deadly premonition Member
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- deadly premonition 11 yrs ago
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D: Oh dear, I'm sorry. I certainly hope you don't catch it if it is contagious! [On that same note, I hope it's not food poisoning, that's horrible as well!]
x-x Sorry it took so long, people commandeered the laptop while I was trying to reply |D
That taunt was recognized, of course, for what it was. He'd taunted people, he'd been taunted. There was probably some kind of maneuver that could have gotten him out of a window. The fall would hurt, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get away one he did plummet the few flights of stairs. Which meant that he only let his eyes drift to the window.
Not close enough.
Not enough time.
Loki's state of wellness was the last thing Clint was thinking about. If he noticed it at all, it was in hopes that it was enough of a handicap that he could get out of this alive. "It takes a lot to scare me," he noted, as conversationally. Nothing was really in arm's reach to use as any kind of proper weapon. He had his share of experience with swords, but unsurprisingly those didn't just materialize out of thin air when you need them, did they?
The suggestion that Loki didn't plan to kill him wasn't any real reassurance. Death, Clint knew, meant pain normally stopped. The idea of Loki beating him down wasn't really tempting, either. Which meant he had two choices. Go for the bow, probably get zapped on the way, or try a fairly inexperienced hand at hand-to-hand combat. Never his forte. And probably get zapped that way too.
Naturally, an Avenger goes for their strength. Which meant Clint was turning and darting for his room, almost scrambling in order to get to that presently open door. Had he gotten in, had he thought it'd do him any good, he might've shut and locked the door. But that'd waste more time than it'd get him, so he opted for simply grabbing that bow - a sharp shake having it unfolding from the more compact form. His quiver was full, and he was nocking an arrow at what definitely looked and actually was random. In what was truly a stroke of really horrible luck, it was a cable arrow. Great for wrapping around things. Getting fired straight - as straight as he could - at Loki? Not his best bet.
Not close enough.
Not enough time.
Loki's state of wellness was the last thing Clint was thinking about. If he noticed it at all, it was in hopes that it was enough of a handicap that he could get out of this alive. "It takes a lot to scare me," he noted, as conversationally. Nothing was really in arm's reach to use as any kind of proper weapon. He had his share of experience with swords, but unsurprisingly those didn't just materialize out of thin air when you need them, did they?
The suggestion that Loki didn't plan to kill him wasn't any real reassurance. Death, Clint knew, meant pain normally stopped. The idea of Loki beating him down wasn't really tempting, either. Which meant he had two choices. Go for the bow, probably get zapped on the way, or try a fairly inexperienced hand at hand-to-hand combat. Never his forte. And probably get zapped that way too.
Naturally, an Avenger goes for their strength. Which meant Clint was turning and darting for his room, almost scrambling in order to get to that presently open door. Had he gotten in, had he thought it'd do him any good, he might've shut and locked the door. But that'd waste more time than it'd get him, so he opted for simply grabbing that bow - a sharp shake having it unfolding from the more compact form. His quiver was full, and he was nocking an arrow at what definitely looked and actually was random. In what was truly a stroke of really horrible luck, it was a cable arrow. Great for wrapping around things. Getting fired straight - as straight as he could - at Loki? Not his best bet.
Mkay - no rush~
And Clint Barton played by yours truly.
Victory left a markedly stale taste in your mouth when you were part of the reason that you ended up having some massive fight against an alien race. Without Natasha there, he was sure things would've ended badly. For him, probably. Fury wasn't above having people killed, after all. And Clint knew, no matter what Nat had told him time and time again, he was not the biggest asset in the team. He wasn't even particularly 'super'.
'Super' was Nat and Cap, with the serum. The Hulk with Gamma radiation. Tony with ridiculous amounts of technology and that core in his chest. Thor, he was a god! That's what Clint had to match up to. A regular guy with a bow and arrow, just waiting to use what was basically two decades of training in archery and otherwise. Theft, showmanship, among other things. It wasn't like that was a problem, he didn't really need to use those anymore, but they were still skills, ones he knew hadn't gone off despite regular use.
Loki was still a sore spot with Clint - they didn't talk much about Loki, but there was plenty of talk as to how best to avoid... that kind of mind control. Never mentioning names. Clint wasn't sure he appreciated the handicap it seemed to provide. His apartment wasn't exactly a place he expected to be disturbed. At least, not by anyone but his neighbors. It was that first shout of his name that alerted Clint what was going on. Who it was outside his door. He didn't need to think twice about who that voice belonged to either.
He was up, and heading for his bow - which did not have arrows stored nearby, of course, because getting attacked at his apartment didn't really happen, and he never really had to worry about it - when the door was blasted in. No. Clint wasn't happy to see him at all. In fact, there was a deep sense of resentment, of hate even, that Clint didn't often feel at the sight. But he stopped in his tracks. Exposing your back to Loki was asking for death.
Too bad it seemed it might have been pointing in that direction anyway. Good job, Barton.
'Super' was Nat and Cap, with the serum. The Hulk with Gamma radiation. Tony with ridiculous amounts of technology and that core in his chest. Thor, he was a god! That's what Clint had to match up to. A regular guy with a bow and arrow, just waiting to use what was basically two decades of training in archery and otherwise. Theft, showmanship, among other things. It wasn't like that was a problem, he didn't really need to use those anymore, but they were still skills, ones he knew hadn't gone off despite regular use.
Loki was still a sore spot with Clint - they didn't talk much about Loki, but there was plenty of talk as to how best to avoid... that kind of mind control. Never mentioning names. Clint wasn't sure he appreciated the handicap it seemed to provide. His apartment wasn't exactly a place he expected to be disturbed. At least, not by anyone but his neighbors. It was that first shout of his name that alerted Clint what was going on. Who it was outside his door. He didn't need to think twice about who that voice belonged to either.
He was up, and heading for his bow - which did not have arrows stored nearby, of course, because getting attacked at his apartment didn't really happen, and he never really had to worry about it - when the door was blasted in. No. Clint wasn't happy to see him at all. In fact, there was a deep sense of resentment, of hate even, that Clint didn't often feel at the sight. But he stopped in his tracks. Exposing your back to Loki was asking for death.
Too bad it seemed it might have been pointing in that direction anyway. Good job, Barton.
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