+wintersrequiem
"Alright, you’ve got me there. I probably picked the wrong job for trying to live a boring life." He turned a corner, and tossed a look back at her, unsure about what was taking her so long. The girl seemed dazed…was something the matter? Had he said something weird or…? "Brooklyn, huh? That certainly explains some things."
"Absolutely." She was alright. Getting her bearings back. Everything would be normal in just a few seconds, if the snow in her brain would just melt a little. “I slugged my fair share of men who weren’t actin’ up to standard, trust me." They were close enough to the exit at this point that she could probably clip this guy and make a graceful escape, but for some reason she didn’t move to do it. She just kept trailing along, carefully moving her real hand to clasp around her bionic wrist through fabric. “How about you, Mister Nice Guy? Where’s your point of origin?"
The formulation of her speaking seemed really...familiar. In a weird sort of way that he couldn't quite name. Clint looked to her with a grin. "I'm from everywhere. I'm a circus kid--literally. Never settled in one place long enough to consider it a home, I guess. Sort of like a migratory bird." He came to a stop in front of the bathroom door, motioning to it carefully. "Miss Nice Woman, your powder room awaits."
