(no subject)

[hasthehighground]

Why is Clint Barton in the rafters, when he's by all rights way too old and (by some accounts) dignified to climb up there?

Well. He was drinking his morning coffee when some thing touched the back of his foot with a long tendril, and all he saw was its weird misshapen form skittering away.





It was weird, okay? Anyway. He's sitting on a rafter, watching the room below, with a mug of coffee in his hands and a jar of peanuts next to him.

[tiny tag: creepy doll
ooc: No new threads, unless we've talked about it :)! I'll be around this weekend, but I am at this point Friday asleep.]

Comments

[hasthehighground]

... That is not what Clint was expecting. He was thinking 'I can take you with me when I do weird shadow hopping'.



This is cooler.

"Got it. Let me know if I do." He thinks he's situated.

[katyafeline]

Heavy muscles coil underneath him, and it's a quick drop to the nearest table top, sending waitrats squeaking for cover.

Better than lion taming, circus boy?

[hasthehighground]

Clint laughs, breathless, before sliding off.

"Much. Thank you."

These tables must be made of ... something really strong.



Natasha's going to be so jealous.

[katyafeline]

To be honest, she's being slightly underhanded, and keeping herself from crashing through the table. The table will, most likely, forever be a bit wobbly.

Stay safe, mmm? My friend is already prone to overblown guilt, he does not need help.

[hasthehighground]

"Sure," he says.

He taps the Bar, and orders three drawstring bags, a backpack, and a set of four one pound throwing beanbags.

Once he has them, he says "I'll wave when I'm full up." He kind of suspects it'll be awhile. Sandbags have a better chance of knocking them over than something with less surface area, but these things are fast.