[Fake OOM]

[hasthehighground]

The boy who wandered into the bar today hasn't been there very often, but he's heard there's an outside.

Which is good, because he and Martina got into a fight yesterday, and he's not exactly delighted to go practice in the same back lot as a knife thrower with a grudge.

What he didn't expect was the whole shooting range. He grins as he sets up.

He has a purple quiver on the ground next to him, and a purple-and-black bow, but he's not wearing the rest of the costume -- just jeans that have seen better days, beaten up sneakers, and a tank top. He's concentrating on his task, but he seems incredibly comfortable in it.

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[hasthehighground]

Only one arrow left. Nothing much worth showing off you can do with one arrow and a stationary target, unless you want to pull a Robin Hood and fuck up two of them.

He's a businessman. He has to take care of his wares. Clint leaves it in the quiver, and turns with the faint suggestion of a bow.

"Hawkeye, world's greatest marksman, at your service," he says, clearly a bit self amused. He winks on the end of that. The guy's pretty, what can he say.

[balancingminds]

Charles colors slightly at the wink and returns the bow with something more formal, his mother taught him how to bow in case he was ever introduced at court and dancing classes too, "Charles Xavier."

Then he looks up with a nervous smile as he can't think of anything clever to say, he's not that interesting.

[hasthehighground]

Clint's smile softens, a bit, when Charles blushes. He knows he can be a little overwhelming for townies.

When Charles looks back up, Clint waves with two fingers for him to follow as he goes to get his arrows out of the target. "Is that European Spanish?"

[balancingminds]

"Maybe, half my family's English. There's probably a family tree somewhere that traces us back to someone,"

He walks with Clint, his smile easier at Clint's confidence, he likes soaking it up.

[hasthehighground]

Clint cuts him a sideways look at the family tree comment, with easy amusement but also a quick assessment of his clothes. Sinatra looks good on Charles, but he's probably not one of Bar's random princes.

"I'm from Iowa," he says, then pauses as he notices an arrow -- not his own -- in the grass. "Huh," he says, pulling it up. It's made of light wood, with actual feathers attached with leather binding, and a curved flint head. "Something's fucked up the vane," he says, running his finger along the edge of one of the feathers.

[balancingminds]

"I'm from New York, Westchester. What does that mean?"

The only times he's ever really done archery was at camp, sometimes school but Clint knows.

[hasthehighground]

Oh, yeah. Sharing information.

Clint turns with a slightly rueful smile, holding the arrow level in his right hand. "These are the vanes -- the feathers," he says, touching them with his left hand. "They're plastic, on my arrows," he adds, "but someone shaped these so they'd all be identical."

That's the problem; there's clearly burnt parts of some of the feathers, like they got caught -- briefly -- in a fire.

[balancingminds]

"I wonder what happened to it. People do hunt out here or maybe it flew in on its own. I hope whoever shot it is safe,"

The magic here is strange in terms of how it works outside.

[hasthehighground]

"Yeah." Clint's a little distant, still studying it. He suddenly glances up, and laughs a little. He tucks the arrow carefully into his quiver before continuing to move.

"Here I am trying to be smooth, and I get distracted by something only an archer would find interesting."

[balancingminds]

Charles blushes and laughs though its awkward, usually he's the one who's trying to be suave,

"Its on your mind and what you do."

[hasthehighground]

Clint grins at the awkwardness, any missing confidence -- however little -- restored.

"All of my equipment's modern," he said. "Well, the materials, at least. I don't really know the history -- circus isn't big on actual facts."

He says it fondly, and begins collecting arrows out of the first target now that they've reached them, giving each a quick inspection.

[balancingminds]

"But you still know, its just a different kind of knowing. I think that was too many knows in that sentence,"

Which isn't anything like what Charles knows and Clint is confident.

[hasthehighground]

Clint laughs a little, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

This guy is way too cute. Cute's good! Clint likes cute.

"Well, if you only think it," he says, friendly-teasing. "Do you know anything about archery?"

[balancingminds]

"Only a little from camp when I was younger,"

He can feel himself blushing, cute usually isn't good but this cute is.

[hasthehighground]

"Yeah?" Clint asks, grin sticking as they move to the next target. "Like... summer camp? Boy scouts?"

He has a very, very vague sense of what that is. It's for rich people, though there's no venom to the thought.

[balancingminds]

"Yes, I mean before the war and Boy Scouts too. Our teachers weren't as good as you,"

It was all awkward and he didn't stay too long, it was too much.

[hasthehighground]

"Gato, nobody's as good as me."

After a fractional pause, a sort of internal shrug, he takes the last arrow out and glances at Charles, leaning against the target with his hand outstretched in a casual shrug and a grin.

[balancingminds]

Charles laughs and walks over to Clint, "Gato, should I meow?"

[hasthehighground]

Clint's whole demeanor warms, relaxes -- he reaches out (overt, but not careful) to brush the back of his fingers lightly against Charles' cheekbone.

"Hell," he says quietly, both amused and sincere, "you can do whatever you want."

[balancingminds]

At that warmth, Charles shifts forward to Clint's touch until there's little space between them, "Oh, thank you."

That sincerity is as good as Clint's eyes and he kisses him.