Clint keeps moving, reaches down to pick up his bow where he left it and then entering the mansion itself. The entry way is grandiose and a bit pretentious, but there are signs of the people who live there. A purple quiver, by the door. Folded bo-staffs, on an end table. As they move into the kitchen there's the remains of the day's meals in the sink, a bright purple coffee mug on the counter, and a stack of photo proofs on the counter. The photos are from last weekend's wedding; Clint, Bobbi, Pietro and Jennifer are beaming at the camera in the one on top of the stack. Jenn's in a suit, having been best man, and Bobbi's in a knee-length white lace dress. Clint has an arm around her, and all the lines are gone from his face when he smiles with pure bliss. Pietro has his normal, surly look, but even that's tempered a bit as his lips twitch upwards.

"Make yourself at home, or whatever." Like he cares. Or so he wants it to seem.