Anthony took his sweet time getting back to the group, having decided to stop by his bungalow first to drop off his cigarettes and Zune. As a result, he arrived just in time to hear Abel's yelling, and to see the albino counselor pull an arrow out of his knee. His eyes would go wide, equal parts confused, impressed, and worried. It was a little bit funny as well, seeing how he assumed it was one of the weirdos shooting a different weirdo. He'd keep an eye on the scene, even as he moved as far from it as he could, trying to find an unclaimed set of arrows and a bow.
He'd end up setting himself up near Eliza and Naomi, but not exactly close either. He hadn't picked up one of these in...well, at least five years. His dad had gone through a Renaissance phase at one point, around the time he was ten or eleven, so he remembered going to a lot of different fair grounds over the weekends. Got to shoot some arrows, throw some axes and knives, saw a bunch of people joust. Barely got to do any of it himself, considering how young he had been, but its not like Tony had never picked up a bow before.
His first shot barely hit the target, but at least he hit it. The second got marginally closer to the center ring, but again, not close enough to really count. At least he was hitting what he was aiming at, that alone was enough for him. He wasn't a perfectionist like his Father. He wasn't anything like dear old dad. With a deep breath, he'd nock his third arrow, draw the string back as hard as he could, take another slow breath to steady himself and his aim...and release. His final arrow would strike far truer than his previous two, again not exactly being a bulls-eye, but actually landing within centimeters of the center ring.
Tony hadn't noticed yet that the fletching feathers on the last arrow had cut his thumb and index finger as they'd left his grip. Its what he got for not wearing a glove during archery, and for not remembering the proper way to hold and nock a bow.