Clint and Victoria, Monday Afternoon
Dec. 22nd, 2014 12:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
om_hawkeye posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
om_mainPhilip's grandmother helps Clint figure out why he's there. Also, they go shoot things.
Clint didn't look for Philip when he got back downstairs, bow in hand, gauntlet and tab in place, and quiver tossed over one shoulder. Dressed in a dark purple henley and jeans, he opened the front door and breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't hear his friend call him back. Instead, his shoulders relaxed as he headed around the side of the house, Lucky trotting at his side. It was cold outside, especially way out in the country, but Clint knew that he'd start to warm up as soon as he started to shoot, and he didn't particularly feel like being burdened by a jacket he'd just have to take off eventually.
Victoria gave her idiot grandson's friend a few minutes, she needed the time to slip on a winter camouflage jacket and trousers and her boots. If he was any sort of marksman, he'd be entirely bored with the plain row of targets closest to the house anyway. And really, she thought, as she shouldered one of her favorite rifles, she should have done this in the first place. Philip was a nice enough boy but he overthought things horrendously.
The targets were boring, Clint discovered as he ended up in the yard behind the house, but he had his own ways of spicing up target practice. Lately, his favorite technique was ignoring the bulls-eye completely and creating his own dotted artwork out of arrows. His favorite workout was taking four targets and recreating the suits in a deck of cards. Clubs was his favorite and always saved for last, since it was the most difficult. So, when he'd reached the range and made sure Lucky wasn't going to disappear on him, he'd started in on shooting a diamond on the first target.
"Lovely job," Victoria called out as she approached. She couldn't really make herself walk more loudly, but she could at least give a little warning. "I thought I'd come out and show you some of the more interesting targets I have set up, unless Philip turned you off company entirely." She was cheerful as she was walking, even in the leaf-patterned, winter white. The rifle slung over her back was a little jarring with 'grandmother' also, especially considering the extremely expensive scope attached.
Clint tensed slightly as he turned, if only because trying to reconcile the whole grandmother thing with the GI Joe thing she had going on wasn't the easiest thing in the world. She was an English, tea-serving elderly woman who apparently had good taste in sniper rifles. "That was you I saw upstairs when we drove in," he noted uncertainly.
"Of course it was," she replied pleasantly. "I was alerted when you turned onto the drive. Though I'm rather impressed that you noticed, most don't. Shall we?" Victoria asked as she motioned towards a barely visible trail into the woods.
"Good eyes," he mumbled, hesitating a moment before calling Lucky over and heading toward the trail.
"So I've heard." Victoria glanced sidewise at him with a little smile. "Though you're wearing rather less purple these days."
Clint groaned under his breath and squinted his eyes closed for a moment before he had to look up at the trail. "They swore to me that they burned those pictures." Clint’s costume from his circus days had been forced on him; a purple mess of spandex and sequins. The purple he’d liked. The rest...kind of made him want to gag.
At the memory, he suddenly flicked a horrified look at his friend’s grandmother. "Oh fuck, you can't let Phil know. No one at the school can know."
"He should know about the marksmanship," Victoria said as they came up to what looked like an old hunting blind. "Your penchant for spangles will be our little secret. Now then," she said as she stepped into the blind. "Tell me what you see."
"That was all Carson," Clint mumbled under his breath. Refocusing, he glanced around, noting the landscape of lingering snow and old leaves. Beneath that, he could see the outlines of people - the targets - all painted in camo, ranging different distances, some of them more concealed than others. "You mean, besides Special Ops convention?"
"Very good. Shall we play?" Victoria asked as she set up inside the blind. She adjusted her scope and sighted before blowing a neat hole in the head of one of the cutouts, some distance away.
Clint regarded her for a moment, a grin starting to tug at his lips. Forget 'grandma'. Victoria was awesome. And, just to be cocky, he drew an arrow, nocked, and focused, breathing out as he fired through the hole she'd just left. A grin spread across his lips as he glanced sideways at her. "What are we playing for?"
"Oh, let's see," Victoria said after she’d shot a hole through the knee of a target mostly undercover. "As my grandson has apparently totally bollixed everything, perhaps some answers. He's a sweet boy but really rather an idiot sometimes."
The archer's smile faded a little, and he drew another arrow. His shots were more careful than hers, since he was both mimicking the shot and putting the arrow through it. He had to make sure it didn't catch the corner of the hole. When the next one sailed through, though, he lowered the bow and regarded her. "What did you do for a living?"
"I'm sure you've guessed," she said and sighted again. If he was as good as Philip claimed, she'd be paying out no few answers, but really it was better between like minds anyway. Another neat hole between a cutout's eyes and Victoria turned back to smile at Clint. "I killed people."
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I figured that one out on my own. As what? British intelligence?"
"I didn't say it was just for a single agency," she pointed out. "Isn't it your turn now?"
Clint chewed on his cheek for a moment, then turned back, drawing and taking the shot - another of her targets matched. "Are all of his relatives spies?"
"That's another complicated answer. He has no blood family left besides the two of us and his mother, so I suppose it's a yes. He considers some of our colleagues family." On a whim, Victoria shot one of outlines that had a bit less cover, just correctly off of center mass.
The archer took the shot easily, and more quickly than before. "Why am I here?"
"Twofold," Victoria said crisply. "Evaluation, I'd heard stories of your aim and wanted to see it for myself. Philip thinks you might have what it takes for our life. Beyond that... He never really had friends, you know. Our life is a difficult one for an adult, much less a child. His parents did what they could, but there’s not much for it. We wanted to meet the fellow that had caught his attention."
She sighted again, this time taking out a cutout that was out of bow range.
Clint watched her, eyes narrowed, thinking about what she said. She’d danced around the issue, but he got the gist of it. They wanted to see if he’d flinch from the whole spies and assassins thing. Snorting, he slung his bow over his shoulder and jumped up, grasping a branch above them and swinging up onto it. "Lady, I'm more scared of your tea set than your murder record."
With that, he took off running, hitting the end of the branch and grabbing the next one up, using the momentum to propel himself up into the next tree. One more flip and he balanced on a branch sideways, bow flicked out to ready, nocked, and matched the shot before doing a little boogie dance in place.
It wasn't an approved target but mid Clint's little dance, a branch exploded not far from him. It'd been carefully calculated, close enough to be very deliberate, far and low enough that the debris fell well away from Clint's face. "Are you sure about that?" Victoria called out.
The second the branch exploded, Clint had wheeled around, nocking an arrow at her, but hesitated in actually shooting Philip's grandmother. Heart thundering in his chest from both the adrenaline and yeah, sure, maybe a little lingering surprise, he called back, "Absofuckinglutely."
"Marvelous. It's good to know he didn't make an utter disaster of things." Victoria paused in her shooting and made her way out to the tree Clint was is, moving noiselessly as she did. "He's usually not quite so stupid, you know. And is usually able to learn."
Clint retracted the bow, then swung down to the ground, dropping to his feet in front of her. "Why does it matter? It's not like he and I are going to have our pick of careers. Him, maybe."
"Don't be absurd," Victoria replied. "You know where he's headed, no matter what label ends up on it. Once you're in this life, Clinton, you don't get out and talk of wanting to tends to be a lie. But at the same time, someone who can truly be an artist, do you know how rare that is?"
He shrugged uncertainly. "Up until last year, the only thing I thought I was going to be was a con artist. Maybe a circus act. If I was really lucky, land some specialty show like Cirque du Soleil."
"That would be a ridiculous waste," Victoria said firmly.
He started pacing toward the nearest target to retrieve his arrows. "So you really think there's a job out there for a sniper that uses a bow? The ammunition's pretty damn distinctive. And more expensive than bullets."
"You're quiet, I certainly don't see you having any issues getting into peculiar places," she said thoughtfully. "It would be unexpected, which can be useful sometimes. You would end up with a reputation as a specialist, but that's no bad thing."
Clint grinned and straightened, pointing the arrow at her. "You answered that one without a shot."
"Consider it a gift to make up for an unpleasant morning," Victoria said with a shrug. "I did push him into his little confession and it would be a dreadful shame to have ruined things. You know," she said, looking Clint straight in the eye. "He has more that he needs to tell you but be patient. He's marvelous with talking people through trouble, in sorting out things that they need. He's utter rubbish at doing it for himself."
The archer's grin faded and he turned to go scoop up the other arrows implanted in the cold snow and underbrush. He felt like it was kind of a betrayal to talk about the situation with Philip's grandmother, even if she was a kickass sniper (and contract killer?)
"I'm okay with him keeping secrets. I've got plenty of my own," some of which she apparently knew about. He had to admit that he was a little creeped out about that. "We'll probably end up on opposite sides of the game anyway."
The thing that pissed him off was...if he was such a friend, then why not use his help when it was really needed? Did Philip think he was too young? That was bullshit, considering the kind of life he'd led.
"Oh Clinton, you don't understand. He's trying to protect people, including you. He just doesn't know when to stop. He needs someone to call him out when he's being stupid, otherwise he'll never learn." She did not think it prudent to mention that if Philip had his way, this boy was never going to be let out of his sight.
"So it is because he thinks I'm too young," Clint grumbled under his breath, the back of his neck heating. "And I've probably got more experience in a real fight than he does."
"Age has nothing to do with it. Rather more that he's a little paranoid, which is entirely our fault. Raising a child, with the secrets we keep, is very difficult and he did not perhaps have the best role models. He frets about everyone. He does train with you though, yes?" Victoria asked as she shouldered the rifle.
He headed back to her, arrows in hand, just as Lucky bounded over the hill and trotted through the snow toward them. He reached down and scruffed his fingers over the puppy's ears, glad to see he hadn't wandered off.
"Yeah. It's probably the only reason I'm still at that school. Everything else is boring as hell." Besides Abby. Who was not boring at all. "Can I say hell? Or fuck? I'm kind of getting mixed messages from the whole polite British lady and retired contract killer thing."
"I very much doubt you could say anything I've not heard before," Victoria said crisply. "Don't bother yourself about it. If he let you in that far, he trusts you as much as he does anyone."
Clint didn't say anything to that, falling into step beside her as they headed back toward the kiddie-range. After a couple of minutes, though, he huffed out a sound. "I don't suppose I could get that coffee now?"
"Of course, dear. If you need anything at all, just ask," she said with a smile.
Clint didn't look for Philip when he got back downstairs, bow in hand, gauntlet and tab in place, and quiver tossed over one shoulder. Dressed in a dark purple henley and jeans, he opened the front door and breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't hear his friend call him back. Instead, his shoulders relaxed as he headed around the side of the house, Lucky trotting at his side. It was cold outside, especially way out in the country, but Clint knew that he'd start to warm up as soon as he started to shoot, and he didn't particularly feel like being burdened by a jacket he'd just have to take off eventually.
Victoria gave her idiot grandson's friend a few minutes, she needed the time to slip on a winter camouflage jacket and trousers and her boots. If he was any sort of marksman, he'd be entirely bored with the plain row of targets closest to the house anyway. And really, she thought, as she shouldered one of her favorite rifles, she should have done this in the first place. Philip was a nice enough boy but he overthought things horrendously.
The targets were boring, Clint discovered as he ended up in the yard behind the house, but he had his own ways of spicing up target practice. Lately, his favorite technique was ignoring the bulls-eye completely and creating his own dotted artwork out of arrows. His favorite workout was taking four targets and recreating the suits in a deck of cards. Clubs was his favorite and always saved for last, since it was the most difficult. So, when he'd reached the range and made sure Lucky wasn't going to disappear on him, he'd started in on shooting a diamond on the first target.
"Lovely job," Victoria called out as she approached. She couldn't really make herself walk more loudly, but she could at least give a little warning. "I thought I'd come out and show you some of the more interesting targets I have set up, unless Philip turned you off company entirely." She was cheerful as she was walking, even in the leaf-patterned, winter white. The rifle slung over her back was a little jarring with 'grandmother' also, especially considering the extremely expensive scope attached.
Clint tensed slightly as he turned, if only because trying to reconcile the whole grandmother thing with the GI Joe thing she had going on wasn't the easiest thing in the world. She was an English, tea-serving elderly woman who apparently had good taste in sniper rifles. "That was you I saw upstairs when we drove in," he noted uncertainly.
"Of course it was," she replied pleasantly. "I was alerted when you turned onto the drive. Though I'm rather impressed that you noticed, most don't. Shall we?" Victoria asked as she motioned towards a barely visible trail into the woods.
"Good eyes," he mumbled, hesitating a moment before calling Lucky over and heading toward the trail.
"So I've heard." Victoria glanced sidewise at him with a little smile. "Though you're wearing rather less purple these days."
Clint groaned under his breath and squinted his eyes closed for a moment before he had to look up at the trail. "They swore to me that they burned those pictures." Clint’s costume from his circus days had been forced on him; a purple mess of spandex and sequins. The purple he’d liked. The rest...kind of made him want to gag.
At the memory, he suddenly flicked a horrified look at his friend’s grandmother. "Oh fuck, you can't let Phil know. No one at the school can know."
"He should know about the marksmanship," Victoria said as they came up to what looked like an old hunting blind. "Your penchant for spangles will be our little secret. Now then," she said as she stepped into the blind. "Tell me what you see."
"That was all Carson," Clint mumbled under his breath. Refocusing, he glanced around, noting the landscape of lingering snow and old leaves. Beneath that, he could see the outlines of people - the targets - all painted in camo, ranging different distances, some of them more concealed than others. "You mean, besides Special Ops convention?"
"Very good. Shall we play?" Victoria asked as she set up inside the blind. She adjusted her scope and sighted before blowing a neat hole in the head of one of the cutouts, some distance away.
Clint regarded her for a moment, a grin starting to tug at his lips. Forget 'grandma'. Victoria was awesome. And, just to be cocky, he drew an arrow, nocked, and focused, breathing out as he fired through the hole she'd just left. A grin spread across his lips as he glanced sideways at her. "What are we playing for?"
"Oh, let's see," Victoria said after she’d shot a hole through the knee of a target mostly undercover. "As my grandson has apparently totally bollixed everything, perhaps some answers. He's a sweet boy but really rather an idiot sometimes."
The archer's smile faded a little, and he drew another arrow. His shots were more careful than hers, since he was both mimicking the shot and putting the arrow through it. He had to make sure it didn't catch the corner of the hole. When the next one sailed through, though, he lowered the bow and regarded her. "What did you do for a living?"
"I'm sure you've guessed," she said and sighted again. If he was as good as Philip claimed, she'd be paying out no few answers, but really it was better between like minds anyway. Another neat hole between a cutout's eyes and Victoria turned back to smile at Clint. "I killed people."
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I figured that one out on my own. As what? British intelligence?"
"I didn't say it was just for a single agency," she pointed out. "Isn't it your turn now?"
Clint chewed on his cheek for a moment, then turned back, drawing and taking the shot - another of her targets matched. "Are all of his relatives spies?"
"That's another complicated answer. He has no blood family left besides the two of us and his mother, so I suppose it's a yes. He considers some of our colleagues family." On a whim, Victoria shot one of outlines that had a bit less cover, just correctly off of center mass.
The archer took the shot easily, and more quickly than before. "Why am I here?"
"Twofold," Victoria said crisply. "Evaluation, I'd heard stories of your aim and wanted to see it for myself. Philip thinks you might have what it takes for our life. Beyond that... He never really had friends, you know. Our life is a difficult one for an adult, much less a child. His parents did what they could, but there’s not much for it. We wanted to meet the fellow that had caught his attention."
She sighted again, this time taking out a cutout that was out of bow range.
Clint watched her, eyes narrowed, thinking about what she said. She’d danced around the issue, but he got the gist of it. They wanted to see if he’d flinch from the whole spies and assassins thing. Snorting, he slung his bow over his shoulder and jumped up, grasping a branch above them and swinging up onto it. "Lady, I'm more scared of your tea set than your murder record."
With that, he took off running, hitting the end of the branch and grabbing the next one up, using the momentum to propel himself up into the next tree. One more flip and he balanced on a branch sideways, bow flicked out to ready, nocked, and matched the shot before doing a little boogie dance in place.
It wasn't an approved target but mid Clint's little dance, a branch exploded not far from him. It'd been carefully calculated, close enough to be very deliberate, far and low enough that the debris fell well away from Clint's face. "Are you sure about that?" Victoria called out.
The second the branch exploded, Clint had wheeled around, nocking an arrow at her, but hesitated in actually shooting Philip's grandmother. Heart thundering in his chest from both the adrenaline and yeah, sure, maybe a little lingering surprise, he called back, "Absofuckinglutely."
"Marvelous. It's good to know he didn't make an utter disaster of things." Victoria paused in her shooting and made her way out to the tree Clint was is, moving noiselessly as she did. "He's usually not quite so stupid, you know. And is usually able to learn."
Clint retracted the bow, then swung down to the ground, dropping to his feet in front of her. "Why does it matter? It's not like he and I are going to have our pick of careers. Him, maybe."
"Don't be absurd," Victoria replied. "You know where he's headed, no matter what label ends up on it. Once you're in this life, Clinton, you don't get out and talk of wanting to tends to be a lie. But at the same time, someone who can truly be an artist, do you know how rare that is?"
He shrugged uncertainly. "Up until last year, the only thing I thought I was going to be was a con artist. Maybe a circus act. If I was really lucky, land some specialty show like Cirque du Soleil."
"That would be a ridiculous waste," Victoria said firmly.
He started pacing toward the nearest target to retrieve his arrows. "So you really think there's a job out there for a sniper that uses a bow? The ammunition's pretty damn distinctive. And more expensive than bullets."
"You're quiet, I certainly don't see you having any issues getting into peculiar places," she said thoughtfully. "It would be unexpected, which can be useful sometimes. You would end up with a reputation as a specialist, but that's no bad thing."
Clint grinned and straightened, pointing the arrow at her. "You answered that one without a shot."
"Consider it a gift to make up for an unpleasant morning," Victoria said with a shrug. "I did push him into his little confession and it would be a dreadful shame to have ruined things. You know," she said, looking Clint straight in the eye. "He has more that he needs to tell you but be patient. He's marvelous with talking people through trouble, in sorting out things that they need. He's utter rubbish at doing it for himself."
The archer's grin faded and he turned to go scoop up the other arrows implanted in the cold snow and underbrush. He felt like it was kind of a betrayal to talk about the situation with Philip's grandmother, even if she was a kickass sniper (and contract killer?)
"I'm okay with him keeping secrets. I've got plenty of my own," some of which she apparently knew about. He had to admit that he was a little creeped out about that. "We'll probably end up on opposite sides of the game anyway."
The thing that pissed him off was...if he was such a friend, then why not use his help when it was really needed? Did Philip think he was too young? That was bullshit, considering the kind of life he'd led.
"Oh Clinton, you don't understand. He's trying to protect people, including you. He just doesn't know when to stop. He needs someone to call him out when he's being stupid, otherwise he'll never learn." She did not think it prudent to mention that if Philip had his way, this boy was never going to be let out of his sight.
"So it is because he thinks I'm too young," Clint grumbled under his breath, the back of his neck heating. "And I've probably got more experience in a real fight than he does."
"Age has nothing to do with it. Rather more that he's a little paranoid, which is entirely our fault. Raising a child, with the secrets we keep, is very difficult and he did not perhaps have the best role models. He frets about everyone. He does train with you though, yes?" Victoria asked as she shouldered the rifle.
He headed back to her, arrows in hand, just as Lucky bounded over the hill and trotted through the snow toward them. He reached down and scruffed his fingers over the puppy's ears, glad to see he hadn't wandered off.
"Yeah. It's probably the only reason I'm still at that school. Everything else is boring as hell." Besides Abby. Who was not boring at all. "Can I say hell? Or fuck? I'm kind of getting mixed messages from the whole polite British lady and retired contract killer thing."
"I very much doubt you could say anything I've not heard before," Victoria said crisply. "Don't bother yourself about it. If he let you in that far, he trusts you as much as he does anyone."
Clint didn't say anything to that, falling into step beside her as they headed back toward the kiddie-range. After a couple of minutes, though, he huffed out a sound. "I don't suppose I could get that coffee now?"
"Of course, dear. If you need anything at all, just ask," she said with a smile.
