3.0 (ish) [A weapon is at its best when it's honed and cared for. Clint might be a little older and not that much wiser for it, but he'll put the same care into training as he always does. There's not a whole lot in the training room, not even really a gym as such, but it's a calm place to work out on the daily. Spar, if anyone cares to.
And to shoot.
There might be some who haven't met him yet, that don't know that he's not going to go in for a gun, or, what, some kind of high-tech laser beam, or whatever. No, when he's got a bow in his hands, he's in his element. It's to his specs. Of course it came with him, and his quiver, and a good number of arrows. He'll stop by the armory as needed for more ammo--new ideas for specialized arrows, mostly. It's not the same as making them himself, but he doesn't trust the lab to have anything that he needs.
Not that he really trusts most of this, either. But it's what he's got. Now, where can he find some proper targets...]
5.0 [It feels a little bit like home.
There's a pang in his chest about it as he sits at the edge of the bridge, feet dangling toward the frozen brook. The birds sound about right. He thinks, he thinks he can see fish under the surface if he squints hard enough. But probably not.]
Does it feel fake to you? [At whoever's approaching with snow crunching under their shoes.] Cuz it is. Fake, I mean. But it feels like it could be something close to real.
10.0 [Drinking on the job? Don't mind if he do. It's all a simulation, after all. And he's had to do jobs in clubs often enough and had personal fun in clubs often enough that nothing about this really bothers him.
Mostly because he doesn't realize the change at first.
It's laughable, really, because they're big and obvious, but they feel perfectly natural, moving the way he wants them to move, and so long as he doesn't stretch out, he's not in the way. And someone's having some kind of laugh, because when he does finally notice with a start, his big feathery wings fluff out in agitation.]
Okay, yeah, I see. I get it, give the hawk some wings, yeah, real funny.
11.0 Hold my drink. I'm gonna go liven things up a little.
[Sorry, whoever happens to have been standing by him for this.
So this part seems obvious. Cause a distraction to let allies search around for the orb, slip backstage, try and get under the stage, wherever the hell it is. And sure, Clint's normally someone who sticks to the shadows, a history of being a spy and an assassin and worse. But this is a fake simulation, there's a very fun and easy to fulfill task in mind, and it's potentially helpful to the mission.
Plus, when's the last time he did some karaoke?]
Ladies and gentlemen, [distraction time a go, grin on his face, grabbing the mic stand left behind by the bewitching-voiced woman, temporary wings giving a flutter] ladies and gentlemen and those among us who are neither ladies nor gentlemen, I see we've got a great crowd here tonight. [And hopefully that crowd does not include people who should be moving and looking.] First? Round of drinks on me! [What? Simulation won't need real money to pay. And: distraction.] And second? [...Oh the music is starting. Brace yourselves.] [i'm sorry/you're welcome]
clint barton | mcu
[A weapon is at its best when it's honed and cared for. Clint might be a little older and not that much wiser for it, but he'll put the same care into training as he always does. There's not a whole lot in the training room, not even really a gym as such, but it's a calm place to work out on the daily. Spar, if anyone cares to.
And to shoot.
There might be some who haven't met him yet, that don't know that he's not going to go in for a gun, or, what, some kind of high-tech laser beam, or whatever. No, when he's got a bow in his hands, he's in his element. It's to his specs. Of course it came with him, and his quiver, and a good number of arrows. He'll stop by the armory as needed for more ammo--new ideas for specialized arrows, mostly. It's not the same as making them himself, but he doesn't trust the lab to have anything that he needs.
Not that he really trusts most of this, either. But it's what he's got. Now, where can he find some proper targets...]
5.0
[It feels a little bit like home.
There's a pang in his chest about it as he sits at the edge of the bridge, feet dangling toward the frozen brook. The birds sound about right. He thinks, he thinks he can see fish under the surface if he squints hard enough. But probably not.]
Does it feel fake to you? [At whoever's approaching with snow crunching under their shoes.] Cuz it is. Fake, I mean. But it feels like it could be something close to real.
10.0
[Drinking on the job? Don't mind if he do. It's all a simulation, after all. And he's had to do jobs in clubs often enough and had personal fun in clubs often enough that nothing about this really bothers him.
Mostly because he doesn't realize the change at first.
It's laughable, really, because they're big and obvious, but they feel perfectly natural, moving the way he wants them to move, and so long as he doesn't stretch out, he's not in the way. And someone's having some kind of laugh, because when he does finally notice with a start, his big feathery wings fluff out in agitation.]
Okay, yeah, I see. I get it, give the hawk some wings, yeah, real funny.
11.0
Hold my drink. I'm gonna go liven things up a little.
[Sorry, whoever happens to have been standing by him for this.
So this part seems obvious. Cause a distraction to let allies search around for the orb, slip backstage, try and get under the stage, wherever the hell it is. And sure, Clint's normally someone who sticks to the shadows, a history of being a spy and an assassin and worse. But this is a fake simulation, there's a very fun and easy to fulfill task in mind, and it's potentially helpful to the mission.
Plus, when's the last time he did some karaoke?]
Ladies and gentlemen, [distraction time a go, grin on his face, grabbing the mic stand left behind by the bewitching-voiced woman, temporary wings giving a flutter] ladies and gentlemen and those among us who are neither ladies nor gentlemen, I see we've got a great crowd here tonight. [And hopefully that crowd does not include people who should be moving and looking.] First? Round of drinks on me! [What? Simulation won't need real money to pay. And: distraction.] And second? [...Oh the music is starting. Brace yourselves.]
[i'm sorry/you're welcome]