1. Post with your character and their name/canon/pref in the subject. 2. Either post with a TFLN or just wait for someone. 3. Respond to people's texts or tag them with your own. 4. SHENANIGANS.
He arrived shortly thereafter, "Nat." Was all he said by way of greeting, fishing his keycard ID out of a pocket to get into the range, snagging one of the practice bows off the rack as the lights flickered on, "Huh, looks like they changed the setup." he said, but shrugged a moment later, "Wouldn't do to have us get used to it, I guess."
\o/ Also, don't mind the 2 journals. Wanted more icons until I get a paid account.
Her greeting was a cool look-over and a returned, "Barton."
The Russian had intentions of practicing as well, but she mostly came down for the company. It was rare for her to seek it in the first place, but when Clint was involved, it usually changed things. And considering that neither of them were sleeping, considering it meant keeping the night horrors at bay for a short while longer, Natasha was more than willing to play with guns and arrows.
"You know, when anyone else calls me that, it irks me. Reminds me of the annoying little bug. But when you call me Nat..." she shrugged, letting the sentence hang between them while retrieving the proper gear for firing a weapon.
Haha, no worries, I really ought to just get Clint more icons in general.
He knew full well that he was one of the very few people who got to use that particular nickname, and it probably had something to do with having saved each other's lives once or twice, or some other girly, chick-flick thing like that.
He was already studying the new layout, placing where the visible targets were and where the hidden ones probably were, "You want to run a scenario or just shoot until we run out of ammo?"
And that was why she could stand to be around him more than the others; he wasn't one to pry. But then, when you were already knowledged on all the things that made up a person, it left little to pry about.
Tasha cracked her neck once and took two deep breaths before holding up her guns, aiming at the closest target. "I say we go until someone hits...say, twenty-five? Place a wager while we're at it for added incentive?"
"Sounds good." He said, nodding once, adjusting the scope on his bow and stretching his fingers, rolling his shoulders to limber up, "What's on the table?" He'd learned the hard way, repeatedly, that it was best to let her set the wager, because that way he at least had a fair chance of winning.
Nat canted her head, staring into the middle nothing as she mulled a few bets over. When at last she had settled on something, the red-head turned to Clint with a grin that was more smirk and mischief than anything. "Loser has to do Banner's laundry for two weeks. And when I say Banner, I mean the other Banner. Winner...gets an I.O.U. for shawarma."
She kept it small this time. He was usually one to take a challenge for the sake of it, but she liked added to it once in a while. And it was only fair, seeing as they were running on little to no recovery from last night.
After another once-over of the arena he nodded, "Works for me." To be fair, he didn't actually mind laundry duty, no matter whose, he'd been a bachelor this long, he knew what he was doing. And it gave him a chance to not be around people for an hour or two, and he needed that now and again.
"We on a time limit?" Sure, a timer would drastically cut down on the whole 'target practice is zen' thing, but it made things more interesting.
He'd actually been expecting that, given as how that was his tactic as often as not, he also knew that he could take her reload time as a chance to catch up, if he needed it.
He was already off and moving as well, taking the opposite side, just because they were technically against each other didn't mean they couldn't work together to clear the area, more or less.
It was automatic to work with him, no matter the situation or the level of seriousness. Even when it was for sparring or practice, Nat still found minor ways to hone his skills. There had only been once, maybe twice, when she had needed to deliberately act against him. It was one reason she still harbored a grudge against Loki.
When Barton was near enough, Tasha shot one of his arrow into a confetti of splinters to steal one of his targets. Bullets were faster to get off than arrows, but he could keep going where she needed to reload, and it cost her sometimes.
"Cheater." Was all he said, though there was amusement in the tone, the set of his shoulders as he got off another couple shots, going for targets that had been out of view previously. That did tend to be how they worked best, she was the first charge and he was the cleanup.
Unless they were bored and decided to do it the other way around, of course, they were nothing of not versatile, especially when working together.
Nat licked her lips and gave it back to him. "'S'why you love me, Agent."
He was in the lead already, a minor frustration, but she saw to catching up or making it difficult on him. The woman snuck up behind Clint, though 'snuck' was a relative term when she had been within his sights for most of the duration. So long as she could bump into him and achieve botching his shot.
He snorted at the bump, and at the question, "That you're doing it, and pretty damn well, I might add." he shrugged, just once before lowering his shoulder again to take his next shot, "But we already knew that was one of your skills."
"Yeah, well, you make it so easy sometimes. I can't help but resort to it around you. That...might be a compliment?" She pulled a face and slipped away, carrying on with the targets.
Hee! He'll let her have a rematch. Because assassin-bros, it's what they DO.
"I'll keep it in mind." He called after her, just continuing on, keeping up with the same pattern, taking out the hidden targets or ones out of her immediate range. He finally stopped, waiting until there was a break in her firing before he said: "That's twenty six to me, unless I missed one."
She scowled, sighing with defeat. "No. You got right, loathe as I am to admit it."
Nat pocketed her guns into their holsters, meandering back towards Clint. "Maybe I'll get lucky and Hulk will just tear his way through the clothes. Can't have him running around with ripped clothing all the time, makes us look less professional or something."
The thing about Natasha and jokes was that it wasn't always clear when she meant it in all seriousness or to prod. More often than not, her voice kept close to monotone or of softer volumes. She only revealed tiny cracks to Clint, maybe one or two of the others.
He had a slightly better idea than most as to when she was joking, but even that wasn't infallible, just a more educated guess, "Don't think anyone can make us look less professional than Tony." He said with a shrug, shouldering his bow and debating going to retrieve his own arrows versus leaving them for a clean-up crew.
"But hey, at least you know nobody will say anything about you getting laundry duty." Mostly because they'd all be too afraid of being stabbed in their sleep.
She actually laughed at that, briefly closing her eyes with a quick shake of her head. "I swear, sometimes, that man."
Tasha yawned, politely covering it with her hand and looking at him through one eye. "Please, like you'd miss any opportunity to harass me. I worry when you're not causing me more trouble."
He shook his head, "Not any opportunity, just the ones I know I'll survive." Like when there was another outlet for her ire. Despite his seeming lack of self-preservation sometimes, it was there, just not in the same place or the same quantity as other people's, and he knew when he could piss her off and survive it.
He also knew, now more than ever, not to make himself the target for the full brunt of her not unimpressive skill set. A flicker of a smile followed, "You want me to tuck you in, princess? Read you a bedtime story?"
She rolled one shoulder, lips pursed. "Same thing."
Only, it wasn't and she acknowledge that. As an after-thought, Nat said, "We'd only end up taking each other out if I tried to kill you, anyway. So, lose-lose kind of deal."
Tasha gripped her hips, tilted her head down, and raised her brows, at first only giving him this look and letting Clint stew in the silence. Had it truly pissed her off or was she only dragging things out for torture?
But then, "Depends on the story," and without waiting, she pivoted and started to head back. Her pace, however, was slow enough to allow Barton to catch up.
"Poky little puppy always puts me right to sleep." He said with a shrug, catching up to her easily enough, falling into pace beside her. For once he hadn't actually been worried about that Look™, which he figured meant that he was tired, regardless of what he felt.
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Would you want to play it out or just hand-wave?
I'm good with playing it out if you are!
Yes, please! She's a new muse still so I love any chance to voice test.
Oh good! Me too.
\o/ Also, don't mind the 2 journals. Wanted more icons until I get a paid account.
The Russian had intentions of practicing as well, but she mostly came down for the company. It was rare for her to seek it in the first place, but when Clint was involved, it usually changed things. And considering that neither of them were sleeping, considering it meant keeping the night horrors at bay for a short while longer, Natasha was more than willing to play with guns and arrows.
"You know, when anyone else calls me that, it irks me. Reminds me of the annoying little bug. But when you call me Nat..." she shrugged, letting the sentence hang between them while retrieving the proper gear for firing a weapon.
Haha, no worries, I really ought to just get Clint more icons in general.
He was already studying the new layout, placing where the visible targets were and where the hidden ones probably were, "You want to run a scenario or just shoot until we run out of ammo?"
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Tasha cracked her neck once and took two deep breaths before holding up her guns, aiming at the closest target. "I say we go until someone hits...say, twenty-five? Place a wager while we're at it for added incentive?"
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She kept it small this time. He was usually one to take a challenge for the sake of it, but she liked added to it once in a while. And it was only fair, seeing as they were running on little to no recovery from last night.
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"We on a time limit?" Sure, a timer would drastically cut down on the whole 'target practice is zen' thing, but it made things more interesting.
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She winked and said, "Count of three, then?
One...two..."
But before she reached three, Nat started after two, sprinting and shooting, something akin to a cackle drifting back at her partner.
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He was already off and moving as well, taking the opposite side, just because they were technically against each other didn't mean they couldn't work together to clear the area, more or less.
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When Barton was near enough, Tasha shot one of his arrow into a confetti of splinters to steal one of his targets. Bullets were faster to get off than arrows, but he could keep going where she needed to reload, and it cost her sometimes.
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Unless they were bored and decided to do it the other way around, of course, they were nothing of not versatile, especially when working together.
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He was in the lead already, a minor frustration, but she saw to catching up or making it difficult on him. The woman snuck up behind Clint, though 'snuck' was a relative term when she had been within his sights for most of the duration. So long as she could bump into him and achieve botching his shot.
"What was that about cheating?"
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He can win this round. ^_^
Hee! He'll let her have a rematch. Because assassin-bros, it's what they DO.
Trufax. <3
Nat pocketed her guns into their holsters, meandering back towards Clint. "Maybe I'll get lucky and Hulk will just tear his way through the clothes. Can't have him running around with ripped clothing all the time, makes us look less professional or something."
The thing about Natasha and jokes was that it wasn't always clear when she meant it in all seriousness or to prod. More often than not, her voice kept close to monotone or of softer volumes. She only revealed tiny cracks to Clint, maybe one or two of the others.
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"But hey, at least you know nobody will say anything about you getting laundry duty." Mostly because they'd all be too afraid of being stabbed in their sleep.
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Tasha yawned, politely covering it with her hand and looking at him through one eye. "Please, like you'd miss any opportunity to harass me. I worry when you're not causing me more trouble."
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He also knew, now more than ever, not to make himself the target for the full brunt of her not unimpressive skill set. A flicker of a smile followed, "You want me to tuck you in, princess? Read you a bedtime story?"
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Only, it wasn't and she acknowledge that. As an after-thought, Nat said, "We'd only end up taking each other out if I tried to kill you, anyway. So, lose-lose kind of deal."
Tasha gripped her hips, tilted her head down, and raised her brows, at first only giving him this look and letting Clint stew in the silence. Had it truly pissed her off or was she only dragging things out for torture?
But then, "Depends on the story," and without waiting, she pivoted and started to head back. Her pace, however, was slow enough to allow Barton to catch up.
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