sixthiterationlogs | if the sky can crack [OTA mingle]

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if the sky can crack [OTA mingle]

Hail had been falling for two days now, peppering the ground and shredding the grass but rather than melt away like a late spring storm it had only intensified, growing in diameter and moving from a mild annoyance to damned near deadly. As the storm raged, ice flew up through updrafts and was forced back to earth in the downdraft, accumulating layer after layer of murky debris until it went hurtling toward the earth with wicked accuracy.

Shingles were ripped from roofs, the wind howled and lightning cracked. The hail had driven both humans and animals into the safety of the indoors, to the dark corners of buildings that might withstand the assault. With only candlelight and the hushed voices of villagers to stave off fear and boredom, the storm raged like a sentient being heedless of those who might be caught in the path.

After the storm, a calm came over the land and weak sunlight glinted off smoke-tinged ice. Steam rose from the melt and humidity was thick in the air; petrichor hung heavy, a soothing scent after a savage display of natural fury.

[OOC: Your hail mingle post. Feel free to have characters on the run, gathering animals or inside the Town Hall waiting out the storm.]

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His explanation made it sound really easy thought Moana expected that it'd be more difficult than that. She traded him for he darts, carefully passing over the piglet. It hadn't grown much and was easily able to fit under one of Clint's arms. He was surprisingly heavy though, more surprising since Moana had been carrying him around since the storm began.

"Okay. I think I can do it." She sounded confident.

Moana lined up her first shot, her shoulders facing her target and her feet positioned appropriately. She was careful to pinch the dart lightly and push, rather than throw, the pointed end towards the dart board. It went straight and for a first throw it was fantastic. However she put to much force behind it and the dark embedded it'self into the wall at least a foot above the dart board.

"I'm trying again." She proclaimed without pause and repeated the process. This time she hit the dart board but it was at the out area of the 10 mark. Moana frowned. "You make it look so easy."

The weight of the piglets was surprising, honestly; he's from the Midwest, sure, but he'd never been a farmer. Even though his dad had been a butcher, they'd always gotten their pigs both already dead and adult, so that made a pretty big difference. The little pig wriggled at being held by an unfamiliar person, but Clint had three children - he was used to holding squirming young things. Maybe too used to it, to anyone paying attention. Hiking the piglet up under his arm better, he nodded at Moana's intent to redo the throws.

"You're doing it too hard - remember, it's not that heavy and the board's not that far away. The dart's also gonna fall a little as it travels, but not that much. But that was really good for a first go."

Crossing the room, Clint yanked the darts she'd thrown as well as the four he'd tossed himself out of the board, coming back to hold them out to her again. "It's just my thing. And I've been doing it a lot longer than you." A lot longer than she's been alive, even. God did that make him feel old. "Keep trying and you'll be hitting dead on the center."

Moana listened though it was a little hard to tell with the way that she was staring at the board. She moved her arm back, without a dart, and slowly stepped through the motion. It was as if she was gauging each step along the way before stopping and adjusting a small amount.

"It's a little like throwing a spear." She claimed as her eyes narrowed at the target again. It wasn't until Clint returned with the darts that she stopped her 'practice' and tried again.

She moved her arm and watched as the dart sailed straight forward. Except that she'd forgotten to aim. The dart hit the board but it was to far to the right. She focused and grabbed another dart to try again. Moana wasn't awful but she wasn't hitting the center. She put her hands on her hips when she was out of darts and then looked back at itiiti. "What am I doing wrong?"

She was doing everything right, at least - practicing (without a "weapon" in hand), getting the feel of the motions, learning the way her muscles pulled and stretched as she did it. A big part of aim, Clint had learned long ago, was muscle memory, those motions being so ingrained in a body that other motions didn't interfere with them.

"Little like," he agrees, though for him it's more like throwing a knife. But he's thrown spears before, and that feeling is very similar, just much bigger, all through the body instead of just in the arm and shoulders. "You're not doing anything wrong, you just need practice. It's a space the size of a quarter about thirty feet away. Everyone needs time to get used to hitting it." Even he had, though with his abilities his time had been much, much shorter than anyone else he'd ever met. But Clint wasn't saying that, since she already seemed to have unrealistic expectations of how fast it'd go based on what he could do.

Moana was used to throwing things though not exactly like this. The smallest things she'd throw were sticks and usually only when she was upset.

She ran up to the board and gathered the darts in her palm. She was trying to figure it out though just staring at the target wasn't getting her anywhere. She returned back to Clint's side and decided to try again. She was good at hitting the target but she couldn't get her aim to go exactly where she wanted it to go.

"Why are you so good at it?" She asked finally, turning on Clint as if he had some secret that he wasn't sharing.

And he hadn't even made any trick shots yet. Moana was very observant, very stubborn, or very both. Truth to tell, Clint was impressed.

It didn't cross his face as anything more than a light amusement, because it was kind of amusing, really. She was so determined to get it right that she wasn't listening to his entirely logical comments. So, it was time to spell it out for her.

"I've been throwing darts for thirty years, not thirty seconds." He'd had a lot of chances to practice over all those years, between missions, at home, and even on airplanes (other agents knew better than to let him get bored). The piglet wriggled under his arm again and he hiked it up once more so it didn't fall, picking up three of the darts she hadn't thrown yet and tossing them - all at once - at the target.

"And I just can't seem to miss," he commented as they all hit the bullseye simultaneously.

Moana watched, her jaw falling open at Clint's display. She understood what he was saying but that just wasn't fair.

Her lips formed a line and she turned towards him, her hair flying wildly around her. "I! will get it. Just wait and see." She'd practice for hours after the storm, whatever it took to be able to consecutively hit the bulls-eye.

Moana ran forward and grabbed the darts again before looking towards Itiiti. As much as she wanted to keep going she felt a little bad that Clint was holding him. He was really freaked out...

Maybe if she practiced without him knowing.

"Where did you get these?" She asked for no reason at all, holding the darts out to him.

"Sure you will." There was no reason to believe she wouldn't get it eventually, she was pretty good at it. Anyone else would be happy to just be hitting the target regularly after only a handful of throws, but Moana was just barreling along because she wasn't as good as him. It was ridiculous - but also pretty awesome. "Just give it time. Aiming's just what I'm good at, I can hit anything that I can shoot or throw. I can't make nets like you, or do a lot of things you can."

She really was a very self-sufficient young woman, which was nice to see. Clint was used to teenagers not knowing how to get along without a phone attached to their hands, so she was a nice change. Her expectations were just a little unrealistic.

"They were in the inn - they'd been in the schoolhouse before it got smashed, what wasn't in pieces got put into the common storage. I didn't see any others."

Moana's lips tightened into a thin line. She didn't care if her expectations were unrealistic. She'd try her best until they were realized. That's the only way that you made things change.

"Can I borrow it?"

If not she'd find a way to 'borrow' is.

Her request earned a shrug. "It's not mine to give away. I don't know why it wasn't hung up before, but if you wanna practice, you can. It's not like we've got a lot of other sh-stuff to do here."

Okay, that was a fallacy. There was plenty to do, in the quest to actually keep everyone alive and the village functioning, finding food, repairing things, all of that. But there wasn't a lot to do for fun in the village. Darts helped improve your aim anyway, but there wasn't anything else they were really good for. It was just a game, something to have fun with.

Moana’s lips twisted into a bit of a pout. She’d find a way to practice without borrowing it then. She lived at the inn; maybe she can convince Clint to put it up there. Then she can practice before heading up to bed for the night and it’d technically be available for anyone to play.

"We should put it in the inn after the storm." It’s been decided.

Large dark eyes looked up at Clint with a grin. Moana didn’t think there was a lack of things to do but then the village and its technology were similar to what she was used too. "Until then I can take Itiiti back. I should try and get him to sleep." Or he’ll be a grumpy piglet come morning.

He'd be fine with moving it to the inn after the storm, but the hall probably would be better since it was used less. Much harder to hit someone with an errant dart if there just wasn't anyone around to hit. But it was clear he wasn't going to be the one using the board the most, so it could be her decision to make.

He didn't quite grin back at her, but Clint did give Moana a sort of half grin and a bit of a shrug at her determined decision making, since it really didn't make a difference to him one way or another. Maybe if it was in the inn there'd be a little darts league going soon. (Which he probably wouldn't be allowed to compete in. Damnit.) Handing her back the pig (with relief he didn't show), Clint nodded. "It'll be here when you're ready."

Edited 2017-06-19 03:22 (UTC)

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if the sky can crack [OTA mingle]

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End?

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