Great. Just great. That last shot had still been a catastrophe, but Clint had just felt himself slowly slipping into zen mode - or at least force his way into it - when the silence was broken. Since he still didn't find anything to say, he decided to go on with his training anyway. Natasha would tell him if she wanted to do anything else than watch him embarrass himself.
Probably not the best mindset to get his shit together, admittedly. He mostly was good at shooting because he hadn't done anything else since he had been a kid. He knew he could do it, that there were only a few people in the world - if anything - who were on his skill level with a bow.
Right now he wasn't any of that, though, and maybe he was just too tired after a day of pretending to fool himself even more. It was still there, underneath his skin, in the twitching muscles of life long training, just waiting to be used, that certain emptiness and focus in his head he needed for his weapon. But it slipped from his grasp like a wet snake whenever his eyes rested on the target.
Well, at least the arrow hit the target again this time. Or actually it cut straight through the thin wooden edge, then clonked against one the solid metal hangers that fastened the whole thing to the wall. Then it fell, with a too loud, crunching noise that let Clint know that there went his work of the late afternoon.
"Gets you thinking, doesn't it?", he said flatly as he set his bow aside before he could damage even more, and went to get the broken gear. "Probably really better that we call this whole thing off before it starts. I mean, look at me. How am I supposed to protect a family? I'm a fucking wreck, Nat."
The hardly held in aggression exploded finally when he touched that damn arrow head he had just ruined. He stared at it as if he had never seen one before and hurled it against the rough concrete of the nearest wall then. Well, that felt surprisingly good. Kicking against the wood boarding of the target felt even better, mostly because it hurt and even pain was better than feeling nothing or just anger right now. So he did it again, and then a little more. What good was any of this shit anyway, when now he couldn't even do the only thing he had been capable of?
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Great. Just great. That last shot had still been a catastrophe, but Clint had just felt himself slowly slipping into zen mode - or at least force his way into it - when the silence was broken. Since he still didn't find anything to say, he decided to go on with his training anyway. Natasha would tell him if she wanted to do anything else than watch him embarrass himself.
Probably not the best mindset to get his shit together, admittedly. He mostly was good at shooting because he hadn't done anything else since he had been a kid. He knew he could do it, that there were only a few people in the world - if anything - who were on his skill level with a bow.
Right now he wasn't any of that, though, and maybe he was just too tired after a day of pretending to fool himself even more. It was still there, underneath his skin, in the twitching muscles of life long training, just waiting to be used, that certain emptiness and focus in his head he needed for his weapon. But it slipped from his grasp like a wet snake whenever his eyes rested on the target.
Well, at least the arrow hit the target again this time. Or actually it cut straight through the thin wooden edge, then clonked against one the solid metal hangers that fastened the whole thing to the wall. Then it fell, with a too loud, crunching noise that let Clint know that there went his work of the late afternoon.
"Gets you thinking, doesn't it?", he said flatly as he set his bow aside before he could damage even more, and went to get the broken gear. "Probably really better that we call this whole thing off before it starts. I mean, look at me. How am I supposed to protect a family? I'm a fucking wreck, Nat."
The hardly held in aggression exploded finally when he touched that damn arrow head he had just ruined. He stared at it as if he had never seen one before and hurled it against the rough concrete of the nearest wall then. Well, that felt surprisingly good. Kicking against the wood boarding of the target felt even better, mostly because it hurt and even pain was better than feeling nothing or just anger right now. So he did it again, and then a little more. What good was any of this shit anyway, when now he couldn't even do the only thing he had been capable of?