Post by haruki on Feb 24, 2008 2:18:44 GMT -6
Rain pitter-pattered against the top of his hat, slowly ripping away the very last drop of his patience. Longshot stood tall, the tall grass falling to the side as wind blew against it, as if it was ready to pluck it from the earth and take it away. His old, sand-colored hat, splotched with dark spots where the rain had fallen upon it and the usual red sash and blue t-shirt made up his attire - even after the fall of Jet, it was all the same. The fifteen year-old's face was solemn, his mouth frowning about past days and refusing to open to complain. Never speak unless there is something meaningful to say. He told himself this over and over, time and time again, but there sometimes when he would like to simply explode and let it all out. But here, when he really felt the most impulse to speak, he fell upon archery.
A quiver of arrows were strapped to his back, and in the tree-less meadow, there was a target set up far away. With his yew bow in hand, the tall young man removed his bracelet and dropped it gently in the grass. Then, with a swift, graceful movement, he brought his eyes back up to the target and notched an arrow to the string, poised and ready to fire. It was in these moments, like the calm before the storm, that he would like to recall his life in. There were hardly any other times where he would like to think about the Fire Nation and how his life was scarred, ripping away every thing he held precious. However, when he was glaring down an arrow and focusing on a target, he reminded himself of the vengeance he desired. Nothing could take that away from him - although he went about it much gentler than Jet or Smellerbee, he still shared the same goal. Vengeance.
As the onslaught of rain continued to pour recklessly down, leaving its seemingly eternal grip upon the dark clouds, it seemed as if they wanted Longshot to take off his hat and show his face so that it, too, could be marred by the rain. He grimaced as his coal, black eyes were shadowed by the brim of his hat and his long, curved nose, twitched with indignant annoyance. Finally, as if five seconds had been eternity, his back hand released the string.
Whoosh!
The arrow flew far and true, obedient to its master and following every direction. The target was the standard issue: paper with a bulls-eye and such, as well as tears where previous archers had fired upon. This arrow, however, flew the entire sixty yards and hit directly above the bullseye, hinting to glory but then rising as if to tear him back down. Longshot's dark eyebrows furrowed and he squinted his eyes, gazing as if to see whether it was true or not. Unfortunately, it was true, and he had to fire another arrow until it was perfect - excellence was not achieved by accepting mediocrity. The teenager desired to spit on the ground and sneer, but that's what separated him from the rest. Against all odds, and doing it in his own time, he would achieve what he set out to do.
Jet had rushed and used all of his force at once. No matter how much he respected Jet, he only wished that he could've been capable of saying something, perhaps protesting once and giving out a strategy. That could've saved Jet's life in the end, and Smellerbee, too. He was an excellent Freedom Fighter, to be sure, although he was a little too abrasive. When they were trying to remain undercover and lying low, he would make it a little to obvious with his hatred to the Fire Nation. Sure, it was what they were all thinking when they saw a Fire Nation soldier, but some things were better off left unsaid. Yes, some Fire Nation citizens were good and were almost apologetic toward the other countries, but what about the soldiers? Were they sorry when the burned down Longshot's home?
His face hardened into a bitter stare; his dark eyes penetrated the wind, searching deeper and deeper for the target. Finally, Longshot embraced the rain and grabbed the brim of his hat with the hand not carrying the bow, and he threw it off, letting it soar for a moment of glory and falling back in the grass near him. Then, his short, dark hair was visible - his eyes were gazing into the target as if it were a Fire Nation enemy. The Freedom Fighters had let Aang, Katara, and Sokka down; he regretted not saying something to Jet before that incident, and with his decision to say only meaningful things, sometimes he missed out on those very opportunities. The truth was, he was confused. What were those meaningful things that needed to be said?
He shook it off, returning his wandering eyes to the target, aiming directly below his previous arrow. Longshot notched an arrow to the string, letting the sun bounce off his wet clothes and shimmer with the grass. As he stared into the target, the rain began to slow down, with only little droplets falling to join the rest. The fifteen year-old boy smiled lightly, almost with a 'what-do-you-know' type of manner. Then, he pulled the string back, stretching the yew boy to its proper point. And then...
Whoosh!
Once again, the arrow flew true, but better than the first time. The arrow flew with more velocity, whipping through the wind for sixty yards and then striking the target with stunning sharpness. His brown eyes searched for the position of the arrow and when he finally saw it, he chuckled very softly to himself. Bullseye.
A quiver of arrows were strapped to his back, and in the tree-less meadow, there was a target set up far away. With his yew bow in hand, the tall young man removed his bracelet and dropped it gently in the grass. Then, with a swift, graceful movement, he brought his eyes back up to the target and notched an arrow to the string, poised and ready to fire. It was in these moments, like the calm before the storm, that he would like to recall his life in. There were hardly any other times where he would like to think about the Fire Nation and how his life was scarred, ripping away every thing he held precious. However, when he was glaring down an arrow and focusing on a target, he reminded himself of the vengeance he desired. Nothing could take that away from him - although he went about it much gentler than Jet or Smellerbee, he still shared the same goal. Vengeance.
As the onslaught of rain continued to pour recklessly down, leaving its seemingly eternal grip upon the dark clouds, it seemed as if they wanted Longshot to take off his hat and show his face so that it, too, could be marred by the rain. He grimaced as his coal, black eyes were shadowed by the brim of his hat and his long, curved nose, twitched with indignant annoyance. Finally, as if five seconds had been eternity, his back hand released the string.
Whoosh!
The arrow flew far and true, obedient to its master and following every direction. The target was the standard issue: paper with a bulls-eye and such, as well as tears where previous archers had fired upon. This arrow, however, flew the entire sixty yards and hit directly above the bullseye, hinting to glory but then rising as if to tear him back down. Longshot's dark eyebrows furrowed and he squinted his eyes, gazing as if to see whether it was true or not. Unfortunately, it was true, and he had to fire another arrow until it was perfect - excellence was not achieved by accepting mediocrity. The teenager desired to spit on the ground and sneer, but that's what separated him from the rest. Against all odds, and doing it in his own time, he would achieve what he set out to do.
Jet had rushed and used all of his force at once. No matter how much he respected Jet, he only wished that he could've been capable of saying something, perhaps protesting once and giving out a strategy. That could've saved Jet's life in the end, and Smellerbee, too. He was an excellent Freedom Fighter, to be sure, although he was a little too abrasive. When they were trying to remain undercover and lying low, he would make it a little to obvious with his hatred to the Fire Nation. Sure, it was what they were all thinking when they saw a Fire Nation soldier, but some things were better off left unsaid. Yes, some Fire Nation citizens were good and were almost apologetic toward the other countries, but what about the soldiers? Were they sorry when the burned down Longshot's home?
His face hardened into a bitter stare; his dark eyes penetrated the wind, searching deeper and deeper for the target. Finally, Longshot embraced the rain and grabbed the brim of his hat with the hand not carrying the bow, and he threw it off, letting it soar for a moment of glory and falling back in the grass near him. Then, his short, dark hair was visible - his eyes were gazing into the target as if it were a Fire Nation enemy. The Freedom Fighters had let Aang, Katara, and Sokka down; he regretted not saying something to Jet before that incident, and with his decision to say only meaningful things, sometimes he missed out on those very opportunities. The truth was, he was confused. What were those meaningful things that needed to be said?
He shook it off, returning his wandering eyes to the target, aiming directly below his previous arrow. Longshot notched an arrow to the string, letting the sun bounce off his wet clothes and shimmer with the grass. As he stared into the target, the rain began to slow down, with only little droplets falling to join the rest. The fifteen year-old boy smiled lightly, almost with a 'what-do-you-know' type of manner. Then, he pulled the string back, stretching the yew boy to its proper point. And then...
Whoosh!
Once again, the arrow flew true, but better than the first time. The arrow flew with more velocity, whipping through the wind for sixty yards and then striking the target with stunning sharpness. His brown eyes searched for the position of the arrow and when he finally saw it, he chuckled very softly to himself. Bullseye.
