags. It's not that he has no experience or knowledge of archery, but the training they'd received in the Academy had always been based on the idea that they'd had a weapon, one seized from the Cornucopia or sent by a sponsor.

"I haven't had an archery lesson in a long time. Better at throwing things."

He comes a little closer, his head tilting to one side as he studies the bow. He's quiet, but the pause is thoughtful, and a faint furrow in his brow shows his consideration, as he thinks back to those old lessons.

He's long tried to remember the old lessons in case he needed them, as a mentor. And he'd been studying the Games that still had surviving victors before he came here, in preparation for the Quell.

"The arrows. If you put feathers on them, it stabilizes the flight."

[chirrutsluck]

"Throwing things is an option, too, but this makes them go faster. Or it should." He glowers at the bow before turning his attention back to Finnick. "I saw that, and once I have a bow that works and arrows that are halfway decent, I'll take the time to do that."

He's still just fumbling around in practice, right now, and he doubts feathers will be quite enough to make it work the way he wants to. But he'll keep that in mind.

Instead, he asks, "What was your name again?" He's seen Finnick around, of course, but if he's heard the boy's name he's since forgotten it.

[fishermansweater]

"I've heard that," he agrees, genuine amusement curling one corner of his mouth into a half-smile. He's sure it's true, though he doesn't know enough about science to be able to say why: physics wasn't considered necessary for the fisherfolk of District Four to learn.

Katniss Everdeen would no doubt have agreed with the man, and she'd probably even have been able to advise him on what to do with the bow. Finnick himself has feathers in large supply -- with a gaggle of a dozen geese, plenty of feathers are shed in his and Annie's front yard -- but he'd turned his attentions to the spear and makeshift trident he'd gotten materials for shortly after he'd arrived here, and he'd been happy with those weapons. They were far more his style.

"Finnick Odair. I don't think I ever got yours, either."

Eventually, he'll regularly remember to introduce himself without being asked, but it's still scattershot at the moment, after so many years spent never meeting anyone who didn't know his name.

[onlyeverdoubted]

It's good to see him up and about again. Bodhi very carefully doesn't say or even suggest that fact, but still. He's starting to hope they've reached a point where Baze... doesn't regret not shooting him in Saw's caves? Maybe. He shouldn't get too far ahead of himself. He finds Baze near the entrance to the other valley, and from the glaring, it's pretty obvious what the goal might be.

"Kira told me they have those where he's from," Bodhi announces without preamble, since going through the steps of proper greetings doesn't really seem like a priority Baze has. He's also interpreting Kira's explanation of the foxes very liberally--what he actually said was there were stories about them, but Bodhi's from a world where space magic is a matter of course, and the difference didn't seem meaningful. "He taught me a few ways to keep them away if you want to know."

[chirrutsluck]

Baze hit that point a long time ago, Bodhi. He's just grumpy in general, not at you specifically, and he did realize while being sick that he's very tired of Bodhi being afraid of him. So he's going to make... a little bit of an effort, at least.

He hadn't even had the bow raised, so he just sticks the end into the ground and leans on it a little, like a regular staff, and glances aside at Bodhi. "And what are they called where Kira comes from?"

[onlyeverdoubted]

"Um." He's not sure why that's the important part. "Foxes." Kira's explanation hadn't really made it clear to him that magic foxes and regular foxes might be different things. "They sound a little like muttamoks. Creatures, but sensitive enough to the force to be a little extra trouble. Apparently they don't like singing." Bodhi finds this idea hilarious, not least because his own singing voice is execrable, but he tries to share it with a straight face.

[chirrutsluck]

It's an opening question, Bodhi, and he wants to at least have something to call them. The offered information has his brows going up, and a hint of an incredulous smile around his mouth. "Singing?" he repeats. "Are you serious?"

[onlyeverdoubted]

"Singing," he says, nodding in mock seriousness that folds immediately into amusement. "I'm doomed, of course, because there was a... a binding resolution that Rook's not allowed to sing." Very serious legal ramifications of things pilots yell in Cantinas at two in the morning.

[chirrutsluck]

Baze can understand how such things might come about; there were jokes of that sort in the temple, before the temple was emptied out by the Empire. "I doubt that is binding here," he points out, rounding a little amused. "None of the people who made that resolution are here now to hear you."

Go on, Bodhi. Sing. Do it.

Breach/Shooting Foxes (let me know if this is cool cuz it made me laugh)

[scepterschild]

Wanda was spending most of her September at the breach. She had collected a great number of snuggies from the inn and, using rocks and sticks, had fashioned different traps for the four legged pests that were trying to slip through the path through the canyon. Ever since her fight with a fox in 7i she'd been on a mission to stop these things from making their way into the village.

She had 'borrowed' a few of Clints throwing knifes that she was saving for a last stand with any foxes that had slipped through her traps. That was when she saw Baze and his bow. He was aiming at a fox that had managed to get tangled in one of Wanda's snuggie based traps. Instead of killing the creature he ripped the fabric of the snuggie and set the fox free.

Wanda cursed beneath her breath, flicking one of her daggers to the palm of her hand. She threw it in time to clip the foxes front legs, sending it to the ground. She already knew what these things did and was quick to approach and kill the creature. Wanda tried to be humane about it and she'd take it back to the inn so it's death wouldn't be a waste but she looked pissed when she turned on Baze.

"What are you doing?" She was happy to see him looking better but she'd spent a lot of time on these traps and those god damn foxes.

ha! that works fine XD

[chirrutsluck]

Baze doesn't look particularly happy, either. He'd really thought that arrow would fly true, he'd spent almost an hour whittling that one into as straight a shaft as he could. "Trying to help," he growls back at her. He's lost some weight over the past few weeks, and his voice is rougher than it had been, but he doesn't look as bad as he did. "You don't have to tell me I am doing badly at it. I already know."

[scepterschild]

Wanda bit her lower lip to reel in her anger. It wasn't his fault but she was on edge and pissed at those damn foxes. There were thin scars on her arms where reminisce of her last encounter with the creatures were visible.

"Talk to Clint." He was the one who knew everything there was about bows and arrows. As far as Wanda knows, he made his own arrows. "He can help."

She moved to reset her trap before taking the fox back to the inn to be skinned and eaten. "Help me with this." She waved over to the trap. Since he was the one who broke it, he was going to help fix it.

[chirrutsluck]

"If I ever run into him again, I will," Baze says grumpily, but he does put the homemade bow down and come to join her, crouching at the trap site. "What do you want to do with it?" It's probably fixable, with a little twine or bark to hold the fabric together, but she might want to take it apart and turn it into two, since it was halfway there already.

[scepterschild]

Wanda looked over at the ripped snuggie and sighed. "Finish tearing it. We'll use it another way." The way she had it set up now used the arms and a series of large rocks to anchor the fabric and roll away, tangling any fox that accidentally slipped into what appeared to be harmless fabric.

"There are more over there." She pointed to a bag that was tied to one of the nearby trees. Wanda hadn't trusted more of those stupid things to get through her stuff and so she tied them up where they were safe.

[chirrutsluck]

That, he can do. He pulls it out from under its rock weights and neatly tears it the rest of the way, in a straight line down the fabric, and pushes back up to go collect her bag of supplies, without verbal comment. He's too annoyed at the kriffing arrow, just now, to make polite small talk. Give him a minute and he'll get better.

[pretendtoneedme]

For all that Clint really feels like he should have a rifle of some sort slung in the crook of his elbow, that's just not a thing they have available and so he's gone for the next best thing: a club he'd made by taking a nicely round stone and lashing it to one of the boards of the schoolhouse that had broken in a fortuitous way, giving a nice cradle for the stone and a thinner end he'd wrapped in some rags to protect from splinters and to get a good grip. Primitive, but effective. He finds Baze out back of the house strip, Arado trotting along with him in that gangly way that half-grown dogs possess, his throwing knives in their sheathes on his belt. Whatever he's been doing today, it isn't hunting or building (and destroying), his two primary occupations in the village, but he does pause to watch Baze for a bit. He has no doubt the older man knows he's there - Baze seems to have a pretty keen perception himself, he's making no effort to hide, and of course Arado's quivering and yipping at this person even if he's too well-trained to bark and jump around - but he doesn't say anything for the first few shots, watching what Baze is doing and searching for those little clues that will put the story together for him with few (or no) questions.

Finally, after almost five minutes of watching, he speaks. "Trying to take up hunting?" Even though not one arrow had gone where it was supposed to go, at least he's trying.

[chirrutsluck]

The older man shoots a glower over his shoulder. "I have been hunting for weeks, only with snares," he informs Clint irritably, though the irritation is mostly because of his poor showing, not with Clint himself. It's embarrassing that one of the best shots on Jedha can't hit a kriffing tree. "This is more effective. Or it would be, if I could make one that worked." There must be some piece of knowledge he's missing here, he just doesn't know yet what it is, and he hasn't managed to get his hands on the real thing for a proper comparison.

[pretendtoneedme]

The irritation rolls off Clint's back as Baze gets... well, "grumpy" is the only word he can really associate with that tone. The older man is really irritated, and it's not hard to guess what it is. In some ways Baze reminds him a lot of himself; whenever there's something they feel they should be able to do, and they can't do it, they get annoyed.

"Your wood's flawed," he says, not in an accusing tone, just matter-of-factly. A quick word to Arado in a language that's not English, which settles the dog down, and then another word that makes him sit where he is and watch the proceedings at a safe distance, and Clint makes his way over to Baze. What he's got is primitive compared to what he's used to, but there's potential there, once they straighten out a few issues. Literally. "See below the grip? There's a knot there that makes it too thick and not bend evenly. Same thing here." Clint picks up one of the arrows Baze had left sitting, waiting to be used, and holds it up to his right eye while closing his left to study it closely. "You didn't let these season, did you? These're pretty straight, but they're not as good as you need."

[chirrutsluck]

"You need to season the arrows?" Baze realizes with, yes, grumpy dismay. That's a very good word for Baze most of the time, in fact. "I had not considered that." Great. That's going to make this take even longer. He holds up the bow, looking for the spot Clint is pointing out, and lets out air through his teeth in an annoyed sort of hiss. "I thought I had a good piece for the bow, at least. I made six of them, while I was sick. This was the only one with enough tension." What else did he have to do, after all? He'll have to make yet another one, it seems.

[pretendtoneedme]

"Yeah, you start with green wood and let them dry out so they straighten up and they fly better. You can even put a book or a cinderblock or whatever on them to make them really straight." Then comes notching, fitting the tip, and possibly adding fletching, but Clint's pretty sure he's given Baze enough to think about just with the few things he's already said.

Well, maybe one more thing. "You know there's a couple bows and some arrows in the inn stock, right?" The weapons are free for anyone to borrow, long as they get returned. A couple people have expressed interest in Clint teaching them to shoot, but he's demurred so far because of the lack of good weapons in their collective possession. They just don't have the equipment for people to practice on them and either break them or lose them, but if people are starting to make their own weapons, it's probably time. At least Baze will be responsible about it.

"You don't have a bad piece, you just don't know the steps in making it." Nodding at the bow in Baze's hand, he holds out his own, the one with the arrow, for a trade. "Can I?"

[chirrutsluck]

The arrow is little more than a sharpened, straightened stick at this point, Baze wasn't going to bother with adding metal or stone for a tip or fletching when he's still at the stage where his bow doesn't even work right. "There was only one in storage last time I heard," Baze says, narrowing his eyes at Clint thoughtfully. If there's multiple he wouldn't feel bad about practicing and working with one while he tried to get his own to work. He can be careful with it, at least.

He trades the bow for the arrow, for Clint to examine. "That one I bent the other way," he explains. "From what I'd intended when I cut it. That seems to make it work better than the others."