Who: Oliver and Audrey Where: At the Welcome to Zenith sign When: Early afternoon
Oliver had never been much of a hunter, and while he'd used a crossbow a few times for target practice, it had been years. Still, he knew a thing or two about shooting, and killing, and he didn't know of anyone in the house who was a better choice for the job. The crossbow felt heavier than it should have, and he knew full well why that was. He didn't want to do this. That deer was one of the only decent things about this place, and the situation felt more wrong than almost anything else that had happened thus far had. He couldn't even deny the fact that he hoped Bucky would be a complete no-show until the timer went off, but who knew what the result of that would be for the deer itself. It really was too likely that They'd just end up killing the poor thing anyway.
He'd dressed as warmly and appropriately as possible, with clothes that would do better at hiding him in the brush of the park, where he expected Bucky might be the most likely to hang out. He'd also brought along the knife he'd taken when they'd all been packing to go to their then-unknown excursion, and had managed to stuff a few bandages and small medical supplies along with a bottle of water into his pockets, just in case. He knew from too much experience that it was better to be safe than sorry.
The walk into town felt both longer and shorter than he'd expected. He found himself stopping at the sign, welcoming him to Mount Zenith, and felt a bitter taste fill his mouth. Instead of proceeding forward, he turned in a full circle, picked a tree, and began loading the crossbow with a sigh. His first shot at the trunk of the young tree beside the sign missed completely, and he dutifully fetched the bolt so he wouldn't lose it before reloading and trying again. Over the next few minutes he grew accustomed to how the crossbow performed, where his range limit rested before his aim suffered, and generally just wanting the feel of the weapon, the pattern of shooting, fetching and reloading to become monotonous, so familiar that he could take the shot without thinking what he would inevitably be shooting at. After the initial few tries, adjusting both the weapon and himself, almost ever shot thunked heavily into the tree's trunk, peppering a circle about the size of a dinner plate with deep holes.
Load. Shoot. Fetch. Load. Shoot. Fetch.
After a while, it seemed like the situation had stopped being about relearning his way about the crossbow and just taking out a little of the tension he'd felt compiling over the past few days. When the tree had obviously had enough, he turned his attention toward the sign, and the "O" in "Welcome", letting the bolt release with a satisfying thunk into the wood. Not quite dead center, but close.