asthehawkflies | [#003] {Violence for fun and profit} Action/Video

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[#003] {Violence for fun and profit} Action/Video

[It's a routine they indulge in whenever they're in the same place for more than a couple of days. This seems like a good enough time to pick it back up, test each other a little, and they claim one of the rooms in the Battle Dome, equipping it with mats and padded walls because while the simulation won't allow them to get really hurt by weapons, Clint isn't sure that it can make getting slammed to the ground any less painful.]

Ready, Tasha?

[He's grinning, as much a mask to hide his intentions as her blank expression. They take up position on the mats opposite each other, and there's no bowing, no politeness, just stillness.

He strikes first, a punch that she blocks, returns with a blow of her own, and then they're fighting in earnest. It's vicious, both of them making use of every move at their disposal, a brutal mix of martial arts and outright brawling, dirty tricks and all.

A throw sends Clint sprawling, hitting the bench where they'd left their stuff, and his journal falls open, starting to record the rest of the fight. To anyone not familiar with them, it does look like they're genuinely trying to kill each other. Neither of them really believe in pulling their punches and they're eerily silent while they fight, neither of them making any noise besides grunts of exertion.

They seemed evenly matched for the most part, Clint's size and strength well matched by Natasha's speed and agility and the training she'd undertaken since childhood. Eventually though, one of them comes out on top, and it's Clint who ends up floored and winded, laid out on his back, Natasha above him, pinning him down and her elbow pressed against his throat.

He groans softly, and then smiles.]

I yield.

[OOC: Responses will be answered by Clint, or Natasha, or more likely, both.]

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[Her smile is thin and wry. Ratings and cash. She can understand that. It wasn't exactly the same with the Hunger Games, but it was in some ways similar. At least in the Capitol where the Games were meant to be entertainment rather than a reminder of the Capitol's dominance over the Districts. Of the penance still being paid for the unsuccessful uprising seventy-six years ago.

Of penance, thankfully, no longer paid. Not since the second uprising.]

The Games were called entertainment by the Capitol. They were about ratings and cash among the citizens there. But none of their children were forced to fight to the death. And they weren't forced to celebrate that fact. Or watch.

[His expression becomes more solemn and serious when she speaks. He's not entirely clear on the context; what the games were exactly, where this Capitol even was, but he has a good enough imagination to paint a pretty vivid picture. It makes him feel a little sick.]

I can see why that might suck... a whole lot.

That what they do in your world? Watch kids fight for entertainment? Geez, that's fucked up.

[Maybe even more than turning little girls into assassins.]

[It's not so unlike the look she remembered Rick giving her the first time they discussed this. He had understood, though. Understood so much about her.

But she nods in response. It is, at least, what they did in her world. For her entire life, she knew that she, like every other child of the twelve districts, would possibly wind up as tribute for the Hunger Games. She had not known that she would be tribute twice over. Nor that the her tenure as a game piece would last far past the Games.

Little girls made the best assassins. Especially when the decision was motivated by revenge.]

Every year, two children - a boy and a girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen - are chosen to represent their district in the Hunger Games. In penance for the lives lost by Capitol citizens when the Districts first rebelled. Entertainment for the Capitol.

We were forced to watch the Games for as long as I can remember. There was never any choice in the matter.

[The children walking two by two, in red and blue and green...

He lets out a slow breath because it isn't his fight, isn't even his world, but at least back home he can believe that him and Natasha are anomalies.]

Lemme guess, the Capitol lives in luxury, and sees everything they do as a gift towards these Districts.

[There's bitterness in his voice, because that's a story he's heard before.]

[It's a story that's far, far too personal to Katniss. By now, after all the time she's spent here, she's not surprised that it sounds familiar to the man who isn't Rick. She's heard enough of other worlds to know Panem isn't the only country with its problems. Or was, as thoughts of Plutarch's new democracy cross her mind.

So many of these other worlds and countries and places have their own horrible stories. Maybe that was just a part of being human. If the world Panem had inherited was any indication.

Still, an eyebrow raises curiously.] Is your world like that, too?

[Clint shrugs, not trying to be dismissive but... it's not an easy topic.]

Not quite the same, but yeah. There are countries where children are made into soldiers to fight wars they can't even understand. I've seen kids used as human shields for warlords and drug runners before.

[Human shields. Children as human shields. It had been the wrong words for him to say, the wrong words for her to hear. The journal nearly slips from her hand and she squeezes her eyes shut, willing the memories away.

The Capitol children, gathered in the lawn in front of Snow's mansion. The parachutes that were supposed to promise aid. Exploding. Medics rushing in. Prim, the tail of her shirt flapping like a little duck.

And more. So many more explosions.

Quietly, oh so quietly,] I've seen that, too.

[He sees the change in her expression, and hell, that had been careless of him. Should have guessed, should have known. Nice move Barton. And it's not so easy to talk someone down from a flashback over a video stream.]

I'm sorry to hear that. No-one should ever have to.

[Sometimes she thinks that that, her sister's death, is the worst of her memories. That nothing could compare to agony that had been watching her sister light up like a human torch. But she knows that that's not necessarily the case. There has been worse. A boy screaming in the night as muttations slowly ripped him to bits.

So much worse.

But she shrugs it off. She's shown too much weakness already.]

I'm sorry to hear you had to see that, too.

Occupational hazard, I guess. You see some bad things.

[And tried to stop them, but sometimes there was nothing that you could do. So you tried your best to never be helpless again.]

[She considers the way he had fought against the woman and the words he's said now. Occupational hazard. She couldn't imagine. Couldn't imagine even for a moment seeing something like that on such a day to day basis. Bad enough it haunted her dreams at night. That she awoke screaming from nightmares that lingered even in the daylight hour.

Never be helpless again. That would be a motto she could understand.]

What do you do? Before you came here.

Military. Special operations. I get sent in in... difficult cases.

[The kind that the real military just can't deal with. The kind that never make it onto the news if all goes well.]

A soldier?

[Just like Rick had been. Just like she had been for the shortest period of time.]

Yeah. Close enough. I'm a sniper, a marksman primarily. But I do whatever is needed.

[Whatever is needed.

For a while, had she been much different? Killing the woman in the Capitol without thought or remorse, just to prevent the woman from alerting the Peacekeepers to Katniss' presence. Agreeing to be Coin's Mockingjay in order to keep Peeta and the other captive tributes safe. Dropping the tracker jacker next on to the sleeping Careers in the arena.

Whatever was needed to stay alive. To keep those closest to her safe.

She understands. And she nods.] Good skill to have.

It's kept me alive up until now. It's my skill with a bow that got me where I am today.

[Which was... well, would have been certain until recently. Top Agent of SHIELD. But he's not even so certain of what his position is anymore.]

[That she hadn't expected. Eyebrows raise and an almost excited gleam passes across her grey eyes. Another archer. Here. Someone willing to credit his skill with a bow as the reason why he's still alive. Just like she would, has almost repeatedly.

She's never had the chance to meet another archer here. At least, not someone as good as she is.]

Do you have your bow here?

[The sudden change in her demeanour is a little surprising considering how grim things had gotten, but it's not unwelcome.

He gives a smile and a nod.]

Yeah, I have it. One of them anyway.

I'd like to see.

[See just how good he is. How long has it been since she's been around someone better? Since her father was still alive. Since he could still teach her all the tricks to hunting game that enhanced what he said was already natural talent.

It could be nice, maybe, to learn something new.]

Sure. I'm always up for an audience.

You're an archer?

[He relaxes a little as the conversation turns to something that gives him actual pleasure. As much as archery is a weapon for him, it's also comfort and focus.]

[She nods. Her bow and quiver are downstairs by the door, where she had left them after the morning's hunt. Easy to pick up on the way out.

It's not the amazing bow Beetee created. Her Mockingjay bow. Or even her father's bow that she had inherited. Just a simple one she had found in the weapon's shop, along with a simple quiver of arrows. But her aim was good. And her aim was what mattered most when stalking game.]

For just about as long as I can remember.

Plenty of practice then. I've been doing archery since I was ten or eleven. Barely passed a day without picking one up 'cept when I've been out of commission.

[And even then, they'd sometimes had to sedate him to keep him from trying.]

Dad started teaching me when I was seven.

[Just about as long as she could remember. Before that, she'd help him with simple snares and with gathering roots and plants in the woods. She had always been his hunting partner. Up until the day he died. And she had been so, so proud and happy when he had crafted the small child's size bow for her. A bow now kept safely locked in the trunk of what was once Rue's room here. She had intended to teach the little girl. But Rue had left before they really had a chance to begin.

Maybe she can forgive the man his accidental video in the journal.]

I'm Katniss.

I got taught when I was part of a travelling circus. All kinds of projectiles. But it was archery that stuck most.

[He thinks it might've been nice to be taught by someone from your family though. He'd thought that of Swordsman for a while, and then Trickshot, replacement fathers who'd let him down just as much as his real dad had.]

Clint.

[Clint. Not Rick. She'll remember that and she promises herself that she won't make the mistake of mistaking the two ever again. That he's an archer helps immensely.

She doesn't ask about the travelling circus. That would just lead to all sorts of questions of things she doesn't know and might just not want to know about. Panem et circenses, Pultarch had said. Bread and games. She's sick of games.

So on to the next topic.]

Do you hunt?

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