thecapitol | A reckless kid wants to use his hands,

Who| Aang and Clint Barton
What| Aang is bored and decides to mess with people who are training.
Where|Training Center
When| A week or two after the Binding
Warnings/Notes| Aang mischief and bird boys.

When Aang isn't going through his katas and training or exploring the city, he has to find something else to amuse him. While he thinks on it, he likes being in high places. He's just used to having a little perch he can stay in where he can look down at things--it's comforting for someone so used to heights.

He's above the archery range. As he contemplates the people training below, an arrow whizzes by and hits the target dead center.

He's ceased by an impulse. When he hears a bow released, he swings downward from his ceiling beam, snatching the speeding arrow with one hand before being back on top of his beam in a moment, now bearing a shiny new arrow. He waits for the sound of the bow releasing again, then grabs that one two. Now he has two arrows. He has to cover his mouth to keep from giggling. This seems like a fun game.

He waits intently for another arrow to be released.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Its been a few weeks since the Binding, since his knee was dislocated and it was only the help of a supersoldier, and some very covert meds that kept Clint from getting dragged into custody. He knows it, he really does. But while he could waste a week pretending to care for a "sick" hawkling, it isn't long term. And Clint hasn't set up a lazy routine here in the Capitol, he's been one to walk around, to map the buildings available to them, to practice, to shoot.

To bury himself in activity in order to forget his grief.

Here, now, Clint's forced himself up and out. He'd got to move, not only for the sake of pretending he wasn't out there fighting, but also because he's on the verge of going insane if he rests any longer. So he's set a range, and the feel of a bow in his hands again after weeks is a near divine one. He draws, realizes, hits; again, again, again -- until suddenly a blur snatches his arrow out of the sky and disappears. Clint pauses, brow furrowed, because he could have sworn he saw --

-- draws again, looses. And again.

"The hell?"

Except he saw you this time, kid, and he's got to admit there's some respect for anybody who can snatch an arrow out of the sky and swing up into the beams as easy as pie. He draws again, breathes in, out, looses.

Aang stays tense, waiting for the next arrow. He hears the loosing of a bow, and he swoops down again, grabbing the arrow by the shaft before swinging back onto his beam.

Now he has three arrows, and he has to try muffling the giggles that this game is giving him. He tries to smother them with a hand, but he's only halfway successful, and bubbly muffled laughter comes from the ceiling.

Clint had waited this time, gaze on the ceiling beams, as he fired. So when Aang sweeps in, Clint's there, watching. His brows lift at the easy way the child swings up into the ceiling with arrow in hand. His mouth twitches up with a grin, lifting his bow again. He breathes in, knocks the arrow, breathes out and looses.

Lower, this time. If it misses -- as if -- and lodges in the floor, or wall, then it's not a big deal. The Capitol can deal with it, Clint had more to worry about than some arrow marks.

Aang swings downwards again, grabbing for the spot he's been able to get the arrow earlier, but it's lower this time. Clever. He grabs at it, catching it just before the feathers pass him, and swings back up with a loud giggling noise, but he had dangled there longer this time when he had fumbled for the arrow. He's been spotted, clearly.

There's something incredibly calming about playing around with a kid again. Clint would never shoot at Cooper, or Lila, and he's very careful to keep from actually aiming at Aang. But if someone drops down from the ceiling to steal his arrows, well, then it's a game isn't it?

"You plannin' on hiding all day?"

There's a soft giggling from the ceiling, but then it goes silent. Aang tries to walk silently forward on the rafters, keeping his laughter suppressed so he doesn't give himself away. He intends to stop above the man's head, and then swing down and tap him on the head.

He can hear the giggling, a faint little noise somewhere above him. It's largely silent in the Training Center, and that's the only reason he can hear it. Aang's footsteps, however, are far quieter, like the soft pad of a cat. He can't pinpoint it, not with his hearing. As it quiets, Clint assumes Aang is gearing up to snatch another arrow, so he draws, knocks, lets loose -- and is somewhat surprised not to see him dart out, like a bright colored fish.

As soon as he lets loose, Aang swings down and swats the man's head like a cat and grabs an arrow from his quiver before swinging back up into the rafters with a new bout of loud giggling.

Ha! He got an arrow and the drop on the man.

There's a flash of color mirrored in the paneling across from him, and Clint knows instantly that he's made a miscalculation. Had this been a mission, he'd have swung about and fired into the person dropping on him. Instead he jerks away, doesn't quite miss the swat or the quick pull of arrow from quiver even as Aang swings back up into the rafters.

There's a moment of bewildered staring, before Clint huffs with laughter.

"Alright, you got me that time."

Clint's laughter sets off Aang, and he lies back on the rafter while laughing, light and bubbly and happy. After the laughter recedes to giggles, he dangles upside down from the beam, brandishing the arrows. He won the game.

"Do you want your arrows back?"

Yeah, Clint knows that kind of laughter. It eases something inside him, a homesickness he'd not entirely been aware of. Clint can't stop the grin tugging at his mouth, looking up into the rafters for any clue as to his apparent playmate. Seeing him dangle upside down like any other gymnast, arrows in hand, is a surprisingly good image.

"If you don't mind."

He nods, slinging his quiver off his shoulder and holding it up for Aang to slot arrows back in. He can fix it later, if need be, but he's done for now. It's not like it's his quiver anyway.

Aang obligingly slides the arrows back into the quiver before beginning to swing in place, gaining momentum before he releases his legs from the rafters and flips in the air to land neatly on his feet next to Clint.

"I'm Aang. I don't think we've introduced ourselves yet."

Aang can often be seen hanging out with Bucky, so he knows all of Bucky's friends by sight, but he hasn't properly introduced himself to them all. He clasps his hands and gives Clint a polite bow, his manners kicking in before he remembers that bowing isn't very common in this world.

It doesn't take long, all told, and soon enough Clint's slinging the quiver upon his back once more. His brows raise at Aang's flip, curiously assessing, but he's already seen some of the kid's acrobatics. It's not a surprise.

"Clint."

He smiles, easily, and follows Aang's lead without pause. It's not hard, after all, to bow. The quiver on his back shifts as the loose arrows move, but it's only slight, and he's straightened out before they can escape. But it's true, Clint's gotten to know most of his allies' friends by sight at the very least, names and district typically following suit. He's spent too long as a spy not to, and who knows when the knowledge would be useful in the Arena or out.

"Nice to meet you officially, Aang."

A reckless kid wants to use his hands,

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