[ The last time the hotel was full of people wandering around with suitcases and puzzled expressions, stopping anyone who will listen to ask all the questions there are no answers for, he was one of them. But not this time. He's still fairly new, compared to some, but, unfortunately, he's been here long enough now to know the drill. Well, as much of the routine of the place that hasn't changed so far, anyway.
He's not the most friendly face anyone can pass, but he's ready and willing to help anyone who needs it, so feel free to approach him wherever he happens to cross the same path. ]
[ Ballroom ]
[ He opts out of the basket some people are carrying with them around the grand room, but it's obvious from the glitter sparkling off his clothes, face, and arms that he's come into contact with more than enough of the eggs so far. But despite the bulging pockets with treats, Clint is approaching each of the eggs with caution, as if he's on mission and seeking out objects set up as traps, because, however unofficially, he is.
At least one of the eggs has been known to explode, and because he's experienced worse than a little exploding egg, he decides that it's better him than anyone else. He's currently attempting to figure out if any others are set to blow and hunt them down, and for a while he doesn't have any luck, but he's never been the luckiest guy in the world, so eventually what little he does have runs out.
He spots what he thinks is a slightly more ominous looking egg than the others - which, in actual fact, doesn't look any different, but he has a gut feeling about it, and every egg he comes by looks more suspicious than the last - and he approaches it carefully, but not before checking the vicinity and making sure no one else is close enough to get caught up in anything he's trying to prevent. He crouches down, drawing aside the flapping bit of curtain that's draped over half of it, and he reaches out with a steady hand. He wraps his fingers firmly around it and--
Nothing happens. At least, not at first. He frowns down at it, which doesn't alter his expression much, and means to examine it. But that's when he hears the noise, a quiet little click, and the next thing he knows he's flying backwards through the air and the air his punched out of his lungs when he hits the nearest wall on impact. He struggles to draw in a breath, but he does; his hands, though slightly burnt, are still hand-shaped and attached to the rest of his body, and besides the hideous bruise he knows he's going to have along the right side of his body in the morning and the odd cut where shrapnel has caught him, everything seems to be as it should.
Except, of course, for the deafening ringing in his ears that he comes to realise is the lack of sound. The left ear even has a trickle of blood running down the side of his face. He means to move, to push himself up, but he feels unbalanced, a little disorientated, and when he tries he doesn't get very far, stumbling back down to the ground. ]
Clint Barton || Roamning & Ballroom
[ The last time the hotel was full of people wandering around with suitcases and puzzled expressions, stopping anyone who will listen to ask all the questions there are no answers for, he was one of them. But not this time. He's still fairly new, compared to some, but, unfortunately, he's been here long enough now to know the drill. Well, as much of the routine of the place that hasn't changed so far, anyway.
He's not the most friendly face anyone can pass, but he's ready and willing to help anyone who needs it, so feel free to approach him wherever he happens to cross the same path. ]
[ Ballroom ]
[ He opts out of the basket some people are carrying with them around the grand room, but it's obvious from the glitter sparkling off his clothes, face, and arms that he's come into contact with more than enough of the eggs so far. But despite the bulging pockets with treats, Clint is approaching each of the eggs with caution, as if he's on mission and seeking out objects set up as traps, because, however unofficially, he is.
At least one of the eggs has been known to explode, and because he's experienced worse than a little exploding egg, he decides that it's better him than anyone else. He's currently attempting to figure out if any others are set to blow and hunt them down, and for a while he doesn't have any luck, but he's never been the luckiest guy in the world, so eventually what little he does have runs out.
He spots what he thinks is a slightly more ominous looking egg than the others - which, in actual fact, doesn't look any different, but he has a gut feeling about it, and every egg he comes by looks more suspicious than the last - and he approaches it carefully, but not before checking the vicinity and making sure no one else is close enough to get caught up in anything he's trying to prevent. He crouches down, drawing aside the flapping bit of curtain that's draped over half of it, and he reaches out with a steady hand. He wraps his fingers firmly around it and--
Nothing happens. At least, not at first. He frowns down at it, which doesn't alter his expression much, and means to examine it. But that's when he hears the noise, a quiet little click, and the next thing he knows he's flying backwards through the air and the air his punched out of his lungs when he hits the nearest wall on impact. He struggles to draw in a breath, but he does; his hands, though slightly burnt, are still hand-shaped and attached to the rest of his body, and besides the hideous bruise he knows he's going to have along the right side of his body in the morning and the odd cut where shrapnel has caught him, everything seems to be as it should.
Except, of course, for the deafening ringing in his ears that he comes to realise is the lack of sound. The left ear even has a trickle of blood running down the side of his face. He means to move, to push himself up, but he feels unbalanced, a little disorientated, and when he tries he doesn't get very far, stumbling back down to the ground. ]