“Yeah,” Clint said, getting to his feet. “My sign.” Walking over to the nearest wall he attached the quiver of arrows he had brought with him, all normal tipped, to his back and grabbed the bow. “I grew up in a circus and that was my act, the World’s Greatest Marksman.”
The target was set up on the far side of the room. He took a moment to sight it before loosing the arrow. It struck the bullseye dead centre. “I’d shoot apples off people’s heads, lollypops out of their mouths.” Another arrow landed barely a millimeter from the first. “I could pick a dime out between someone’s fingers, though that one could be a bit painful even when done right.”
He looked over at her, taking his eyes off the target, before letting the third arrow go. It landed just with the other two in a neat cluster. “It was always done right.”
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-11-08 01:37 am (UTC)The target was set up on the far side of the room. He took a moment to sight it before loosing the arrow. It struck the bullseye dead centre. “I’d shoot apples off people’s heads, lollypops out of their mouths.” Another arrow landed barely a millimeter from the first. “I could pick a dime out between someone’s fingers, though that one could be a bit painful even when done right.”
He looked over at her, taking his eyes off the target, before letting the third arrow go. It landed just with the other two in a neat cluster. “It was always done right.”