Logs:Robin Hooding

Robin Hooding
Dramatis Personae Clint, Dawson	2020-09-20 "I didn't think you would want to see me again, after last night."
Location <NYC> Clint's Apartment - Hell's Kitchen
Though small, this studio has tall, stately windows that let out onto a fire escape with a commanding view of the streets below. The entryway is flanked with a closet on one side and a bathroom on the other, and is the only uncluttered space in the whole apartment. Brightly colored banners adorn the walls and all manner of puppets and stuffed animals line the shelves such that the entire place looks like a carnival in miniature. The floors are covered with busy central asian carpets and littered with plush cushions, except in the kitchenette, where the narrow counters are crowded with jars upon jars of custom seasoning blends and locally roasted coffees, all with ridiculous names. A tight spiral of floating stairs leads up to a loft half taken up by a big, fluffy bed and an armoire, the remainder of the space there given over to an L-shaped workbench below a pegboard laden with tools. Suppertime at the Barton residence these days means pizza time, but at least the place has been cleaned up recently. The dining table is actually clear again, and perhaps out of some fear of ruining this Clint has opted to take his pizza and whiskey on the floor tonight. Dressed in a black t-shirt with a purple chevron across the chest and comfortable old blue jean, he's half-reclining on a pile of cushion with this month's Bowhunter magazine open in one hand and a half-eaten slice of pizza in the other. Arrow is curled up against his side, performing pizza brinksmanship but moving ever closer to snatching the slice right out of his human's hand. Somewhere by the fire escape there's a very brief flutter of motion -- blipping there and then gone again as quickly, just a quick flash just inside the glass that disappears almost immediately. A very short moment later, a knock, jittery and rapid on the fire escape window. Outside, Dawson is not-quite-crisply in his Sunday clothes, now; slacks and dress shirt a little rumpled, vest a little spattered with pudding stains. His arms have wrapped tight around his chest after the knock. Clint looks up, brows furrowing, at that first flash-and-disappearance. << The fuck? >> Arrow only starts barking at the knock, though. "Keen canine senses my ass," he mutters to the dog. Then, with a surge of surprise and uncertain joy, << Wait, is that--Flicker? >> Stuffing the remainder of his slice into his mouth, Clint rises and opens the window. It might be as much because of pizza as anything else that he signs instead of speaking. 'Are you ok? It's cold!' He ushers his guest in as though there were nothing at all unusual about someone entering his house through the fire escape. 'I didn't think you would want to see me again, after last night.' 'It's cold,' Dawson agrees, though it isn't until he steps inside that he starts to shiver. 'I'm sorry. To bother you. I don't know why...' His head shakes as he moves further into the apartment, though he stops after only a few steps. 'Long day. I'm sorry. -- Is that your dog?' 'I can get you a hoodie,' Clint offers, 'or a blanket. Please sit. There's lots of cushions if you like floor and chairs if you like actual furniture.' His smile is weak and uncertain, but it comes much easier at the question about the dog. 'His name is Arrow. He kind of adopted me.' He pauses, gathering up the magazine he dropped, moving it and the pizza box to the no-longer-prisine dining table. 'You don't need to be sorry. I'm glad to see you.' 'You are?' Dawson has just been crouching down by Arrow but his eyes widen at this, his reach to offer the dog his hand aborted. 'I don't need furniture. Just didn't want to go home.' He's settling down onto a cushion, curling an arm around his knees. The shivering has not abated. His eyes are darting around the apartment rapidly. 'I don't know what I expected, but not -- this.' 'I told you,' Clint says, 'you changed my life.' He ducks into a linen closet and comes out with a purple knit blanket which he drapes around Dawson. 'What happened?' Arrow, meanwhile, has come over to investigate their guest, tail flagging friendly if uncertain. 'I don't think a lot of people would expect this. I used to be in the circus. You want...pizza? Something to drink?' He frowns at his kitchenette. 'I think all I have is coffee and booze.' 'I didn't think you meant literally. You kind of saw me at my worst.' This time Dawson actually holds his hand out to the dog, offering his left hand to sniff while he pulls the blanket more snug around his shoulders. 'Don't drink. Kind of wish I did some days.' His lips twist down at the offer of food, but he eyes the pizza box all the same. 'Haven't eaten,' he admits. 'You mean like a real circus?' Arrow's tail wags faster, and he noses under the offered hand, pressing his head up into it. Clint brings the pizza box back over and sets it on the floor beside Dawson before sitting down himself, scruffing absently at Arrow's back. 'I know. Or, I can guess. You were in that awful place, but from the moment we met you--cared.' He shakes his head. 'Really cared. I couldn't understand it. But I wanted to.' His smile is faintly embarassed. 'Yeah, real circus. I did trick archery. Acrobatics. Sometimes both.' A tinge of pink makes its way into Dawson's cheeks. 'Been in those cages before. In some ways it's more important in there. To care.' His eyes lower, and he peels one slice of pizza out of the box, but almost immediately sets it back down to talk. 'Circus to spying? That's -- some kind of hectic life.' "You can voice, if it's easier," Clint says aloud. "I lipread pretty alright, when there's good lighting and I'm not plastered." Even so, he switches back to sign after. 'Circus to crime, then spying. But yes, it's been very chaotic.' He looks down. 'I thought I was doing some good. With S.H.I.E.L.D. But after that mission...I wasn't sure of anything anymore.' 'Easier for me.' Dawson's smile here is brief. His eyes fix on Clint with a keener intensity. 'Circus, crime, spying. 2/3 of those are a path I understand.' Even under the blanket, now, he's still shivering. He pauses to adjust it, an effort almost immediately undone when he moves his arms again to continue, 'I might not be here if you hadn't gone in there. Or Polaris, or Wendy, or --' His face pales, here, with the addition of, '...Leo.' He blinks, shaking his head very abruptly. His brows knit, teeth sinking against his lip. 'Feel like I should be thankful for all that.' 'The crime included a bit of...' Clint struggles for a sign, but finally just voices "Robin Hooding? Vigilante stuff. Got me noticed by the guy who was putting S.H.I.E.L.D. together, after Liberty Island." He shrugs. 'Saving the world was a tempting job offer.' Arrow stretches, yawning luxuriously and settling his shaggy head down--just incidentally!--beside Dawson's pizza. Clint rolls his eyes at the dog. 'If you start eating, you can probably get him to snuggle you. He's very warm.' Clint is quiet for a moment. 'You don't need to be thankful. I was sent there to find you, not free you. We didn't know what Prometheus really was.' His signing grows sharp, vehement. 'But now we know. We know! And still it's regulations and limits. We were made to deal with threats no one else could, but we can't--' Breaks off here, deflating. '--won't deal with this.' "After Liberty Island," Dawson repeats; his brows hitch up with this, making it more of a question than perhaps intended. His mechanical hand drops to rest on Arrow's head, gentle in its scritches. With his other: 'Threats against who? People at Liberty Island were important. Who cares if some crazy or dangerous or criminal mutants vanish.' His shoulders have hunched a little further, his own signing now a little more jerky. 'Way way back when we first got out I thought we should tell the whole world what was happening. These days -- I get pretty sure that half the country would be glad Prometheus exists and the other half would tweet their disgust for a news cycle and then forget it.' 'Humanity.' Clint's shoulders slump, the twitch of his smile crooked and humorless. 'I thought that was meant to include you. Maybe I was wrong, but--' Arrow looks from one man to the other, his tail still wagging, his eyes squinting happily under Dawson's hand. If he minds that the hand is plastic, he certainly does not show it. Clint sets his jaw hard. 'You're right. About the country. But I care. For all the good that does.' He's visibly shaking now. 'So many nights I dream about going after Prometheus, after ICE--just me and my bow. Sometimes. I go out anyway. Look for smaller fish.' 'Everyone spends so much time and effort making sure we know humanity doesn't include us. Then turn around and act shocked when some of us take that to heart.' Dawson exhales heavily, eyes turning down to the dog. 'One man -- one bow -- against an entire fascist government. Somehow I still like those odds better than everyone signing another petition.' When he looks back up at Clint, it's with a very small furrow of his brow. He starts to reach a hand toward the other man, but drops it. 'I know that feeling. Unfortunately don't think we'll run out of targets any time soon.' 'I haven't gone and done it.' Clint shrugs. 'But then... I know it takes a lot more than just a willingness to do violence and maybe get killed in the process.' Arrow looks up at Dawson. Then at his pizza. Then heaves a big, mournful sigh. 'He's so dramatic. You can feed him if you want, but he's eaten.' Clint balls one fist, the motion too slow to look threatening, and digs it into the palm of his opposite hand; his archer's callouses are pronounced enough to see, up close. 'I don't have superpowers, but I have costumes. And the one benefit I still see of working for S.H.I.E.L.D. is, I know where the Purifiers hang out.' He lifts his eyebrows at Dawson. Dawson's cheeks flush with that first comment, the quick flash of his smile just a little self conscious. 'Be nice if that worked, though.' He scruffs at the dog again, this time tearing off a chunk of his pizza and nudging it toward Arrow. His eyebrows lift in return. 'Costumes?' He looks down at himself, then back up at Clint, shedding the blanket from around his shoulders as he gets to his feet. 'I've already ruined one suit today. What else have I got to lose?'