Budapest » [Clintasha]

Chapter Forty-Eight: James Bond

Living with Kate was great.

That's an understatement. Let me start again...

Living with Kate is incredible.

What was supposed to be a temporary arrangement quickly became a more permanent thing, though neither of us discussed it: it just kinda happened. I loved living with her not just because her home cinema was like going to an actual theatre; but because she made me feel normal.

No one at the carnival was aware about my deafness; and when I misheard, I'd just nod and smile rather than being an inconvenience and requesting they repeat it. It often landed me in sticky situations where I'd not carried out a command properly or not been somewhere on cue. Some of the carnies were unnerved by how I'd remain fixated on their lips during conversation and avoid me for that specific reason. But how could I tell them? I'd convinced myself they would send me out on my ear the moment they discovered I was defective. Who needed the toll of a deaf orphan in their employ?

Without being patronising, Kate catered to my disability: when I looked like a deer in the headlights she'd say "did you catch all of that," she never mumbled and moved her lips with exaggeration, and she'd switch the subtitles on the TV.  She made me feel less of a burden and my disadvantage, less of a disadvantage.

I was properly moved in in no time. I'd managed to cover the expenses of a new wardrobe with the treasures in the pillowcase. An awkward conversation concerning the origin of the stolen goods did ensue; but was shortened with a: "Do I want to know where this came from?" and a "Not if you want to be an accessory in court."

Pawning it without questions was easy enough in certain back-alley pawnbrokers. New York City's crime rate was by no means low. The return was good, and I paid my dues in groceries to Kate.

Kate even did me the honours of washing my circus clothes and patching them up. Apparently she had been taught to sew by her nanny, Maria. It was a sweet gesture, and a nice keepsake. She took care of me and I loved her for it.

My presence was something Kate quickly became accustomed to, and my habits along with it. She was endlessly picking my laundry off the floor surrounding the sofa, clearing up empty coffee mugs and teased me about my bow and arrows. I apologised profusely, of course - but I'd always reoffend: the life of a scatterbrain, a memoire by Clint Barton.

"Do you genuinely sleep with those things under your pillow?" She teased, handling the weaponry like a scientist might handle the products of an experiment; analytically eyeing it, testing the weight and breadth.

"They're my pride and joy!" I told her contemptuously. They were also the remnants of what was temporarily a happy time; and I tried to cling to the happy times since the bad outweighed the bad. The Swordsmaster, asshole as he may have been, did feel like a father for a short while; but inevitably, that turned bitter: just like everything in my life.

I dreaded to think that was what Katie would one day become.

She plucked one of the beautifully fletched arrows out of my quiver, with the black ebony wood shaft and the purple feathers at the end. "What the hell is this?" She asked, probing the oddly shaped tip.

"Trick arrows! Respect them!" I scolded, snatching back the explosive weaponry. She had no clue that the object she was handling could probably raze the flat.

"That's ridiculous!" She snorted, lunging for the arrow.

"Hey! You never know when they could come in useful!" I chastised, waggling the bit of kit at her. "At the carnival every second person was a thief, you kinda needed to stay alert! I got in the habit..."