ArchivedLogs:Take Another Shot

Take Another Shot
Dramatis Personae Clint, Steve
In Absentia	2017-04-21 "I guess we can call that one a draw, too?"
Location <NYC> SHIELD HQ - S.C.A.P.E.
When not in use, the S.C.A.P.E. (Simulated Combat And Practice Environment) looks like nothing so much as an exceptionally large room with a great many lines and joins in its gleaming space-age walls, ceiling, and floor. Configuring process From the adjoining control room, or from elsewhere for those who have the right permissions, the S.C.A.P.E. can be instructed to reconfigure itself into a variety of shapes. At present, the massive training room looks like four buildings, the tallest one five storeys and the shortest one only two. A road runs between two pairs of them, strewn with barricades. The structures have crude window and door openings, and even platforms that more or less simulate fire escapes, but are quite obviously facsimiles (though perhaps impressive, given the scale and the rapidity of their construction). Many of the hardened metal surfaces have blast marks, scrapes, and dents from previous usage. Dressed in no-nonsense black tactical gear, Clint is perched on the second-highest rooftop, an arrow nocked and drawn back, taking aim at a red-white-and-blue-clad figure scrambles down onto the lowest fire escape on a building across from him. The corner of his mouth twitches up a fraction as he looses the arrow and it streaks downward, its sleek missile-like head striking the platform just as his opponent is about to alight on it. The arrowhead explodes on impact, and while the platform is built of sterner stuff and comes out unscathed but for a sooty black starburst, the entire fire escape retracts into the building with startling speed to simulate its destruction. Though he also wears goggles, Steve look neither stylish nor tactical in the bright primary colors of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s take on Captain America's uniform, his shield strapped to his left forearm and a pistol holstered at his hip. He seems unperturbed by both the arrow that just blew up a few feet from him and the disappearance of the platform he was about to land on. He plummets the rest of the way to the ground and rolls, coming up in a crouch behind a barricade probably meant to represent an SUV. Clint already has his next arrow readied, this one with a more cumbersome barrel-shaped head. He aims quite a bit higher and to the left of the barricade sheltering Steve. The arrow, when loosed, flies ponderously and emits a faint whistling noise; its flight path /curves/, subtly at first but it grows more and more obvious as it approaches street level, until it actually turns the corner of the barricade and heads for Steve. Steve, getting ready to leap out from behind his cover, looks up just in time to see the arrow curving toward him. He lifts his shield, and the missile skips off its very edge, sailing past him to smash into the ground a few feet away. Wasting no time, he's up and sprinting across the street, shield held up to deflect further arrows. Clint quirks a smile as Steve makes a break for it. His next three shots come in rapid succession, one after the other, not /at/ Steve but ahead of him on his path, each bullet-shaped head loaded with a tightly packed net. Steve dodges sideways and avoid the first arrow altogether. The second skips off the shield and sprays its net harmlessly over the ground. The third strikes the shield head-on and spreads its net wide, weighted edges wrapping around Steve's shoulders and arms. He does not slow down, but hurls himself into a headlong dive roll, dragging the edge of the shield along the floor. Sparks fly and the metal flooring whines as it grinds against harder metal, catching the fine cable of the netting in between. The netting is resilient but no match for vibranium, and comes apart between the shield's edge and the composite flooring. Not to be deterred, Clint fires off another two shots, one immediately after the other. The first is a training blunt point aimed at Steve's torso; the second is aimed at his legs, its bulbous head packed with a spring-loaded bola. Steve comes back to his feet just about in time for the first shot to arrive. It catches him square in the chest and bounces off, the light, high-tech armor of his uniform absorbing some of the force, though he might still bruise later. He raises his shield to block the second arrow, realizing too late it was aimed lower. The arrowhead smacks him in the thigh and the bola springs out, entangling his legs. He tumbles and falls, but with an improbably looking twist of his body manages to throw himself into a log-roll that carries him under the cover of one of the fire-escape platforms. Clint snaps his fingers theatrically when his target rolls out of sight. He selects another arrow and attaches a cable trailing from it to the complex, sturdy grip of his bow. Then he fires, not at Steve but at the next building over. The arrow spoils out fine cable behind it, its rhomboid head springing open upon contact with the building surface, though instead of the usual explosive-propelled grapple prong it merely uncovers a powerful magnet and sticks fast. Clint tests his weight against the cable and then takes a running jump off of his rooftop, swinging gracefully in a wide arc that drops him neatly onto one of the highest fire escape platforms on that building where he has a line of sight to Steve once more. He wastes no time and looses another blunt-tip arrow at his opponent. Steve twists up into an awkward sit and swings his shield around to slice through the bola. Since he can't quite catch it against the floor as he did with the net, it takes him a couple of hacks to get through it -- long enough that Clint's arrow catches him on the back as he hops to his feet, delaying his wall-jump up to the fire escape platform by only a fraction of a second. He takes a running leap off of that platform and ricochets off of the inner walls of the alley between the two structures, gaining nearly a storey with each jump, closer and closer to Clint. The moment Steve begins his startlingly rapid climb, Clint begins backing away from the edge of the platform. His next arrow has a cylindrical head and isn't aimed at Steve, but at the wall a few feet above him. Upon impact, the thing emits a searing-bright flash and a painfully loud boom. All the while Clint himself is climbing up to the rooftop, one storey up. The flash-bang throws off Steve's last jump. Blinded, he fails his arms out and just manages to catch the edge of the platform that Clint vacated. He hangs there precariously for a moment by the tips of his fingers, then swings himself easily up onto it in a crouch, shield raised overhead. Rising, he follows Clint. The moment he's up onto the rooftop he flings his shield like a discus at his opponent, charging after it to close the distance to the archer as quickly as possible. Up on the rooftop, Clint is ready for Steve. He has retreated as far back as he had time to go, kneeling behind two boxy barricades probably meant to simulate the outdoors components of the building's HVAC system. He has a blunt-head arrow readied and fires another immediately in its wake before ducking out of the shield's flight path. Steve dives off to the side to avoid the first arrow, rolling and coming to his feet running again. The second one he cannot so easily avoid, and just takes, right in the chest. Though the shield misses its mark, it achieved the desired effect of forcing Clint to duck (and thus stop shooting arrows, if only briefly). Steve is on his opponent in a flash, right fist lashing out in a quick, powerful jab aimed generally at his midsection. Clint clearly knows he is in trouble, but keeps his cool, rolling back and managing somehow to fire off another arrow as he rights himself. After that, though, he holds his ground, hitting some hidden switch on the bow that its string and snapping it abruptly straight--in the path of Steve's fist. Steve takes the arrow without complaint, without slowing down, without any sign that he even felt it at all, and plunges head-on toward Clint. When the bow twacks him in the knuckles -- hard enough to draw blood -- he simply punches with the other hand, following it swiftly with a low kick. Clint swings his bow, which, straightened out, functions as a surprisingly serviceable short staff. He ducks to avoid the punch, then blocks the kick with his bow. Though the impact is enough to knock him off his feet and into a sit, he still uses the force of Steve's kick to lever the other end of the bow back at the kicker. Steve leans back to avoid the staff as it snaps at him in the wake of his kick, and feints a grab for it while in fact drawing his pistol. --as Clint does the same. The two men end up with guns leveled at one another from barely more than an arm's length away. Clint, at least, is breathing heavily, gripping his bow-turned-staff in one white-knuckled hand. "I guess we can call that one a draw, too?" Steve produces the words in pidgin sign even while he speaks. He is slowly straightening up, turning the barrel of the gun toward the ground and easing his posture. "Good showing, though." Clint also lowers his sidearm, breathing fast. "Good showing," he echoes. Then, flexing his neck. "Almost quitting time. Let's just call it a day and go get some drinks." He reaches up a hand and gives a faint half-smile. "My treat." Steve grips Clint's hand and hauls him to his feet again. "You are quite right. Let's go!"