╳ ┊ NEVER MISS.

                 He muses that eating his own weight in fish tacos won’t be much at all. Gentry eyes the cash, wide-eyed and obviously eager. A treat, he’d said, and he’s certainly right; they can treat themselves plenty with that much money. Knobby knuckles tug at the fabric of his thin dress shirt.                  ❛ I’ll wear the sweater with the target— the one you’ve given me, since it’s your money. ❜ Gentry will have to search through the mess of his bedroom for it, but that poor sweatshirt is coming with them.

             ❛ sweet deal. ❜      and he waits. leans against the doorjamb. flips open his phone. sends a shady text. checks his calls. rummages through his pockets, swipes out all the lint and crumbs and still finds time to hang there before gentry finally shuffles back out. 

half an hour and one BRIEF BUZZ TIME later, he’s chillin’ as far back into the booth as is inhumanly possible, arm swung over the back lazily with his feet propped up on gentry’s side. he haphazardly picks something out of his teeth and flicks it onto the floor. and then he picks at another fish taco, eyes it all over, and then shoves it into his mouth with a contradicting lack of grace. a piece flies out when he speaks.

       a hand moved up to slap the projectile PARTY THONG away from his face just half a second too late as the metallic fabric slapped against his skin before falling to the floor. there’s a moment of silence as knox directs his frustration directly at clint.

                 ❛ clint                           what the fuck ? ❜

              ❛ i know. crazy fuckin’ efficient, right?  and know what -------- ‘cuz i like you? won’t even make you tip extra on that. ❜  

      ❛ you have exactly three seconds to remove ALL OF IT or i’m leavin’. this is the shit of nightmares, man. looking at your balls in that shit is making MY BALLS hurt. ❜

           ❛ fair warning, i’ve never done a strip tease in less than five minutes. so. ❜   he shrugs, palms turned up high with the classic jim halpert expression. and then, with roadrunner speed, he proceeds to shed said PARTY THONG and fling it directly towards knox’s face.

hawk eyes. it’s a curse.

          ❛ i would have stopped at the thong that looks like it’s cutting the circulation off in your balls readin’ PARTY’S HERE                   but that’s just me. ❜

@carniecode

     ❛ just                                     NO. ❜

                 Between his meager commissions and Clint’s few and far between wallet-snatches, they don’t eat out. His stomach’s adapted to nothing but pasta and water, so it’s no sweat off his back, but a treat for him is also a treat for Clint. So he smiles.                  ❛ I did shower today. Can I get the— fish tacos? ❜

                 SOME UPDATES.  

first and foremost, STREETSPEAKIN >>>>> CARNIECODE.

secondly, i’ve decided to bump up clint’s mainverse age to 24. i can keep it 21 for ships i’ve already established, though. i’m still kinda neglecting this account but have decided to try to pop by every so often to do some SHIP-RELATED STUFF. i’m not ready to make the Full Commitment here to come back all the way but i kinda owe it to my ship partners to keep this love machine goin’. so. 

HER EYES ROLLED AGAINST HIS PRESUMPTION despite hint of a smile that tugged at the corner of her lips.  she ferociously tried to push it back down, because it was very frustrating that someone was as quick to the take as she was.  clearly she hadn’t been hanging around the right kind of people.  another annoying thing that made him seem so damn appealing.  bastard.

❝ who said anything about dates? ❞  she held his gaze with a fierce conviction, not willing to let show the fact that she was already frustrated with him trying to emphasize the obvious height difference.   ❝ don’t get ahead of yourself.  especially if there’s no telling if you’re going to be walking after this. ❞  she walked past him, lingering a bit to eye him sideways before sliding off her jacket and dumping it onto the nearest bench.  something she’d probably grow to regret later based on the grime of this place, but there was no way in hell she was fighting inher favorite piece of clothing.  even if it was a pussy fight.

❝ i’ll make you a deal. ❞ she stretched an arm across her body, tugging tight at her shoulder muscles before letting it drop and swinging up the other arm to do the same.  it wasn’t really necessary for her to stretch like this, but it made her feel better be doing something with her body than just standing there being organize.   ❝ you win, and you can pick whatever post- sparring activity you want.  ❞  she pulled a wide smirk, stretching both arms behind her back and arching into the stretch.

❝ you won’t win, though. ❞

              ‘ what, your parents never tell you not t’strike deals with CARNIES? ’

the very motion pricks a genuine laugh out of him, more so out of good spirits than ego. kids so sinister live on that little adrenaline rush every now and then, and one that doesn’t just come from between his legs, either ----- seeing her ready herself does just that for him, and, after shrugging off his jacket and letting his plain t-shirt puddle at his feet after it, he begins to do the same.

‘ you’re on, girly-girl, ’  he grunts between rotating shoulders, slinging one arm to pinch the kink out of the blade while the other hand props his elbow up. been at least a day and a half since his last fight yet he still felt like there was some rust muddled somewhere in those bones.  ‘ we’ll see who leaves who limpin’. ’

and, that being said, he shakes every crick out of his spine in a single go and proceeds to swing one long leg after the other into the ring. through the dim lighting, he can suddenly pull out every single piece of dust encasing them both, and the sentiment in itself suddenly feels like home. sawdust and tents ----- s’one hell of a come-up. figures he looks like he could live there just fine, and that cracks a sweet smile out of him. leaning against the topmost rung, he tips down with an arm outstretched, hand offered out to her in case he hadn’t been enough of a dick already.

The building itself had lost it’s rebellious intimidation in the afternoon daylight.  It looked like every other abandoned brick block in Gotham; dirty, broken, and cold despite the muggy twinge that hung in the air.  She hung outside the door, finishing the last of her cigarette she’d lit for the walk with a lingering drag before flicking the butt away– not bothering to snuff it with the toe of her boot.  She wiped her hands on the loose tank and shorts that  she wore underneath her permanently present leather jacked with a sigh before letting them hover over the handle of the door. 

She was trying now to remember why she’d even agree to meet him in the first place.  Sparring.  Like she needed the help in the first place.  Especially from someone who wasn’t even willing to hit her.  She wanted to be apathetic– a part of her even wanted to turn around and go home, but she stayed rooted, because there was something more about him she wanted to know– even if she wasn’t sure exactly what that was just yet.  Mysterious strangers weren’t exactly commonplace in this city, so something new among the same droll faces that she passed every day was admittedly welcome.

She pulled the creaking heavy door open, the unsettling high-pitched sound followed by the thud of it shutting behind her was more than enough to announce her arrival so she kept her mouth shut.  She kept on her stone-faced mask, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her jacket as she made her way slowly across the room where he was waiting, anything to emphasize the notion that she was there because she had nothing better to do, not that she wanted to be.

“You know most guys who want to see me again ask to go get coffee or something, not ask me to come kick their ass.”  She quirked an eyebrow with a half shrug, fighting the urge to crack a smile– even a sarcastic one.  "Again.“  She came to a stop a few feet from him, shifting her weight onto one leg, hip sticking out.  "Or is that just what you’re into?”

THE SECOND WEEK IN GOTHAM had been no better than the first. still muggy. still decrepit. still lingering with an overall sense of something sour, like maybe there’s something a little bit better around the corner or maybe he’s just gonna turn that corner and get stabbed. either way, figured he might as well make the most of it while he could ---- which, in his own fucked-up, uncultured, orphan-boy-raised-by-carnies mindset, means chasing tail ‘til the tents come down.

up to this point, the only thing that’d been accompanying him besides the overwhelming scent of dried sweat and must was the occasional sound of his boot heel tapping against the pillar, sending vibrations up his back in his long lean. fists all balled up in pockets fumbled ‘round some with the edges of his keys and loose change and whatever the hell else he was feelin’. lint, mostly. 

it’s not until his daze breaks with a second echo that he bothers to flick bright eyes up, delayed and annoyingly lackadaisical. doesn’t even bother masking the drop from her head to her boots and the hook of a smirk that follows. it is what it is, and god damn, what it is is just fine by him.

                ❛ hate t’see ya be deaf and blind. that’d be a mess. you’re already a mess. and i’m not gonna pretend like i know what you’re talkin’ about anyway other than someone with a great ass. ❜