[el dorado] revisions take 2
"I drink no more than a sponge." Rabelais
The scotch burned as he swallowed it. The dryness of the alcohol forced him to clear his throat as he shifted the glass from his hand to the concrete ledge. Flexing out his fingers, he took hold of the bow firmly. With one arm extended fully, he looked down the length of his forearm; hands meeting just briefly as he took hold of the line. Making out his target across the alley, he kept both eyes open and alert. Barely pressing his thumb to his jawline, Oliver lined up his shot.
"E." He called the letter out-loud, almost as an afterthought, as if someone was lingering in the shadows keeping an eye on his activities.
Money could buy a lot of things and for Oliver it had secured him the top three floors of the building across from his penthouse. 'Renovations' he had informed the Realtor when she asked. A soft demure smile pressed onto her features, probably trying to hint that for the money he was dropping on concrete walls she was inclined to wonder what else he spent his money on. Sheetrock and lumber now lined the walls, stacked up and waiting for a project that he would never start.
A single breath exhaled once the arrow was properly nocked, allowing the arrow to let loose even as his arm remained taut through the recoil. There was a slight lean to his torso as he watched the path of the arrow make its way through the open window. The reinforced-steel tip forced its way through the Sheetrock, its final resting spot being the middle of the E in LuthorCorp Industrial Materials. The achievement itself earned a smirk from Oliver.
Letting the bow rest against the wall, his hand returned to the bottle of scotch to pour himself another. He relied on instinct alone when he poured, listening for the splash of liquid as it hit the half-melted ice. Righting the bottle back up again when there was only the sound of the cubes mingling against themselves.
There was a better use of his time and he knew it. Stacks of paperwork waited on his desk and a list of things he needed to go over with Mia during their training tomorrow wasn't going to write itself, either. Mia was at least a project he had every intention of following through with. She had come a long way from the fight clubs of downtown Metropolis and he wanted to make sure she didn't end up back there. He didn't even want to credit his own training to her improvement, instead he let her know that it was her willingness to improve that would make the most impact in how fast she progressed. She was stubborn and had good instincts, but when she consistently dropped her shoulder he knew she was going to need to break some of her old habits.
Returning to his own target practice, his foot shifted against the concrete of the terrace, letting a rock dig into his heel. The sharp pain made him realize that shoes probably would've been a smart option. Lifting his foot up to rub to the side of his jeans, the rock caught against denim, falling to the ground. "Next time, Oliver... proper footwear."
Of course, in theory it was easy to remind himself of habits he needed to change, but there were some that even he couldn't break. It was why he still drank, even though he knew Tess could kill a buffalo with the death stare across the board room table. Why he knew he thought more clearly with a few shots taken across an empty alley and into an open window. It was why when he thought about all the things in his life he wanted to change, he couldn't for the life of him think to take the people in it out. Even Clark, speeding his way to a victory over the latest blip on the Watchtower radar, was someone Ollie knew he needed at his side.
Fingertips touched to the edge of the glass, resting there for a moment, knowing that they could slip over the smooth edge and return that dry burn to the back of his throat.
With a definitive exhale, he moved his hand to reach for the bow instead, taking a steady stance on the terrace and smiling as he picked out his next target, "H."
The scotch burned as he swallowed it. The dryness of the alcohol forced him to clear his throat as he shifted the glass from his hand to the concrete ledge. Flexing out his fingers, he took hold of the bow firmly. With one arm extended fully, he looked down the length of his forearm; hands meeting just briefly as he took hold of the line. Making out his target across the alley, he kept both eyes open and alert. Barely pressing his thumb to his jawline, Oliver lined up his shot.
"E." He called the letter out-loud, almost as an afterthought, as if someone was lingering in the shadows keeping an eye on his activities.
Money could buy a lot of things and for Oliver it had secured him the top three floors of the building across from his penthouse. 'Renovations' he had informed the Realtor when she asked. A soft demure smile pressed onto her features, probably trying to hint that for the money he was dropping on concrete walls she was inclined to wonder what else he spent his money on. Sheetrock and lumber now lined the walls, stacked up and waiting for a project that he would never start.
A single breath exhaled once the arrow was properly nocked, allowing the arrow to let loose even as his arm remained taut through the recoil. There was a slight lean to his torso as he watched the path of the arrow make its way through the open window. The reinforced-steel tip forced its way through the Sheetrock, its final resting spot being the middle of the E in LuthorCorp Industrial Materials. The achievement itself earned a smirk from Oliver.
Letting the bow rest against the wall, his hand returned to the bottle of scotch to pour himself another. He relied on instinct alone when he poured, listening for the splash of liquid as it hit the half-melted ice. Righting the bottle back up again when there was only the sound of the cubes mingling against themselves.
There was a better use of his time and he knew it. Stacks of paperwork waited on his desk and a list of things he needed to go over with Mia during their training tomorrow wasn't going to write itself, either. Mia was at least a project he had every intention of following through with. She had come a long way from the fight clubs of downtown Metropolis and he wanted to make sure she didn't end up back there. He didn't even want to credit his own training to her improvement, instead he let her know that it was her willingness to improve that would make the most impact in how fast she progressed. She was stubborn and had good instincts, but when she consistently dropped her shoulder he knew she was going to need to break some of her old habits.
Returning to his own target practice, his foot shifted against the concrete of the terrace, letting a rock dig into his heel. The sharp pain made him realize that shoes probably would've been a smart option. Lifting his foot up to rub to the side of his jeans, the rock caught against denim, falling to the ground. "Next time, Oliver... proper footwear."
Of course, in theory it was easy to remind himself of habits he needed to change, but there were some that even he couldn't break. It was why he still drank, even though he knew Tess could kill a buffalo with the death stare across the board room table. Why he knew he thought more clearly with a few shots taken across an empty alley and into an open window. It was why when he thought about all the things in his life he wanted to change, he couldn't for the life of him think to take the people in it out. Even Clark, speeding his way to a victory over the latest blip on the Watchtower radar, was someone Ollie knew he needed at his side.
Fingertips touched to the edge of the glass, resting there for a moment, knowing that they could slip over the smooth edge and return that dry burn to the back of his throat.
With a definitive exhale, he moved his hand to reach for the bow instead, taking a steady stance on the terrace and smiling as he picked out his next target, "H."