sixthiterationlogs | Hit Me With Your Best Shot, Fire Away

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Hit Me With Your Best Shot, Fire Away

WHO: Clint Barton
WHERE: Area behind the inn/police station, fields/forest, and behind the boathouse (all in 6I)
WHEN: October 1-3
OPEN TO: Anyone
WARNINGS: Nothing yet; will update if anything changes

( October 1 - Archery Lessons )

The leaves are starting to turn colors, everything except the needlers going gold or red or brown, and it's getting less comfortable to wander around in shirtsleeves although he's still doing it most days. But back home that cooling and color changing means something specific to him that it doesn't mean to a lot of people he worked with - namely, hunting season. It's something he grew up with and still participates in, back home, and here it'll be even more important considering the number of mouths they're going to have to feed over the winter, even with the recent losses of a fair number of people, since among them were some of the regular hunters. In the latter half of September, Clint's switched his focus more towards food acquisition than construction and repair for that reason (and the fact that the scavenged wreckage is beginning to run out), but good as he is he knows he can't feed over fifty people alone. There's other hunters, but not enough, and not nearly enough equipment. It's time to get to making more and teaching other people to use them. Finding Baze trying to make bows and arrows a couple weeks before had basically forced his hand, and Clint had offered to teach him exactly what to do, both in crafting and in actual shooting.

Now, the fruits of their labor are ready for testing. The four bows aren't that great, they were all done in too big a rush and probably nothing's going to last longer than late spring, but they're even and basically smoothed out and Clint figures even getting some basic weapons out into the community will help and he'll have the winter to really get down to crafting some good bows. The arrows are much better; there's a huge box of arrowheads in the inn storage, more than even he could ever possibly need in a year, and he'd liberally helped himself to them and feathers from some of the geese he'd brought down to make quality arrows. They're more likely to break than the bows simply because they're thinner and they're the things making direct contact with whatever's being shot at, but they'll shoot straight and true until then, and their non-wood parts can likely be reclaimed and used again.

He's also taken five of the abundance of snuggies from the inn storage (why would there be so many snuggies?) and rolled them all up to make a target that he'd balanced on a tree stump and weighed down with some rocks so it wouldn't go rolling off into the sunset when it got shot. The blue of the outer snuggie is eye-catching, and he's carefully testing each bow and its cord of tightly twisted duct tape with the new arrows. They work... well enough. Not what he's used to, but they'll work fine for anyone with some sort of skill at aiming - and he's willing to help people find out if they have that skill. He might even make this a real thing every few days until it gets too cold for any but the most dedicated hunters to be out seeking a target.

He looses an arrow, which pierces his fluffy target, then speaks to whoever's watching him while reaching for the next one and not moving his focused sight on one bit. "If you wanna try it out, come on over. Just don't get in the gallery."

( October 2 - Dastardly Tricks )

In the vein of archery, Clint's taken to roaming the forests looking for good slim branches he can cut for arrows for about an hour a day, and today's no exception. Archery lessons went decently well and he's cautiously optimistic about their chances at finding enough game. If the bows don't break. If they don't run out of arrows. If there's not another natural disaster. If- So, yeah, looking for more supplies is always good. He also keeps his eyes open for any branches he could use to make another bow, but those are harder to find. He's debating binding reeds together to give them another one, as makeshift as that is.

It's almost harvest time, so he's not taken aback when he sees the apple hanging from the tree in front of him - big, red, bright and shiny, like the tree had been tended by the foremost gardeners in the world from the time it was a sapling. Their own fruit output looks pretty good, but none of them are as perfect as that sample. Clint doesn't even try to stop himself from reaching up and picking it, not realizing any significance in the fact that it's just inside his comfortable reach, and-

-it vanishes in a little puff of apple-scented air, prompting an outburst of дерьмо́! and him nearly dropping the small bundle of sticks he'd gathered to season for arrows. "I was looking forward to that," he mutters, regathering the sticks he'd fumbled and continuing on through the trees. Without realizing that he'd come away with something even if it wasn't a nice, juicy apple: a set of soft gray, fluffy bunny ears and a matching white-tipped tail smashed flat under his scrubs pants.

( October 3 - Under Construction )

Did Clint want to go outside and face a few dozen people who were probably still laughing at the stupid ears and tail? No. Is that what he's doing? Yes. Well, sort of.

He's gone out after breakfast at the house, sure, but even though he's not hiding, he's not exactly hanging out in the middle of the village tempting everyone to tease him. While he's still one hundred percent not happy with the trick played on him, the snow that had dusted the ground when he'd woken up had lit a fire under his ass on a project he'd been working at off and on for about a month. The days had been getting chillier, hunting season was coming, sure, but snow? Whatever hands are controlling the weather, he's pretty sure they're about to fuck with the residents again. Over the past few weeks, Clint - and lately, Baze - have been forming mud bricks with some plant fiber mixed in, leaving them to dry after being shaped in a wooden frame Clint had lashed together from branches and paracord. It's something they can only work on on days with no rain, since the bricks need to dry in the sun, but they've manufactured a respectable pile of bricks that are more or less 12"x6"x4".

Today's all about putting that together. Using the mud technique, Clint had cleared a small swath of grass and moss and other ground cover from a small area behind the boathouse and mixed it up to form a concave "dish" of mud in the ground, which he's now piling the bricks around in a square formation, leaving space for a door ~~that he's planning on stealing from one of the damaged homes~~. He's also got a few thick, more or less straight branches piled off to the side, chopped down to matching lengths that are clearly for some latter step in the process. But the smokehouse he's been planning is finally being assembled, and hopefully soon it'll be ready to start preserving their meats.

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Wanda was at the point in her archery lessons where she practiced mostly on her own, allow Clint the freedom to teach others as well as make arrows and anything else that he might be up too. She didn't want to bother him, knowing had much work he did between the house, teaching and foraging.

She's standing near the edge of the wood with a borrowed bow and two arrows that Clint had made. She was testing them as well as her own skill. Both sank into the hard bark of the tree, flying as straight as homemade arrows can.

As Wanda walked to retrieve those arrows she saw Clint moving somewhere along the corner of her gaze. She turned to look at him, paused and then burst out laughing.

He'd spotted Wanda practicing and decided to let her be - she was doing good, as well as she really could be doing with the amount of practice she'd had and as makeshift as their weapons were, and at the moment it was more important for him to gather more branches for arrows than correct her form. He'd made a couple of mental notes to give her later at the house, and then kept going, cutting down the supple branches with his knife.

But when she bursts into laughter, Clint of course looks back at her. It's good to hear Wanda laughing, sure, but what caused it? "You okay over there?" he calls out, sliding the knife back into its sheath on his belt and starting to walk in her direction... all the while not realizing "his" ears are bobbing along with his every step.

Wanda bit her lower lip to stop herself from laughing. It was quickly apparent that Clint had no idea that there were large floppy bunny ears protruding from his head and Wanda wanted to try and tell him delicately.

She kept her bow in her hand as she stepped over to her friend, her eyes flicking between the fuzzy addition to his head and his face.

"You don't feel... top heavy?" She asked in a soft voice. Her accent rolling pleasantly over each word.

Top heavy? Why would he be "top heavy?" Clint isn't sure why Wanda's having such a hard time keeping her eyes on his face, especially since he's not wearing a hat, and he reflexively raises a hand to search the top of his head. "Why should I? It's not like I-"

His words abruptly cut off as he feels the fur. Because what. A look of utter shock instantly forms on his face at the same time, jaw dropping open a little as the implications form in his mind. Wanda's not seen that look on his face since Vision picked up Thor's hammer in the Tower.

Wanda watched as Clint's hand slowly moved towards the new addition to his head. She knew that she should say something but what did you say to someone who suddenly grew a pair of bunny ears and didn't know it? She waited patiently, the light green hue of her eyes fixed on Clint's expression as his confusion shifted to shock and surprise.

"How did you-?" She couldn't bring herself to say it. "What were you doing in the woods?"

Even given Clint's tendency to be silly, she didn't think that Clint did this to himself. He wouldn't be looking at her with that expression if he had known that there were bunny ears on his head. If this was going to be the overseers new way to fuck with them then that was fine. Wanda could handle bunny ears.

"I was looking for branches to make arrows out of, I didn't-" And that's when it hits him. That apple. That was the only thing that was out of place in the day-to-day existence of this place, the first thing here he hadn't encountered before today. It was the only thing that made any sense, even if he couldn't figure out for the life of him why it happened. But if there was some sort of "cause" to... this, it could only be that.

"...I reached up to pick an apple on one of the trees, but it disappeared. But how the hell-" No, actually, that's pointless. He's been here long enough to wonder why someone would do that, considering very little else that's happened here has made any sense. "Fuck."

Wanda gave Clint a chance to retrace his steps before speaking. "It looks harmless." There was the reminiscence of a smile on her lips but otherwise the mirth had been loss from her expression. It was hysterical but potentially serious too. Different questions flitted around her head: why or how this could have happened, but like Clint, Wanda knew that they'd never have the answers.

She stepped forward and reached for his head. Her fingers lightly brushed at the fuzzy ears before dropping her arm back to her side.

"Can you feel with them?"

Thankfully Wanda isn't going bananas over this. If Nat saw this - if Nat ever heard about it - she'd tease him mercilessly until the universe exploded in heat death. For all that he knows he has to look ridiculous, and he'd probably think this was funny if it happened to Tony or Steve, Wanda at least is realizing why this could be a big deal. If the people who stuck them in this natural prison can add things to their bodies, what could stop them from continuing to do so, or even taking things away?

He's not too happy with Wanda reaching up to touch the ears, but it's Wanda, she's earned it if anyone has. Besides, this is a test that needs to be made - and the results are obvious, making him shake his head. "No, not a thing. There's no nerve endings, I guess, but there's also no... weight or anything on my head."

"Maybe they're not really attached?" She offered with a bit of a frown.

It was a constant struggle not to laugh but with each passing moment she found herself interested in how it happened. Slowly, that curiosity was winning over the humor of her friend having bunny ears. She might never let him live this down either.

"Can I look closer?" She asked, more or less asking him to kneel down so that she could take a closer look at his head.

He doesn't like this, not one bit - he doesn't like how vulnerable bowing or kneeling to someone leaves him, not even when that person is Wanda. But Wanda's on the very short list of people he's more comfortable with performing either of those actions in front of, and it's plain that he thinks the ears should be inspected somehow by the expressions that are chasing themselves over his face - agreement followed by rejection, over and over, until he finally sighs heavily and carefully kneels so as not to drop his stick bundle. "No teasing, all right?"

Hey, he has to try.

Wanda bit her lip to keep her lips from curling at the edges. "No teasing." She'll do that later, after they make sure that this wasn't a life for death situation.

She leaned forward, peering at the top of Clint's head. She carefully pushed his hair to the side to see where the ears attached. He didn't feel them but they were firmly attached to his head. She gave them an experimental tug to watch his scalp as they were pulled.

"Do you feel that?" She asked as she released the large floppy ear and stepped back. Giving Clint room to stand back up.

Smoking is a possibility Taako's been turning over in his head. He can do a bit at a time over a fire on very roughly cut planks, but that wouldn't even provide for him over the winter, let alone all these other useless fucks he doesn't really care about. He hasn't gotten nearly so far as thinking about actually seeing if any of said useless fucks might want to do something about the situation. Planning, collaboration... effort. All jobs for someone else.

But he does recognize the use of a brick building on that scale. And that's much more interesting to him than a slightly silly looking magical conundrum. Normally, sure, that'd be good for a laugh or two, but everyone's had a dumb issue like that sometime or other. He doesn't even think as far as the fact that this is more evidence of magic, proof that there's some way to access it. Smoked meats are more important.

All of which lands Clint with an androgynous oddity in magenta scrubs inexpertly altered into a skirt and top and a three-foot-long blond braid who looks about twenty-two at most nodding in approval. "I was wondering what the not dying plan was gonna be."

Truth to tell, he's not exactly sure what to make of Taako and his "garb," but at this point in his life he's seen so much weird shit that it's really hard to take him by surprise. And in a situation all about not-dying, he's not going to waste time on that. Glancing over at the new arrival, Clint shrugs and keeps setting bricks in place, one after another. "Might not work like I want it to, but it'll do something." He's not mortaring the bricks together - he's used to working with what's on hand, but even his knowledge doesn't extend to making something out of nothing and he's got no idea where any lime is in this place, or if there even is any.

"We need to start stockpiling wood for the fire, too. Hickory if we can get it, but anything'll work, and that'll be easy compared to the rest of this. You ever done something like this before?"

"This bullshit, no," he says, gesturing at all the construction materials and... manual labor going on. It's not actually true. There've been plenty of times he's had no choice but to do his share of a job, and he's tougher than he looks. He'd almost have to be. But that doesn't do anything about his love of projecting an image. Or his extreme laziness. "Smoking various pieces of dead stuff into delicious storability, yes. I've been plank-smoking fish but, y'know, super small scale."

Clint's actually not all that suspicious of the pronouncement and vague lie: while there's plenty of people here that come from worlds where a lot of hard work is involved in surviving (specifically Ned and his brood), but not everyone is. He's almost certain Taako's had to do something in the way of lifting/moving/whatever, you basically can't go through life without that at some point, but constructing an actual building is a rare enough skill in his world nowadays that it's no surprise to him when someone doesn't know how to do it. "We're obviously gonna need something bigger than that. These bricks are all sun-dried mud with plant fiber mixed in, they last a really long time, but I've never had to build something this complicated without access to a hardware store." He does have a toolkit, but the lack of any other supplies for building materials is seriously stretching his creativity - not to mention using up most of their scavenged materials. "I'm just hoping this'll be good enough to work."

"Eh, if it doesn't fall down, it should. A smoker's not all that complicated an operation. Don't set it on fire, let the smoke move around, don't have it actually fall over, you're golden." Well, things may or may not taste amazing. That's trickier, but also up to the meat and the wood more than the construction. He steps back to get a look at the scale, mind already spinning through the best way to hang and cycle things. "They do get better with time, though. The one on my aunt's farm, air smelled like bacon for a twenty foot radius no matter the season. Had a couple hundred years to get that good, though."

"Yeah, but we need to keep the smoke inside, too, so I'm gonna have to find and plug all of the holes. I'm gonna plaster the outside in more mud so that'll probably work, but I'm gonna have to figure out some kind of roof." Unless he gets some sort of box from whoever leaves the occasional gift at the door of a residence, it'll probably mean using up the last of his scraps of lumber, and even then he likely won't get the seal he wants. They want to have some air flow and circulation, but losing all the smoke through any gaps will just make all of this worthless labor. He does have that barbed mesh he scavenged, though; maybe he could make that the base of another mud-based construction for a roof...

"I'm hoping we won't find out if this one does get better with time. A lot of us've already been here too long as it is." He wants to go home. He really, seriously wants to go home, to his wife and his kids who probably think he's dead by now.

The remark draws him back from purely pragmatic consideration of getting a smoker put up without decent tools. He usually refuses to be practical for exactly that reason, but running into something he knows he's good with tricked him into considering how he might be useful. Fuck that. No cooperation ever. "True, not dying's nice and all, but finding whoever's in charge and raining hell down on the bastards should really be priority number one."

Nope, too late, you're doomed to be useful now. Taako clearly knows something about smokers, even if it's not all that much more than Clint knows, so he's gonna get put to work. Don't work, don't eat is one of the by-laws of the village after all, and placing bricks isn't exactly hard work. "Should be, and we're keeping our eyes open for any opportunity, but not dying really is the first priority. We can't rain down hellfire if we're all too weak to kick their asses when we do find them, or dead. We can make plans about how we'll rain hellfire as we work." As he talks, Clint's continued placing bricks in the layout he's chosen for the smokehouse: a rectangular affair with a smaller rectangle off to the side for the fire, a small "room" for the fire to burn without charring the meat itself. The pile of bricks he'd had next to the building is gradually diminishing until he reaches the last one, hauling it into place at about knee-level. "Can you hand me another one?"

Taako looks at the brick and at Clint like they're both covered in slime and just said something very offensive about orcs, but he does, after a long pause, hand over the brick, managing to make the very slight effort look extremely dramatic. "Hellfire raining comes from within. When the time comes, if you believe in yourself, all your enemies will just be delightfully smoky memories."

Peggy has no real intention of actually getting involved in the shooting of the arrows, but old habits die hard when it comes to actually watching someone in order to judge their skills, evaluating Clint mentally even if she hasn't got a clipboard in front of her to mark down what she thinks and where he'd rank. Those early days as the liaison for the SSR in Project Rebirth had been filled with her attempts to gain the best soldiers and seek out their traits and values.

She'd found Steve in that. What she's learned is that he's not the only one out there with such formidable skills, given that she doubts Steve could ever hold a candle to this. She needs to stop letting her thoughts drift there, though, because Peggy is fairly sure that Steve is gone, again, and if she lets herself fall into that grief, she might never dig herself out.

"Don't mind me, I'm just here to watch you show off."

He'd identified the watcher as "Peggy" awhile ago and let it go, thinking she was going to move on, but he'd spoken up when she hadn't. Whatever she's doing, just observing or actually thinking of giving it a go, Clint knows Peggy's not anywhere near stupid enough to get in the way of flying projectiles and so he'd had no issue with letting her hang out and... do whatever. Still, Peggy's a gifted agent and fighter, clearly possessing a high level of control over her body, so she may as well give shooting a try. It's amazing how many people don't realize how important body coordination is in the sport.

"This's not showing off," he responds as he lets the last arrow fly, then lets the bow drop to turn around and look at her. Never raise a bow (or a gun) at something you don't intend to shoot, after all. "We need more weapons, and we gotta test them to make sure they hold up in the field. I'm just hoping this's enough." He's got his doubts about that, and it's obvious. But for the moment, he's done what he can, and he'll continue to do what he can in the future.

"Well, to you it might not look like showing off, but to me who's never fired a bow in her life, it looks a great deal like you make it look terribly easy," Peggy remarks to give him some context that he might think it's all run of the mill, but to her, it's like plucking obscure skills out of thin air in order to show off.

She glances to the targets, then to his arrows and the bows. "Well? What's the verdict?" While she's far more comfortable with fishing and snare-hunting, she's well aware that using weapons will also be a great help and she wants to help in whatever manner she can, though in this case, she suspects she'll end up merely moral support.

Looking down at the bow, Clint can't help but grimace a little at what he's holding. "It's... okay." Looking at it, he can see so many flaws in the workmanship, places where the arms weren't carved in equal thicknesses which will make the pull odd or even outright bad, obviously the wood isn't "finished" and that makes his instincts itch, but he also knows something else that he's man enough to admit. "I look at this and see a lot of flaws other people aren't gonna see, but it's definitely not the best I can do. But we just don't have time for 'the best' anymore."

And that's the kicker, isn't it? The final push for gathering, fishing, and hunting is upon them, and there's too many people in this village who don't know how to do any of that stuff well. That means it's up to the people who can to do everything in their power, and he's kind of kicking himself for not realizing it sooner.

"If you've never fired one before, it's about time you tried it. I know what kind of shot you are with a gun, and a lot of the same ideas carry over." Having said that, he pulls the quiver he'd made out of more duct tape and the more flexible inner bark from some of the trees over his shoulder, stepping to the side and watching her like he's not taking no for an answer. Which, being fair, he isn't. He can be damn stubborn when he chooses to be. "Come on, try it out."

She'd argue that there seem to be no properties of firing a gun that also apply to firing a bow and arrow, but Clint seems determined to get her to try and Peggy hardly thinks that she ought to be in a position to argue with him, especially not when he seems willing to teach and show her. Stepping forward, Peggy does make sure to give him a look that says that she truly doubts how good she'll actually be at this.

"If I shoot you in the face, I did warn you," she says, knowing already that it won't go that poorly. "I may just blame it on the quality of the bow, now that you've denigrated it so much," she can't help but tease.

Mostly it's in the aim. Clint knows that Peggy has really good aim, and that's actually the hardest thing to teach in archery. Well, that and the proper stance, but he's also seen that she has much better posture than him a lot of times (when he's actively shooting or having to be commanding are the only times he does have perfect posture), so he has much better hope for her success than she does.

"You'll pick it up. Even if you don't, at least you tried." They really do need more hunters, even with Baze wanting to step up and take over part of the job. The one thing he does do before she's even allowed to raise the bow is unwrap the hand towel from around his own arm and tie it over Peggy's bow arm, her non-dominant one. "That'll protect you from the bowstring snapping back - it can burn you or even take skin off if you're not prepared. Give you nasty welts at least." And Clint's not about to be responsible for that. "But you're not gonna shoot me in the face. You already know the first rule: this is a weapon, and you don't raise a weapon to anything you don't want to shoot." His face becomes unusually serious at those words. Even though she was making a joke, in reality, they both know very well that this hobby could kill. "You take responsibility for every shot. Or you don't take the shot at all."

"Yes, there is the trying," she says, and while it may bear an edge of sarcasm, she does intend to mean it honestly when she stands near to the target, stepping back until she's where Clint had been firing from, eyeing him as she takes care to let herself be subject to his teachings, raising her arm up to let him tie a towel around it, arching a brow. "I would almost think that you would expect a falcon to land here," she quips, though she knows that's not the case.

"Hunting for food and sustenance is much different than the shooting I did before," she says evenly, knowing that Clint will understand this entirely, because they are two very different worlds. "I don't want to waste the resources we have. Either the arrows or the animals," she says, quite seriously. "I promise, I won't waste a shot."

He gives a small laugh at the quip about the falcon, shaking his head as he tied the towel off. "Whatever my name indicates, that's not something I've got experience with. I've got a lot more experience with dogs than with birds. But at least now you won't get string burns. You can step up closer if you want, get an eye for it before moving away. Arrow'll fly straighter from closer in, too." He's sure Peggy either has or could figure that out on her own, but he doesn't want her to try and give herself too hard a challenge on her first go.

And her response gets her a nod of agreement, because Clint knows exactly what she means. "That's why I've never tried to teach anyone before - arrows get lost or broken, and we didn't have any to spare. Needed every single one of 'em for hunting. But we don't have the time to wait around and we don't have the equipment for anyone to screw up, so it's time to make some more. You, you know what you're doing even if you've never shot. Any mistakes you make are just gonna be mistakes, not stupidity. So if you can pick it up, you're one of my first choices for getting one of these."

"I've never minded the burn or the scar from something before," she assures him, as if she somehow needs to prove herself despite the fact that she knows that Clint is already aware of all the things Peggy is capable of. She keeps a steady eye on the target ahead of her, but all the while, she's listening attentively to Clint, not wanting him to think that she doesn't respect his teachings.

"You warm my heart with such praises," Peggy wryly remarks, but there's a heavy edge of teasing in it that says that while she might be mocking Clint, she's not entirely joking and means at least a little of it. "All right, then, give me your instructions, then I'll take a shot."

This is so much better than what he'd been doing. So much. Baze is happily practicing alongside Clint, and while his aim isn't as perfect as it was with a plasma canon, he's getting better as he adjusts for the weight, the lack of knockback, and the differences in sighting. He even looks happier, too, watching in satisfaction as his arrows hit the mark more often than not, probably more relaxed than Clint has ever seen him.

"This is much better," he says, after retrieving his and Clint's arrows from the targets to reuse them. "Where did you get so many of the arrowheads?" He'd assumed they would be in short supply, but then, he hasn't done as much perusing in the inn storage as he probably should. (In large part because the mun has absolutely no idea what all is in there.)

Clint's clearly not as happy about the results of their experiments than Baze is, but he'll admit that it's not a total disaster. Sure, he's used to working quickly in adverse situations with what he has on hand, but Clint's always done that with an eye to getting back to civilization and access to more modern equipment. None of the bows he'd had to make in practice for such an event (or the two times he'd actually needed to put that practice into use) had had to hold up long-term. These do. It's not a bad job, overall, but it's not good enough for him yet.

The one thing Clint's insisted on for Baze is wrapping a hand towel around his arm as a makeshift armguard, because welts and even burns from strings snapping is a very definite problem in archery. He knows how to compensate for it, but even he took the same precaution; wearing a coat or a thick sweater or sweatshirt would be good enough, but in shirtsleeves, there's no protection. Accepting the arrows from Baze, he slides them into the quiver he'd quickly lashed together (which was really the easiest part of the whole project) except for one which he holds up to study for wear and tear. "There's a whole bunch of arrowheads in storage at the inn, and no one's touched 'em in months. Figured no one would mind if we used 'em since this'll be for everyone, and no one really cares if you take something if you can use it. The tape came from there, too."

Well, there's more to the good mood than just a workable bow and arrows, but Clint might not have noticed that part. Even so, working with something that actually shoots where he wants it to helps his outlook on life a lot, too. "I need to go digging in there. There's more in that room than I thought there was," he muses. Especially if he finally wants to move out of the inn and pick one of the leftover houses in 6I.

No, he noticed. He just figures it's not his business unless Baze makes it his business. But it's hard to miss Baze's improved mood since he's gone from being a grumpy bear of a mountain man to a more tolerant bear of a mountain man. But the bows and arrows obviously help, and Clint's more than happy to let him shoot to his heart's content since he obviously knows what he's doing, he just lacks practice. And that's getting corrected pretty quickly the more he shoots.

"Yeah, you do. There's some tools, a few weapons - you could grab a knife from there no one's using, there's some good ones. Pretty sure none of them's a straight hunting knife, but they'll do. Especially to clean your kills." Which Baze'll need to be doing. Clint can also teach that if he doesn't know how. "We should at least grab you one of the multitools, maybe a whole toolkit."

"I have been using a kitchen knife," Baze admits, maybe a trace sheepishly. Because he'd been cleaning the animals caught in his snares before hauling them back to the inn for sharing out, sure, just. With a kitchen knife. It gets the job done, but it isn't as effective as something better. "I am looking for a house to move to, now, so I will see what I can use from there. What all is in your tool kit?"

Because he knows what he'd imagine would be in a toolkit on Jedha, and he's pretty sure it won't be the same thing here, given the tech level.

A kitchen knife isn't great for that purpose, but Clint can see why he used it. When it's all you have, it's much better than nothing. "It won't be any better in a house," he warns, nocking another arrow and releasing it as soon as he's drawn, seemingly without aiming. It still hits at near-center on the target - "near" center because the misshapen lump of fleece is getting pretty lopsided and collapsing on one end. "There'll probably be more knives, but they'll still just be kitchen knives. The ones in the inn hold are mostly for fighting, so they'll still be sharper even if there's not a serrated section on the blade. There might even be a short knife you can use as a dressing knife." His own throwing knives were amazingly good for that, but obviously they wouldn't be hunting at the same time in the same area.

"The toolkit's standard - hammer, adjustable wrench, level, set of allen wrenches, pliers, screwdrivers in a couple sizes, scissors, box cutter, tape measure. It's got everything I need for most jobs, I mostly just don't have mats now to do those jobs."

"I mean that with a house, I will need more things, so I will look in the inn hold for what I can use," Baze clarifies. He'd already assumed any of the houses still left wouldn't have anything worth using in them, at all, after people living here for as long as they have and scavenging the empty houses for things they needed. The toolkit, however, sounds about perfect. "If there is one of those toolkits unclaimed, I will take it. Just don't let Chirrut have one, if he asks." He's not going to trust the blind man with sharp objects when he won't find any of them familiar enough yet to know how to handle them.

The lack of materials, however, might be an issue. Baze considers, and asks, "Is there anyone here who knows how to make nails? Take metal, melt it, shape it into what we need?"

Hawke is still learning how many people here know anything at all about archery. She'd met one, or at least a fellow hunter, on her first day and a few others since then, but she always enjoys talking archery. If not actually shooting. She misses her bows, even the awful one she'd come out of Lothering with. It was so old it hardly shot at all, let alone well. Kirkwall had supplied her with plenty of others and she misses them all. Seeing Clint out shooting one makes her miss it all the more. Rather than walk off to do whatever it is that needs doing today, she pauses to watch, impressed in spite of herself.

"Oh, I was just enjoying watching your marksmanship," she comments. "Although I've never seen a target quite like that."

Clint would understand the longing completely - he's dying for his bows, the ones that collapse down into a smaller space and he never has to unstring, the ones with so much draw weight on them most men can't even think about using them. Most of his trick arrows he can actually take or leave, but his bows. And maybe a set of his regular fiberglass arrows, the ones that almost never broke and he could use again and again.

But he's not going to get that here and he knows it, that's much higher tech than this place can support. Even if he had it, he wouldn't want to use it much in fear of it breaking (even though his bows are virtually indestructible). He lets his last arrow fly before turning to face Hawke completely, shrugging a little as he moves. "We don't have the mats to make a standard target, and it's visible. And there's about thirty more of the damn things in storage, so when this one gets full of holes we can make another no problem. I'm guessing you shoot?"

Hawke's aren't quite that fancy, but they are hers and that's what matters. They would be familiar to shoot with, not clumsy like these others. She misses a lot of familiar things about life in Thedas, things and people, but her bows are some of the most important. The arrows they have aren't that fancy, either. Occasionally they rain fire or shoot ice, and definitely can be poisoned, but nothing much else.

"I like bows and arrows. Does that count?" she asks dryly before moving a little closer and holding out a hand. "Mind if I try?"

Try, like she doesn't know exactly how already.

Yeah, he's pretty sure she's underselling herself deliberately here. He picks up on signals easily, true, a lot more easily than a lot of people realize, but that dry tone of voice tells him just how sarcastic she's being. So, Clint raises an eyebrow in return, but only gives another small shrug and says "Sure" before handing over the bow. He also pulls off the quiver - carefully, since the strap isn't as strong as he'd like - and holds it out, still half-full of arrows. He'll watch her just to make sure his instincts aren't leading him wrong on this, but he'll be able to tell she's archer just by how she holds the bow, let alone how she stands while preparing to shoot. There's so much about body control ingrained in an archer, and it's pretty much impossible to disguise whenever they've got a bow in their hands.

She is an archer; he's right about that. Mostly it's because she's dryly sassy about everything. At this point, she's used to everyone in Thedas knowing exactly who she is through word of mouth and great balls of fire. Not until she'd come here did she need to introduce herself again and explain what she's good at. It's still strange to get used to.

As Clint hands over the bow, she grasps it in hand easily. Shifting to balance it, she carefully takes the quiver and settles it on her back with ease. The strap feels strange and the bow stranger, as none of it is what she's used to, but she lifts the bow with a practiced ease to get a good feel for it. Taking a breath, she settles into her stance, which is far more time than she ever had in Thedas. In a few smooth motions, she pulls an arrow from the quiver, nocks it, draws the bowstring, and fires the arrow. The shot feels wobbly at best given that this isn't her bow and she's missing her arrow, but it still strikes true. There's power in her shot and it's easy to see she could put a whole lot more strength into it if she needed or wanted to. She's used to fighting things that move. It's a little weird to be shooting at something that isn't.

Turning back to Clint with a cocky sort of smirk, she offers the bow back. "I think I'd call that a passing familiarity, wouldn't you?"

Steve has been starting to have the same thoughts as Clint. The weather was starting to change and while he's not sure how cold it's going to get, he needs to be prepared for it to be colder than it is right now. That meant continuing to live in the woods as he scouted the outskirts of the forest was going to have to come to an end for the time being. Besides, he was fairly certain that the main area was indeed closed in and the new area was partially with the ocean being on the far side. Really, the ocean held most of his interest now.

Still he was back in the main area hunting for small game when he heard something larger in the woods not far from him. The spear he'd made not long after he'd arrived wouldn't be practical to hunt larger game with, but Steve was curious as to what larger game was available. Making his way quietly towards the sound, he finds a man muttering to himself while appearing to gather sticks. It's time he starts to integrate himself as part of the village community so no longer worrying about being quiet he starts to head closer to the man. Calling out a friendly, "Hello!"

The voice is unfamiliar; Clint isn't the friendliest man in the village ~~that would be Major~~, but he's far from the most misanthropic, and even if he doesn't know a person well he's tended to have heard and seen everyone at some point by now and has stored everyone away in the private databank he's got in his brain. This voice is definitely new, which draws his curiosity, and he isn't trying to be quiet; not someone hunting, then. Damn, they need more hunters.

But Clint still has no idea there's bunny ears on his head (and that he's got a tail, although that's only visible as a lump under his scrubs). So he has no idea he should probably want to avoid human contact until they're gone. When Steve calls out to him, he quickly scans and stores the face - he'll remember it next time they run into each other - giving the younger man a nod since he doesn't want to drop his bundle of soon-to-be arrows. "Hey - you new here?"

When Clint turns to look at him, Steve can't help but be taken back by the bunny ears. He's heard that there were people from different times and 'worlds' but somehow he hadn't anticipated that any wouldn't be completely human. Only having been here a little over month and most of that time on his own in the woods he has no real exposure to this place or what it is capable of, and since he's not meet Clint before he assumes this is Clint's natural appearance. At first there's a small amount of confusion that passes over his face, but once he realizes that Clint just happens to be from another world where bunny ears are apparently normal Steve's face smooths out to a smile.

"I am. Well, more or less. I think it's about a month now." Normally he'd extend his hand for a proper greeting, but Clint appears to have his hands full. "Steve McGarrett." He tilts his head slightly at the bundle of sticks in the other man's arms. He'd guess kindling but they all seem a bit too similar in width and length that he suspects that's on purpose and they are for a different use. "Need a hand?"

Natasha recognizes the sound of his approaching footsteps before she turns to look at him. Not just the sound, but the weight they imply, the specific gait that's unique to Clint. It's something that a person could mimic, but in this place, she's not sure why anyone would try. She feels safe having him behind her while she finishes fixing a shutter on the outside of her temporary home. "I think I need a new project. I'm starting to feel useless again, and that is going to make me go absolutely cr--"

She turns, task finished, and cuts off mid-word with a choking, snorting laugh. "What the fuck happened to you?"

Nat's a lot like him in that they always have to be doing something or they go batshit stir-crazy. It's why the S.H.I.E.L.D. medicos started keeping bins of Lego around for when he wound up in their care, because otherwise he'd go so crazy he'd start driving them crazy and they'd just wind up trying to kill him themselves. His meandering route looking for arrows has wound up outside her home as she works on the shutter, gazing at it and making sure it's level.

But Clint's not prepared for her reaction when she actually sees him, and that's unmistakable from the look on his face. "What're you talking about?"

Natasha still looks like she's going to burst something from holding in her laughter. Wait. Does he not know? Oh, poor Clint. Her expression softens somewhat, but only a little, because it's still damn funny. She glances around to make sure they're alone, and only when she's certain does she begin speaking. "You remember when Lila wanted a rabbit?" Natasha never mentions his family unless she's entirely positive that they're alone. In this place, and given what seems to be known about them by those that watch, it's little more than going through the motions. It's important to her, though. It's important that Laura and the kids are a secret that she keeps, something precious in her life that's worth protecting. "How hard she worked to convince you two that you should get her one of those giant long haired hippos masquerading as bunnies? Well... I'm going to have a hell of a story for the kids when we get home."

Natasha reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a compact mirror. It's good for getting someone's attention over a great distance without having to shout. Not that a ton of people like being blinded by a mirror, but whatever. Now, she opens it and holds it in front of Clint so he can see the ears.

For all that snow isn't something that Picard hasn't had to deal with before, he would have expected that there'd be a good deal more time before the first dusting appeared. Admittedly, he only has the turn of the seasons to go by, but it seems as if it only just started getting cooler. Which seems to suggest that it's more likely to be early fall; not precisely the time of year he'd expect to see the first dusting of snow. But neither can he make it so that the snow hasn't fallen. Whatever month it might happen to be and whenever winter should set in it's better to be ready before hand.

Smokehouses are, perhaps unfortunately, not entirely something that he's familiar with. But it's clear enough when he comes across Clint that he's working on something, and for all that he hasn't any idea as to what that's hardly any reason to not offer a hand.

"Would you care for some assistance with that?"

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Hit Me With Your Best Shot, Fire Away

( October 2 - Dastardly Tricks )

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10/3

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Oct 1

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October 1

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archery, of course!

wheee!

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October 2 - Dastardly Tricks

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dastardly tricks

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Oct. 3