With Every Mistake We Must Surely Be Learning

[pretendtoneedme]

WHO: Clint Barton
WHERE: House 13
WHEN: February 21
OPEN TO: Peggy Carter, Stella Gibson if she wants
WARNINGS: Probably lots of vaguely amorphous stuff, talk about blood and killing; will expand if it becomes more explicit

---

It's a fairly well-established routine by this point, this trade of... things. Really it's mostly Clint keeping busy, because if Clint didn't keep busy, he'd probably go throw himself off the canyon wall. Thoughts of home, his family, the chaos of the world that was going on when he'd been pulled into the village - all of that would make him break, no matter his friends and as-good-as-family that he has here. He's already had one breakdown; he's not allowing himself to have another. But it's been established for awhile now that when Clint hunts, he hunts first for his own house and the people living there, but some of the extra is set aside for Peggy and Stella while the rest goes to the inn and the communal pot. He's also on call for handyman jobs if they're needed, though fortunately that isn't all that often since whoever originally built these houses built them sturdily and to last. (Better than a lot of modern houses, he knows that all too well.) In return, if he needs help with something, he can ask for it, his house get some fish, and he gets a sparring partner when they're feeling up for it.

But it's been so weird lately, for a lot of people. The tension in the village has been drawing tighter, not helped by the letters in the red envelopes that have been popping up for months now, nor the fact that it's been winter and winter just breeds malaise. Without an active way to fix things, Clint knows he's not all that much help in that kind of thing, and so he's been spending a fair amount of time in the woods away from the village, which is half of what led to him nearly dying the month before. At least out there he can get things done, hunt and mark trails, search for other ways out even though he doesn't think he'll find any. His meat delivery isn't as big as it has been in the past, but it's time to make it, and so Clint's stepping up onto the porch of House 13 and knocking on the door, like he has so many times in the past.

† qui primum, ut impio dignum fuit

[ad_dicendum]

WHO: Gaius Gracchus
WHERE: The Storehouse and the Inn, 6I
WHEN: 21 February
OPEN TO: All, with a starter for Kate
WARNINGS: Violence, possible mentions of human and animal sacrifice

---

The Storehouse & The Inn

OTA

( Inn and Storehouse )

The Inn

locked to Kate

Gaius returns to the Inn later in the day, carrying with him a small amount of grain to add to the supplies for the communal meals the Inn hosts. Before he can make it to the kitchen, though, he finds another thing addressed to him, this time in the main room. He sets down the container of grain and bends down to examine the box.

When he opens it, it turns out that there is more wine, another pair of boots similar to the ones he'd been wearing when he came out of the fountain, some wax to melt onto his tablets, and under it all, something soft and dark blue. He carefully lifts the fabric out of the box, and his hands close on soft wool, like the finest woven garments he'd had at home. There's a lot of it, several arms-lengths, but when he unfolds some of it, it's not a garment, just a length of unsewn dark-dyed fabric in the same color as the garments he'd had when he arrived.

He's so engaged in looking at it that he doesn't notice anyone else enter the room.