Difference between revisions of "Template:Featured Articles/51-2022"
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| − | <td valign="top">[[Image: | + | <td valign="top">[[Image:MOA Forge.png|left]]'''Moment of Awesome - [[Daniel Lone Eagle|Daniel Lone Eagle/Forge]]:''' ''Following an assessment run in the [[Danger Room]], [[Clinton Barton]] [https://xp-logs.dreamwidth.org/4230607.html#cutid1 provides advice and support] - and blocks the fridge.'' |
| − | + | Forge was, in a word, tired. And his brain was buzzing with new ideas after he'd experienced the Danger Room doing its level best to virtually kill him. Whoever the big blond with the claws was, Forge wanted no part in encountering him again. He took some minor comfort that not even the room with all its processing power could make the machines that were standing in for the bad guys and the civvies feel real. | |
| − | + | He was definitely going to need the cane for the rest of the day - he'd pushed hard on the run and his hip was screaming. Hand wasn't too bad but when he had to go hard physically, it was always the leg that complained the loudest. | |
| − | + | Still, it felt good to get out in the field again. And Clint - or Hawkeye, to use his callsign - was very good at what he did. Man definitely had some assassin training somewhere along the line - Forge could tell by the way he moved, his target assignments, how he took people down with that still-vaguely-ridiculous bow of his. | |
| − | + | Dry-swallowing some painkillers, he finished getting dressed to head out of the locker room to probably be told all the ways he'd screwed the pooch. | |
| − | + | Clint, having gone high to observe and assist when necessary, hadn't worked as hard as Forge. He'd still need a shower later, but he felt fine to grab some food and discuss the DR session with Forge. They'd already bid Scott farewell, but the older man had had an evil sort of gleam in his eye, if Clint did say so himself, so he envisioned his own future DR sessions were going to completely wipe the floor with him. | |
| − | + | Waiting with his shoulders propped against the wall outside the locker room, Clint ran a quarter through the knuckles of both hands at the same time, barely focused on them as the coins wove back and forth, back and forth. Upon Forge's appearance, Clint pushed himself off the wall and pocketed his quarters. "Food?" He asked simply, eyebrows raised. | |
| − | " | + | Forge nodded as he yawned. "Hell yes." he said, leaning heavily on his cane. "You know the places around here, I'm at your mercy. Again." |
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Latest revision as of 19:14, 16 October 2022
 Forge was, in a word, tired. And his brain was buzzing with new ideas after he'd experienced the Danger Room doing its level best to virtually kill him. Whoever the big blond with the claws was, Forge wanted no part in encountering him again. He took some minor comfort that not even the room with all its processing power could make the machines that were standing in for the bad guys and the civvies feel real. He was definitely going to need the cane for the rest of the day - he'd pushed hard on the run and his hip was screaming. Hand wasn't too bad but when he had to go hard physically, it was always the leg that complained the loudest. Still, it felt good to get out in the field again. And Clint - or Hawkeye, to use his callsign - was very good at what he did. Man definitely had some assassin training somewhere along the line - Forge could tell by the way he moved, his target assignments, how he took people down with that still-vaguely-ridiculous bow of his. Dry-swallowing some painkillers, he finished getting dressed to head out of the locker room to probably be told all the ways he'd screwed the pooch. Clint, having gone high to observe and assist when necessary, hadn't worked as hard as Forge. He'd still need a shower later, but he felt fine to grab some food and discuss the DR session with Forge. They'd already bid Scott farewell, but the older man had had an evil sort of gleam in his eye, if Clint did say so himself, so he envisioned his own future DR sessions were going to completely wipe the floor with him. Waiting with his shoulders propped against the wall outside the locker room, Clint ran a quarter through the knuckles of both hands at the same time, barely focused on them as the coins wove back and forth, back and forth. Upon Forge's appearance, Clint pushed himself off the wall and pocketed his quarters. "Food?" He asked simply, eyebrows raised. Forge nodded as he yawned. "Hell yes." he said, leaning heavily on his cane. "You know the places around here, I'm at your mercy. Again." |
