Arthur and Clint, Sunday Afternoon
Mar. 15th, 2015 03:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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om_mainArthur and Clint share the Stark shooting range and get to know one another in the meantime. There's a lot they both don't understand.
It had been by sheer accident that Arthur had even discovered there was a shooting range in the building. He'd given up questioning the whims of the erstwhile landlord ages ago (really, he should have done that the moment he figured out just how well Eames got along with him but that was besides the point), but given that the thing was on one of the communal floors, it wasn't too much of a stretch to assume it was for general use. No one had said otherwise, anyway, which was as good as an agreement.
He hadn't really worked with a handgun in a while -- it wasn't something he was exactly comfortable with doing at the school -- but it wasn't the kind of thing you forgot. What he had forgotten was how oddly soothing the whole process was, each mechanical step of loading, aiming and firing.
Which might have been why he ran out of ammo before he'd realized it. Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly at the targets as he slipped the ear protectors down around his neck, but he was well aware that it wasn't going to magic up a clip for him.
"Top of the locker on your right," an easy voice told him from near the door. Clint leaned just inside, shooting gloves and armguard already strapped on, full quiver hanging from his belt. He had a case in his hand that probably could have held a folded down bow.
Arthur glanced over sharply, but at least the ear protectors made for a good excuse for not having noticed the other boy come in. "What?"
"Ammo," Clint pointed out, thinking that this guy and Coulson had some of the same expressions. "Unless you're done."
It was an almost reflex move to slip the safety on, empty clip or not, as Arthur turned a little more in Clint's direction. Now that he could see him a bit better, one side of Arthur's mouth lifted just slightly. "I take it you have a preference."
"You got me," Clint grinned, strolling over to a counter nearby to lay his case down and flip it open. "Though I was trying to decide whether to run you off the playground or not."
"I appreciate the consideration," Arthur said dryly as he ejected the empty clip. "Or at least waiting until I ran empty to try it."
"Heeey, that's just common sense. I don't have a lot of it, but what I do got, I use," Clint laughed, pulling the bow out and flicking it open with a pump of his arm.
Arthur gave a faintly amused snort, watching him out of the corners of his eyes as he finished breaking the gun down and took the ear protection off from around his neck. "You'd be surprised how uncommon that can be."
"Eh. Not so surprised. I used to know someone who told me that good common sense was better than a good education," Clint smirked over his shoulder at the guy.
"I'm not sure I'd go that far, but it does help." Once everything was properly tucked away, Arthur glanced back over at him. "Should I clear out of your way?"
Clint brought up the touchscreen on the wall and reset the targets to be more arrow friendly (some kind of weird foam that Tony had probably invented himself) then stepped closer to the line as he watched the mechanics change everything out. "Hey, you're welcome to stick around and watch? You were done, right? I assume you were done."
"I'm done," Arthur agreed, though he stepped back out of the way anyway. "And curious," he added without an ounce of shame.
"Which part are you curious about?" Clint asked, drawing a regular precision alloy arrow from the quiver hooked at his hip. He'd need to buy more soon, if he continued to practice as heavily as he was doing.
"Just curious," Arthur said, though the intent way he was studying Clint might have been a bit more of an answer. True precision shooting had never been anything he'd focused on, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate it.
Clint glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow in question, but as he did, he drew and released, the arrow plunking neatly into the center of one of the closer targets. He hadn't even bothered to notice where it went. Or, more accurately, already knew its destination.
Arthur lifted both eyebrows slightly in return. "Impressive," he said without his tone of voice actually changing at all.
The archer shrugged, drawing another arrow. "Muscle memory. I can move the targets around all I want, but I still know where they're gonna be. Wish I could create some kind of obstacle course, you know? But this...it's just keeping in shape, and it's its own kind of relaxing. You probably get that."
There was something vaguely amusing about skill like that being written off as 'muscle memory', but Arthur just nodded his understanding. "So you prefer to be moving when you shoot, rather than standing still?"
Clint shrugged. "I like to shoot. Moving is more of a challenge, yeah. But if I'm just relaxing then standing still is just fine too. I find ways of making it interesting."
"I'm sure," Arthur said without any real inflection at all. "Why a bow?"
"Besides the fact that it's what I was taught first," Clint pointed out, "its versatility with ammo, and the way your whole body becomes the weapon. It becomes a kind of art, you know?"
Arthur didn't, really, but it seemed like the kind of thing you couldn't argue with. "Do you not like guns, or you just prefer the bow?"
"It's a preference. I don't have anything against guns, and I practice with them too, but it's not the same," Clint answered as he let another one fly, by now shooting fluidly as they talked - nock, draw, release - peppering one of the further targets with arrows in what was quickly becoming the arrow outline of a Smurf.
"Good to know," Arthur murmured more to himself as he watched the admittedly impressive display. There was a flamboyance to Clint that was a little fascinating -- the bow, the design -- but he clearly had the skills to back it up. Something to keep in mind.
Clint glanced over curiously. "You're one of the teachers, right?"
"TA," Arthur corrected, even as he nodded once. "History."
"That'd be why you haven't had to deal with me yet," Clint decided thoughtfully, turning back to the targets. "I actually get history."
By which he meant he didn't get most other things, Arthur was guessing. He gave Clint a look that somehow managed to be amused without his expression actually changing slightly. "I also do research assistance."
"Assistance for who?" Clint asked, moving on to another target when the Smurf was complete.
"Anyone," Arthur said, lifting one shoulder into a slight shrug.
"Was that an offer or just a job description?" the archer grinned sideways at him. The guy was even more taciturn than Philip, which was saying something.
Arthur allowed a very small smile. "The latter," he said with a knowing look. "Most people know how to find me if they need something."
"Good. Cause I wouldn't even know what was worth researching," Clint smirked.
"You might be surprised," Arthur said with a slight shrug. "But the point stands."
Clint regarded him curiously, pausing for a moment. "So what do you do for Stark that you've got a place here?"
One of Arthur's eyebrows lifted a little, but it was more amused than not. "I don't. Eames does."
"Who's Eames?" Clint asked.
That earned a very slight expressive shift towards bemusement. Some days it seemed like everyone knew Eames, though Arthur did suppose he hadn't been spending that much time at the school anymore. "My...significant other," he said after a brief pause to find the right term. "You've probably seen him around in one way or the other."
"Your significant other? You don't sound real sure about that. I'm no expert, but I think you're supposed to be sure about it," Clint grinned at him.
Arthur gave an unruffled shrug. "Not really a boyfriend if he's not always male."
The bow lowered for a moment and Clint's eyebrows went up. "Wow, you're living the dream, aren't you?"
There was a second or so of silence as Arthur considered that. "I'm not sure what you mean," he admitted finally.
Clint blinked owlishly at him, and for a second tried to see if the guy was just fucking with him. But no. He didn't seem to be fucking with him at all. There was no fucking. "Seriously?"
Arthur's expression somehow managed to go even blanker. "What?"
"He. She? Can be anything you want? Girl or guy I'm guessing, and...you don't take advantage of that?" Clint stared.
"It...doesn't change him at all," Arthur said, sounding baffled by the entire conversation. "It's still Eames no matter what shape he's in."
Clint narrowed his eyes. "Are you an android?"
That one, Arthur had heard before. "Not last time I checked," he said dryly.
It was so hard for Clint to wrap his mind around. This guy didn't even seem to get it. "But you...like sex, right? I mean, everyone likes sex."
It was on the tip of Arthur's tongue to ask what that had to do with anything, but somehow he doubted the conversation was going to continue anywhere he wanted to go. And discussing his sexuality with anyone, let alone someone he'd just technically met, well below his list of preferred things. "This is getting away from the point, I think," he said mildly, if firmly.
Clint tried not to look as dumb as he felt. "What was the point? Other than the fact that you're living the dream."
"The point is that you're very impressive," Arthur said, feeling a bit more settled once they were back on more solid ground.
"Not really," Clint rubbed at the back of his neck. "I mean, anyone could do it with practice. But thanks."
Arthur gave him a look that somehow managed to combine a certain level of wryness with complete and utter seriousness. "They really couldn't," he said with an air of certainty, but Arthur did at least know when to let things go in conversation. "I can let you get back to it."
Clint just shrugged and turned back to the range. "Mi shooting gallery is su shooting gallery."
"I'll keep that in mind," Arthur said with a more genuine smile as he turned to go. "See you around, Clint."
The archer blinked at the smile and nodded. "Hey, what was your name again?"
"Arthur," he said with a hint of amusement. "Like I said before. I'm easy to find if you need me."
"Right. Thanks," Clint grinned. "Nice meetin' ya."
It had been by sheer accident that Arthur had even discovered there was a shooting range in the building. He'd given up questioning the whims of the erstwhile landlord ages ago (really, he should have done that the moment he figured out just how well Eames got along with him but that was besides the point), but given that the thing was on one of the communal floors, it wasn't too much of a stretch to assume it was for general use. No one had said otherwise, anyway, which was as good as an agreement.
He hadn't really worked with a handgun in a while -- it wasn't something he was exactly comfortable with doing at the school -- but it wasn't the kind of thing you forgot. What he had forgotten was how oddly soothing the whole process was, each mechanical step of loading, aiming and firing.
Which might have been why he ran out of ammo before he'd realized it. Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly at the targets as he slipped the ear protectors down around his neck, but he was well aware that it wasn't going to magic up a clip for him.
"Top of the locker on your right," an easy voice told him from near the door. Clint leaned just inside, shooting gloves and armguard already strapped on, full quiver hanging from his belt. He had a case in his hand that probably could have held a folded down bow.
Arthur glanced over sharply, but at least the ear protectors made for a good excuse for not having noticed the other boy come in. "What?"
"Ammo," Clint pointed out, thinking that this guy and Coulson had some of the same expressions. "Unless you're done."
It was an almost reflex move to slip the safety on, empty clip or not, as Arthur turned a little more in Clint's direction. Now that he could see him a bit better, one side of Arthur's mouth lifted just slightly. "I take it you have a preference."
"You got me," Clint grinned, strolling over to a counter nearby to lay his case down and flip it open. "Though I was trying to decide whether to run you off the playground or not."
"I appreciate the consideration," Arthur said dryly as he ejected the empty clip. "Or at least waiting until I ran empty to try it."
"Heeey, that's just common sense. I don't have a lot of it, but what I do got, I use," Clint laughed, pulling the bow out and flicking it open with a pump of his arm.
Arthur gave a faintly amused snort, watching him out of the corners of his eyes as he finished breaking the gun down and took the ear protection off from around his neck. "You'd be surprised how uncommon that can be."
"Eh. Not so surprised. I used to know someone who told me that good common sense was better than a good education," Clint smirked over his shoulder at the guy.
"I'm not sure I'd go that far, but it does help." Once everything was properly tucked away, Arthur glanced back over at him. "Should I clear out of your way?"
Clint brought up the touchscreen on the wall and reset the targets to be more arrow friendly (some kind of weird foam that Tony had probably invented himself) then stepped closer to the line as he watched the mechanics change everything out. "Hey, you're welcome to stick around and watch? You were done, right? I assume you were done."
"I'm done," Arthur agreed, though he stepped back out of the way anyway. "And curious," he added without an ounce of shame.
"Which part are you curious about?" Clint asked, drawing a regular precision alloy arrow from the quiver hooked at his hip. He'd need to buy more soon, if he continued to practice as heavily as he was doing.
"Just curious," Arthur said, though the intent way he was studying Clint might have been a bit more of an answer. True precision shooting had never been anything he'd focused on, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate it.
Clint glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow in question, but as he did, he drew and released, the arrow plunking neatly into the center of one of the closer targets. He hadn't even bothered to notice where it went. Or, more accurately, already knew its destination.
Arthur lifted both eyebrows slightly in return. "Impressive," he said without his tone of voice actually changing at all.
The archer shrugged, drawing another arrow. "Muscle memory. I can move the targets around all I want, but I still know where they're gonna be. Wish I could create some kind of obstacle course, you know? But this...it's just keeping in shape, and it's its own kind of relaxing. You probably get that."
There was something vaguely amusing about skill like that being written off as 'muscle memory', but Arthur just nodded his understanding. "So you prefer to be moving when you shoot, rather than standing still?"
Clint shrugged. "I like to shoot. Moving is more of a challenge, yeah. But if I'm just relaxing then standing still is just fine too. I find ways of making it interesting."
"I'm sure," Arthur said without any real inflection at all. "Why a bow?"
"Besides the fact that it's what I was taught first," Clint pointed out, "its versatility with ammo, and the way your whole body becomes the weapon. It becomes a kind of art, you know?"
Arthur didn't, really, but it seemed like the kind of thing you couldn't argue with. "Do you not like guns, or you just prefer the bow?"
"It's a preference. I don't have anything against guns, and I practice with them too, but it's not the same," Clint answered as he let another one fly, by now shooting fluidly as they talked - nock, draw, release - peppering one of the further targets with arrows in what was quickly becoming the arrow outline of a Smurf.
"Good to know," Arthur murmured more to himself as he watched the admittedly impressive display. There was a flamboyance to Clint that was a little fascinating -- the bow, the design -- but he clearly had the skills to back it up. Something to keep in mind.
Clint glanced over curiously. "You're one of the teachers, right?"
"TA," Arthur corrected, even as he nodded once. "History."
"That'd be why you haven't had to deal with me yet," Clint decided thoughtfully, turning back to the targets. "I actually get history."
By which he meant he didn't get most other things, Arthur was guessing. He gave Clint a look that somehow managed to be amused without his expression actually changing slightly. "I also do research assistance."
"Assistance for who?" Clint asked, moving on to another target when the Smurf was complete.
"Anyone," Arthur said, lifting one shoulder into a slight shrug.
"Was that an offer or just a job description?" the archer grinned sideways at him. The guy was even more taciturn than Philip, which was saying something.
Arthur allowed a very small smile. "The latter," he said with a knowing look. "Most people know how to find me if they need something."
"Good. Cause I wouldn't even know what was worth researching," Clint smirked.
"You might be surprised," Arthur said with a slight shrug. "But the point stands."
Clint regarded him curiously, pausing for a moment. "So what do you do for Stark that you've got a place here?"
One of Arthur's eyebrows lifted a little, but it was more amused than not. "I don't. Eames does."
"Who's Eames?" Clint asked.
That earned a very slight expressive shift towards bemusement. Some days it seemed like everyone knew Eames, though Arthur did suppose he hadn't been spending that much time at the school anymore. "My...significant other," he said after a brief pause to find the right term. "You've probably seen him around in one way or the other."
"Your significant other? You don't sound real sure about that. I'm no expert, but I think you're supposed to be sure about it," Clint grinned at him.
Arthur gave an unruffled shrug. "Not really a boyfriend if he's not always male."
The bow lowered for a moment and Clint's eyebrows went up. "Wow, you're living the dream, aren't you?"
There was a second or so of silence as Arthur considered that. "I'm not sure what you mean," he admitted finally.
Clint blinked owlishly at him, and for a second tried to see if the guy was just fucking with him. But no. He didn't seem to be fucking with him at all. There was no fucking. "Seriously?"
Arthur's expression somehow managed to go even blanker. "What?"
"He. She? Can be anything you want? Girl or guy I'm guessing, and...you don't take advantage of that?" Clint stared.
"It...doesn't change him at all," Arthur said, sounding baffled by the entire conversation. "It's still Eames no matter what shape he's in."
Clint narrowed his eyes. "Are you an android?"
That one, Arthur had heard before. "Not last time I checked," he said dryly.
It was so hard for Clint to wrap his mind around. This guy didn't even seem to get it. "But you...like sex, right? I mean, everyone likes sex."
It was on the tip of Arthur's tongue to ask what that had to do with anything, but somehow he doubted the conversation was going to continue anywhere he wanted to go. And discussing his sexuality with anyone, let alone someone he'd just technically met, well below his list of preferred things. "This is getting away from the point, I think," he said mildly, if firmly.
Clint tried not to look as dumb as he felt. "What was the point? Other than the fact that you're living the dream."
"The point is that you're very impressive," Arthur said, feeling a bit more settled once they were back on more solid ground.
"Not really," Clint rubbed at the back of his neck. "I mean, anyone could do it with practice. But thanks."
Arthur gave him a look that somehow managed to combine a certain level of wryness with complete and utter seriousness. "They really couldn't," he said with an air of certainty, but Arthur did at least know when to let things go in conversation. "I can let you get back to it."
Clint just shrugged and turned back to the range. "Mi shooting gallery is su shooting gallery."
"I'll keep that in mind," Arthur said with a more genuine smile as he turned to go. "See you around, Clint."
The archer blinked at the smile and nodded. "Hey, what was your name again?"
"Arthur," he said with a hint of amusement. "Like I said before. I'm easy to find if you need me."
"Right. Thanks," Clint grinned. "Nice meetin' ya."
