Owner	Pose
Clint Barton	After their adventure trying to fix s'mores around the campfire - which was kind of too attractive for the satanic cultists who wanted some - Skye and Clint finally left the Tuscarora State Forest and headed West. Always without a set plan, only one goal for the day: fish. No matter where, lake or river, they'll stop when they find a nice spot. On leaving the State Forest, they passed through a town, filled up on gaz - without anyone trying to kill them this time - and went on their way. "Really, /Couchtown/?", Clint grins, as they pass the "Thank you for visiting Couchtown" sign. "Don't tell me the next one's called Loveseattown."
Skye Johnson	Skye grins. "I thought you'd want to visit the local museum, honouring the couch." There wasn't one. She'd been afraid Clint would want to go. "Besides in Canada they have weird names too. Like I remember one called Dildo." Yes, Dildo. "Who names the town after a sextoy. Who?" Really Canadians were weird. "Think we'll find water in time to catch supper?" She had suggested it in honour of his Bass fishing game. They even bought new rods for just such an occasion.
Clint Barton	"Dildo?" Clint repeats, laughing, "And did you know of this town, in France, called Condom? I hear their population is dwindling..." While he's driving, the archer keeps an eye on his Starkphone for directions. After studying the map, he had opted for the Summersville State Lake, which offers many secluded and quiet spots for camping and fishing. Hopefully, without any satanists around this time. Their destination is thus a five hours drive, give or take. "Oh sure, we'll be there in time." And, recalling the events of the previous night, he frowns, wondering, "Ok, so what can go wrong now? Can fishes be possessed?"
Skye Johnson	"Possessed? I hope not!" Skye shudders at the thought. "Why do you keep tempting the fates?" She went, quickly, to the internet and looked. Nope, no possession of fish - at least not at that lake.
Clint Barton	So Gretel drives on, always Westward, and the five hours are quickly gone, all in chatter between the two agents. At some point, Skye has reserved their camping spot, just by the lake. Turning on yet another country road - his eyes scanning around, just in case - but this time there aren't any jerks or satanists looking for a beating, Clint drives toward their spot. Excellent. One last turn, then the lake comes into view. It takes a few more minutes, and then Clint finally parks Gretel at their designated lot. The camping lot is circled by the canopy of trees and a small path leads to a sand patch by the lake. "There! Wow, nice lake. You think we's be in trouble for skinny-dippin'?" he asks, grinning, glancing at Skye to see her reaction.
Skye Johnson	Skye gives him a side eye look, and grins. "If we time it right we can." Actually she was kinda looking forward to it. The moon. The water. No clothes. Gretel had the bed, unless they decided to sleep under the stars. "Turns out, it's not busy this time. School is still in, and not the weekend." She took out the fishing rods, and put them by the river. "Do we have worms?"
Clint Barton	While Skye takes care of the rods, Clint brings a blanket and a can of worms. Studying the bank of the lake for a moment, he points to a specific spot where he's sure that the fishes will rush to be caught. Well, that's the plan anyway. "Then it's a date," he says, grinning, "But no sleeping outside.... I /do/ have some parts I'd rather the bugs don't get to, y'know?" As he speaks, Clints gets the worms on the baits of their rods, handing hers to Skye. Although he does it easily, the frown on his face denotes some type of aversion towards the worms. He won't say it, but the archer has a huge aversion of worms. But hey, there are worst things in life, so he manages to do it as quickly as possible. "Know what? The first to catch a fish gets to watch the other do the cookin'?"
Skye Johnson	"Oooo, you're being very brave, aren't you?" After all, Skye does not cook. "You're on!" Then again, she doesn't know how to fish either. She ramped up the game, and found the easter eggs for him, but she had never played it. Easing up on him, she wrapped her arms around him from behind. "And what do you mean, keep bugs out of your.. what?" Oh she knows, she most definitely knows.
Clint Barton	"Hey, don't you start cheatin' now by distracting me, vixen!" With a playful tap on her hand, he adds, "Now, start fishing." And then, tilting his head and looking at her, he wonders, "Shit, I didn't ask. You ever went fishing before?" Now, he didn't plan on fishing lessons, but if need be, he'll show her how. Not that it takes a doctorate or anything. And then he steps a few feet away, and, with a wide swing of the rod, throws the bait to the fishes. And the, he waits. Waiting is the main part of fishing, actually. Think of it, other than enjoying the view and the fresh air, fishing isn't an efficient way to procure oneself with fish.
Skye Johnson	"Of course I've," Skye grins. "Not. I grew up in the greater New York area. Where could I try fishing?" She never even played fishing at the fair. (She has never been to the fair.) But she takes his instructions, and figures it can't be that hard, can it? "So.. we just wait ? I mean how do we know when we've got a bite?" She had picked some vernacular when he had played.
Clint Barton	"Once in a while, move the bait a bit over the water," Clint explains, "It has to look like a wormy damzelle in distress to the fish," he adds, laughing. And just as he explains it, he also demonstrates the small jerk applied to the line. But no fish so far. "Once a fish bites, you'll feel a light tug on the line, or stronger if you catch a beast." And it better start biting quickly, because the sun gets quite close to the trees on the horizon and, although this time of day is usually good for fishing, time is running out.
Skye Johnson	"Riiiight. Make it look a worm is in distress." Skye doesn't believe him. How could a worm be in distress? Still, she tried to wriggle her cast out line. In fact she thinks maybe she's doing it wrong. Or has caught on weeds. "I'm going to recast." Surely she will be better next time, right? She was convinced she had caught on some weeds. "Look, I caught weeds!" Skye laughs, except she hadn't. At the tip of her fishing rod was not a weed but a very small fingerling! "Oooh does this count?"
Clint Barton	Clint walks to Skye, who was standing a few feet from him, and helps her bring her catch to the shore. It is, indeed, a fish. Of the smallest form, that is. "Way to go," Clint concedes the victory, "Right, it /is/ a fish, though unfit for dinner." As he speaks, he unhooks the small fingerling and throws it back into the water. "If we can't eat it, we throw it back in," he explains, "Fishers' rule." That said, Clint resumes his position and throws his line again. And waits. And waits. And waits. The sun has now disappeared behind the trees, and his stomach tells Clint that - since they didn't catch anything - they should think about a plan B. "Y'know," he muses, "Maybe it's a good thing we didn't catch anything? with our luck, we'd be asked for permits by an angry and lonely Park ranger." He pauses, bringing his line back in, "Plan B. We still have jerky, popcorn, rootbeer and s'mores. What y'say?"
Skye Johnson	Skye only catches the fingerling. She, too, catches nothing else. "You know, this isn't as fun as your Big Bass game." But he has an alternative. "So, jerky for the main meal. And some s'mores with a dusting of popcorn for dessert?" She nods. "Doesn't sound too bad." And she's thinking about the after dinner surprise. After all, there's a whole lake and nobody around..
Clint Barton	Fishing rod in hand, Clint leads the way back to the campsite and starts gathering wood for the fire. He's been used to living under the stars, especially when visiting his friend Two-Gun Kid, but he's not so sure Skye does appreciate the outdoors as much. "At some point, we'll find a hotel for a nice shower and all," he says, starting the fire. That done, he goes to get the root-beer while Skye takes care of the main course - jerky - and returns to sit on one of the log that serves as a bench. "Maybe tomorrow, we stop at a motel. And find a snack-bar. You'd like it?"
Skye Johnson	"You know, you were supposed to make the supper, Mister Hotshot." Skye isn't sure how she got to make the jerky. Still, she put each selection on a stick (for fun) and showed them the fire. "There. It's done. Which, I must say, I outperformed myself in making it." She is full of shit. But she's funny. "When I lived on my own, I used to have a coffee, and a glass of hot water. I'd sneak my Mr . Noodle's into that water and eat that. And when I needed a shower.. Well there were a couple of things I could do." Including her 'boyfriend'. "I think we'll stink enough to warrant going to one tomorrow."
Clint Barton	Clint laughs, watching Skye /cook/ the dinner. No matter what, he can find enough jerky to satisfy his growling stomach. Then comes the time to fix the s'mores. Although it is a simple recipe, Clint isn't really wanting them burnt - even done with love - so he takes care of fixing them. "Yeah, and don't forget a decent meal. Now, for the stinky side of things," he points his thumb in the direction of the lake, "We'll have to do with the lake. Good thing it's night time with a nice moon. From what we've seen, it won't be any fish coming to bite us!" He laughs at that, unsure if Skye believes that fishes do bite humans!
Skye Johnson	"I don't know, something makes me think that something might look like a big worm to them!" Skye even manages to keep a straight face on. "Last one in is a rotten egg!"
Clint Barton	Forget the s'mores for now, there is a challenge going on. As soon as Skye mentioned the rotten egg, Clint started running towards the lake, discarding his t-shirt, kicking his running shoes off. But for the pants, he needs to stop for a second or maybe three. Racing as they are to the lake, they did not take time to check the temperature of the water before jumping in. On contact with the cold water, Clint winces and refrains from yelling. Dang it's cold. But once in, well, it feels good after a time. Turning around, he tries to locate Skye to see if he won the bet - and also to watch her in the skinny suit, which he never gets tired of.
Skye Johnson	Skye lets him go into the water first. Unfortunately she doesn't wait to see how cold it is. According to Clint 'damn' it's cold, or close enough. "Who's bright idea was this? Holy crap! No wonder the fish aren't biting." But it seems to warm up slightly. *Slightly* "Right. I think I've about had enough." No, Skye was not a water baby.
Clint Barton	"Ah, come on," Clint laughs, "You can be such a baby!'" he taunts her, then proceeds to swim a bit further away from the bank of the lake. But Skye has a point. It is cold like hell. Just as Clint starts to worry about his future - unborn - children, he turns toward the shore and notices, yes, of course, trouble. "Shit. Really?." These simple words, coupled with the tone used, would notify Skye that trouble found them again. In the distance, near their fire, a large black Ranger SUV just parked, and the driver - a park Ranger - is inspecting their camp site.
Skye Johnson	"Damn!" Skye's couldn't even have told where her clothing was. At least faster than the park ranger would be here. She has to swim out to Clint to huddle into him. "C'mon, c'mon look around faster." But the man was taking his time checking the campsite out. "Oh god," whispers Skye. "He has your underpants!" And where his are, Skye's couldn't be far away.
Clint Barton	"Good thing I wore clean ones," Clint retorts, chuckling. Chuckling, or teeth chattering by the cold. Quickly looking around for a solution, the archer tries to come up with options. There aren't many of them, as it is. "Right," Clint says in a low voice, aware that water surface carries sounds, "We've got three options. One, die of hypothermia, second, reach the shore and hide in the bush, dying of mosquito bites and third, we just return to the fire and die of humiliation. Your pick?" While offering these wonderful options, Clint slowly, quietly, swims toward the bank of the lake but away from the path, keeping Skye close to him. The Ranger is now walking down the path, toward the lake, but if they remain silent, he might not notice Clint and Skye.
Skye Johnson	"With our luck," Skye whispers, "He knows we're out on the water and is waiting for us. How are you at looking like you don't give a fuck?" It is getting colder by the minute.
Clint Barton	All joking around, Skye is right, and staying in the water will quickly become unhealthy. Slowly, they finally reach the shore and get out of the water. Using his larger frame as a kind of shield beneath which Skye can hide her smaller form, Clint turns to the Ranger. Of course, their exiting the lake produced enough noise for the Ranger to locate them. "Hey, sir, meet us by the fire?" Clint says, sighing as the bright light beam of a flashlight hits him. There goes his modesty. "Alright," says the Ranger, turning on his heels. "It's not like you'd run away, butt naked and all. Don't need a couple city slickers dead of cold on my shift. Move it." Once the Ranger turned around, Clint hurries behind, gathering his pants - thank God - and finding some of Skye's clothes, which he tosses at her. "OK, this went well, don't you think?" Clint grins.
Skye Johnson	"Says you!" But she's laughing. This is par for the course of Skye and Clint. "Have you found my bra?" Damn, and she did not have an extra. Skye quickly puts on the rest, and follows him to the fire.
Clint Barton	@"Nope, no bra in view," Clint says in a low voice. Not that he minds her not wearing one. The Ranger is waiting for them by the fire, notepad and pen in hand. The /look/ he gives them, clothes just enough to cover what needs to be. "Awright, guys," the Ranger starts, "I checked, and you /did/ pay for the night, so all's good with that." Clint nods, as he walks to get a towel in the read of the can. "We're law abiding citizens, sir," he says, honestly. "It's nice to see that you take care of park visitors." Just as Clint was going to add something while handing the towel to Skye, the Ranger cuts in. "Now, illegal fishing," he kicks at the fishing rods left on the ground by the fire, "Indecent exposure. Hrm. Oh and," he turns to point at a dark recess of underbrush, where something has dragged bits of s'mores, "Feeding wild life. So you can pay the 785$ right now, credit card, or finish your night in the county jail. Your choice."
Skye Johnson	"Seven hundred and eighty five dollars!!" Inner voice, Skye. Inner. Voice. Oops? SHIELD would not pay for this, and she doesn't have a credit card. "Clint?" Maybe he had one.
Clint Barton	The Ranger tips his hat at Skye, "That's for you, ma'am," he says, "But I reckon there's two of you. So make it twice." Clint rolls his eyes. With that money, they could have had a perfect suite in a 5-Star hotel for a couple days. Instead, he can count the mosquito bites adding on his hack. He's temped to swear as he returns to the van, to find his wallet. Who knows, swearing here now might lead him at the gallows? Behave, Clint, behave. Returning, he hands the credit card to the Ranger who accepts it with a smile. He's the only one smiling around. Fine paid, the Ranger turns to return to his SUV. "Oh, I forgot to add. Leaving a fire unattended. I added 100$ to the total. Be safe." And on that, the Ranger climbs back into his SUV and departs. Clint stands there, dumbfounded, and states. "We're cursed, aren't we?"
Skye Johnson	Skye just watches the park ranger go, and turns to Clint. "Ya think?"