Owner	Pose
Clint Barton	"Target acquired", comes the Archer's whisper over the comms. A silent sigh escapes the special agent's lips. *Again. Not again* He's been chasing the target for hours, in that cold and rainy night, somewhere in the boonies, somewhere in Northern Europe. It could have been anywhere else, it doesn't matter, it is always the same. Always. All that Clint knows is that the target must to be eliminated. *Eliminated*. Sigh. That could mean many things, right? Of course, what S.H.I.E.L.D.S. really means is, kill him. The hell with S.H.I.E.L.D.S. Fingers quickly select the perfect arrow for the job. One second, only one, and all will be over with. Painlessly, at least for the target. There's a lot a man can think about in a second. But right now, there's only one nagging question in Hawkeye's mind, the same question, again. Why not just have him arrested, tried and locked up for life instead? This could be as easy. Actually, way much easier, at least for the archer's peace of mind anyway. Finger twitches, arrow selected. Perfect aim, perfect shot. So easy. Do it and go home... whatever /home/ is today.
The Straw Man	"You, kiddo," the voice is familiar. It's Dad. "Looks like you could use a drink." He leans up against a nearby tree, a budweiser in his hand. He looks like he did years ago, back when Clint was young. "Letting go is easy, you know," he advises, possibly about a drink, possibly about releasing the arrow. He brings the can to his lips, and takes a sip.
Clint Barton	Oh yeah, the voice is familiar, even if he didn't hear it in years, way too familiar still after all this time. "Whadafuck!?!" Distraction, BIG distraction. Shooting aborted. The comms crackle "Barton?"*. "Hold on, situation" comes the archer's reply. Yeah, way /situation/! Heartbeat racing, adrenaline rushing. Looking around, searching for who can be playing with his mind. There was no mind-playing mutant mentionned in the report. *Or did I miss the memo... again???* Eyes riveted on the man - it cannot be his dad, dead for so long - Hawkeye frowns and menacingly warns, "Dunno who the hell you are, don't care, you have 5 seconds to run. Cuz I'm in a good mood." All thought about the target are gone for now, fix one problem at the time and right now, there's a bloke playing mind tricks with the archer.
The Straw Man	"A very good mood, clearly," the image of his father says. "You wanted to shoot me all your life, and now you give me time to run." He pushes off the tree with his shoulders.     "You've done pretty well, grown up to be a high level..." he looks out at the distant target. "Assassin. A little hypocritical, isn't it?"
Clint Barton	Wow, ok, whoever this person is, they know things about him that they /should/ not. There's something in the man's words, that clearly hits the target. *Don't let him get to you, Hawkster*. "Lemme tell ya", Clint replies, "Whoever you are, you've got it wrong. If your intel was so good, you'd know it couldn't work. Amateur." Yeah, who could know about his father anyway... Maybe Fury. Oh shit. Damn Fury. As he speaks, Clint instinctively turns his aim over at the man. "Time's up!" Deads do not come back to life. Well, right, they do sometimes, but Clint's dad was anything but a hero. So there is no way he would deserve any resurection of any kind, nor deserve anything to start with, period.
The Straw Man	There is no look of alarm on the man's face, just a hint of a smile. "Oh, my mistake," he says, as if conceding a point. Something about the demeanor makes it seem a taunt more than an admission. He doesn't move, though, just looking straight back into Clint's eyes, as if waiting for him to loose the volley without any fear.
Clint Barton	Flash back. Major flashback, to the time of the accident. No one's supposed to die, just to go out for groceries. Unless you are a bloody drunk like Clint's dad, and manage not only to kill yourself - which was kind of a blessing - but the mother at the same time. There are things everyone wants to forget about, things that are best left in the past, although they define you on the long term. This fatal accident is something Clint Barton absolutly wants to forget about. And especially about the son of a bitch - his dad - who caused it. And now this /man/ pretends to be his dad. Ah, right. If he was, really, Hawkeye would have a ball just tearing him to shreds and kick him back to hell where he belongs. Lost in that line of thought, and maybe being tricked into the mind game, the only thing that comes to the archer's mind at the moment is... "Fuck you, jerk! I don't kill innocent people, like YOU did!" Oh yeah, he fell for it. Who knows, maybe he /wanted/ to fell for it.
The Straw Man	"Innocent people. No, of course not," the voice says. "Just bad people, right? Guilty people. People who /deserve/ it." He walks closer, not evading the tip of the arrow as he does, and takes another swig of the beer. He smells like alcohol. "Ever think about what makes that line? At what point does a person DESERVE to die? Is murder the line? Or rape? Maybe destabilizing a government. Maybe countless lives they've thrown in the gutter." He pauses. "Maybe because you just say so."
Clint Barton	Damn good questions indeed, the same Hawkeye is asking himself, everytime. It's back to this, always: kill, or don't kill. The man is right tho, who decides? *Who are you, Barton, to decide?* The archer shakes his head, not much in disagreement with the man's words, but in a feable attempt to clear his mind. This is ridiculous. Off on a simple mission, now talking with the dead. And not /any/ dead, the only one he never wanted to see or speak to again. The only person, in his own life, that he really wanted, wilfully, to kill. The arrow still aimed at the approaching man, there's something else approaching the surface of the archer's counsciousness. Kill him, you get that one shot, do it. *Fuck, if I could...* But, no, you can't, Barton. So run, do something. "I'm done with you, don't you come any closer, final warning!" Clint warns.
The Straw Man	"I thought you already gave me the final warning, wasn't it five seconds? How long as it been?" he asks, a flip of his wrist up to look at his watch. "I'm sorry, I forgot to set the timer." He looks back up at the archer.     Clint's father steps closer, as if a dare to do something about it. He's only barely the length of the arrow away, it might not get to full speed before striking him, but probably enough to penetrate, still, the beer can right in front of his heart.
Clint Barton	Oh, to kill him, that bloody drunk, that's all he deserves for what he did. For being a first-class jerk, uncarring father. For a moment, Clint allows his arm to aim directly at the man's heart. One shot is all it takes. At that moment, it's not a stanger facing him, nagging him, but his father. A man guilty of killing his mother, of letting him having to fight for his own life, no family but a weird brother you'd be better off without. No one, alone, by himself, to have to constantly prove himself to the others. Always. Yes, Clint's dad is guilty of all of this. He deserves to die... Clint /deserves/ the right to kill him. Then after a tense moment of indecision, the bow slowly lowers down, finger off the trigger. There's a long pause. A man can think about a lot of things in a second. Hawkeye lowers the bow, slowly turns around, and starts walking away from the man-dad. "It's not my place to kill anyone... not even you, the most guilty of all." As he walks away, he adds over his shoulders, "I am not like you. I'm not a killer." From a distance, the comms comes to life. "Lost target. Coming back." And no, not coming back.