eswareinmal | Rebirth Height 12- Orb 1

[An orb feed came to life revealing a rather skeptical looking Clint. He still had problems with the whole ‘magic ball’ concept but after having seen people make multiple announcements he figured he’d just finally give in and make one of his own.]

Uh, hi? The name’s Clint Barton. If all the crazy things people have been telling me is something to believe I figured I’d do my part to try and help people get ready for whatever crazy crap comes up. So I’m offering archery lessons to anyone who wants some pointers and lessons. Thing is, I’ve only got the one bow so if you can bring your own equipment, I’d really appreciate it. Or maybe point me towards someone who has some cheap equipment for sale, that’d be great. I’m also willin’ to help people out with other kinds of projectile throwin’ like knives and the like.

[He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled wrly.] Ain’t gonna charge for the lessons too so don’t feel shy about coming around. I’ll be hostin’ them on the north road outside the city so there’s less a chance of anyone accidentally getting shot in the ass. That’s about it, ya’ll have a good day and I hope to see some of ya’ll there.

[With one final smile down at the ‘screen’, the blond archer ended the feed by letting go of the orb.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Sif was like Thor, in that many of this world’s colloqiualisms were a foreign language to her. She was not, however, so nearly as naïve as her friend, to miss something veiled so thinly.]

The first in all of Asgard with a blade, Clint Barton. Remember that.

Just promise not to bend me into a pretzel and we'll be good. [He didn't seem overly concerned with that and grinned rakishly at Sif.]

[She pauses, again, at the reference. She doesn’t have Volstagg’s memory for food – no one does. NONETHELESS:]

I am one of very few promises, archer.

[ooc: up for switching to live action?]

[At her puzzled look, the blond man quickly guessed there might be some kind of communication problem again. Jesus, he really needed an Asgardian to English dictionary or something.]

Well, try and leave me in the same condition you found me and we'll call it cool. How does that sound?

[ooc: Sure!]

I do not understand what temperature has to do with the condition I would leave you in, but very well.

I shall meet you on the training grounds.

[How did anyone in Midgard understand each other?]

Sif reached the grounds in a short enough time span – her weapons were already prepared. Even the bow, which was hardly her tool of choice. Face flushed from the walk (she’d had to duck through an unseemly amount of back alleys – some rumors about the dance she hadn’t even attended were leading to highly personal questions), the promise of training was a welcome distraction. She greeted Clint with a nod.

“I shall endeavor not to raise or lower your body temperature any more than would be expected in a training session.”

The blond man debated whether or not he should even try and explain the whole 'cool' thing or if he should just let it go. Privately, he was kind of amused by Sif's choice of words and was fighting back the urge to smile.

"Cool, mean's 'good' or 'okay', by the way. Nothing to do with the temperature." Most of Clint's armor was sitting at underneath a tree where his horse Goliath grazing contently near the treeline though he was wearing the leather jerkin meant to be worn underneath the armor along with the breeches. "So, how do you wanna do this? Wear out our aim first with you proving you can kick my ass at a sword and then move onto the bow?"

“I see,” she said, with a tone and raised eyebrow which indicated that she did not see at all. All the same, her eyes went to his weaponry, and then to his person. The body told far more honestly of one’s strengths than boasts did. He cut the figure of an archer well enough.

“I would wear nothing out. But I did ask for a demonstration. What is it that you can do, Clint Barton?”

It was his turn for a brow to tick upwards. He could appreciate her directness however and smiled. Turning to indicate the straw target he'd set up over a hundred yards away, Hawkeye nocked an arrow and pulled it taut. Taking a moment to center himself, he smoothly released the arrow and it arched gracefully in the air before landing dead center of the target where he'd painted a bullseye.

Clint repeated the process again with another arrow but this one split the first down the shaft. "Enough showing off? I hate wastin' arrows. But if you need me to keep proving myself I can." He assured her, shooting a cocky grin Sif's way.

...very well, then. Sif grinned broadly, clapping a hand on his back. She wasn’t at her full strength, so Clint didn’t have to worry about injuries.

“I confess, I suspected that your skills were rooted in boast only. I find your demonstration satisfactory.”

Which was the Asgardian way to say “good job, Clint!”

Still, he was thrown off balance just a little thanks to that surprisingly strong thump against his shoulder. Holy crap, were all Asgardians this insanely strong?

"Pfft, there are plenty of things I might boast about, Sif, but my skills ain't one of 'em."

Essentially, yes. It came with the Asgardian territory: insanely strong, a great metabolism, terrible anger management skills.

"And what is it that you do brag about?"

Stepping back, she readied her own bow. It was mechanical -- she knew the motions, like any warrior should. But she did not feel an intrinsic connection to the weapon, like she did her own sword or staff.

Clint feigned an innocent expression. "Noting that bears repeating around a lady. Especially one who could bend my limbs into uncomfortable angles."

Despite his jesting words, Clint's eyes were watchful and intent as he watched the dark haired woman ready herself to take the shot.

"Okay, first off, loosen your grip a little bit. It needs to flow naturally as though it's an extension of your own arm." He coached gently. "May I?" There was no way he was going to touch her without her permission. After hearing some of Thor's tales about Sif, he didn't want to end up on this woman's bad side.

“Archery is not natural to me. On Asgard, such things have their place – but we don’t find glory in them.”

It was better to kill up close. To meet your opponent openly. But Sif, more practical than some Aesir, amended: “Of course, if you can’t get to your opponent, it renders that all a bit moot.”

She nodded, softening her stance. “Please.”

Rebirth Height 12- Orb 1

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Don't mind me while I sit here lawling.

She is just marking it all off in a "weird earth stuff" box, tbh.

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