clint "idk the archer or something" barton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
brandingproblem) wrote2022-08-17 07:57 pm
brandingproblem) wrote2022-08-17 07:57 pm
au shenanigans for icasm
there should be a name for this at some point
we'll figure it out shh
we'll figure it out shh
"It's for hopefully never but just in case."
He licks his lips. It seems dangerous, but fuck, if Loki was going to do something to him, he would've a long time ago. Or else this is the longest con.
"Did you learn it from your mom?"
He licks his lips. It seems dangerous, but fuck, if Loki was going to do something to him, he would've a long time ago. Or else this is the longest con.
"Did you learn it from your mom?"
Things that'll make interesting topics of conversation in a year or two, certainly.
"Ah, I see." The rattle of glass bottles being moved around. "She did. Some of my fondest memories are with her, learning magic and potioncraft.
Do you have any good memories with your mother?"
"Ah, I see." The rattle of glass bottles being moved around. "She did. Some of my fondest memories are with her, learning magic and potioncraft.
Do you have any good memories with your mother?"
Loki might be able to hear the grin on Clint's face. "Yeah. Yeah, we were really close when I was growing up. Did everything together. Had dreams of a place just like this. Nice farmhouse...tree out front to practice shooting at...I think she'd be proud."
"I think yours might be a reason you're good with the kids. Had a parental figure who gave a shit. That means something, when you're young."
That feels...heavy. Important. He never knew Thor's mother but knew how much it hurt him when she died. That she was very respected, for all the right reasons, rather than Odin, respected for...a lot of the wrong.
"Mom would've liked a trickster, I think. But," he says with a a sardonic laugh, "she also had real shit taste in men, so."
"Mom would've liked a trickster, I think. But," he says with a a sardonic laugh, "she also had real shit taste in men, so."
"What's not to like?" Don't answer that, Clint. "And yet she managed to raise you, or so one presumes." It's meant as a compliment, though in a very vague way; Loki is concerned that if he is too direct in his regard toward Clint he'll just get rebuffed.
Loki might be able to hear or at least imagine the pull of a smirk on Clint's face as he decides not to answer that. He's not averse to low-hanging fruit, but even he can tell to leave that one where it's at.
"To a point. Not always a good thing. But she did her best with the circumstances. I can't always say I did the same, but I guess I turned out okay."
"To a point. Not always a good thing. But she did her best with the circumstances. I can't always say I did the same, but I guess I turned out okay."
"Well you already know my opinion on that matter." Whether or not Clint turned out 'okay' is something that, by and large, Loki feels is a matter of understatement. His children are wonderful and the world is safer because of him. Wouldn't that count towards being more than just 'okay'?
But he's trying rather hard not to start an argument on this phone call.
"I'm sorry she didn't get to see your farmstead."
But he's trying rather hard not to start an argument on this phone call.
"I'm sorry she didn't get to see your farmstead."
There's a carnival of some kind going on here.
That's what originally drew Loki's attention to this place. Games of chance (more or less), fried foods, bright colors. Loud children and families. It's bright and colorful and much more along the lines of what Loki would be interested in seeing than the things that his father and brother are up to right now. Politicking and feats of amazing strength, etcetera, etcetera.
Loki ditched that scene almost as fast as he could. Was he interested in other realms? Definitely. But he wanted to know about the people, not the governments or the ones who had all the power. Eventually they would die off, or the people would replace them, and things would change. Boring in the extreme.
Ultimately, though, Loki finds himself wandering beyond the borders of the carnival towards some fields, following an odd but familiar sound. Odd because he knows what it is — the sound of an arrow being loosed and then striking a target, or at least various targets — but not how it's happening to be here. On Midgard. In the 1980s or whatever their calendar reads.
(One of the hardest parts of traveling between realms is that there is not any sort of unified calendar. Loki gets it but hates it simultaneously.)
The point is, Midgardians have broadly moved on from archery and arrows to metal projectiles, Loki knows to be true. So it's weird that anyone could do it in the first place, much less strike a target with as much frequency as Loki hears. So it's weird. A puzzle to be solved. Loki moves silently through sparse woods and fields of grain alike until he reaches the source of the sounds: a man, no, a boy closer to his own age equivalent, surrounded by targets made of various materials. Some bottles, some actual targets, some just... various and sundry objects, held aloft by heavy string or rope.
It's impressive, the amount of skill he (Loki is guessing at the pronouns) has in the first place. In an outmoded technology, at that. He doesn't miss a single shot he takes, in the ten, fifteen minutes Loki spends watching, and it's doubtful that any of the earlier shots were misses either.
Something happens as Loki watches him. Stares at the way his muscles move underneath his shirt, the form his body takes as he draws the bow. It's a buzzing in his head, a weight in his stomach. He wants to stand behind the other boy, to run his fingers across his shoulders as he pulls the bowline taut. Wants to gather some of the sweat at his brow on his fingertips and see how it tastes.
Now. Loki is neither sheltered nor a fool, despite his age; Thor has had an interest in various people of an assortment of genders, defined and otherwise by this point, much to Odin's amusement and Frigga's concern, but Loki has never felt interested enough in anyone to bother entertaining them, or the idea of their naked bodies in his presence. Before today.
The other boy has stopped shooting while Loki has puzzled this new feeling over, he realizes... because, of course, the other boy has to go and collect his arrows from their locations now that his quiver is empty before he can set them loose again, and Loki purposefully decides to step on a twig in order to make his presence known. "You're a good archer," he announces, raising his eyebrows. "I didn't know people bothered learning how, here, anymore." He gives a smile that he hopes indicates that he's not a dangerous threat (to this other person). "Hi. I'm Loki."
That's what originally drew Loki's attention to this place. Games of chance (more or less), fried foods, bright colors. Loud children and families. It's bright and colorful and much more along the lines of what Loki would be interested in seeing than the things that his father and brother are up to right now. Politicking and feats of amazing strength, etcetera, etcetera.
Loki ditched that scene almost as fast as he could. Was he interested in other realms? Definitely. But he wanted to know about the people, not the governments or the ones who had all the power. Eventually they would die off, or the people would replace them, and things would change. Boring in the extreme.
Ultimately, though, Loki finds himself wandering beyond the borders of the carnival towards some fields, following an odd but familiar sound. Odd because he knows what it is — the sound of an arrow being loosed and then striking a target, or at least various targets — but not how it's happening to be here. On Midgard. In the 1980s or whatever their calendar reads.
(One of the hardest parts of traveling between realms is that there is not any sort of unified calendar. Loki gets it but hates it simultaneously.)
The point is, Midgardians have broadly moved on from archery and arrows to metal projectiles, Loki knows to be true. So it's weird that anyone could do it in the first place, much less strike a target with as much frequency as Loki hears. So it's weird. A puzzle to be solved. Loki moves silently through sparse woods and fields of grain alike until he reaches the source of the sounds: a man, no, a boy closer to his own age equivalent, surrounded by targets made of various materials. Some bottles, some actual targets, some just... various and sundry objects, held aloft by heavy string or rope.
It's impressive, the amount of skill he (Loki is guessing at the pronouns) has in the first place. In an outmoded technology, at that. He doesn't miss a single shot he takes, in the ten, fifteen minutes Loki spends watching, and it's doubtful that any of the earlier shots were misses either.
Something happens as Loki watches him. Stares at the way his muscles move underneath his shirt, the form his body takes as he draws the bow. It's a buzzing in his head, a weight in his stomach. He wants to stand behind the other boy, to run his fingers across his shoulders as he pulls the bowline taut. Wants to gather some of the sweat at his brow on his fingertips and see how it tastes.
Now. Loki is neither sheltered nor a fool, despite his age; Thor has had an interest in various people of an assortment of genders, defined and otherwise by this point, much to Odin's amusement and Frigga's concern, but Loki has never felt interested enough in anyone to bother entertaining them, or the idea of their naked bodies in his presence. Before today.
The other boy has stopped shooting while Loki has puzzled this new feeling over, he realizes... because, of course, the other boy has to go and collect his arrows from their locations now that his quiver is empty before he can set them loose again, and Loki purposefully decides to step on a twig in order to make his presence known. "You're a good archer," he announces, raising his eyebrows. "I didn't know people bothered learning how, here, anymore." He gives a smile that he hopes indicates that he's not a dangerous threat (to this other person). "Hi. I'm Loki."
"Yeah, well. She didn't get to see a lot of things. Heard about plenty."
It's such an oddly stifled conversation, for all the good will being built up here. He blows out a little air. "Loki." To redirect attention. "Eggshells. You're walking on them. You know you're allowed to say what you think."
It's such an oddly stifled conversation, for all the good will being built up here. He blows out a little air. "Loki." To redirect attention. "Eggshells. You're walking on them. You know you're allowed to say what you think."
"Is that what's bothering you? I'm a former Avenger with an amazing family and a wild penchant for staying alive like a cockroach. Yeah, pretty sure I'm more than just okay. I was being...humble, I guess. I don't go around strutting my stuff telling everyone I'm the world's greatest archer. I've always been more low key about things. You know this."
Of course Clint's drawn to the fairgrounds. They feel next best thing to home. He's already picked plenty of pockets, got enough to get himself some grub and maybe a couple of bus tickets. Not sure where he's going to run off to this time, or when, but the fact that he can go somewhere else is at least alluring. He's played all the games, beat most of them, gave the non-useful prizes away to awed little kids. And then he grabbed his bag of shit and went out to the field where he's got his little setup all--set up.
Adds a few items to the rotation. Some breakable, some that'll last at least a couple shots. Gets his bow, gets his arrows, trains.
And he is both so attuned to everything around him and also in his own little timezone when he's like this. Loses track of time but feels like he's got heightened senses. He hopes it stays like this forever. That he'll only get better. He's incorporating trickshots into his routine, and while he sucks at physics, at math, at all the boring shit his teachers bemoan and berate for, it all seems so simple when it comes to eyeballing trajectory, feeling the wind. He can't translate it into numbers. But he can translate it into the tension of the string, the angle of the arrow, in breaths in his chest.
He's pretty sure he's being watched. Doesn't hear or see anything at first, doesn't go looking, but just that prickle at the back of the neck, that sixth sense. So when the newcomer makes noise to officially announce his presence, Clint doesn't loose an arrow into the boy's shoulder for his trouble. Just looks over his shoulder as he tugs an arrow from an old tractor trailer tire tilted against a tree, shoves it in the quiver.
"I'm a great archer," he corrects. "People still hunt with bows. And archery's still a sport." Rolls his shoulders, grabs a few more that have gone through their targets and landed half buried in the dirt. "Fair's still going strong back the way you came. This isn't a prize game."
Adds a few items to the rotation. Some breakable, some that'll last at least a couple shots. Gets his bow, gets his arrows, trains.
And he is both so attuned to everything around him and also in his own little timezone when he's like this. Loses track of time but feels like he's got heightened senses. He hopes it stays like this forever. That he'll only get better. He's incorporating trickshots into his routine, and while he sucks at physics, at math, at all the boring shit his teachers bemoan and berate for, it all seems so simple when it comes to eyeballing trajectory, feeling the wind. He can't translate it into numbers. But he can translate it into the tension of the string, the angle of the arrow, in breaths in his chest.
He's pretty sure he's being watched. Doesn't hear or see anything at first, doesn't go looking, but just that prickle at the back of the neck, that sixth sense. So when the newcomer makes noise to officially announce his presence, Clint doesn't loose an arrow into the boy's shoulder for his trouble. Just looks over his shoulder as he tugs an arrow from an old tractor trailer tire tilted against a tree, shoves it in the quiver.
"I'm a great archer," he corrects. "People still hunt with bows. And archery's still a sport." Rolls his shoulders, grabs a few more that have gone through their targets and landed half buried in the dirt. "Fair's still going strong back the way you came. This isn't a prize game."
"I know where the... fair is," a dismissive handwave behind him that is still unerringly in the correct direction, "I'm not interested in that anymore." He hadn't thought of challenging the other boy to a contest if skill — too fascinated in the moment, clearly — but it's not the worst idea ever presented to him. "You are a great archer, but. You don't know me. I could… make you flee for your coin." Is that how that phrase works? Nose wrinkle. "Besides. If it was a prize game what would I even win?" Said offhandedly in the tone of someone who is pretending very hard to seem bored when they are the complete opposite. "Your name, maybe? Hm. You could lie, though. You think I'm just some dumb kid.
Something more real, then. Three truths."
Loki dematerializes in a poof of green and gold sparks before reappearing a little closer, pulling one of the arrows embedded deep in tree bark with ease. "We could use your bow. Each of us sets the targets for the other. Or just points and decides. No magic, no tricks. Three truths. If we tie, we both share."
He offers the arrow to the other boy. "Or we could not. You could just tell me."
Something more real, then. Three truths."
Loki dematerializes in a poof of green and gold sparks before reappearing a little closer, pulling one of the arrows embedded deep in tree bark with ease. "We could use your bow. Each of us sets the targets for the other. Or just points and decides. No magic, no tricks. Three truths. If we tie, we both share."
He offers the arrow to the other boy. "Or we could not. You could just tell me."
The second Loki says 'flee for your coin' is when Clint stops paying as much attention to his wayward arrows and more to the fellow boy. Brow furrowed. And then he just...keeps talking? In the strangest fucking way? Opens his mouth to argue that he doesn't think Loki is just some dumb kid, that he doesn't think anything about him, but he's starting to think he's a weirdo who needs picked up by whatever guardian he wandered away from--but Loki keeps talking, and Clint's brow keeps furrowing.
And then the motherfucker uses some kind of genuine actual magic, and Clint startles back several steps.
His bow is half raised. He does not take the arrow. Looks at it suspiciously like it's going to disappear (and find itself embedded suddenly in his back). Looks at Loki.
"What the fuck are you? Did I step in a damn fairy circle?"
And then the motherfucker uses some kind of genuine actual magic, and Clint startles back several steps.
His bow is half raised. He does not take the arrow. Looks at it suspiciously like it's going to disappear (and find itself embedded suddenly in his back). Looks at Loki.
"What the fuck are you? Did I step in a damn fairy circle?"
"I'm Asgardian, not a fairy. Which doesn't mean much to Midgardians like you, in this part of this planet..." Loki twirls the arrow on his fingertips since the other boy is clearly resistant to taking it back, rotating it around with speed and grace like one might a switchblade. "You would probably have to go, ah, further northwest than this continent can reach to find people who'd recognize the word alone as what it is anymore." He shrugs and changes hand with the arrow, still twirling. "Godhood is weird like that."
Loki gives Clint a slightly more genuine smile. Mischievous and perhaps a little shy, all things considered. "Anyway, you should tell me your name. It's only fair; i told you mine. I haven't even lied at all and I usually do because people are so boring sometimes, especially when you first meet them."
Loki gives Clint a slightly more genuine smile. Mischievous and perhaps a little shy, all things considered. "Anyway, you should tell me your name. It's only fair; i told you mine. I haven't even lied at all and I usually do because people are so boring sometimes, especially when you first meet them."
He's watching the arrow, because those are some impressive moves. Even if the words coming out don't make much sense to him. "Loki's a viking god, I think." It sounds kind of dumb when he says it, though. Because the kid fucking poofed himself around. Was that actual magic, or like...stage magic? What even is an Asgard and a Midgard?
His hand lashes out suddenly, snatching he arrow from Loki mid-spin. "If you're looking for not-boring, I don't know why you came to the ass end of nowhere." No one should come here. Everyone should be struggling to leave. What is with this guy? "If I say my name's Clint, do you have any reason to believe me?"
His hand lashes out suddenly, snatching he arrow from Loki mid-spin. "If you're looking for not-boring, I don't know why you came to the ass end of nowhere." No one should come here. Everyone should be struggling to leave. What is with this guy? "If I say my name's Clint, do you have any reason to believe me?"
Loki's eyes go a little wide when Clint snatches the arrow from him. A bit of shock plus some admiration with a dash of refusal to pout. "Yes, that's true. Not many vikings left now, or at least not people calling themselves that. Plus some of the modern intense worshippers are kind of crazed, even for me."
Nazis. It's Nazis he's thinking of.
"Clint. Is it short for something? Why are you out here alone? Do you live by yourself? You don't like it here, and it is boring on this planet.
Maybe you should see a different one."
Nazis. It's Nazis he's thinking of.
"Clint. Is it short for something? Why are you out here alone? Do you live by yourself? You don't like it here, and it is boring on this planet.
Maybe you should see a different one."
"You ask a lot of questions, Loki the Asgardian." It'd be a lot more suspicious if he was an adult. This kid can't be much older than him.
He sets the quiver down to make quick work of the rest of the arrows, grabbing them together as a handful and stuffing them in, making sure nothing's broken along the way. "Do I really seem all that interesting for shooting a bow at some shit?" Which, of course, doesn't answer any of the several questions asked of him.
He sets the quiver down to make quick work of the rest of the arrows, grabbing them together as a handful and stuffing them in, making sure nothing's broken along the way. "Do I really seem all that interesting for shooting a bow at some shit?" Which, of course, doesn't answer any of the several questions asked of him.
"You're interesting. You can shoot arrows, yes, and that is also interesting but. The why of you being interesting is different."
Loki stays in one spot and watches Clint, hands at his sides. "You must be alone. You haven't said anything about parents or going home. Are you a runaway?"
Loki stays in one spot and watches Clint, hands at his sides. "You must be alone. You haven't said anything about parents or going home. Are you a runaway?"
"Hold still."
Once again, not super interested in answering questions, apparently. Whether Loki holds still or not is not important, because either way, Clint's going to nock an arrow, whirl it on Loki, and fire, in a very short amount of time. A lock of Loki's raven hair is pinned to the tree.
"Are you a runaway? Don't you want to go back northwest and to your Asgard?"
Once again, not super interested in answering questions, apparently. Whether Loki holds still or not is not important, because either way, Clint's going to nock an arrow, whirl it on Loki, and fire, in a very short amount of time. A lock of Loki's raven hair is pinned to the tree.
"Are you a runaway? Don't you want to go back northwest and to your Asgard?"
Loki does, in fact, hold still, though one eyebrow is immediately up.
He's rewarded with his momentary patience with the soft swoosh of an arrow going through his hair near his ear. Loki whips his head around to see the hair pinned down to the tree bark.
"I've... sort of run away. I got bored with the politics, I don't think anyone should blame me for that, and I will go home. Eventually. So not really a runaway, like you are."
"That was exciting." Hope you're prepared to keep that lock of hair for the rest of your life Clint, natural or otherwise.
He's rewarded with his momentary patience with the soft swoosh of an arrow going through his hair near his ear. Loki whips his head around to see the hair pinned down to the tree bark.
"I've... sort of run away. I got bored with the politics, I don't think anyone should blame me for that, and I will go home. Eventually. So not really a runaway, like you are."
"That was exciting." Hope you're prepared to keep that lock of hair for the rest of your life Clint, natural or otherwise.
Page 11 of 13