semi-open; gone, like it was destined

[cognitived]

Who| Clint and OPEN, plus some closed starters
What| Clint goes feasting on Wednesday, then runs away from his well-meaning team. Hi-jinks ensue.
Where| Avenger HQ, the Castle, the Forest.
When| Week 2, Wednesday and Friday
Warnings/Notes| Lame jokes, a master assassin being a loser, language, ect ect.

i. feasting

Even in the castle, the stench of rotting bodies has dug in. Clint can't exactly say it's a new scent, because he's lived a life of death since he was still more kid than adult, but this is so overpowering as to be impossible to get used to. And believe him, he's tried. He's scouted the castle, the surrounding land, and nobody where he is, the scent of death is as constant as it was when he started.

It's wearing on him, cutting through the hunger in his belly, weighing heavily. Clint tries to eat, because he must, but it is little more than nibbles. Mere bites of food and water when he can force himself to, even as his stomach churns. He does not manage much, and it is bad enough that he vomits, once. Stops himself from trying again, if only to save what little he has.

It's only been a couple days, but even a couple days in the Arena without food could be deadly. Luck is on his side though. Clint has allies, even if he is starting to feel stifled under the protection, and he hasn't been wounded beyond the still healing mess of his knee. When the feast is announced, well, it's with grateful relief. Sure, it could be a second bloodbath, could be poisoned, but Clint doubts it. Most are going to want that food, and most will be willing to call truce to look for allies and friends, to take time to sate their hunger. Clint's looking forward to it too, if only with the hope that some missed faces will appear alive and well.

Still, by the time Clint shows up, the Feast is in full swing. It's expansive, far more than he expected, though he shouldn't have been surprised given the Capitol's extravagance. He lingers on the edges of the party, watching people carefully, seeing what they eat and waiting to make sure it's safe. Then, and only then, does he find a seat and dig in.

ii. exploring

Though he escaped with Steve, at one point they wind up splitting off. Not, of course, that this means Clint can't track down the de-powered superhero. Clint might have been feeling caged in by his well meaning other teammates, but it doesn't mean he's foolhardy enough to completely lose track of a 90lb asthmatic with a heart condition. They might have wanted some space, but Clint will look after his teammate.

It's why he's heading back, retracing his path until he finds where they split, heading off after Steve. It's not hard to do, and Clint only has half his attention on tracking down Steve, scanning his surroundings in case someone decides to get the jump on him. Midstep, something white and gleaming in the underbrush catches his attention, sparking in his periphery. It doesn't look like anything useful at first, simply a white carved stick, unnatural but not threatening. This changes once he picks it up, turns it in hand, and accidentally shoots a bolt of lightning at the floor. It's loud, crackling and booming, sends Clint jumping a foot in the air and throwing himself out of the way on instinct. He takes a moment to make sure he's in one piece, knee throbbing, before getting up and staring down at the stick with his hands on hips.

"What the hell?"

Unfortunately, his luck wasn't enough to keep from drawing attention with that. At the sound of a twig snapping, Clint ducks and scoops up the stick, pointing it loosely at the intruder as he backs up.

Comments

[aboveangrybees]

Steve still begrudges Barton sticking around with him, but the longer it continues, the more he acclimates to it. Growing used to the man's presence doesn't mean he's not wary, still keeping distance between them, often pausing to eye Barton's actions, being careful not to turn his back or bad ear to the other man for long. He gets particularly skittish when he's expected to duck under the man's arm, but after a long moment of stubbornly seeming he won't, be risks it, choosing to not let the other man not know he's actually scared.

The break is just another one where Steve refuses Barton's handouts and picks at his own rations, blissfully unaffected by the smell due to the white rose pinned to his clothing. Unlike the other man, Steve has no hearing aids, his partial deafness making it so when the man reacts to unheard sounds, Steve gives him a funny look for a long second before jumping to the conclusion that something dangerous is nearby. While he doesn't trust Barton, he also is more willing to follow the man than wait around for a wolf to make him a late snack.

It's only when they grow closer that Steve begins to distinguish the sounds, not able to pinpoint them at first, but eventually he hears the unmistakable whinny of a horse, something even a city boy like him can identify. Barton's murmur almost goes unheard, but the offered hand doesn't go unnoticed, though it does go unaccepted as Steve rolls his eyes at it and carefully hoists himself up onto the rocks.

He looks out at the horses now, carefully perched, and even his poor eyesight allows him some ability to distinguish them, see them as the sleek majestic creatures that they are. His hand itches to draw them, to color them with his mind's eye.

"Never seen the likes of that," it's a soft whisper, more to himself.

[cognitived]

Steve could probably run if he really tried. Clint's injured, he's tired, he's jittering out of his skin with the longer they move without seeing anything. The scent of death is overpowering, and that's honestly what's on his mind. Where are the bodies? Where is the scent coming from?

But he still notices Steve. Still notices the way he carefully keeps Clint before him and to one side. It's a motion Clint's well aware of doing himself, and something a newly deafened Clint Barton did often. He was angrier, more vicious than Steve is, but yeah. He knows that movement. In all honesty though, it's all a show of trust on Clint's part. If Steve had a weapon, ducking under Clint's arm would offer the clearest shot to injure him than not. A knife between his ribs, in his gut, well, there are plenty of ways this could backfire on him. But Sam and Bucky trusted Steve, and months ago when he'd been shaking out of Loki's control, Steve had let Clint come along without qualm. That means something, it does.

He'll let Steve get away with this, with whatever the guy needs to be calmer, to be more comfortable. Plus, he's distracted now, more concerned with the sight of the herd. There's so many of them, beautiful and wild, and Clint's heart aches with nostalgia and a fierce sort of homesickness.

"It's been a while." He says, clear wistful longing written in his voice.

[aboveangrybees]

Sure, Steve could run, but the harder he pushes himself, the more chances he has of another asthma attack, of weakening himself into exhaustion that leaves him more vulnerable than safe for the distance he put between them. Serum or not, Steve has enough of a tactical mind to know his chances if he took them. He's pretty sure he's more likely to do well sticking with the man than not at this point. Especially, since he can imagine Bucky hunting him again and he figures so long as Barton is avoiding being caught, then Steve can too.

But he does notice how Barton offers him these chances at being comfortable. He knows the man is an assassin, a sharpshooter, he knows the man wouldn't let Steve put himself in positions of opportunity unless he was allowing Steve that. It's definitely part of the reason Steve's at ease enough to focus on the herd and not on the man next to him, enough to almost forget he's there until he speaks again.

He looks up at Barton for a long second before back out at the horses. "Grew up around them?" he says it casually, but he is genuinely curious.

[cognitived]

Well he's not wrong. Clint's more concerned with avoiding everyone else, but if Barnes, or Sam, caught up to them then he'd be alright with it. A chance at freedom, even here in the Arena, was one hard gained that he'd be pressed to lose. At least for now. Besides, Clint has some idea of what Steve's dealing with, if only in the form of his Pre-Serum conditions, and he's been very careful to not only keep an eye out on him but try to prevent things from badly affecting him.

"Sorta." He shrugs a shoulder, eying a horse on the edges that looks remarkably like the one the Ringmaster had favored. "Joined a circus when I was kid, worked with 'em there."

Clint looks away, back towards Steve with a faint crooked smile.

"You've rode before?"

[aboveangrybees]

"Circus, huh? Sounds like hard work," sure, a lot of people would assume it would be fun because it's fun to go to the circus, but Steve knows what it's like to be a dancing monkey, it's not as fun being in the show as it is to watch it. It also made some sense how Barton was one of the best at what he did, if he was a trick shot for the show, he had to land every shot or that's be bad for business.

Steve's eyes get a little wide at the question, looking down at the horses below. There were courses in basic, but it was optional and Steve was always too exhausted to even bother considering it.

"After World War One, horse riding wasn't a required part of basic training, so no, never got the chance," he's a city boy through and through.

"Think if we catch one, you could teach me?" his voice is very cautious, obviously putting forth a small bit of trust and seeing if Barton will break it like he expects him to.

[cognitived]

"Mhmm," he hums in response, a fond little thing, because yeah the Circus was hard work, and there were a lot of problems that came out of it, but it'd been home. Even with Chisholm and Duquesne, things had been good once upon a time. Clint'd learned so much from them, and from the acrobat family, the strongwoman, the fortune tellers, the keepers. Funny how it can take thirty years and another world entirely to appreciate that completely. "Worth it though."

Better than what waited him outside it, three kids too old and too angry to be adopted, and certainly not together. It was foster and orphanage one after another, until Barney led them out. Steve can understand that, he thinks, if only just a little bit.

As it is, Clint looks over, curious in the answer, even if it's just about what he expected. He nods, thoughtfully, and smiles a bit at the question.

"Yeah, 'course." Clint replies easily, as if he hadn't caught that cautiousness and known exactly what this meant. But Clint has experience working with people with trust issues, and honestly, Steve has nothing on a newly recruited Natasha.